#body horror abound

[ohno-the-sun]

Monster designs

Been thinking of an au

[organsoutsidelovinglydescribed]

Welcome to the horrors!

Hi hi, @needle-noggins here. @mydetheturk and I are planning a Trigun Body Horror week, slated for Feb. 11-17th, 2024. The week is open to any and all works regarding Trigun and body horror.

Prompts are officially up and ready to go!

The AO3 Collection is also officially up! We just ask you not start posting things until the 11th.

If you've got any questions, please feel free to ask us!

In the meantime, we will be reblogging some of our favorite body horror-related fan works and spreading the word about the upcoming event. Enjoy!

Keep watching this space for further updates.

(many of the graphics have been created by the wonderful @hashtagcaneven)

[paradoxlemonade]

human centipede

Everyone can feed the askbox except for this anon

[vennitrii]

maybe i’ll start posting some of my writing here idk, I see other people do it and maybe it would be cool

[mirrankei]

been slooowwwwllllyyyyy teaching myself how animation works in ClipStudio, while getting bored partway through tutorials and shutting them off and subsequently forgetting how to do the thing and having incomplete information ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

So here's a sketchy wip of my dnd warlock having some form of dread time

[shieldbond]

I̷̧͈̪͇͋̉͊́̋̿͗̇̏ṭ̷̢̛̰̥͈̠̫̭̤̳͍̒̆͑̀̈̀̾͘͝͝ ̵̢͎̺̯͉͔̺͕̘͙̰̼͔͇͐͗̃̆̇̈́ͅh̷͎͉̫̝̝͎̠̣͚̲̹͖͔̓͆̅̏͊̒͒̀̕ͅṳ̶̲͈͌̇̾̈̍̏͗̊͘͘̚͘͝ṛ̷͓̝̣͉͔͇̠̜̈͒̄̕͜ͅt̸̨͓̣̣̹͎͘ͅś̸͔̙̮̻̊.̸̛̛̩̺̜̥̲̼͕̭̺͚̖͙͑̏̐͌́͛̽̆.̸̙̠̈̒̅͆̌̓͒̒̃̋̐̃̉̉̚.̸̪̱̞͇̺͚͈̘̝̝̤͉̟̝̙̿̌͗ȉ̷̱̞̞̫̯͔̘̖̪̪̻̫̳͆̂̇̈́͋͐͋̽͂̿͝ţ̶̼͙̜͒́͛́͒͗̾̎͒͝ ̴̨̧̦̫̮̰̩͎̼̼̍̃̎͂̂̿̌̽̇̽̈́̀͘̕͝ḧ̸̡̳͎̮̬̥̭͈̩́̎̌ͅu̵̧̢͇̙͝r̶̫̪͍͋̇͗̀̆͐̑̓̌̂͗́͛͝t̶̛̛̖̟͓̯͈̗̭̾̑̉̃̌̄́͊̓̔̕͜͠s̴̢̧̥̦̜̭͓̭̝͚̆̍͋̎̈́.̸͖̙̘̲̭̺̗͔̎̂̇̈́̚̕.̷̨̖̰̞̼͚͙̈́̉͗́̈́̃̂̍.̷̨̊͌͂̅͋!̷̡̭̮͈̘̋̀̓̌͑̓̎̌̓

[floral-ashes]

Another moving book review of Gender/Fucking: The Pleasures and Politics of Living in a Gendered Body, this time by philosopher Gwen Marshall. 🔥

First time someone comments on the poetry peppered through the book, which I find interesting since I am a bit self-conscious about my poetry skills! 💖

“Florence Ashley is a transfeminine law professor, ethicist, and (as virtually all publicly visible trans folks are forced to be) an activist. Rather than a dry review in the style of an academic journal, I'd like to provide a more personal report.

This book aroused me, laid bare my trauma, and rang a bell deep in my soul. I’ve never felt so seen. Their erotic tales resonated with my own encounters. Their poetry remains with me still, days later. And their analyses? They may very literally change the course of my life.

Ashley's account of the way trauma informs their adoption of the role of bottom in their sexual encounters revealed to me my own, similar journey. Now I have weeks or months of material to work through with my therapist -- maybe at the end of it, I'll come out on Top?

Their description of their experiences navigating dating, the internalized homophobia of cis men, and our own internalized compulsory heterosexuality have me setting off on another journey of self-discovery, one concerning my sexual orientation. And their brilliant dissection of the ways in which TERF rhetoric and transphobia corrupts even the most self-assured transfemme's sense of self is all-too-familiarly heartbreaking. Many times in reading this book, I had to put it down to sob and hold myself, waiting for the reignited trauma to pass. Unlike other times when old trauma is triggered, however, these episodes feel like healing.

Finally, Ashley's account of what is to be done in their final chapter shook me to my core. As someone who once waved the flag of revolutionary socialism myself, I saw my own loss of hope reflected in Ashley's words. Rather than adopting a nihilism, however, they propose a palliative activism. We cannot save this world, circling the drain as it is. We cannot undo the rampant spread of transphobia, certainly not any time soon, if ever. Captialism has won. What we can do, however, is put our world in hospice and try to alleviate the suffering of our loved ones and our communities as much as possible, bringing some peace and pleasure to those we love, while the world slowly dies around us. This is the ideology I have been looking for. And if we adopt this palliative model, despite the horrors around us, we can imagine our loved ones, and ourselves, happy.

Ashley's influences are clear. References to previous trans writers, gender theorists, and philosophers abound, but they present them and connect them in profound and revolutionary ways. Or palliative ways, perhaps?

In sum, this book could change your life. It changed mine.”

Link to review.

Where to get the book.

[correlance]

Headcanon: Husk was a world-class poker player in 1960s Las Vegas, but was also involved with the mafia, which was a major force to be reckoned with in the city until the 1980s and 1990s. He lived for the thrill of rolling the dice, besting the brainiest mobsters, and winning a well-earned pot for his efforts...all while having the occasional affair with their wives, seducing them with his suave, charm, and bravado.

After becoming one of the most famous players in the world, and with "Lady Luck" on his side, he won affections of a famous Vegas showgirl and dancer (I'll use the name "Petronilla", or "Nellie", for her in this post), who he fell madly in love with. However, one fateful day, "Nellie" died in what appeared to be a suicide, her body found bloody, bruised, and battered at the bottom of a high-rise casino...but rumors abound that Nellie's death was not a suicide, but the revenge of a mob boss who has been publicly humiliated in being bested by Husk.

Husk fell into a deep depression after Nellie's death, and took to drinking from the bottle after that. He lost interest in what was once his pride and joy, and before long, he lost everything by gambling away his savings. He eventually died in 1970, and went to Hell for being a swindler and a cheat; and, as his punishment for the sin of adultery ("tomcat"), he took on the form of a winged feline demon.

Much to Husk's horror, his beloved Nellie, too, ended up in Hell; and, not only that, but as one of the many playthings of Vox and Valentino, the two "Vees". In exchange for power and fame in Hell, as well as protection, she had sold her soul, and became Valentino's star attraction, luring other sinners into also selling their souls to the Vees with the false promise of sleeping with the beautiful, sensual dancer.

At first, Husk thought that, by becoming an Overlord, he could win Nellie's soul back from Valentino. However, just when Husk had enough power to gamble for Nellie's soul, he was rejected by his beloved; who, despite being offered her freedom, still chose Valentino. In the end, Husk lost his own soul in a card game against Alastor, the Radio Demon. It was through this soul pact that Husk met Angel Dust, another soul enslaved by Valentino...and saw through the same false facade that his lost love had lost her identity over the years to.

Thus, Husk, against his better judgement, made a promise to himself that, even though he couldn't save Nellie from Valentino's clutches, perhaps he could help Anthony free himself from his own shackles.

[rxttenfish]

Chapters: 1/? Fandom:Monster Prom (Visual Novel) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Aaravi the Slayer/Miranda Vanderbilt Characters: Aaravi the Slayer (Monster Prom), Miranda Vanderbilt, Bellanda Vanderbilt, Amanda Vanderbilt, Laudanda Vanderbilt Additional Tags: Cultural Differences, merfolk culture, Speculative Evolution, Worldbuilding, Meeting the Family, Horror, Abuse, Imperialism, Gore, More tags to be added as they come up, Fictional Holidays, Body Horror Summary: No one goes into the Merkingdom, and no one comes out. Rumors abound about what could be hiding beneath the waves, what knowledge lies dead and dreaming at the bottom of the ocean, but every secret comes with a price. Something is very clearly wrong, but those who know what it is aren’t sharing. But when Miranda must return home for their highest holiday, Aaravi is left with no choice but to protect her girlfriend from what waits for her. Whether she can protect herself is a different story.

the first chapter of the big fanfic that i've been working on for so long is finally up! i'll make a proper post for it later, but here's the link if you want to read! from now on i'll be just referring to it as Caecilian too!

[needle-noggins]

A Guide to eezybree's Trigun Fanfiction

Hi all! For @trigunfanfic appreciation week, I would like to do a little self-promo. I've only been writing fanfic for about a year (if you don't count my POTC fic from middle school) but it has changed my life and I'm really proud of what I've done so far. If you'd like to read some of my stuff, here's a quick guide!

Bluebells | E | Vashmeryl | 43k, in progress | post-canon Trimax, canon-compliant | Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally-driven, Character-driven. My long fic about Vash and Meryl figuring out life after Trimax. It's mostly Meryl POV, with an emphasis on her PTSD and trauma, but Vash is even more messed up. He's lost and grieving both Wolfwood and his brother, and Meryl's hangups about his nature as a plant certainly don't help their feelings of loneliness even as they're living together. It doesn't help that the ghost of Wolfwood won't leave the damn room. They work it out together while still acknowledging the things that haunt them - Vash's grief and Meryl's fear - and put on a brave face for the TV special on his life. This fic has converted a few people to see Vashmeryl, has made people laugh and cry, and has inspired a little bit of art. This fic is my baby, and I'm so so damn proud of it. ALSO: The smut is skippable!

Funeral Rites | T | Vashwood | 3k | Trimax canon-compliant Vol. 10 Burial fic. My first fic and still beloved. Vash buries Wolfwood and gets weird about it, would you expect any less? This baby is so chock-full of love and grief.

Freaks of Nurture | M | Gen/Vashwood | 2.8k | any canon. Vash gets vivisected and he hallucinates that the surgeon is Knives. Wolfwood gets triggered to hell trying to save him. This is my best and weirdest prose, and I had the most fun writing this. Dead doves abound here.

Silent Night | T | Gen | 4k | Pre-canon sci-fi epistolary-style story of Rem on the SEEDS expedition, leading up to the birth of the twins. My heaviest sci-fi with Rem's grief over her late partner Alex and regret over Tesla running throughout. I adore this fic. It was also inspired by Lenipez's Becoming Eden series, and in turn inspired another Rem-centric fic by mydetheturk!

Fresh Cut | E | Millionsummers | 5.7k | DEADEST DOVE. DESSICATED. My uhhh... body horror smut and essay on what compels me about the messed-up relationship between Legato and Knives. I wrote most of this on a plane (in public). This one is very kinky and weird and somehow hot, if you're into getting visions of your lover cannibalizing you when he comes.

Cigarettes & Saints | E | Mashwood | 3.8K | post-canon Trimax, set somewhere within/after Bluebells. Vash and Meryl visit a grave outside Hopeland and they... get weird with it. One of the tags is Outdoor Sex, and it does a lot of the heavy lifting. Wolfwood's ghost pays them a visit in Vash's butt. This sounds incredibly silly but it's very sweet and sad and there isn't a single dry eye by the end of the fic.

Growing Black Irises | T | Stryfewood | 1k | set somewhere in Bluebells again. Here's how post-canon trimax stryfewood can still win, but oh no it's painful and somehow sweet. So much yearning and regret over things never said or done.

Lightning Rod | M | Elendira POV | 1K | Trigun Stampede | Body Horror week fic; there's a dead dove in here. Inspired by Beelzebby666's Elendira/Tesla, I wanted to explore Elendira's thoughts and feelings about growing up and being experimented on, lauded as Knives' new Tesla. Compels me.

Learn to count on you (as my own fingers) | G | Vashmeryl | 800 words | Any canon. Meryl helps Vash clean his prosthetic, and it's very sweet.

Meet in the Middle (Like Pistols at Dawn) | G | Vashmeryl | 672 words | Domestic Fluff and Sillies. For the indirect kiss prompt for Vashmeryl week. I just really love writing them be goofy and sweet.

Ship to Wreck | T | Stryfewood | 1.6k | Pirate AU! Two small scenes of my pirate AU that is actually a bit more elaborate than the fic lets on. It's a fun time.

Raising Hell | T | Trigun OCs | 1.7k | If you ever had more questions about my silly trigun OC Fanny Paine, well, here's half her backstory. This was fun to write and got me out of a funk! I may write more again. I love Fanny.

[ohno-the-sun]

23 year old artist

Likes science and art

Draws some pretty things, some scary things, likes blood and gore so be warned

My main is @weird-one-23 so if ya see that blog pop up randomly that’s me pfpfpt

Directional stuff below

Also I don’t do tag games, I appreciate the tags very much but they used to make me go on depressive spirals so I try to avoid them nowadays (though know everytime I am very tempted to respond pftftft)

Tags

My art : all of my art (hopefully)

Thoughts: random thoughts

My writing : my writing

AUs

Mad scientist au : adopted from @/oobbbear, Sun is a mad scientist and moon is his creation. Also Moon infects Sun. Tw for body horror and eye gore for this au

Luca Au: Mermaid au, Sun and Moon are sirens that turn human when dry, secrets and conflict abound. There is a fic

Kofi:

Comms are [OPEN]

[mechahero]

♡- DEAD I AM THE ONE, EXTERMINATING SON!

Hi! It's Mocha here with a little text post promo type of thing! This is an independent, semi selective OC blog featuring the world's most overpowered loser. Glitter pens, cute clothes, and guts are abound here with a guy that tends to be more slasher than superhero. (Blood, death, gore, cannibalism, and body horror are present here.)

. playlist ♡ rules ♡ divider credit .

[sethshead]

"Simon Schama in the Financial Times, Oct. 13, 2023:

"Confronted with enormity: murdered infants, abducted grandmothers, slaughtered villagers, lusty chants of 'gas the Jews' at the Free Palestine demonstration in Sydney, mere words feel like weak carriers of so much horror and sorrow. Journalistic bloviation on the cause of this and the effect of that seems an indecency, at least until the bodies are gathered and returned to families. So context me no contexts, analyse me no analyses, suspend your partially informed diagnoses; leave off your strenuous efforts at even-handedness. Let us be, to grieve, rage, weep; say the mourners’ kaddish.

"Perhaps images, then, not words? Of terrified young people who in a trice went from dancing to frantic running in a futile attempt to escape the spray of bullets; of a kibbutz dog shot as it emerged from a house (that must have helped Free Palestine); a young woman with bloody marks staining her sweatpants as she is bundled away by captors; a knife lying on a sofa in the kibbutz Be’eri, where 10 per cent of the population were killed; or visual evidence of 'resistance' like the video of Mor Bayder’s murdered grandmother uploaded by her killers to Mor’s Facebook page.

"Sympathy, for the moment, abounds, for as the writer Dara Horn pointed out in the title of her unsparing book of essays, People Love Dead Jews; living ones, especially should we have the temerity to defend ourselves, not so much. There is, rightly, sympathy too for the Palestinians of Gaza who are also victims and prisoners of Hamas and do not deserve to be punished for the wickedness perpetrated by their fanatical tyrants, nor for the delusion that the deaths of Jewish families will make Israel disappear.

"We do not disappear. But we do suffer. The great Columbia University historian Salo Wittmayer Baron spent his career inveighing against the fatalism of what he called 'the lachrymose conception' of Jewish history. I myself have made an effort to go with the positive: to celebrate the poetry, music, religious and secular literature of the diaspora; to think about Jewish history with the human smoke of Auschwitz blown away by time and education.

"But this now seems an idle hope. From reports all over the world in the days following the massacres last weekend, it is obvious that the spectacle of dead Jews can still excite, rather than restrain, antisemitism.

"Apparently it still needs saying that Zionism is not the cause, but the consequence, of perennial, dehumanising, antisemitism. The massacre of Jews not only long predates Zionism but is a constant fact of diaspora existence. Jews were attacked and exterminated in both the Muslim and Christian medieval worlds: six thousand butchered in Fez in 1033; thousands more in Almoravid Granada in 1066; the entire community of York in 1190. A friend of mine, currently in Spain, tells me almost all of the rarefied intellectuals she has encountered have been adamant that the victims were to blame, which, given the murder of thousands of Jews in 1391, is a bit rich.

"Nor was this persecution really about religion. Survivors who converted were, for all their professions of Christian faith, still tortured and burnt alive by an Inquisition suspicious that their blood was too impure for salvation. So Jews have been murdered for being too separate and murdered for being not separate enough. They were killed in vast numbers by Cossacks in 1648; by Russian pogroms in the 19th and 20th centuries. In 1899 an anti-Dreyfusard journal asked its readers what they would like to do with Jews. The responses were enthusiastic and ingenious: use them as targets for new artillery, turn them into dog food and, needless to say, gas them.

"In the face of lethal peril, help has been conditional. Children were rescued by the Kindertransport on condition of being separated from their parents, many of whom they would never see again. A conference on 'refugees' was held in Bermuda in 1943, when the Final Solution was known, basically on condition the word 'Jew' was never mentioned. It was this lose/lose situation that moved Theodor Herzl, the father of modern Zionism, prophetic about a coming annihilation, to insist that in the end Jews must count only on themselves for their protection.

"That core Zionist article of faith collapsed last Saturday, not least because of the Netanyahu government’s obstinate refusal to listen to Israel’s security chiefs, who warned him that the safety of the country was being imperilled by policies that were dangerously divisive. Whatever the immediate unity of the country, his days as prime minister are numbered and his legacy will forever be this catastrophe. But that inevitable departure will not staunch the tears, bring back the dead or heal the trauma. And should there be a ground invasion, innocent Palestinian and Jewish lives will pay a terrible price, not that Hamas cares about either.

"But Israel will survive, revive. If only because, even in this dreadful extremity, one text from Deuteronomy, 30. 19 lies at the indefatigably beating heart of Jewish history:

"I call heaven and earth to record this day against you, that I have set before you life and death, a blessing and a curse: therefore choose life, that both thou and thy seed may live."

h/t Shoshana Hantman

[final-girl96]

Broken World: Chapter Four

One Month Later 

It's been a month since everything went to shit. The military came in setting up FEMA shelters and camps for the people. Everyone was told to stay in their homes at first and not to approach anyone who was sick. Then they told them to go to the city; that they could be protected there. It didn't last long, though. At least it didn't here in Atlanta. It only took a few sick people to be overlooked for things to get out of hand. People were dying and coming back to life. But they weren't people anymore. They were flesh hungry monsters. 

The city got overrun, more people died, and the military was overrun, then orders to bomb the city were given. I was hiding in the building the precinct was in. I hadn't left since the day me and Peterson went out to the crime scene of the woman whose husband killed her and ate part of her. I now knew that the man was never alive to begin with when he attacked her. 

Luckily for me, none of the bombs hit too close to the building. A lot of my coworkers left to go home to their families. I stayed; I didn't have anyone I wanted to go home to. Well, there was one person that I thought about when the Lieutenant told us we should be with the ones we loved and to get out of the city while we could. But I haven't talked to that person in a very long time and I doubt they thought about me at all. 

I was sitting at my desk slowly eating a can of peaches when I heard a noise outside the doors in the hall. I had boarded up the big glass windows that looked into the front office. I didn't know if it was a living person or one of the dead. But they were making a lot of fucking noise. I grabbed the baton off my desk. I had ziptied a knife to the end of it then wrapped black duct tape around that to make it more secure. 

I had my gun on my hip like I always did and had a few extra magazines in pouches on my belt. It was only ever used if I absolutely needed it. I learned that loud abounds attract the dead like flies on shit. That's why I needed to take care of who or whatever was outside the office doors. I slowly made my way to where the door was. It had a large piece of board in front of it with a desk pushed against it. 

I left a small space where I could look out into the hall and check to make sure it was clear before I moved the desk to leave if I needed to go look for supplies. That didn't happen very often, though. When the bombs were set off and things settled down, I went out and cleared the whole floor and blocked the doors to the stairwells. I don't know how anyone or anything could get up here, but it wasn't impossible if they really wanted to. 

While I was out clearing this floor, I checked all rooms in the building and grabbed anything useful, brought it back, and then went to some of the building close by. I had an apartment maybe seven blocks away, but I didn't feel like that would be a safe place to hold up at. I did, however, go there and grab clothes and blankets, stuff that was essential. All the food I had in my cabinets, which wasn't much, and I grabbed all the water I had in my fridge. 

I looked out through the gap in the boards and saw a man walking slowly down the hall. He had a red baseball cap on, a backpack hung over his shoulders, and he carried a crowbar. He looked maybe around my age or a few years younger than me. I set the baton down on the desk and moved it just enough that I could push the plywood out of my way and open the door. As soon as I stepped into the hallway, I pulled my gun and pointed it at him. 

"Don't shoot!" He said, putting his hand in the air. "Put the crowbar on the floor and kick it over to me!" I told him. He nodded and slowly bent over to set it on the floor, and then he kicked it across the hall towards me. "I'm sorry. I didn't think anyone would be in this building. The downstairs…" I stopped him, "I know what's downstairs!"

Downstairs was a fucking horror show. Blood coated the floor and walls. Dead bodies lay where they fell a month ago, rotting away, some half eaten. The dead roamed around down there too, the windows were broken out on the ground floor, first, and second floors in the front of the building. I was on the fourth floor, the last floor of the building. "How did you get up here? The stairwells are blocked." 

"I climbed the elevator shaft," he said. I raised an eyebrow, "So you're telling me that you got past all those dead assholes pried the elevator doors open, then climbed up the shaft all by yourself? Or are there others with you?" He shook his head, "I'm alone, I swear! The one elevator was open enough for me to slip through the doors. I closed the doors, which wasn't easy, but I closed them and then climbed up through the hatch. I'm just trying to look for supplies for the group I'm with. We're at the old quarry a few miles outside of the city. Walkers don't come up there." 

"My name is Glenn. What about you?" He asked. I thought about what he said and picked up the crowbar, putting my gun back into its holster. "Detective Stone…sorry, my name is y/n. Come on, Glenn, let's get inside before…what did you call them? Walkers? Come up here and trust me they find ways." I turned and slipped back in through the door. Shortly after Glenn slipped through and helped me move the plywood and desk back into place. 

"So you're a detective?" Glenn asked. I led him into the main area and went straight to the break room. "Was…I was a detective before this whole shit show happened." I grabbed a bottle of water and handed it to him. "What about you? What did you do before all this Mr…" I opened a bottle of water for myself and took a swig of it before putting the cap back on. "Rhee. I was a pizza delivery guy. I know this city like the back of my hand. I think I've delivered here several times before." 

I nodded my head, pulled out a chair, and sat down. "Probably have. We usually ordered out for lunch when we're stuck at our desks all day. We would all pitch in for the order. So, this camp of yours, you said it was at the old quarry? How many of you are there?" I asked. He walked to the door and looked out into the office area. "It's just me here. Has been since before they bombed the city. I only live about seven blocks away, and I don't have any family…well, I don't have family that would have cared if I was dead or alive." 

Glenn sat down at the table with me, putting his bag on top of the table and looking at me. "There's a group of us. Maybe fifteen… A lot of them met on the highway trying to get into the city. There are kids; four of them. All young, I think the youngest is maybe seven or eight. The other three are eleven or twelve. One of the guys used to be a cop, Shane. He's kind of the leader, I guess. You can come back with me if you want. We could always use more people like you. People who know how to fight. How to lead. How to survive. Plus, survival in numbers and all that." 

I thought about it while he continued to talk about this camp and the people there. He didn't seem like the kind of person to lie. Hell, he looked like the kind of person who couldn't lie without getting all bent out of shape. "Yeah. Okay, I'd like to go back with you. There are a few guns in the weapons locker, along with a few boxes of ammo I can bring along. And I had food and water. Do you have a car?" I asked. He nodded, and we started packing up as much stuff as we could carry.

[daryldixonfanfiction]

a (Daryl Dixon) short story - pt.2

Masterlist

Paring: Daryl Dixon × fem!reader

Summary: on the run from a swarm of walkers they take shelter in un aboundant car.

Warnings: scary situetion, fluff, angst

*rewrritten

WC: 2.4k

Sharp branches scratched against their skin as they exited the forest. They now stood upon a road, littered with an abandoned car and a corpse that had fallen from the driver seat, dried leaves and branches covered the asphalt, making it look forgotten.

Daryl's firm grip loosened as he released her wrist, leaving a loss of warmth there. He moved swiftly around the car, scanning the tree line for the imposing herd closing in on them.

Then suddenly, a twig snapped in the distance, accompanied with distinctive sounds of the walking dead. She tried to revive the car, rotating the key, but it was to no vail. They flinched when suddenly the bushes behind them began to russell, their eyes met in knowing.

They could not escape such a big hurd and they could certainly not outrun them. So with no choice then taking shelter in the trunk of the car, Daryl beacons her towards him, “Comone,” he urges out of breath, swinging the trunk door open for her to enter. Daryl shut the trunk with haste and mutely motioned for her to stay silent, then secured it with his red bandana so it would stay closed.

The tight space forced their bodies to be close, so close their legs were touching, sitting opposite of one another. She could see the focus there, to make sure the dead wouldn’t break in with his crossbow aimed at the entrance where moonlight shines inside.

It had just gone by a few seconds sins they stumbled upon the road and then got into the back of the car, and just as they had settled in the small space the herd began crossing the road. Fear bloomed in her chest, but then a low, almost a warning realization hit her. Knowing she had been naive to blindly follow this stranger inside a car that she was now trapped in. She knew nothing about him but she could tell he was capable of things she wasn't - and things she didn't dare name. But at the same time she had been left with no other choice. Because if it wasn't for him, she would be dead.

The dead growls loudly, thumping against the car as they cross the road, making it shake and creek with every impact. Their terrifying sounds grow as more pass through and maybe the herd was in the hundreds or even more? She didn't know, but the thought was frightening. Thunder boomed, bright flashes of light flicker on the man's face through the small crack and she thought she saw blue.

His eyes were blue.

Hours went by as wave after wave of the dead passed. Lightning struck so close she feared it would hit the car or make her deaf when her ears ringed. But then eventually the storm calmed and so did the hurd.

Feet shuffled against the asphalt, and now and then one would stumble into the car making it creek at the impact. Morning light slips through, brightening up the space. They were silent, not making a sound, keeping them hidden from the dead roaming outside. The last stranglers of the herd dragged their decaying libs along the road to wherever their next meal would be. And it began to feel like the horror from the night never had happened, as if it all had been a simple nightmare, but when the next thud came she knew the nightmare wasn't over, and that she still felt so scared thinking of what would happen if the door didn't hold. It would be game over.

She turns her gaze from the little view the door crack offers of the outside - to the man before her. He meets her gaze, feeling her worry, reshoring her with a nod and motions with his hand facing her, ‘it's gonna be ok, we're ok’. She nods heavenly in return, and the thoughts of him being something to fear was gone in an instant - replaced with trust she hoped was not misplaced.

She keeps her gaze there, lingering with nothing else to occupy her time as he keeps on guarding the entrance. The man's face was pleasing to the eyes. His eyes were dark blue and hooded, making them look black when the light did not reach. His face held a stoic expression, worn with lines and bags under his eyes. As if he didn't sleep well and had certainly seen much more cruelty then she had. His chestnut hair was dark, falling over his eyes ever so slightly, ending at his neck, sticking to his skin as sweat had dampened it. The tip of his ear poked through and he had a straight button nose and a mole above the corner of his mouth. Facial stubble framed his jaw dashingly with a few strands of silver - indicating he must be in his late 30s, or perhaps early 40s?

Maybe she should be more on her guard around someone she didn't know, but something made her feel that she could trust him, that she was safe. And she had been so deprived of that, that she couldn't help it. And he had made no induction for her to fear him and never had she felt that he would harm her. Shad had been afraid but not in that sense. More so of her poor choice of not thinking and being naive. But nothing bad had happened to make her think otherwise. She reasoned that if he didn't try anything he was not one of them bad people out there. And he was protecting her. And she had not asked this of him, he chose to do so himself. And for whatever that reason was, she was alive, and that was all that mattered.

More hours passed and nature hummed, filling their silence they had been smothered in sins the last of the herd had passed true. There were no stragglers left and she was certain the herd was far away by now - making her wonder why they were still in this cramped up oven? Every breath felt suffocating and it was so disgustingly hot that their clothes were completely drenched like an extra layer of skin.

Sliding a hand over her temple, drained and exhausted, she removes the sweat before it can run down her face. God it was hot. Gazing upon the man once more she couldn't help but to take notice how his veins protrude under his skin, along his thick fingers down to his forearm as he held the weapon firmly, never looking away.

Shifting her weight a bit she then reaches forward and opens up the trunk door. Fresh air filled their lungs and the midday sun made them squint until their eyes adjusted to the outside and the world around them felt so empty as if they were the last people on earth.

And ho new? Maybe they were?

-

Daryl slung the black plastic bag over his shoulder, filled with what he had scavenged from the car, and his crossbow in his opposite. They stood before one another. Their eyes meet awkwardly, with the lack of confidence and uncertainty of the words to be spoken. Daryl was a man of few words, so he chose to say nothing even though there was a curiosity about the girl and why she was alone when he had found her.

He stared for a beat, then began walking down the road for her to follow.

She looked down to the pavement, relieved to not be left behind. While her eyes became glossy with relief, she thanked him in thought and followed.

–

The road feels like it keeps on forever. At some point the pavement beneath her sore feet had become dirt in the forest. She hadn't noticed, perhaps because she was too exhausted now? She was used to taking brakes but he didn't seem like he would stop anytime soon. Every step was a challenge and for hours on end they had been walking through the thick forest. Tall trees took the beating sun of their skin, but not the het that slowly drained them.

She began to feel dizzy and her legs heavy as she stared at his back. His biker jacket reminded her of an angel. And if she remembered right, wings were only worn by someone that had survived a bike crash. He was a survivor before and he still is now, and she wanted to know if it was true or if he had just found it because he liked it?

She really began to feel sick now, feeling how she started to pale. Her steps became heavier and her pace slower. The man's wide strides were exhausting to keep up with as her shorter legs struggled to follow.

Daryl felt her gaze behind him. As if to speak but no words left her lips. He knew she was tired, so was he as he had barely been eating since the prison fell. He could feel her pace slowing down. When the sound of her feet stopped, Daryl immediately stod to a halt, attentive and turned to face her.

“Hold up”, she begs, out of breath.

Daryl looks down at her smaller form. She was on the ground with palms flat against the forest flor, holding her weight with her head hanging.

He carefully approached the exhausted girl before him, feeling both perplexed and curious - how this young girl could have made it so far in a world such as this? He couldn't get his head around it. It would make sense if she belonged to a group at some point. He wanted to know. But he chose against it, like he often did. Maybe when they're safe enough and got some food he would ask?

Daryl watched how her shoulders moved in sync with panting breaths. And she looked to be the same age as Beth, but probably a bit older.

“We can’t stay here”, Daryl said, voice deep and rough, though meaning to say it more gently, he failed tremendously.

It was just not safe for either of them out here. The thought of getting caught up by another herd was still fresh on his mind.

His voice took her by surprise. It was the first time the man really spoken past one word sentence. Whatever she expected the man to sound like, she didn't expect it to sound so low and ruff. In a way it was captivating, and maybe she had been lonely for too long to the point a man's voice sounded like the best thing she had heard in days.

“I can't..." Her voice breaking as if on the verge of tears. Daryl could tell she was scared, afraid he would leave her and he knew she wouldn't survive on her own.

She waited for that moment, but It never came. Looking up expecting nothing then abandonment. But to her surprise, there he was. Standing before her as if leaving had never crossed his mind.

Daryl's mind was already made. He stretches out his hand, reassuring; he's not leaving her. Big bambi eyes look upon his hand then his eyes, hesitating for a moment before she takes her soft on into his calloused and her skin was so soft, so delicate.

Warmth radiated from his hand as it made hers look childlike. Only now did she really nothist how much bigger the man was compared to her. He had a wider frame with narrow hips making his shoulders look broad, he was about a head taller, his arms strong with lean muscle with veins traveling in his opposite hand holding the crossbow. Maybe she should feel some type of fear but she didn't. There was something there, kindness, no malicious intent behind his gaze. She was gonna be okay with him, he will keep her safe. And she could feel it as he carefully pulled her back on her feet, as if he was afraid she would collapse to the ground again.

How such a man could possess such a gentle touch was oddly fascinating. He looked like he had never been taught to know how to be soft- like he would rather use force than words.

“Thank you”, she said gratefully.

And he looked at her before nodding, “Comon '', he ordered but there was a gentleness added to his tone now and a noticeable difference in his pace for her to follow.

Being gentle like that has never come naturally. Growing up, he would be put down by his brother if he ever showed that side. Kindness was weakness, his old man often told him growing up. But there was something with this girl that made his old, ingrained ways shift within.

Daryl wanted to be gentle, to think before he acted. Because he was afraid he would somehow hold her small hand just a little too tightly, as if it would break like porcelain. In Daryl's eyes she looked like a frightened deer, a fawn pleading to be saved.

Why he felt that way, he couldn't fully comprehend. The gentleness he showed didn't seem so rong as his old man had told him. It didn't make him feel weak. The gesture felt right and the girl seemed pleased with this act of kindness.

He seemed kind even though he looked like someone to fear. It intrigued her, made her queries off all the layers beneath his rugged and intimidating exterior. And she wanted to hold onto that moment just a bit longer. The moment when their hands touched and their eyes met as space and time stood still - and she worried her eyes had been blushing. She sure hoped not, that he couldn't tell how flustered he made her.

***

They now walked closer. She was no longer walking behind him as she was now comfortable beeing at the man's side.

Glancing up at him, making sure she did not invade his space, she relaxed as he didn't seem bothered by her doing so. She dared getting even closer, with still some room left between them. Maybe the few words they spoke, just an hour ago, had something to do with it?

After some passing moments she finally got the courage to ask what had been on her mind, for some time now. As her curiosity grew, she couldn't help the question from rolling off her tongue.

A deep breath - then.

“So…Do you have a name”?

A good moment passed and she worried her question had upset him.

Then.

“Daryl”, he answered simply, and she wouldn't have heard it if she didn't walk beside him.

A satisfied smile played on her lips, dimples showing as evidence of her little accomplishment. Tilting her head at him as they walked side by side, she continued, picking up that his quietness came from shyness.

“I’m….y/n

Masterlist

[sethnakht]

fic recs feat. darth vader

Back in the day, I posted a list of fics (centered on the character of Darth Vader, in relation to Leia in particular) that left a strong impression on me as a reader. As part of a 2023 resolution to ease back into active reading, I wanted to shout out some newer stories that have equally grabbed my imagination. Like the original list, these stories are focused on Vader, especially if not exclusively in dialogue with Leia.

For context, I look for stories that grapple with the suit, with its effects, so you can expect medical and psychological horror as a theme. I also really like the kinds of horror stories you can tell with a character like Vader: I'm drawn to stories abounding with ghosts and gore. tl;dr - you can expect graphic depictions of violence and body horror, and please heed the tags on the fics themselves.

✦ appenza, multi-chapter wip by zinoviev, darth vader & leia organa, leia organa & luke skywalker

As a girl, Leia always dreamed of the stars. She had two passions: to become a pilot and to make the galaxy a better place. On her sixteenth birthday, she ran away from home to do what she thought was right. Two years later, she is a stellar recruit at an Imperial flight academy when an unwanted foe takes interest in her: Darth Vader.

Leia's characterization takes a stark departure here from the norm - she's alienated from her family and role on Alderaan, and has run away to become a pilot - offering a fresh and bold perspective on the AU scenario where Vader discovers her before Luke.

✦ divine comedy, multi-chapter wip by frodogenic, darth sidious & ghost!padmé amidala

Palpatine knows exactly how Padme Amidala died-trying to save her fool of a husband. What he can't understand is why she won't stop trying... Canon-compliant multi-chapter fic, spanning ROTS to ROTJ.

Padmé lives on a ghost, but only Palpatine can see her. Banger of a set up, and I love how this story is told from his perspective, slippery and odious; the cunning displayed by both as they make competing bets on Anakin’s fate.

✦ greater intrepidity than I could behold myself, orphaned oneshot, leia organa & darth vader

A towering, sinister shape in all black trudges into view. The sight of it is a confusing clash of associations as she and the creature try to identify it, an amalgamation of man-machine-beast. Its loud respiration cycles send chills down her spine. It is the center of the abnormality, she realizes.

In a dream that is also an allegory, Leia enters the mind of a red-eyed animal drawn by gnawing hunger into Vader’s presence. Sharp, visceral writing.

✦ heartstrings, completed multi-chapter genfic by severnlight, darth vader & leia organa 

Forced to deliver a mysterious message, Princess Leia suddenly finds herself on a quest to chase ephemera alongside Darth Vader. Things wouldn't be so bad if he only acted like himself.

Fantastical, atmospheric variation on the AU scenario where Leia’s parentage is revealed to Vader before their relationship is irretrievably soured on the Death Star. 

✦ in the deep and perfect dark, completed multi-chapter slashfic by qqueenofhades, darth vader/obi-wan kenobi

Obi-Wan considers cursing at it, or shouting at it, neither of which would do the least amount of good. Droids are nothing more than the reflection of their makers’ wishes and intentions; if this one has been designed to sit back and watch him suffer, that is not its fault but those who ordered it to do so. No machine can replicate the simple, spontaneous hatred and cruelty of an organic being ...

AU from the Kenobi show. I came to this by chance and am glad I took the plunge; there are scenes that continue to present themselves to me vividly weeks later, thanks to evocative writing.

✦ madhouse promenade, multi-chapter wip by husborth, darth vader/ghost!padmé amidala

In a bid to save his new apprentice's life, Darth Sidious siphoned the life force from Padmé Amidala, ultimately killing her. Ten years later, after finding out the truth, Darth Vader finds himself haunted by her ghost, and Padmé finds herself face-to-face with what her husband has become.

It's a thankless task to try and explain why this hits so hard, in multiple registers; the premise is gruesome, hilarious, the scene gothic-romantic and post-apocalyptic, the characters melancholy, bitter, unleashed, and cruel, somehow also at their best.

✦ more to me, and more in my mediations, multi-chapter wip by whetstonefires (Kieron_ODuibhir on AO3), darth vader & leia organa, darth vader & luke skywalker

The threads of life he’d felt slipping away were clutched fiercely now, as though for the first time since the Emperor’s death—for the first time in Luke’s lifetime possibly—his father had a reason to survive.

It's never explicitly established in ROTJ whether Vader picked up that Luke's sister was Leia or merely called the word, the feeling from his mind; this story launches from the premise that he was going to die in ignorance, and that learning Leia is his daughter gives him a reason to hold on, to actively atone. There's tremendous humor and sadness and discomfort here; Vader is at once pitiable and impossible to pity, and Leia's perspective gives room for many shades of ambivalence to fester and bloom.

✦ mythology, multi-story series by husborth, darth vader & leia organa, darth vader & luke skywalker, darth vader & obi-wan kenobi

In a universe where Darth Vader uncovered his lost twins and raised them in the heart of the Empire, Luke more-or-less accidentally instigates the most painful family reunion the galaxy has ever seen.

I'm desperate for this series to continue, for more of this particular Vader, this Leia, this Luke, and this Obi-Wan - all flawed, all hurting, all slowly beginning to heal.

✦ nameless, on the edge of nowhere, multi-chapter wip by ambivalent-cosmos (Taxonamie on AO3), darth vader & leia organa

Commander Luke Skywalker is MIA. Darth Vader is MIA. Rebel command has hopes, and they have fears, and the wrong ones will come true. Alone in a big bad galaxy, what will Anakin Skywalker do to find his son? Whatever he has to, including walk the razor's edge of tentative alliance with the Rebels who would be happy to spit on his corpse. Free from all Masters, can Anakin learn who he wants to be, at last?

Vader survives the second Death Star with no inkling that his daughter is Leia; separated from Luke during a hurried last-second escape, he ends up having to fend for himself, half-dead and without his suit, to the point of negotiating with the Alliance on his own. There's splendid tension here from the fact that Leia knows more than he does; even exposed as an invalid, on hunger strike, and at a knowledge disadvantage, Vader remains palpably dangerous, volatile, compelling.

✦ notes from the dark side of the moon, completed one-shot by amylion, darth vader & leia organa, darth vader & luke skywalker

When suddenly some of the rich and powerful of the galaxy begin to disappear and later turn up dead on a consistent basis, it worries both the Empire and the Alliance enough to open up an investigation. Only half-heartedly though, because there's also the matter of the war to distract them. That is, until Darth Vader disappears...

I love this set-up: Vader, deprived of his mask and further neutralized with Force binders, ends up shut up in a prison cell with Leia, and she can't begin to guess as to why.

✦ order carnivora, multi-chapter wip by husborth, darth vader & leia organa

In a universe where Leia is told the truth of her biological parentage as a child, she makes a deal to save the galaxy from certain destruction; she'll surrender herself to Vader if he'll destroy the Death Star. Between the galaxy and what he wants, there's only one choice Vader always makes.

Leia saves herself from torture on the Death Star by revealing her parentage to Vader - the trope feels fresh in this giddy, wild ride of a take. Vader is as insane, Leia as exasperated, foul-mouthed, and unpredictable as one might hope.

✦ red meat, short stories by husborth, darth vader & darth sidious

A collection of short stories about Darth Vader and the Emperor, and the absolute vile nonsense evil wizards do in their spare time.

It feels pointless to try and describe what is best experienced for oneself - the superlative character study, more wickedly imaginative and gloriously unhinged than anything the official canon-makers could even dream of producing. NB. - dead dove, do not eat

✦ the good he seeks, multi-chapter wip by husborth, darth vader & luke skywalker

After killing the Emperor, Darth Vader agreed to serve the fledgling New Republic and destroy the last true-believers of the Empire he had once helped create. But he's living on borrowed time.

Images from this story haunt my waking hours; husborth's command of language and gift for building scenes of ruin and devastation into which love and humor nevertheless shine - leave me speechless. One of my absolute favorites.

✦ this place loves what it eats, multi-chapter wip by roadtripexpert, darth vader & leia organa

What could be called but isn’t death, or Leia Organa doesn't kill the man formerly known as Anakin Skywalker.

Leia, not Palpatine, is the one who retrieves Vader from the banks of Mustafar, in this feverish, lyrical, astonishing time-travel AU.

✦ twin suns at the door of night, multi-chapter wip by achrmy, darth vader & leia organa, darth vader & luke skywalker

In the ruins of Polis Massa Medical Facility Vader finds the memory bank of a midwife droid, and within…multiple revelations. Luke Skywalker has a vision of Vader in an unimaginable state, engulfed in flames, hunted…and vulnerable. An alternate universe story, beginning from Darth Vader 2020 #5

AU of the ongoing comic series, set after Vader is brutally punished by the Emperor for failing to capture Luke at Bespin. Enjoyed this both as a commentary on the comic and as a standalone adventure story.

✦ wastelands, completed multi-chapter genfic by mistress_siana, ghost!darth vader & leia organa

When Leia’s ship crashes, she’s faced with a choice: die, or accept help from a Force ghost who used to be good at fixing things.

Vivid reimagining of the trope where Anakin's ghost helps Leia survive a crash. There's a toxic cloud, "pulsating green" on the horizon, that I've not been able to forget months after first reading this.

✦ white orchid, multi-chapter, multi-fic wip by husborth and whetstonefires (Kieron_ODuibhir on AO3), darth vader & leia organa

Emperor Palpatine dies unexpectedly a year before the Death Star would be deemed operational. His heir apparent, Darth Vader, startles the galaxy by passing up the throne, and then passing it on to the newly-elected Senator of Alderaan, Leia Organa, after the Force leads him to directly to her. The new Empress inherits a terrorized galaxy, a broken Empire to tear down from the inside, and the weirdest second-in-command anyone can imagine.

See also this glorious illustration by symeona. The story that got me to start reading here again, replete with ironies and delights like a murderous garden and a palace designed to be impassable.