#cause of horrors: egg death

[dayssincethehorrors]

days since q!cellbit has experienced the horrors: 0

time since last reset: 14 days

[affectionatecorpse]

I'm once again getting overly philosophical over horror movies, so here's a study of the death angels from A Quiet Place as observed by a very enthusiastic animal loving veterinarian.

Every time people talk about death angels, it is, understandably, about how violent they are. These creatures are brutal and merciless, and will tear apart anything that makes too much noise. Hence the title of the movie.

Death angels are frankly terrifying, and show no empathy towards the creatures of the planet they invaded. No living thing is safe from them.

... so here's why they COULD be--

Look. Death angels are simply not suited for our planet. It's a noisy, chaotic place full of noisy, chaotic animals. From humans, to raccoons, to birds, to cats, nearly everything in our world is a potential trigger for a noise sensitive animal such as these.

But that's exactly what they are. Animals. And no one seems to remember that fact. People talk about them as though they themselves are sentient, anthropomorphic monsters, but the way these creatures act mimic many real life animals. Animals that don't belong here, but are trying to survive here. On a noisy planet covered in water, which they despise and cannot swim in.

Death angels are completely blind by nature, as seen in many other creatures such as cavefish, moles, and my personal favourite, the olm. Due to a lack of sight, they very clearly use echolocation in the film, to scan their surroundings and... well, not get dead. But echolocation is far from their only tool, as their ears are the strongest asset they have.

Their ears are INCREDIBLY sensitive. Just the slight ticking of an egg timer when heard from their perspective in the first film, is like a pounding drum in their ear. This is fine in a naturally quiet planet, but if a very subtle tick is that loud, then imagine the rest of the noise. Screaming. Explosions. Crashing. Little toy planes. Holy CRAP, that's gotta hurt.

Sounds that loud would definitely cause extreme hearing problems from pressure over time, and easily result in lifelong illnesses and disabilities such as deafness, infection, and so forth, if not stopped. It's going to be painful. It's literally bursting their ear drums inside their heads, and you can't explain to an animal why it hurts. You cannot rationalise with wildlife about treatment and self care. An injured and scared animal is always going to turn hostile, no matter how docile they may be normally. You can't explain to a lion with a knife in it's belly that you can stop the pain if it just doesn't attack you. You can't explain to a death angel that it needs to go somewhere more isolated instead of just destroying the source of the noise to shut it up.

Going to backtrack here a sec. Remember how I mentioned echolocation being another asset this creature has? Which means the slightest movement, the tiniest breath, can immediately allow you to be seen by it. With ears that good, too? It can see you from ages away. It knows you're there. Which means they DON'T attack for sport.

'Evil' is a concept rarely seen in nature. Yes, a lot of humans can be evil. And yes, many creatures can be too. Animals hunt for sport as well. Cats, for example! Although even then, I wouldn't describe it as evil. Calling the death angels evil implies they're attacking out of malicious intent, which just isn't true. In moments of panic, they'll destroy. But they are fully aware of humans around them.

Humans need to breathe, and can't stay perfectly still very easily. The death angels would be able to see our main cast at several points, even when they're being quiet. They don't attack whenever they locate a sign of life. For example, the scene in the basement. Being that close, whether the water was running or not, that alien absolutely would've heard Evelyn and the baby's sharp breaths. It didn't care. It was clicking at them almost curiously before it heard the bang of the silo, to which it ditched them to stop the sound.

This scene is a great example of why they don't kill for sport. Injured and young animals are especially easy prey for a creature built so strong and nimble. Evelyn is shown to be terrified of the mere presence of this thing, but it never actually does anything in the scene. It moves about. Ignores her movements in the flooding water. Investigates the baby. Clicks curiously at her while she backs away. It moves slowly and on all fours, when we know while aggressive, they will stand up on their hind legs (unless sprinting) and move very fast.

This implies it was in... well, not a submissive position, but a nonthreatening one. It wasn't baring it's teeth (as best it could), it had it's claws tucked up and unused, and was in no way in a primed-to-attack mentality. Until the silo made a loud bang. And even then, it could've quickly sliced up the two in the basement before running off, but it DIDN'T. It just left, without a moment of hesitation.

Let's also acknowledge the anatomy.

This is a carnivore. With sharp teeth for ripping apart prey, sharp claws for defence, and thick armour for protection from it's natural climate, as well as strong, long legs for running, this is absolutely a meat eater. The fact it's so well equipped makes me wonder if their natural prey is just as dangerous as them, which is why they have such tough skin. Or if they themselves have something above them in the food chain.

They seem to be pack animals, as usually others aren't far behind when one is about. Such as the trio by the Abbott house, the few at the docks, the ones by Emet's hideout, and even that group sliding down the building in the Day One clip I keep seeing as a gif. With their knack for running included, I wonder if they function like lions? Blending into their environment back home, clicking to hear prey, then the whole pack going on the chase when their target is vulnerable, in a way.

I got distracted. My point was, in a year, all the bodies from past victims vanished. All those people in the town who were swiped left and right just vanished from the town. They couldn't have decomposed in such short time, which means something moved them when it was safe. Something like a carnivore needing food after it felt comfortable in the silent aftermath. The argument that they do it for sport is one I see all the time, and it's just not true.

Everything needs to eat. Carnivores need to eat. Animals need to protect themselves from suspected danger. They never eat on screen because whenever they're on screen, they're surrounded by noise and are DISTRESSED. Have you ever had a sick pet? Most of the time, it won't eat when it's ill because it's too stressed, uncomfortable or in too much pain. When having their ear drums assaulted, a death angel isn't going to sit down with a cup of tea and a grilled cheese. Also, I won't add it because there's blood, but in the scene with the old man screaming in the woods, after it attacks, you can actually see it go back on all fours and sniff about the aftermath, like a hungry predator catching prey to eat. This was probably the first and currently only on screen proof of my claim.

By all means, not all animals are meant to be tamed. Jordan Peele's Nope said that best. Yet I can't help but wonder about the individual. Every animal is completely unique. Some will tolerate more than others. Due to their realistic nature and the similarities to actual animals, in specific circumstances, could they be befriended?

Anyway keep an eye out for A Quiet Place 4 where someone has a pet one that wears doggy ear protectors and accepts meat in exchange for pets-- /j

[unnoticed-poison]

𝚈𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚎! 𝙳𝚊𝚛𝚔! 𝙷𝚊𝚣𝚋𝚒𝚗 𝙷𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚕 𝚅𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚇 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 °【 𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝟏 】°

【 𝕿𝖗𝖆𝖎𝖑𝖊𝖗 𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕 】

【 𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝟏 】

【 𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝟐 】

【 𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝟑 】

【 𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝟒 】 𝕻𝖆𝖗𝖙 1 【 𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝟒 】 𝕻𝖆𝖗𝖙 2

Never thought I'd update this fast lol, guess my obsession is in full swing.

For those who haven't read the trailer chap you need to read it before this one.

The chaps are also posted on AO3, Wattpad and Quotev, the links will be posted soon ❣️

Anyways, enjoy.

˖๑‧˚꒷꒦₊꒷꒦︶︶₊꒷꒦˚‧๑˖𓆇˖๑‧˚꒷꒦︶︶₊꒷꒦₊꒷꒦˚‧๑˖

"Fuck!" The demoness cursed to herself, running as fast as she could through the streets, behind her, demons were being chased too, every 5 seconds or so, a bloodcurdling scream would erupt, signalling the death of another one of her fellow kind.

And it was almost her turn, she knew it was only a matter of time before that...𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 caught up to her as well.

She needed to find a place to hide, 𝘕𝘰𝘸.

"Move bitch!!"

The girl cried out in pain as she was shoved aside by another demon, sending her sprawling to the ground, the impact was hard and painful.

Before she could even try to stand up again, she was knocked over and trumpled upon by other demons, stepping over her body as they rushed by, breaking some of her bones in the process, and making her let out a heart-wrenching scream.

fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK FUCK FUCK!!!!

Fuck...

There was no hope for her to escape now...

"Please, make it quick..." She whispered softly, her breath caught in her throat when she felt a gentle breeze behind her, the sound of footsteps drawing close.

A quiet voice spoke, devoid of any emotions.

"Don't worry, I have no intention of torturing you, I need to reach my new high score anyway."

Oh..

As she took another deep breath, the demoness closed her eyes tightly, embracing the inevitable blow.

In a split second, thick crimson blood and pieces of brain splattered across the ground as the exterminator silently watched the now decapitated corpse go motionless.

"Number 1576." The angel said, removing the blood-spattered mask from her head.

Who was this particular angel? Of course, who else could it be other than 𝘺𝘰𝘶?

𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇

You sighed, glancing down at the blood stains on your mask before wiping it off.

Only 474 more to go.

You thought, your eyes scanning the road for your next target.

Suddenly, you noticed slight movement from one of the shadowy alleys nearby and you went into action, quickly putting your mask back on, your wings fluttered as you soared toward the alley.

"AHHHHH!!"

You stopped mid-flight, your hammer suspended in the air as you were frozen in your tracks by the sight before you.

Are those..eggs? Wearing suits??

There were five in total, the little eggs were shaking in fear, huddling together for dear life as they stared at up you with wide eyes filled with horror.

What were you going to do with them?

You stood there motionless for a few moments as the eggs lay defenceless before you.

........

Putting down your hammer, you stepped closer and kneeled down.

"Please don't kill us.."

The eggs closed their eyes as they waited for their swift death.

........

....

Huh?

Why aren't they smashed to pieces yet?

Opening their eyes, they saw one of them staring in wonder as the angel gently stroked its shell.

"You little things aren't my target, there's no need to worry." You whispered, your voice like a soothing lullaby, in an effort to calm them down.

Your touch was smooth and comforting, causing the egg's eyes to soften as he leaned into your hand with trust.

Seeing that, the other eggs shaking subsided as they allowed themselves to relax as well.

Feeling pleased, you smiled under the mask, before standing up again and looking around.

Shit, you wasted precious time.

You need to-

Huh?

Feeling a tap on your leg, you looked down.

One of the eggs was tapping on your leg repeatedly, gesturing towards the darkness.

"Boss! Boss!"

You couldn't help but tilt your head, what was this little one trying to say?

You soon understood when you heard a loud crash ahead of you.

"SHIT! Stupid machine!"

Oh.

𝘖𝘩.

Wonderful.

You thought as you headed over to the source of the noise.

You soon came across an entire airship, torn apart and hanging limply between two buildings, you then noticed a black snake cleaning the dust off his hat, looking completely unbothered, as if it was just another normal day.

Looks like an easy target, great!

The snake kept muttering to himself, not hearing you silently approaching until you were right behind him.

Feeling a tap on his shoulder, the man looked over his shoulder with a raised brow, it quickly turned into a terrified look as he jumped back, falling to the ground, his hat also falling off in the process.

"Wait! I-"

"I'll have to stop you right there, begging won't do you any good now." You smirked, raising the giant hammer above your head. "It's nothing personal really."

Fuck!

He can't die now! He hasn't beaten Alastor yet! He has so much to live for!!

Just as the hammer was about to make contact with his head, you paused yet again as you stared down.

???

"No!"

The little eggs from before stood in front of the snake protectively, they were visibly trembling, but their determination to protect the man did not waver.

"Why-"

"Don't kill him!"

.......huh.

You raised a brow, looking at the eggs standing guard then at the snake, who was glaring daggers at you, his gaze intense and sharp, but the slight fear was visible in his eyes as well.

........

A moment of silence had passed before you turned back to the man.

"Did you make those?"

Huh?

The man's expression shifted from fear and rage to outright confusion. "What?"

You gestured to the eggs with your hammer and asked again. "Were you the one who made those eggs?"

"Ah..yes? And..?"

You hummed as you leaned back.

"Make me one."

...What?

" Excuse me?"

"You heard me, make me one of those and I'll spare you and protect you from the rest of the exterminators, refuse and I'll get rid of you now and take those anyways." Your voice was unhurried and clear as you shrugged. " Your choice."

The threat could not have been more clear.

"I.."

"Make her one boss!"

"Are we gonna get a sibling?"

"You shut up!" He shouted at the eggs, his cheeks red from embarrassment.

He turned back to you and coughed. "Of course, I can make you one! Making one of those useless things is a piece of cake for someone as great as me!" He pointed up to the airship. " If you could take me up there that would be great."

You nodded. "Good." You said, picking up the serpent and carrying him bridal-style, the action causing his cheeks to turn red with embarrassment again, avoiding eye contact as you waited for the rest of the eggs to hold on to you before slowly flying up to the airship to not accidentally make one of the eggs fall off.

Once reaching there, you put the man down and stepped back. "Get to work."

"But-"

You waved the hammer lightly.

"Less talking and more working, now make me the damn egg before I change my mind."

𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇𓆇

As you sat atop a table, legs crossed, waiting for the man to finish making the egg, you played with the other eggs to pass the time.

"I need to think of a name for it.." you mumbled, one of the eggs heard you.

"How about Omelet!"

"No, Olaf!"

"Frank is better!"

"But MY name is Frank!"

You sat quietly, nodding along with everything they were saying, though not truly listening as you tuned them out completely.

Hmmm..

Hold on.

You hummed as you recalled something.

Don't snakes have two coc-

"I'm done!"

Ah.

"Took you long enough." You frowned as you got off the table and walked over.

The serpent rolled his eyes. " Half my tools were destroyed or misplaced during the crash your little 'friends' caused, here you go anyway."

He held out the egg for you to take, the suit and cute little hat were identical to the ones the others were wearing, you and the egg stared at each other silently, before it held out its arms towards you.

You put aside your weapon and carefully took hold of the egg.

"Hello little guy."

The egg smiled happily at you. " Hello! Are you my boss?"

The serpent nodded. " Yes yes, she's your boss so you have to listen to everything she says!" He glanced at you. "Sooo what do you think?"

You nodded, pleased with the results. " I love him, great job."

The serpent puffed out his chest in pride. " Of course! This was nothing! And for your information, I'm the great Sir-"

You ignored what he was saying as you turned back to the egg and began to think of a name.

'𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘐 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮, 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘐 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮.....𝘈𝘩 𝘨𝘰𝘵 𝘪𝘵!'

"I think I'll name you...Scramble."

"I like it!" He said, making you chuckle as you gently rubbed your cheek against his.

You might not have reached your high score for this year, but it was not a problem, you can always compensate for it.

Next year, you'll go for 𝘥𝘰𝘶𝘣𝘭𝘦.

˖๑‧˚꒷꒦₊꒷꒦︶︶₊꒷꒦˚‧๑˖𓆇˖๑‧˚꒷꒦︶︶₊꒷꒦₊꒷꒦˚‧๑˖

Hope you guys liked the chap ❣️

Those little eggs are so cute I couldn't resist!

Btw, my friend said 'Imagine if he gave birth to those eggs or something' I couldn't stop thinking about it and I couldn't resist so I made this :

Mc : make me one of those and I'll spare you

Sir Pentious: What happened to hello how are you? Take me on a date at the very least! How shameful!

Mc :*confused exterminator noise*...ok

And they spend the rest of the day going on a date while the world is in shambles behind them

Sometime later

Lute: Where the hell were you! You didn't come back in time!

Mc, with the egg in a basket: I became a mother.

Lute :....the 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬 did you just say?

The egg: •⩊•♡︎

[fanficapologist]

Of Dragons and Maelstroms

Themes and Warnings: slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood, violence, explicit language, sexual violence, period-typical misogyny, sexual themes, smut, tension, marriage, jealousy, pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, attempted sexual assault, breastfeeding, major character death, divergent timelines

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood/Game of Thrones characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Chapter Eighty-One

Before her mind could fully process his presence, Maera’s body reacted. She gently set aside the dragon egg and carefully rose from her seat, her rounded belly leading her movements. Her eyes never left Aemond as she stood, a mix of wariness and longing etched on her face.

Aemond had been gone for five weeks, and Maera could immediately tell he was changed. His face bore the marks of age and fatigue, likely the aftereffects of battle. She had seen it before in some of her oldest brothers—an unmistakable weariness that came from enduring the horrors of war. His meticulously neat silver hair was now curled at the ends, with knots forming throughout, a testament to the hardships he had faced.

Despite her injuries, Maera cautiously limped towards him. Each step was a challenge, yet she pressed on, her heart driving her forward. Aemond strode towards her purposefully, his eyes locked on hers. They met in the middle of the room, capturing each other in a long embrace. The moment was filled with a complex blend of relief, sorrow, and unspoken words, as they held each other tightly.

The Princess squeezed her husband’s waist desperately, as if she never wanted to let him go again. She buried her face in his chest, and tears began to flow freely. The sobs that wracked her body were silent but profound, each one a release of the pent-up emotions that had built during his absence. She inhaled deeply, taking in the familiar smell of dragon smoke and leather, grounding herself in the reality that he was truly back.

Aemond's hand gently combed through her hair, offering a soothing counterpoint to her grief. He pressed kisses on the top of her head, each one a tender affirmation of his presence and his relief at their reunion. His breathing was short and shallow, mirroring the intensity of the moment, as he too was consumed by the emotion of finally being together again. They stood entwined, both finding solace in the embrace, a fragile yet powerful connection rekindled amidst their shared pain and love. But then the facade cracked.

“Ahhhh!!”

Aemond attempted to hold Maera even tighter, but in doing so, he accidentally knocked the healing wound on her upper arm. With a yelp, she jumped back from him, her other hand instinctively coming up to cover the wound. She shoved his chest away in the process, her face contorted with pain as she breathed deeply through her nose, trying to stave off the wave of nausea that the sudden pressure had caused.

After a moment of regaining control, Maera looked up to find her husband staring at her with deep concern. His single eye roamed over her body, searching for any other signs of distress or injury. The worry etched on his face was unmistakable, a testament to his guilt and fear for her well-being. Before he could ask any questions, Maera gestured for him to join her seated at the hearth. He nodded in agreement and allowed her to lead the way, his gaze following her every movement. He watched as she limped and grasped tightly onto the furniture for support, each step a visible effort.

As the pair sat together, a hushed silence enveloped them, broken only by the crackling of the hearth. The warm, flickering light cast dancing shadows across the room, creating an almost intimate cocoon of peace amidst the chaos of their reunion. Maera turned to look at Aemond's face, the flames casting shifting shadows across his sharp features. His expression was a mix of concern and remorse, his violet eye focused intently on the flames.

Within Maera, a confusing concoction of feelings churned. She was grateful he was alive, thankful that he had returned to her relatively unscathed. The mere thought of receiving news that he had come to harm filled her with dread. The relief of his presence was palpable, a balm to the wounds of worry that had plagued her during his absence.

Yet, even amidst this relief, the anger within her continued to simmer. She could not forgive him for what he had put her through, the betrayal and the pain still fresh in her heart. The conflicting emotions battled within her, gratitude and love warring with hurt and fury, leaving her in a state of numbness overall.

The One-eyed Prince was the first to speak. “Are you well?” He asked.

His wife did not answer him. She feared that responding might unleash her fury, and once started, she wasn't sure she could stop. She was exhausted, as she so often was nowadays in the late stages of pregnancy, and she did not need him adding to her weariness. Not tonight.

Maera's green eyes wandered over his form, taking in his attire, which struck her as different. He wore a black leather belt and an eyepatch, and his boots gleamed in the firelight, polished to a high shine. His tunic, however, was not the black she was accustomed to seeing him in; it was a rich, deep green.

This confused her. All of Alicent Hightower’s children had traditionally donned green attire, but never Aemond. He had always stood out from his family, consistently clad in black leather. She couldn't help but wonder about the significance of this sudden change, a small but unsettling detail in the midst of their already fraught reunion.

Her eyes continued to explore his body, eventually landing on his gloved hands, where she then noticed he was holding something. In Aemond’s grip was the Conqueror’s crown, the Valyrian steel and ruby gemstone glinting in the hearth’s light.

“Why do you have that?” She asked him meekly, her voice tinged with concern. Aemond looked down at the crown, his expression distant as he turned it in his hands, examining it closely. His single violet eye held a depth of sorrow.

“He is gone,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, filled with melancholy.

“Gone?” Maera asked, her brows furrowing in confusion, the implications slowly dawning on her. “Oh Gods.” Her hand flew to her chest as if to steady herself, and her breathing became erratic. The shock of the news hit her like a physical blow, leaving her momentarily breathless.

What she felt was not sadness for Aegon’s demise. In truth, she would not miss her brother-in-law. But with the King dead, she knew that things were about to get a lot more complicated. The stakes had just become much higher, and the already precarious balance of power was now on the brink of upheaval.

Panic crept into her voice as she realized the gravity of the situation. “What happened?” Maera's eyes filled with tears as she awaited her husband's response, her heart heavy with dread.

Aemond took a deep breath, his jaw tensing as he stared into the flickering flames of the hearth, lost in his thoughts. “The original plan was for me to meet Meleys in the sky once Cole ordered the scorpions to fire,” he explained bitterly. “But Aegon just had to be there, had to be a part of it and claim the glory for himself.”

Maera listened in stunned silence, her heart sinking with each word. She could see the pain etched on Aemond's face as he continued. “Sunfyre was so much smaller than Rhaenys’s dragon. What the fuck was he thinking?”

Aemond then turned to look at his wife, his single violet eye burning with intensity. “Meleys had Sunfyre’s neck. There was fire…and so much blood.”

He paused momentarily, his hand gesturing in a slow, deliberate motion, mimicking the descent from above. “I attacked from above and managed to get them to the ground. I knew it was a risk but…”

The Princess’s heart ached for her husband. She had never seen him like this before—a crack in his usually stoic manner, revealing a scared little boy beneath the hardened exterior. Maera initially reached out with the intention of laying her hand atop his, which still gripped the Valyrian steel crown. She wanted to comfort him, to tell him that everything would be okay.

“Aemond…” Her hand hovered just above his, the warmth of her intended touch almost tangible.

But then she hesitated. How could she be sure that everything would be alright? Their marriage was far from alright, and the outside world seemed to be descending further into chaos. Doubt and the weight of their unresolved issues clouded her mind. Reluctantly, she pulled her hand back to rest in her lap, choosing instead to quietly listen as her husband continued to speak, his voice tinged with a rare vulnerability that tugged at her conflicted heart.

“Sunfyre and Meleys had killed each other. Rhaenys, or what was left of her, was burnt to a crisp on the ground. And Aegon…”

Maera covered her mouth in shock as her husband detailed the horrific scene. “He was still alive. Gods, he looked awful. His armour had fused to his skin.” Aemond paused, his face contorting with disgust. “The smell. He was missing one of his legs…he was crying. Scared.”

Maera took a shaky breath, her heart heavy. Aegon was despicable, but she would never wish such a fate on anyone. She watched as Aemond clenched his jaw, his single violet eye filled with unshed tears. “I stayed with him until he passed, until the light left his eyes. Cole found me shortly after.”

The Princess clenched her fists in her lap. “I am sorry, Aemond. For your loss. And all that you went through.” Aemond looked up at her, his face softening slightly. “Why did you not come back? Why did you not write?” she questioned him.

The one-eyed Prince shifted in his seat, looking down. “I wanted to tell my mother myself.”

A wave of sadness washed over Maera. That could not have been easy for Aemond; to tell his mother that her eldest son, her firstborn child, had died horrifically. She could only imagine the pain it caused him to see the grief in Alicent's eyes, knowing that Aegon's death would spell further complications for the Realm.

Maera knew Alicent would be heartbroken, but her thoughts quickly turned to Helaena. Aegon was a tyrant, her abuser, and yet he was still her husband, her elder brother. Maera hoped that the news would not further worsen Helaena’s already fragile mind. The prospect of another emotional blow to Helaena worried her deeply.

Aegon had only one son, two-year-old Maelor. The little boy was just beginning to form sentences and was still in napkins. With the death of his elder brother Jaehaerys, who had been murdered so easily, the news of Aegon's death would spread quickly, leaving little Maelor even more at risk of harm. Maera's heart ached for the innocent child, now thrust into a perilous position in an increasingly dangerous world.

As these thoughts swirled in her mind, Maera felt the crushing weight of the uncertain future pressing down on her, intensifying the already profound sense of dread that had settled in the room.

“What happens now?” She asked her husband meekly. “Maelor is just a babe…”

“Cole will take my place as Hand,” Aemond declared, his voice steady. “I will regent for Maelor until he comes of age.”

She winced. Her husband was an ambitious man, driven by a lifelong hunger for power as the second son. Now, with a glimpse of authority over the Realm, her unease grew. The thought of Aemond wearing the Conqueror’s crown, combined with Criston Cole as his Hand, made her stomach churn.

Maera could feel his gaze burning into her, almost as if he was expecting a reaction, or possibly words of congratulations, but nothing came out of her mouth. “You have been through a lot husband. It is time for you to rest.” She stood from her chair, smoothing out her gown as Aemond watched. She hobbled to a nearby table, picked up a bell, and rang it. The young maid who always served her appeared immediately, her presence a silent, efficient comfort in the tense atmosphere.

“Prepare a room and a bath for the Prince.”

The serving girl nodded, scurrying away and shutting the door behind her.

The One-Eyed Prince rose from his chair, his expression confused and ever so slightly hurt. “You would not have me in our bed?”

Maera almost felt bad, seeing the raw emotion in his gaze, but she stood her ground, her resolve unwavering. “I require the bed for myself.”

Aemond walked slowly towards her, his hand reaching up to cup her face. She flinched initially, her mind telling her to recoil from his touch but her body immediately relaxed as his calloused palm touched her face. There was silence as Aemond searched her forest green eyes, looking for an explanation or a reason for her conduct that evening, yet Maera bit the inside of her cheek, refusing to budge.

After a moment, Aemond merely nodded. As the door shut behind him, Maera’s heart clenched. She mourned for the relationship they had once shared, a connection now marred by betrayal and pain. Although she was grateful he was back, she also felt a sense of relief that he was now out of her sight.

The next morning, Maera’s rooms were quiet, save for the soft clinking of her cutlery against the bowl. The chambers were filled with the gentle morning light filtering through the windows, casting a warm glow over the array of breakfast items on the table before her. Fresh bread, sliced fruits, cured meats, and cheese were laid out, but her attention was drawn to the raspberry tarts and custard that she now craved with every meal, a particular indulgence of her pregnancy.

Maera smiled to herself as she took a bite of the tart, savoring the sweet and tangy flavors. The babe within her kicked out, causing her to rest her hand on her stomach with a tender expression. The small moment of connection with her unborn child brought her a fleeting sense of joy amidst the surrounding turmoil.

Aemond did not join her to break fast, for which Maera was honestly thankful. The bright light of the day would have made it difficult for her to maintain the illusion of a demure and polite wife. The solitude allowed her a brief respite from the complexities of their strained relationship and the looming responsibilities that weighed heavily on her.

Today would be a good day. Once the maid had cleared Maera’s table, she assisted the Princess in bathing. The warmth of the bath enveloped Maera, providing a soothing comfort that eased her tired muscles. As the maid gently washed her hair with soap, Maera’s fingers danced across her gigantic belly, tracing the stretch marks that decorated her skin. Each mark was a testament to the life growing within her, a visible reminder of the miracle she carried.

When Maera got out of the bath, she sat at her dressing table, wrapped in a robe, as the maid carefully combed through her hair. The blend of brown hair with Maera’s distinctive silver streak shimmered in the morning light. As the maid’s gentle strokes continued, Maera found herself lost in thought, wondering about the baby within her. Would it be a boy or a girl? Would they inherit her brown hair or Aemond’s silver locks? Green eyes or violet eyes? The anticipation and uncertainty of what lay ahead filled her mind, intertwining with her hopes and fears for the future.

The Maester arrived shortly after to re-dress Maera's wounds. As he worked, Maera noted how much stronger she felt on this day. The sharp, shooting pain that had once plagued her thigh and arm had subsided to a dull ache, which she welcomed as a sign of healing. Maester Cain’s gentle and practiced hands made quick work of the bandages, and with a few encouraging words, he departed, leaving Maera feeling more hopeful.

She was then dressed in a loosely fitted black gown that accommodated her growing bump. Her hair was divided into multiple braids before being joined together with a golden ribbon, adding a touch of elegance to her appearance. As she stood from her dressing table, Maera took a moment to admire herself in the mirror. Her body, as well as her mind, had changed so drastically these last few months. The physical transformation was evident, but the internal growth and strength she had gained were even more profound.

Walking through the castle on the arm of Ser Willard was tense, but Maera could not bring herself to care. She had not seen the knight since reprimanding him and his soldiers, and it was clear that he was not happy to be around her. His stiff demeanor and lack of conversation made the tension palpable, but that mattered little to Maera.

As she walked, she noticed that her leg felt stronger, able to bear the weight much better than in previous weeks. The scars on her thigh and arm were still unsightly and would no doubt be with her forever, but she saw them as a testament to her resilience. They were marks of survival, symbols of her ability to endure and overcome.

When they reached the gardens outside Harrenhal, Maera paused to take in the scene. The once scorched lavender field was beginning to show signs of life. In the earth, tiny green buds had started to sprout, a hopeful promise of renewal. The sight of new growth amidst the scars of the past resonated deeply with her, mirroring her own journey of healing and strength.

As Maera walked on the cobblestones, her dragon Ebrion lifted his giant black and blue head and trilled to her, a deep, resonant sound that echoed across the field. Ser Willard was visibly shaken, still haunted by his previous encounter with the beast. Seeing his discomfort, Maera kindly dismissed him back to his post on the edge of the field. This would allow him to keep watch while also giving her some much-needed alone time.

Maera hobbled over to Ebrion, embracing the beast and rubbing her face against the smooth scales of his snout. The warmth and familiar scent of her dragon brought her comfort. She then sat beside him, taking in her surroundings. The sounds of running water from a nearby brook filled her ears, and the wind carried the smell of wildflowers and dragon.

Although it was delightful to see that the earth was healing from Ēbrion’s fire, it did not erase what had happened to her. The scathed body of Alys did not remain, likely consumed by her dragon later. The thought caused Maera to wince, a grim reminder of the brutality she had faced.

Her gaze dritted to the tree where Alys had pinned her, the place where her own blade had sliced through her arm. The wound throbbed at the memory, a dull ache that brought the horror of that moment back to the forefront of her mind. She instinctively covered it with her hand, trying to soothe the pain and the memories it brought.

Maera huffed to herself, frustration bubbling up inside her. She was sick of looking at the place where she had almost died. She was sick of looking at Harrenhal with its ridiculously high walls and towers, the oppressive stone fortress that seemed to trap her in a constant state of dread and sorrow.

Her world felt so small. She only knew the Stormlands and King's Landing, and now the entirety of Westeros was at war. The people she could trust were few and far between, and her marriage was also falling apart. The once solid ground of her life had become a quagmire of uncertainty and betrayal.

She longed to get away from here, to escape the suffocating confines of her current existence. Maybe she could start anew. After all, she was a dragon rider now. She could fly to the Summer Isles, explore the exotic lands of YiTi, or be completely removed from society altogether and venture to the Grey Waste. Anything to get away from here—the war, the constant threat, and her husband.

The thought of freedom, of soaring high above her troubles on Ēbrion’s back, filled her with a sense of hope. She imagined the wind in her hair, the endless horizons stretching out before her, and the possibility of a life unbound by the chains of her current reality.

The Princess rose from the grass and limped slowly towards Ēbrion’s side. She was not dressed for flying, but the loosened robes she wore in the late stages of her pregnancy would be much easier to manage than the elaborate gowns she had previously worn. The fabric billowed around her, giving her the freedom of movement she desperately needed.

Ēbrion raised his massive head, his eyes narrowing with concern. He emitted a low growl, a rumbling warning that vibrated through the air. Maera, determined and resolute, paid no attention. Reaching his side, she reached out and tested the weight of the rope in her right hand. She took a steadying breath. She had done this many times before. She could do it again. Today, she felt stronger.

With a firm pull, Maera lifted her right leg and secured it onto the rope. She smiled, feeling a sense of accomplishment. Then came the tricky part. She reached up with her left arm and grasped tightly, preparing her left leg, hoping that if she made the movements in quick succession, she would be able to haul herself up.

As she pulled, her arm gave way, pain shooting up through it and forcing her to let go. She fell backward onto her backside, her left leg tangled in the rope. She attempted to free herself, but her giant stomach prevented her from reaching her foot. Struggling, she felt a mix of frustration and helplessness.

“Urgghhh for fucks sake!”

Ēbrion leaned down, his large eyes filled with worry as he nudged her gently with his snout, trying to help her up. Maera took a deep breath, calming herself, and tried again to untangle her leg, before a smooth voice cut through the air.

“Do you require some assistance?”

Maera turned her head sharply, expecting to see Ser Willard looking down at her pitifully like the helpless princess everyone seemed to think she was. Instead, she was greeted by the sight of her husband, looming over her.

Aemond had bathed, his silver locks back to their usual straight style. Despite his refreshed appearance, a dark circle under his single eye indicated his lack of sleep. He wore a leather doublet, the torso black but the sleeves dark green and patterned like dragon scales, a testament to his Targaryen heritage and loyalty to the Green’s cause.

He was hiding a small smirk on his face at the sight of his wife tangled in the ropes, which further enraged her. The combination of his amusement and her own frustration fueled a fire within her. She glared up at him, defiance sparking in her green eyes as she struggled to untangle herself from the ropes.

Maera sighed, deciding to put her pride aside for a moment. She blew a strand of brown hair out of her face and angrily gestured towards her foot, indicating she needed help. The Prince nodded, stifling a chuckle as he gently untangled her foot from the ropes. Once her leg was free, he offered his hand to help her up. Maera batted it away, instead using Ēbrion’s nearby foot to push herself to her feet.

After attempting to mount her dragon, Maera looked red-faced and exhausted. The effort had left her breathless and frustrated, angered by her inability to climb onto her dragon’s back. She felt foolish for even trying, her cheeks flushed with both exertion and embarrassment.

To make matters worse, her husband stood in front of her, attempting to act like a chivalrous gentleman. His demeanor, as if trying to return to how things were before, only fueled her anger further. The juxtaposition of her struggle and his composed, almost mocking presence, made her feel even more enraged.

An awkward silence set in. Aemond searched Maera’s face, his eye seeking a glimmer of the warmth they once shared. Her face, however, remained hardened, her expression a mask of resolve and anger. He attempted to reach out, his hand moving to stroke her cheek, but she took a step back, her eyes narrowing, putting a deliberate distance between them.

The Prince returned his arm his side, frowning as he muttered, “Something has changed.”

His wife scoffed, shaking her head. “Everything has changed, Aemond.”

Evidently tired of the games his wife was playing, Aemond's jaw tightened as he closed the gap, his eyes reflecting frustration and confusion. "Since I have returned, no one can give a straight answer," he lamented, his voice strained with emotion. "I have asked the Lords and Maester why you are limping, if anything of note has happened since I have been gone.” He paused for a moment. “If Alys has given birth."

Maera's nails dug into her palm as she suppressed a surge of anger at the mention of the witch's name. Ēbrion growled in response, flaring his nostrils as a puff of smoke escaped, the air around them thickening with tension. The dragon’s agitation mirrored her own, the bond between them so strong that even her suppressed rage resonated with him.

“Jātās,” Go, she commanded him, her voice firm and commanding, unsure if she could trust herself not to lose control and have her beast pick up on her desires to absolutely obliterate her husband. The dragon, sensing her command, rose to his feet and stomped away, the ground trembling beneath them.

As Ēbrion retreated, Maera turned back to her husband. Her eyes were cold and unyielding, reflecting a mixture of hurt, anger, and defiance. She gestured around the desolate field, the remnants of the once-vibrant lavender offering a stark contrast to the present scene. "Look around you, husband. Do you remember what was once here?"

Her gesture was a silent invitation to acknowledge the devastation that had unfolded in his absence. Yet, before Aemond could respond, Maera preempted his words, her tone tinged with bitterness. "It was lavender, so bright and fragrant. I was hoping to use some of it in my labors when my time grew close. But now I cannot stand the smell."

Maera’s gaze shifted to a scorched tree in the distance, her voice tinged with scorn. "I saw your whore, laboring near the elm tree. I stupidly went over to see if she was ok." A bitter laugh escaped her lips as she shook her head. "Do you know what she told me?" Aemond remained silent, his expression unreadable. "That this so-called prophecy she revealed to you…was wrong. Specifically the part I played in it."

She watched her husband’s face. His face was a mix of frustration and resignation, the weight of their strained relationship evident in the way his shoulders slumped slightly.

“So what do you think she did next, my Prince?” Maera questioned sharply, her eyes boring into Aemond's. His confusion spread, evident in the flicker of uncertainty across his features, but he remained silent, awaiting her explanation.

Maera pulled down her sleeve, the fabric of her black robe falling away to reveal the bandaged wound on her arm. With deliberate motions, she removed the bandage, exposing the reddened skin adorned with stitches and dried blood. Aemond's eye widened in shock at the sight. “First she stabbed me in the arm,” Maera growled, her voice edged with bitterness. She then swiftly rolled up her sleeve before bunching up her skirts, revealing another bandage on her left thigh, which she ripped off to reveal an even larger wound. “Then she stabbed me in the leg.”

His gaze locked on the gruesome injury, Aemond remained speechless, his mind undoubtedly racing to comprehend the extent of Maera's ordeal.

Maera's eyes pleaded with him as she continued, desperation lacing her words. “Do you know where she set her sights next?” Still met with silence from her husband, she pressed on. “Our child. She tried to kill me and our child. With my own. Fucking. Dagger,” her voice cracked with emotion, the pain of her trauma palpable in her tone. “It was thanks to Ēbrion that I managed to survive.”

Taking a shaky step forward, Maera reached out to touch Aemond's leather-covered chest, her finger tracing a line across the fabric. “And your whore? Your bastard in her belly?” Her voice lowered to a whisper, her breath ghosting over his lips. “Gone.” The single word hung heavy in the air, pregnant with the weight of their shared loss and betrayal.

Aemond recoiled slightly, the weight of Maera’s words hitting him like a physical blow. He struggled to find the right words to express the depth of his remorse and regret, but the damage had already been done, leaving a chasm between them that seemed impossible to bridge.

She had never seen her husband speechless before, and had it been any other situation, it may have actually been amusing. After a minute of silence, Aemond finally stumbled over his words. His brows furrowed, his violet eye darting around Maera's face as he searched for the right words. “Maera, I did not know-”

She intercepted his attempt to speak, her tone sharp and mocking. “That what? That she would try and hurt me and your child?” She laughed, the sound sharp and bitter. “Then you are truly lacking in common sense.”

Every muscle tensed with suppressed rage as she began to lay into Aemond. Her finger jabbed sharply into his chest with each pointed accusation, her voice a mixture of pain and fury. Her chest heaved as she breathed deeply, attempting to control the whirlwind of emotions threatening to overwhelm her. Her eyes, normally so vibrant, were now filled with a mixture of betrayal and hurt.

“Thanks to your delusional belief in that witch, she gained power here. The guards, the Lords both feared and listened to her. All because of you!” Maera's voice wavered with exhaustion as she confessed her regrets. “I should have left Kings Landing on Ēbrion when I had the chance,” she mumbled, her gaze dropping to the ground.

“Do not say such things,” Aemond retorted sharply, his expression hardening.

“Why? Because it will hurt your feelings?” Maera mocked him, her words dripping with disdain.

Aemond’s face hardened as he grabbed her by the wrist of the hand that was jabbing him. He sharply yanked her forward, maintaining a fierce grip as he stared down at her, his single eye blazing with intensity.

“You think I give a shit what that whore did or didn’t say?” Aemond growled, his fingers digging into her skin. “You are mine. You have always been mine. I have always known-”

“Since Alys told you we were bound in order to save her own skin?” Maera interjected, her tone laced with sarcasm.

Aemond's expression softened, the ferocity in his gaze giving way to something more complex, almost pleading. “Since we were children,” he declared, his voice firm, as he loosened the grip of her wrist slightly, the pressure easing but still firm.

His other hand moved with a surprising gentleness, tangling his fingers into the hair at the base of her neck. “Since you first came to Kings Landing as a girl of nine.”

He pulled sharply, forcing Maera to look up at him, the proximity of his presence overwhelming. The feeling of his fingers in her hair, the closeness of his body, sent an involuntary shiver down Maera’s spine. “And I have been yours since I first laid eyes on you.”

Despite the anger and hurt, the familiarity of his touch stirred a conflicting sense of longing within her. Her breath hitched, the intensity of the moment leaving her momentarily speechless. The air between them crackled with unresolved tension, the depth of their connection evident even in the midst of their turmoil.

Aemond brought his head down, pressing his forehead to hers. Maera could not help but lean into his touch, the closeness a balm to her turbulent emotions. His sharp nose bumped against hers as their breaths mingled, creating an intimate cocoon that momentarily shut out the world.

“I do not wish to fight,” he murmured softly.

In that moment, Maera longed to forget everything that had happened between them, to surrender to the comfort her husband's presence provided and move on.

“I do not either,” she whispered sadly. She craved the solace of his embrace, the familiarity of their bond, and the fleeting hope that they could find their way back to each other. But the memories of betrayal and the scars on her heart were too deep. Her heart could not take it.

With a heavy sigh, Maera flattened the hand she had against his chest, slowly pushing him back to create some distance. The gesture was gentle but firm, a silent declaration of her need for space. Aemond's grip on her wrist and hair loosened, and he reluctantly let her go, the warmth of his touch lingering as a reminder of what once was.

“Allow me to explain how things will go from now on,” Maera declared, her tone resolute. The statement caused her husband to frown. “I cannot leave this marriage. Not just because I cannot stand being around you after everything you have done, but because of our child.”

Maera brought her hand to her stomach, a protective gesture. Her babe was the only reason she was acting with civility and goodwill. She would not allow her child to not know their father.

“I will do my duty to you and our House. I will birth your heirs, my dragon will contribute to your war, and I intend to be involved in the Council.” She then closed her eyes and shook her head, her voice filled with sorrow. “But beyond duty…I cannot offer you anything more.”

She glanced up at Aemond, who had a look of devastation on his face. “Maera, please-”

“You drove away my chances with another noble lord because of your possessive nature,” she spat, her eyes flashing with anger. “You murdered my family in the name of a prophecy. You bedded a witch and got her pregnant because of your ambition.” Maera threw her hands up in frustration, her movements sharp and agitated. “You abandoned me here, with the witch having free rein, thus allowing her to try and kill me and our child.”

She felt wet tears begin to roll down her face, but she did not bother to wipe them away. “No. There is nothing left for me to give.”

Aemond, who famously did not know how to handle his emotions, reacted instead out of anger. His jaw clenched, and his eye blazed with a mixture of rage and disbelief. His hands, which had just moments before been tender, now balled into tight fists at his sides. “I will not allow you to do this,” he declared firmly, his voice rising as his nostrils flared as he struggled to contain the storm of emotions brewing within him.

“You are my wife, my Princess. The mother of my child and the love of my life. You cannot simply cast me aside and have us live together in a sham of a marriage.” He took a step forward, his posture aggressive, as if he were ready to physically challenge the reality she was imposing on him.

Maera's face twisted with disdain yet she remained rooted to her spot. “If you need a reason as to why things must be this way, I suggest you look in a mirror,” she sneered at him, her words dripping with contempt as she stared defiantly back at him.

A part of her wanted to cave in, to take back her words and soothe his anger. But she couldn’t forgive and forget. It was as if her heart were made of glass, and every time she entrusted it to Aemond, he would shatter it. No matter how much he tried to piece it back together with apologies or acts of kindness, fragments still remained missing. Even though those pieces were minuscule, it meant her heart could never be whole again.

“I need to go back inside, and have the Maester re-dress these wounds,” she said through gritted teeth.

As she hobbled away, making her way back towards the castle, Maera cast one last look at Aemond. He looked even worse than the day before. His face was a mask of anguish and defeat, the dark circle under his eye more pronounced, his usually immaculate appearance disheveled. The sight tugged at her emotions, but she steeled herself, knowing that preserving her heart and their child’s future was paramount. Her decision, though painful, was necessary.

“I will have the servants move your belongings to a separate chamber.”

Notes: Sorry updates are slow, it’s been a busy week in the Blue household. My son has decided to climb out of his crib, so now he’s having to sleep in a proper bed as well as potty-train himself all in the same week (despite my attempts to previously train him but the kid is so fucking headstrong everything has to be his way and on his terms 🤣) This was so sad to write though 😢

Tags: @0eessirk8 @magicseahorse @blue-serendipity @abecerra611 @saltedcaramelpretzel @marvelescvpe @watercolorskyy @shesjustanothergeek @thelastemzy @kckt88 @darylandbethfanforever9

Thank you so much for reading! Comments, feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated 🖤

[theredofoctober]

MANNA- CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: SAUSAGE

Dark!Hannibal Lecter x Reader x Dark!Will Graham AU fic

TW for eating disorders, noncon, abuse, Daddy kink, cannibalism mentions, force feeding, nausea

Read after the cut

---

Will and Hannibal stay up late into the wind brushed night, communing on the merits of art, of cities far they yearn to see and to absorb into themselves like scent into a rag.

“And her?” asks Hannibal; this, kneeling behind a door, you hear, a question as to the enigma of fate.

“She’d come with us,” Will answers. “Wouldn’t she?”

For a beat Hannibal entertains a silence sopped with threat. In spite of his forgiveness you have, through strident disruption of his party, trespassed upon good taste; he has no reason to think you would not humiliate him in less private spaces, may even consider a further blunder cause to discommunicate you from the family.

“If she is well enough, she’ll accompany us on all our ventures,” he says, at last. “It would be a pity if she couldn’t enjoy the food and with it boundless new experiences.”

You wilt against the doorframe in relief. No matter how many countless promises as to your permanence in their company are made you’ll never trust their word.

“Will she always be like she is now?” asks Will.

“A little girl? Not always. In phases, and behind closed doors, she'll revert to that state, however. Does fatherhood weary you already, Will?”

Again you stiffen.

Will says, “The taste hasn’t soured just yet.”

“You find that the flavour doesn’t quite compliment the other features of the menu, then," Hannibal suggests.

“I’m developing my palate. She’s still bitter.”

“But not without occasional sweetness.”

“Could do with a little more.”

Hannibal produces a quiet laugh.

“You surprise me, Will. In spite of her stubbornness to admit it, I find that it’s clear she cares for you. Considering the circumstances and your previous hostility I’m satisfied with her progress in that regard. In others less so.”

“She asked you to stop sleeping with Alana,” Will says, flippantly. “That’s progress. And the other day she asked me if you love her.”

Your mouth wraps around a knuckle to restrain a cry of angered embarrassment.

“She craves desire even from those she loathes,” says Hannibal, with a dismissive air. “I must renew my attempts to woo her. Only then will she begin to love.”

As quietly as you’re able you rise from the floor and take the stairs on slippered feet, fleeing the horror that is to be romanced by a murderer, sex surely the alembic with which he’ll distil your loyalty to his reign.

*

The next day begins with another breakfast, carried out with the performatory illusion that nothing whatever has happened at all between you three, or beyond.

You scrutinise your egg and sausage, chewing at your inner lip until your fore teeth unbutton blood from within.

What is this Hannibal’s served to you? A morsel from a previous kill, minced and made into three cylinders for your morning plate— this you believe, suddenly and entirely.

What would it mean to bury the flesh of those other girls in the earth of you, to grow fat off their death, to thrive like a maggot in this warm house as they degrade? Their breasts, their flanks served up in spiced pieces like any dish— you’d come to crave them, you fear, think deliciously of their flavour even as your soul writhed within the filth and heathen animal you'd be.

For if Lecter is the Copycat he’s surely served human meat to you before. The Chesapeake Ripper had once murdered a man named Mortem Briggs, had hung him from a fir tree, his limbs spread through the pines; Briggs’ left breast had been taken, may well have been frozen and unthawed later to convert into any feast you've partaken of in captivity.

To have eaten it unknowingly— by the skin of your teeth you can cling to the fact that it was forced on you. But to gnaw on human flesh aware like a witch of Homeric origin would stir your brains insensible until you'd be as your keepers would have you: a cannibal's love, and a cannibal yourself, complicit in their malign.

Ridiculously you think of the calories, how rich in fat such meat would be. Like pork, you’d heard, somewhere, although Hannibal has the skill to disguise it as other animals.

Why does he kill? For the pleasure alone, or some other purpose? To test Will Graham, perhaps, or merely to discard the unworthy from his world; he is cruel and aesthetically driven enough.

If you—gauche, unpleasant, ignorant to the names of painters and intellects, verging on uninterested in such facts—cannot learn to accept the beast he is will he reverse his word and put you to his table?

A flare of dread dispatches your hunger, and you sway in your chair, groaning under your breath.

The men talk, oblivious to your battle.

“The cooling periods between the Lover’s kills are getting shorter,” says Will, wiping butter from his lip. “On average they last around three months, maybe one month minimum. They're starting to fall. There’s a direct correlation between those figures and our investigation. The Lover's following us as closely as we’re watching him.”

“Yes,” says Hannibal. “He’s frustrated by the notion that you and Jack may thwart his grand romance before it’s truly begun.”

“There’s certainly an anger in his recent activity. Sloppiness. He sees us as an obstacle, but he still doesn’t think we’ll close in before he achieves his life’s work.”

You notice a humour in Hannibal’s otherwise neutral expression, a creasing about the eye only one as close as a lover would see.

“You disagree with the killer's belief,” he comments.

Will shrugs.

“If he made a mistake this time then he’ll do it again. He left a partial boot print in Amy’s hallway. He was wearing Timberland boots that night; forensics picked that up right away. He wears a size 10: the typical American male. That fits the profile we have of him— average height and weight, maybe a little muscle from handiwork.

“He’s in his mid to late fifties, estimated from the age of his victims, which have risen every year since he started killing so that his targets continue to resemble his doll. He could be any working class guy in America."

“His mediocrity is as much a mask as the most elaborate disguise," says Hannibal. "His aberrant heart will reveal him."

You feel that both men are holding back from one another, a shift from the previous night.

“He’s somebody who isn’t as smart as he thinks he is,” says Will. “There was grass and dirt in the tread of his sole. We analysed it. The soil came from three separate locations. While that could have been picked up from general wear, the remote nature of those places suggests he’s been keeping his victims in different hiding spots each cycle to avoid detection.

“We’ve got officers looking into small buildings in those areas. There could be evidence that would close the case.”

“And other unknown victims,” says Hannibal.

Will nods.

“The Lover chooses troubled women. High school dropouts, runways, previous mental health patients. He might have abducted any number of Jane Does that just haven’t been reported missing.”

That they hold this conversation without a glance in your direction makes you feel less than invisible, a non-entity only summoned when the need for your existence arises. The space for a third party to cohabit with Will and Hannibal is slender, and you cannot fathom that you are so wanted, and yet as seemingly incorporeal as the air.

“Amy was a bad choice for the Lover,” says Will. “She was on her guard when she opened the door to him that night, almost as if she was anticipating some sort of negative attention. If Freddie Lounds is telling the truth and Amy did reach out over an article then she may have expected a visit. She just couldn’t have known who exactly it would come from.

“Amy’s tall, stronger than she looks. When the Lover struck she pulled him down with her into the house, bumping into a table in the hallway and smashing a lamp. From the damage it’s obvious that she nearly overpowered him before he knocked her unconscious.

“From there the Lover got her out of the house and into the back of a truck. The neighbours report having seen one in the area, though we don’t have a model, and nobody saw the driver’s face.

“The Lover was injured, under stress. Turned off. He dumped Amy in the shack where he planned to carry out her rape and murder sometime later that week, only that didn’t go to plan, either. He was interrupted.”

“The Person from Porlock,” says Hannibal, enigmatically. “An innocent wanderer, or an accomplice?”

“The Lover works alone,” says Will, bluntly. “He doesn’t want romantic competition. If he did accept any kind of help it would be like members of some fringe group tipping each other off out of goodwill.”

You watch, grimly fascinated as Hannibal collects dirtied cutlery and plates without the merest suggestion of alarm.

“You suspect the Copycat,” he says.

Rather than answer directly Will looks in your direction.

“Your patient needs your assistance, Dr Lecter,” he says, gesturing to the sausage you’re attempting to sneak under a napkin.

Hannibal turns, his face brightening with open interest.

“Breakfast is always a hurdle for you,” he says. “What is it this time, Little One?”

“I don’t want to eat meat anymore,” you say, at a frayed, childish pitch. “It’s cruel. I... care about animals.”

Will’s eyes—tools of blue mercury—analyse the climate of your answer.

Hannibal says, “While I admire your interest in vegetarianism, I can’t allow you to restrict your eating any longer. We must return to the old rules, I’m afraid. Will and I agree that's best.”

“I can’t eat this,” you insist. “I’ll throw up. I swear I will. I’ll make a mess.”

At this Hannibal appears to lose something of his sympathy, his stare gaining an iron edge.

Will says, “Couldn’t she have double helpings of everything else to make up for it?”

“It was you that suggested I should tighten her reigns, Will,” says Hannibal, coolly. “Why the sudden change of heart?”

With a taut patience he leans across the table to cut your sausages into fractions. You haven’t even touched them with your cutlery, not wanting the juice of fattening mortality to taint the remainder of your meal.

“She’s been through a lot lately,” says Will. “Is this really the hill you want to die on?”

“It’s a sensible hill. The food she will eat lessens by the day. If we remove such a significant category from her diet she’ll merely find excuses to deplete it further. She’ll suffer from a lack of nutrients that supplements will not fully replace.”

It is not an argument, exactly, but you sense a challenge between them, nevertheless, the testing of loyalties.

“A lot of people are vegan and vegetarian and they’re just fine,” you pipe up, nervously. “Tell him, Will.”

“I’m not clued-in on the statistics,” he says, holding up his hands. “But if this is what you really want, maybe we can figure something out further down the line.”

“Of course,” says Hannibal, with a near imperceptible relief. “I’m not unwilling to compromise. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve served a vegetarian at my table. But at the present you’ll eat what I deign acceptable for you. I hope that you can understand, my darling.”

You stare at him, astonished that he can be so cruel and still, with cloying sympathy, claim to care and to adore you. In a book long ago you’d read of diseases passed from human flesh to its eaters that drove them mad; you’d think him such a sufferer were he not so controlled, nor so sane.

“You know why I can’t eat it,” you whisper. “You know. Dad, please.”

“Know what, Little One?” asks Hannibal, casually.

He's quite aware that you don’t dare speak before his friend of such secrets as even he has not admitted aloud. 

Trapped by your fear of Hannibal’s wrath should you do so, you only mutter, “You hunt your own meat. I don’t want something you killed.”

Will says your name sharply, and you realise you’ve made a mistake in directing anything even remotely resembling an insult in Hannibal’s direction. Yet in the younger man’s tone there is also an interest in the undercurrent of secrecy at this table of whose scent he’s caught.

“What would it matter who slaughtered the meat?” Will asks. “You’ve never taken an interest before. Why now?”

You glance down at the tablecloth in helpless silence

“It’s as I feared,” says Hannibal; so much for wooing, you think. “She’s set against me.”

“I’m not!” you snap. “If he was the butcher I’d feel just the same way.”

This said with a glance at Will, who folds his arms, disapproving.

“This is starting to feel a little personal. I can’t let you act out like this. You know that, right?”

“I’m not acting out!"

“You’re being argumentative,” says Hannibal. “If you cannot eat then you must be assisted to do so. Will, if you’d be so kind...”

You watch a look of incredulous realisation pass across Will’s face.

“You want me to feed her?”

“Yes. I’ve done it myself many times. Your turn to carry out the role, I think.”

Will turns you a sidelong glance.

“You don’t need me to do that, do you?”

There’s no declining the meal; Hannibal will force the point till you are full, no matter the method. Yet if Will holds the fork then it is at least his choice for you to gain weight from the unknown dead, another imposition of many.

So you nod, an infant not yet canny enough to brook the use of any adult tongue.

Will laughs, a guise for his discomfort.

“That isn’t the answer I expected from you.”

“It’s a good thing that she’s asked for help,” says Hannibal, kissing the top of your head as he walks by to take the empty plates to be washed. “We mustn’t discourage her growth.”

Picking up your fork, Will holds it awkwardly aloft. In his grey suit and checkered shirt he appears very much a young father with the care of a pouting stepchild foisted upon him. The bustling inconvenience of the early hour, the brimming stormcloud of the Lover's case: Will has neither the time nor interest in the role to truly engage.

Still, you are wounded by the sense of casual rejection: he wouldn't pause his world for the worship of you as he would for Hannibal.

“Fine,” Will says. “Open up.”

As he tips the fork you imagine a gobbet of minced labia rolling upon your tongue, a strip of shoulder meat, a plush cut of cheek.

Your hand goes up to your greasy lips at once.

“No spitting,” says Will, and the firmness of his voice grounds you in your nausea. “I’m supposed to be meeting Jack in half an hour. Can’t exactly do that with your breakfast all over me.”

If Will is offering up a person to you then surely he does not know it, or he would not seat himself so readily to his own meal. Yet by now he is wilfully ignorant of the reality before him, a little boy covering his eyes against the atrocities he finds a friend capable of.

Suddenly you feel imperious, advanced, cleverer than Will in that you’re unclouded by the love of Dr Lecter.

You eat almost to spite him, then, so that when he learns what he has done he might grovel for your forgiveness. That he will think of this morning, of the Chesapeake Ripper’s trail of death, and shudder that he had gorged so hungrily on those for whom he sought justice.

“You know I can’t do this every time, right?” asks Will, misinterpreting your obedience. “This might be more fun for you, but you’ve got to learn to do this on your own.”

“Yeah,” you say, sweetly, having done away with the last lump of ambiguous sausage. “I know, Daddy.”

You kneel up on your seat and lean in to kiss him, but Will turns his head away, likely thinking of the pleasure you’d had him taste in your last caress.

“Mean,” you say, but he only scoffs before he, too, leaves the table.

*

In the afternoon Will returns to the house from his work unexpectedly, white as a cave etching, his balance precarious.

“Go to bed,” says Hannibal firmly as he puts a hand to Will’s brow to take his temperature. “You’re pushing yourself too hard with this case. You need rest.”

Thinking of the night of Will’s seizure— the night Hannibal suggested that food may well be its trigger—you gain a new suspicion. You wait an hour before slipping into Will’s room, taking advantage of your older captor writing a new piece of music in absorbed concentration to do so.

You look at the sleeping young man, so pampered and petted by the doctor as to have been tucked in under luxurious sheets, and feel a white wing of jealousy beat across your vision.

Yanking back the coverlet you climb into bed and crawl atop Will to shake him rudely awake, too intent on the confrontation to look to the dangers of it.

His eyes start open, and one of his large hands wraps around your mouth to stop you screaming out at the look in them, a blue-bladed killing rage.

“Again?” he says, lowering his arm. “What did I tell you? You shouldn’t wake me up like that. The dreams I’ve been having, the blackouts, the seizures— it’s not safe. You could get hurt.”

You feel the thud of Will’s crazed heart beneath you, like the pendulum of the devil’s clock at work.

“I want to talk to you,” you say. “You’ll always take Hannibal’s side over mine, even when you know he’s just being petty for the fun of it. Why? You’ll do anything he says. If he decided to kill me and serve me up to one of his stupid party guests I swear you’d help him!”

Will screws his eyes shut and opens them again, attempting to rally his cognition from the peat of slumber.

“You think Hannibal’s the Copycat,” he says, softly. “So this is what’s been going on with you.”

You pause, aware that you must be careful what you divulge from here. Certainly nothing Hannibal has suggested to you in confidence is safe.

“Don’t you think he could be the Copycat?” you ask. “It makes sense, right?”

Will sits up slightly against his pillows, his hands going to your hips almost by instinct to prevent you from slipping.

“Careful,” he says. “You know that I need proof for an allegation like that.”

“But if you doubt him even a little bit then why are you here?” you cry, in exasperation. “Why are you with him? How can you say you give a damn about the murders? What’s with you?”

You punch at Will’s shoulder for emphasis, and he looks at your balled hand with such amazement that he doesn’t immediately respond, merely tolerating the blow.

“You’re obsessed with each other,” you hiss. “Why don’t you both just kill me, eat me like he made us eat Savannah—”

“Stop it.”

There is authority in Will’s voice, now, cold confidence you’ve seen only in flashes, and always before some shameless feat of violence upon you. You cease fighting at once, wary of provoking him into lashing you as he would have done in your early days together.

“You’re going to let me work and navigate this situation in my own time without throwing a tantrum,” says Will, through his teeth. “And if you still think I’d stand by and let Hannibal kill you then I don’t know what to say to you. You belong to both of us. You’re mine, too, Little One.”

You don’t let yourself fold to that statement, give in to butterflies and flattery in the romantic language of possession.

“I know what I see,” you say. “The only reason you don’t want to believe Hannibal’s the Copycat is because you’d be hurt that he didn’t let you in on all his dirty little secrets right away. And if he’s caught then you’ll be all alone with your thoughts.”

Will’s hand returns to your lips again, pressing down until you’re forced to huff through your nose for breath.

“How is it you think you have everything about me all figured out?” says Will. “You’re no psychiatrist. You just throw guesswork at the wall to see which theory sticks. Aren’t you afraid of what'll happen if one does?”

With a hysterical jolt you see that you comprehend this man the least of your fathers, cannot when he knows not from one minute to the next who he is or what he truly wants.

The agent of order set on catching a murderer, the diabolical, petulant abuser, as aroused by your pain as by your whimpering ecstasy— are they at civil war, or are they the same entity in co-existing halves?

Chilled, you attempt to clamber away again only for Will to haul you back to him, settling your thighs on either side of his stirring groin.

“Um,” you say, in bashful affront. “What are you doing? I didn’t come here so that you could—"

"Don't give me that," says Will. "You woke me up by climbing on top of me. Seems like a pointed decision."

You gulp at the verge of him under you, at the olfactory concoction of masculinity, hot skin, hair oil, sick breath, and cologne.

"I wanted to strangle you, Dad,” you say. “Don't make this something it's not."

Will smirks, a harsh, pitying look.

"What do you gain from lying to yourself? You flirt with me at any opportunity you get. And when I touch you I know exactly what you feel. Don’t forget what I heard out of your mouth when Hannibal asked you about me. You said I was handsome.”

You recall that moment, your breathy little ‘yes’, and wriggle in humiliation.

“I was high.”

“But you meant it,” says Will. “Still mean it now.”

He’s merely trying to grasp his dignity back, you tell yourself, wearing his ability to empathise like the garb of some sneering god. Yet as he moves you against the quill of his instinct he brushes up the skirt of your dress to unveil miles of cold-pebbled skin, the deltoid of silk at your labia made black by your response to him.

“It helps you to say no,” he says— his voice is husky, coaxing now, almost kind. “To fight back the way you never could, all those years ago. So let me help you.”

You shake your head.

"Why not?"

You want to say, "it's wrong" but both of you are aware of that. Only Will strains at the possibility that this indulgence will save you, and half-heartedly, at that.

You say, "Let me go downstairs already."

Will touches a finger to your philtrum.

"Shh. Do you want Dr Lecter to come up here and join us?"

"Do you?" you return.

In the mid dark Will smiles nastily.

"While I appreciate my time with Hannibal, solo dining has its own appeal. And I’m in the mood for that."

He kisses you, a display of dominance flailing amidst uncertainty, and you find him more pitiable than ever, groping at you as though expecting you to return his passion. For it is his will—his, and Hannibal’s—for you to convert to the religion of violence.

You let Will touch you only so that you must tolerate him alone, barricading yourself against the whimpers that agitate your throat as he uses the wet of your betrayer cunt to please you.

You behold his face in its innocence, like a doe run from a thicket. His hunter's eyes.

He thrills and ignites you, invokes an obsessive desire to glimpse how deeply his attraction to evil goes. There is a mine of it in Will, the plenty that has him wrapping your underwear about his fingers to tighten the seam at your clitoris, that gathers the diamond strand of slick and smears it across your sulking tongue.

He kisses you to share in it, holding your rudely shoving hands from him by the wrists.

"How do you like it?" he says, with a crafty grin. "You ought to think twice before you act like such a wiseass."

Will’s left hand opens the damp buttonhole of his boxers and brings out his cock, stroking it as you wrestle in obstinate controversion to what he means to demonstrate.

Your blood is up, as frenzied by this struggle as by your dreams of death.

He's talking to you, touching you not as a father, nor as the cajoled colleague of Dr Lecter, but only as himself, and that frightens you, for without the layers of acting and the unsaid you are alone here with a man.

The Man lifts you at the waist, and as his erection intrudes that unwilling territory you squeak, and are silenced by his palm upon your mouth once more.

Guilty, guilty, the chant of a jury as Will grinds you atop him. Though he lies under you he is far from lazy, his right hand quick between your bodies.

You bat at his wrist. He shakes his head.

"You deny yourself every good thing life throws your way," he says. "And I know that this feels good. I've had enough practice to know how you look—how you behave—when it does. I can hear it."

Wetness in the curtained gloom, the sound of teeth in a tangerine.

You can't bear that he holds your attraction to him so easily over your head, the knowledge that had you met him elsewhere you would have hoped he'd fuck you like this.

With hands bunched in Will’s t-shirt you come, his hand quieting your whines as he holds you down to the root of his cock.

He's fed you in two ways, now; how could you ever say he does not care for you? This question you see in his cynical eyes, in the cycle of his pelvis into you. This conjugal act is just one brick in the cathedral of a burgeoning fascination between you.

In that moment you truly believe that Hannibal's blade in you would contort the older man into something like Will's enemy. That you cannot die with him beside you is both shield and weapon, not some curse you must bemoan.

“I need you,” you say, aloud, and Will chuckles huskily, the sound washing like foam through your loins.

"I know,” says Will, and he kisses you as he comes.

You kiss him back, and he cradles you against him, the anger gone out of you both like a wind dropped at sea.

“If Hannibal is the Copycat and the Ripper,” says Will, at length, “haven’t you thought about what would happen to you if he’s caught?”

“You’d take me home,” you say. “Right?”

Will shakes his head.

“I’d never send you back there while Leland Frost still has access to you.”

You wonder why Will hasn’t reported him and guess that he’s waiting on your word.

“But you’d keep me here with Hannibal,” you say.

“And with me.”

Sitting up again, you say, “Take me to your house, then. I’ll live with you and all your dogs. I’ll take care of them while you’re at work. I’ll do whatever you want. I could be your girlfriend for real.”

Will gives a short exhale.

“That can’t happen.”

Stung, you ask, “Is it because you don’t think I’m adult enough? Because you’re ashamed of me?”

“No,” says Will. “Of course not.”

“Then it’s because you can’t do it without him,” you snipe, getting down from the bed. “Or you just don’t want to do it without him. You want this to work so badly that not even the idea of him being a cannibal really bothers you.”

“That’s enough,” says Will, turning away. “Go to your room. I’m tired, One.”

You linger to stare at him, disturbed by your own revelations.

While Will might be your strongest chance of escape, he’s apprentice to the lord of this household, and can be influenced to follow Hannibal into his own Nyx. You must devise a second plan, one without any exterior aid required to run.

Open doors are there for you yet: you must believe this or perish, a star put out like a cigar, light gone into dust.

“Okay, Daddy,” you say, at last. “I’ll go. But you really should go get a brain scan or something. What’s making you sick isn’t just gonna go away. And watch what you eat, too. It’s making you worse.”

You dart from the room, shutting the door upon Will’s bewildered beginning of a question.

[ramons-elevator]

I just wanna take the time to list the fucking bugs on the QSMP because they range from mildly inconvenient to this has changed history forever and they are the weirdest fucking bugs

Broken hearts: this is the bug of when people log in, it shows half of their hearts just being blacked out and it take someone smacking you to get them back. Its very funny when an egg or someone randomly goes "hey hit me". Honorary mention is when someone gets withered and the withered hearts stay. Very angsty I love.

Broken voice: this is many things, but mainly when someone has to deafen and undeafen when someone relogs. It was a big problem in early days because people didnt know and it was annoying, but now its just common knowledge.

Sweeping edge: Me and my homies hate this bug. Basically it was a line of code in one of the mods that got bugged and instead of sweeping edge dealing 0.5 of the damage of a hit, it would deal 5 time more. For example, when Etoiles and Bad were testing it out, Pomme hit Bad with a weapon and it killed Etoiles who was next to Bad. This is more than likely the cause of deaths for Tilin and Juanaflippa. Im glad it got fixed, but it still installs fear into OG islanders to this day.

Dorime bug: The funniest and stupidest bug of all. Dorime randomly playing out of nowhere and the only way to get it to stop is to turn musicbox noises on and off. It happens enough that people usually have their musicbox noises turned off at all times

Sound bug: Sounds be loud. Even from hundreds of blocks away. This is elevator sounds, monster/demon sounds, camera sounds, etc. Its normal at this point, but it sometimes freaks people out and think admins are fucking with them.

Dapper's flying hammer bug: A recent bug, but when Dapper and someone fight and Dapper hits them with their hammer, they start flying indefinitely or until they relog. The first time this happened was fucking insane because it was Dapper and Ramon doing their usual fighting and then Ramon started flying away. Fit, Bad, and Dapper all had no idea what to do and were all freaking out/crying laughing.

Ramon's duping bug: A bug that's been fixed, but Ramon figured out that if you sling shot something in a certain way (I think it was in the Copacabana ocean?) it would dupe a whole stack of whatever was shot. This also lead to Ramon and Fit figuring out that if you sling shot a waystone, it fucking crashes the server. Which led to a day where everyone was using that so they can keep doing Lucky Ducks.

Death bug: This is when someone has the visual of "0.0/100.0 Time left 00:00:00" stuck on their screen. Usually leads to someone BEGGING someone to let them kill them. Pretty funny and dumb.

Eggs being tall: Aka eggs models not loading for people. It usually makes people try to roleplay their way out and being scared of tall eggs. I.E. "Tall Richas isnt real" or Cellbit screaming in horror in purgatory when the lil eye guy model wasnt loading and saying the castle is haunted.

Teleport bug: Not very common, but some times if someone is trying to use their warpstone, they particles start to fly around them and they dont stop until the person lets go of the warpstone. This can make a wall of purple particles around someone.

Egg names: This is a very early "bug". In the beginning, in order for the parents to name their egg, they had to right click their eggs and name them. This made people accidentally name their eggs stuff like "eee" or "Wwww". Also other parents naming other eggs other names (Mariana named Leo "shit" and Foolish named Juana "Marianaisabitchjr"). On the first day, for some reason, everyone was named "TILIN" for like 5 minutes. This 'bug' also got the iconic clip of Phil right clicking on the OG code and he got a chance to name it and it freaked him out.

Im pretty sure there's a lot more, but I love how insanely modded server has the weirdest bugs known to man. Feel free to add any you remember.

[lukaherehelp]

Okey, Detectiva Luka on the case!

I'll be cracking this plot open in order on how things will go so, sit down and relax, grab a coffee and something to munch.

This post will briefly attached things from this post by @syrena-del-mar alongside my post here on the movies,as well as the ones about Tan and Phee being the killers and Tan using poison on the guys, as well as my theory of why I think each mask is different and I think I know whom is behind each one (thanks again to @blmpff for the screenshots). All these theories have being a collective effort between the multiple minds in the bl/gl server so also a big thanks to them for being as unhinged about these as me djslkajdlkjass with that being said...

Let's jump right in, shall we?

So yesterday we discovered that the movie posters in Non's room are fake mock-ups of real life horror movies, right? and there's a fourth poster that can be found in Jin's room in the trailer that we haven't seeing yet in the series, but I'm going to talk about it as well. They go in these order:

Rivarium, Whisper and La Madre

and Jin's:

Devil

Imagine Jin's is where the bookshelf is in Non's and we get this order:

Rivarium -> Whisper -> Devil -> La Madre

or may I say:

Vivarium, 2019 -> The Whisper, 2007 -> Devil, 2012 -> Mamá, 2012

the order they are in is really important because it actually shows us how the plot is moving. The movie posters give away the plot. Let's go in order:

What is important to us from Vivarium (2019) are two things: the looping element of its plot (not a timeloop) and the brood parasitism example they show at the beginning of the film and feeds into with the plot later on with the loop element.

Vivarium shows as at the beginning the brood parasitism of cuckoos, birds that don't nest their eggs and instead, sneak them into other birds' nest for them to raise them. The gang, quote "Non's Friends" are the cuckoo, leaching out of a bird to raise their babies. Or, in their case, draining Non (the bird) out of his ideas and kindness (the nest) for their own good. The loop element comes into these with two new cuckoos, Tan and Phee, infiltrating the group (the birds), but instead of using it to rip the benefits (getting their eggs in the nest), their true intention here is being full parasites. They are a virus contaminating the body that is the friend group. They are "The Boy", ready to kill.

And how do they do this? Here is where The Whisper (2007) comes into play. David as a concept, to be more specific, comes into play.

David is an eight-year-old boy that is not really what it seems. He's the son of a wealthy woman, so kidnapping him should be easy, but this provokes many deaths in the movie amongs his captors. Why? 'cause David, in reality, is a demon. A demon that can "suggest" and "influence" the people around him to do whatever he wants. Only Max survives and is able to kill David, but not after the later has taken with him the lifes of everyone else without moving a finger. Phee and Tan haven't moved a single finger against the group (yet), but "the killer" has being doing it ever so slightly. And even like this, the only death among the boys that has happend wasn't even by the hands of "the killer". No, Por dies because Top kills him. "The Killer" (Phee and Tan) are pitting the boys against one another without them even knowing. The only thing they have done truly is poison them (going again with the loop thing as the gang drugged Non in the past) so they allucinate. And one specific allucination brings me to the next movie:

@syrena-del-mar gave a really good synopsis:

Devil (2010) revolves around five strangers that become trapped in an elevator. As they struggle to escape, it becomes apparent that one among them is the Devil incarnated, manipulating events and tormenting the others with a series of disturbing manifestations. Meanwhile, outside the elevator, a detective investigates the strange occurrences, gradually piecing together the connection between the trapped individuals and the sinister presence haunting the building. As the situation inside the elevator becomes increasingly dire, the characters are forced to confront their darkest secrets and sins, each suspecting the others of being the Devil in disguise. Once they deny their sins, the devil is able to claim their soul. The Devil is unable to claim the last survivor's soul, because these one confesses and repents for having killed a family in a car accident and fleeing the scene. "

Y'all can see why Jin is the one to own this poster, right? But I think there's two reasons for this:

the first one is the obvious, which is that Jin, amongs all the boys, is the one that probably regrets the treatment towards Non the most. He really cared about him, and he harmed him as badly as the other did. But he is repenting, and he might have already done half of the work no so long after the release of the video...

Because the second reason Jin has these poster is the fact that he shares the same sin as Tony, the survivor, in Devil: a hit and run. In Jin's case, Keng's hit and run.

Jin's only allucination speaks for itself, so I don't think I need to add anything else to this point.

but Devil also begins with a bible verse:

"Be sober, be vigilant: Because your adversary the devil walks about like a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour."

The devil, the lion here, are Tan and Phee... or in Jin's case, Phee specifically. Both boys are playing the long game dragging these revenge for three long years, but Phee has make it upon himself to get the closest to Jin. And I think is because he knows, he knows Jin was involved with what happen to Non, he knows about the video, and he wants Jin to pay as well. But avenging Non by killing Keng might be what could keep Jin alive at the end... or at least to not be killed by the hands of Phee and Tan.

Talking about killing! A little side track to point out that I definetly believe that White will survive yes or yes and as I said this morning, I need him to be like the main character in the book Final Girls by Riley Sager and kill Tee himself. Period.

getting back on track, LET'S BEGIN WITH @blmpff BLORBO, THIS SILLY GUY, or well, these three silly guys:

But there's four! - it looks like we have four masks but upon closer inspection I think is just three. Not only the eyes are different but also the face structure of each changes a litte bit and the last two here look identical, so I just think is a matter of actual production of the series and them having that same mask duplicated but because it has more "dripping blood" on the eyes, it doesn't look the same in both. In any way, I'm about to tell you whom is whom.

Our first Killer, "Clear Sight", is Tan.

Tan, in this theory, is New, Non's older brother.

So yes, I know, this whole plan is a revenge for what happend to his little brother, so you'll think that he would be a little bit more "passion" driven when it comes to revenge, but taking in account the other two killers... well, makes sense that the older one is the one being more focus and calculating about what they do. A "Clear Sight" amongs them. He's also the one that has poisoned the friend group, as I explain here. So yeah, cold blooded and with a plan in mind.

Which he has really well tight up with the second Killer, "Bloody Tears", since they flawlessly were able to fool us all when CS stole the motorbike from Tee but then BT pulled up with it.

So, whom is "Bloody Tears"? Say it with me class: is Phee. Yes.

His eyes are bloodshot and he's crying blood because hiswhole purpose with all of this is to avenge Non. He feels guilty over his last words to Non:

"You want me to forgive you? Just get lost and die."

He's the one being more driven by passion, by rage, by wrath. These absolute fuckers destroyed the Non he loved so dearly and he will destroy them.

So if "Clear Sight" is Tan, and "Bloody Tears" is Phee... Then whom is "Fresh Blood", our third Killer?

For the sake of this these "timeline" theory, we will go with the idea that "Fresh Blood", the masked killer with the fresh blood on its eyes and the cruch, is Non.

The obvious reason: the crutch. FB is the only one holding it, both when he appears in front of Top and when he's in the woods.

And we saw what Non was capable of three years ago when he finally snapped in front of the others, so I don't need to explain why the blood of his eyes is till fresh. He's a goner, he's fully commited to the bit, he will take all this fuckers to hell with him... including Jin.

Because Phee could spare Jin, but Non will not. And so we are down to four people by the end of these tale: White, Tan, Phee and Non.

Here is where the last movie comes into play: Mamá (2012)

Mamá is about two sisters, Victoria (f8) and Lily (f6), whom were living as feral children for five years in a remote cabin in the woods after their parents' death. They are put under the care of their uncle Lucas and his girlfriend Annabel, but when the two girls start to build a bond with Annabel, what kept them alive in the woods, Mamá, wants to take them back with her. And by the end, she almost does. On a cliff, both sisters make a choice: Victoria chooses Lucas and Annabel, and starts a new life with them; but Lily, whom loves Mamá dearly, decides to stay with her. Mamá after this, jumps off the cliff with Lily on her arms, activily killing her and turning them both into moths.

Tan is Victoria, Phee is Lily and Non is Mamá.

Phee, like Lily with Mamá, will choose Non. After all the blood they have spilled, is better to get lost in the woods than to comfront the police, honestly. They can just get lost and enjoy nature like they did when they used to visit the lake. They will just count Phee as one of the many victims these cabin has taken.

And so is Tan because he, like Victoria, will choose to live his life. But he was never Tan. He's New, and he can just let Tan die at these cabin and go back overseas as himself, leaving all of these behind...

And leaving only White as our final boy.

so yeah, those are my theories and how I think the series is going to play out, this post has taken me 3h and a half to right down, I can't feel my brain any longer dljsaldjalkjsd

[antimony-medusa]

As we all engage with the Egg arc on QSMP, I know we're all having a fun time talking about how emotionally devastating it all is, but I have seen some concerning takes about this, so I want to also reiterate that it is fiction. It's not real.

You can have real emotions about fiction (talk to any D&D player whos run a long campaign about this), but it is essentially fake, it is something you can box up and put away. And if you think you can't tell the difference between a fictional roleplay and real life child death, you need to step away.

Cause like, I have been seeing people comparing egg deaths to real life tragedies, and like. Guys. That's just offensively disrespectful. I do not want Chayanne to die. I'm team "storm heaven and get all the eggs back". I want the happy dragon ending. I have also had real life children die in my life and equating a pixel egg despawning to that makes me actually mad. We can have fun with it but this is fiction and you need to be clear to yourself that it is fiction. The QSMP admins are not "responsible to give you a happy ending" because it is essentially not real, they are ethically responsible for how they treat people in the real world (the players and the admins) not for what happens in the story they are telling.

There are two aspects of this that are important. The first is the most basic. Fiction is not real. It's lies we tell ourselves recreationally. No real people were harmed. No one actually died. The egg's admins are fine and now playing league of legends on stream. You can have real emotions about fiction, but you can also take comfort in the fact that the bad thing didn't actually happen. This allows you to engage with topics that you would never want to happen in real life (horror media, for example), in an entertaining way. Fiction is a safe spot to explore really concerning topics, whether that's something you're afraid of, something that has happened to you, or something that you'd never want to see happen in real life but it scratches that brain itch. And that isn't intended to say that you have to be comfortable with every topic in fiction. Suicide themes even in fiction are too close to real life for me, so I stay away from them. You get to set your own comfort levels with what fiction you're comfortable with. And that leads into my second point. The essense of fiction is that you are opting into it. Except in vanishingly rare cases, if you are engaging with something fictional, you are giving ongoing consent to engaging with the story by continuing to watch/read/listen to it. At any point you can tap out and step away, back into real life. You have the power to control your experience and say "yes I am watching this" or "no I do not want to engage with this actually". You can take the headphones off. You are an active player in how you deal with the fictional story, and if it gets too much for you, you get to step away. You get to write fanfiction and it is just as real as the original. If someone is dying in real life, no amount of blocked terms and telling your friends not to discuss it is going to keep it from happening. It is inescapable. It happens to you, it is enacted on you, you are a passive figure and you have no control. The only thing you have a control over is how you react to it, and this is why a huge element of grief is the powerlessness.

You have power over fiction. You can opt out of it. And if you can't tell the difference between a fake story and real events, a) you need to do work on that, because there is a lot of really upsetting content in fiction that is going to fuck you up, b) you need to step away from the fake story that is doing harm to you, and use that power that fiction gives you to opt out of it. Block terms. Unfollow people. Go do something in real life. Fiction is not real.

[dayssincethehorrors]

days since q!cellbit has experienced the horrors: 0

time since last reset: 0 days

[lord-amaranth-12]

(Almost) every food/drink etc. mentioned in obey me nightbringer and shall we date

Notes:

I'll update with links to the sources soon just bare with me. Also please tell if the link arent working

Update: ill stop linking stuff for now

Update: i alphabetized everything (using https://onlinetoolz.net/alphabetical-order) and removed the ingredients for potions cause i will be moving it to another list. I also edited the layout abit to make it more readable

Update: ill start linking stuff now, have to get all out of my storage and posted here before i get full storage again

A

• Abyss crimson bee honey

• Abyss crimson wasp honey

• Alla death cream

• Artic butterfly scales

• Ash fall chocolate brownies

• Assam

B

• Backstabbing sandwich

• Barely cooked black tapir steak

• Bat leaves

• Bavarian cream

• Bell peppers

• Black cloud chocolate gâteau

• Black coffee of melancholy

• Black shark flavored gummies

• Black tapir casserole

• Bloody marmalade

• Bloody rice omelets

• Bloody soda

• blood-red velvet cupcakes

• BLT devil sandwich

• Blue rose crystal pickles

• Blue rose petals candied in crystal syrup

• Bufo egg milk tea

• Bufo egg milk tea hell poison honey flavored

• Bufo toad

• Bufo toad sushi

• Bulbul bird eggs

• Butter pancakes

C

• Castella

• Cat cookies

• Colossal jumbo surprise parfait

• Comfort candy

• Crazy ghoul hamburger

• Crimson bonito flake

• Crimson bonito flake dressing

• Crimson dogwood

• Crimson tea

• Crispy chicken nugget LXXXIII

• Crushed millefeuille

D

• Dark star fruit sandwich

• Death maggot sauce

• Death mask bat chips

• Deaths door sauce

• Deep-fried devil zebra skewers

• Demi-glace sause

• Demon salmon

• Demonic Sausage

• demon silk moth-flavored gummies

• Demonkiller remora

• Demonkiller remora sauté

• Demonus-infused chocolate

• Demon-luring seaweed salt kalbi chips

• Devil cabbage

• Devil cacao bean

• Devil canelé

• Devil chocolate

• Devil chocolate canelé

• Devil duck confit

• Devil flower fruit trifle

• Devil ham

• Devil lohas milk tea

• Devil moray sushi

• Devil salmon meunière sandwiches

• Devil salmon rolled sushi

• Devil salmon terrine

• Devil zebra bacon

• Devil zebra meat sushi

• Devilbee popcorn

• Devildom gummy Horror house flavored

• Devildom-style boneless pararucu

• Devildom-style vampire bat sandwich

• Devils soft serve

• Dragons mark pie crust

• Dreamfeather cookies

• Dreamfeather meringue cookies

• Dried bufo egg

E

• Earl grey cookies

• Eternal night herbal tea

F

• Family pack sushi

• Fish meunière

• flaming hot mushrooms

• Flaming toad

• Fluffy egg pancakes

• Fluorescent rich yogurt

• fried devil chicken

• Fruit of wisdom jelly

G

• Galaxy burger

• Galaxy fries

• Garlic anchovy dip

• Giant shadow sea cucumber cream pasta

• Glazed Shadow chestnut

• gold demonus

• Gold hellfire newt syrup

• grilled vampire bat

H

• Hamburger gummies

• Hamburger stake

• Hamburger steak

• Haunted hamburgers

• Havoc devil

• Havoc devil ribs

• Hawthorn berry powder

• Hell demon salmon

• Hell pudding

• Hell velvet parfait

• Hellfire chocolate pie

• hellfire curry rice

• Hellfire mushroom rooled cigar

• Hellfire mushrooms

• Hellfire rose

• Hells kitchen hamburger combo

• Heros herbal tea

• Horror's horror cheesecake

• Hunter sandwich

I

• Instant noodles (hell-sauce flavor)

J

• Juicy shadow hog rice bowl

K

• King-sized fried devil chicken

• King-sized hellfire curry rice

• King-sized poison bleu cheese hamburger

• King-sized shadow hog ramen

L

• Laughingshroom powder

• Little devils white sauce

M

• Madam scream's super sweet scones

• Magma butter

• Magma butter pasta

• Magma butter scone

• Mandragora powder

• Marinated bufo toad

• Melted cheese

• Mimic latte

• Mint chocolate chip

• Mont blanc

N

• Nightshade cream

O

• Ocean of cloud cake-parfait

• Ocean of Clouds cake

• Ordeal orange fondae

P

• paradise blue

• Pasta alla death cream

• Pickled vampire bat

• poison bleu cheese hamburger

• Poison strawberry

• Poison veggie juice box

• Poison viper worm al ajiilo

• Poison worm sauce

• Poisonous cheese burgers

• Poisonous cheesecake

• Poisonous marsh pudding

• Princess poison apple

• Promised glory donut (?)

• Purgatory mustard

Q

• Quattro Hungry Pizza

• Quetzalcoatl brains

• Quetzalcoatl brains soup

R

• Rainbow paw print chocolate

• Red riding hood sandwich

• RedxRed apple pie

• Region exclusive Devildom gummy

• RIP burger

• Ruby chocolate éclair

S

• Sabbat salad

• Salted hell rose petals

• Salt-grilled black goat bat

• Scorpion syrup

• Shadow caramel

• Shadow chestnut

• Shadow chestnut paste

• Shadow chocolate

• Shadow chocolate brownies

• Shadow hof stir fry in demi-glance sauce

• Shadow hog

• Shadow hog buns

• Shadow hog dumplings

• shadow hog ramen

• Shadow hog soup

• Shadow hog steamed bun

• Shadow hog stir fry

• Shadow pork ragu pasta

• Shadow tuna sashimi

• Silver birch sap

• Simeons special BLT devil sandwiches

• Siren bench caviar

• Smoked cocktraice glizzard

• Smoky black loco moco

• Spicy rainbow pizza

• spiderweb powder

• Sponge cake

• Stardust soda

• Starry-sky waffle

• Stonefish Meunière

• Strawberry shortcake

• Super-sized limited-edition beef

• Sweet and salty canned kraken assortment

• Sweet milk tea

• Sweet tears donut

T

• thick-cut giant devildom slug sauté

• Thunder sparkle flavored gummies

• Toe bean stamp salad

• Troll coffee

U

• Ultra D

• Unhappy Mega Combo

V

• Vampire bat

• Venti brashberry frappuccino with double whipped cream and extra berry powder

W

• Whole roast shadow hog

• Wicked cupcake

X

Y

Z

Not in devildom

A

B

C

• Camping meal (Witch camp)

• Cursed goat cheese tartar sandwich (TSL)

D

E

• Ema datshi (human world)

F

G

• Ginger ale (human world)

H

• Hamburger (mama's cooking) (levis animes)

• Herbal tea (celestial realm)

• Huckleberry (human world)

• Hyper chili dog (human world)

I

J

• Japanese giant salamander (human world)

K

L

M

• Mapo tofu (human world)

N

O

P

Q

R

S

T

• Tornado tomato (human world)

U

V

W

• White mochi balls in syrup (march comes in like a Panda)

X

Y

Z

Unnamed

A

B

• Barbatos's homemade cake

• Barbatos's homemade pudding

C

• Celestial tea

D

• Demon lords castle edition premium demonus

• Demonus with scorpion syrup and spiderweb powder

• Devilcats favorite food

E

F

G

H

I

J

K

L

• Leviathans homemade granola

• Lobster

M

• marshmallow

• Moryo Town's special demonus

• multi colored Jelly

N

O

P

• Popcorn Deaths door flavored

• Popcorn lava salt flavored

• Popcorn magma butter flavored

• Popcorn Tree sap caramel flavored

• Pudding from devilmart

Q

R

• Ramen infernal bahamit flavor

• Rare flower used in baking as a sweetener

• Really big chocolate bar

• Really big chocolate coin

S

• Salad from Sound Off, Symphony! Summer band camp storyline

• Sheep cake

• Star-shaped chocolate

• Sun and moon cookies by simeon

T

I

V

W

X

Y

Z

Characters

• "Little cake thingies"

???

• Chocolate mold

• Devildom miso

• Egg berry whole mil

• Marinated bufo toad

• Marzipan

• Meunièr

• Newt

• Surströmming

[fanfic-obsessed]

Historical choices

This idea starts on Kamino. Well before the time of the prequels. 

As with all my ideas, ignore any part of canon that contradicts it. 

Tipoca City became the capital of Kamino after the flood. It was never meant to be the Capital city. In fact it was not built to be a city at all. Tipoca was built as a remote research station, long before the flood. It was the first genetic research station for the Kaminoans.  

The very first project…how to prevent Force Sensitivity in their own people. For many reasons, all based on superstition and bigotry, the Kaminoan government decided that having Force sensitivity was undesirable and wanted it stopped.  The initial project, lost to the tides of time, took all the Force Sensitives they could get their hands on (though there were many adults captured, unfortunately Force Sensitive children and babies were easier to source) and began to experiment, with all the horror that that entails. 

By the time the scientists had a ‘breakthrough’ many decades later, everything that subjects endured had sunk into the location, darkening the Force as only that kind of pain and horror can. 

The scientists called it a breakthrough, removing Force Sensitivity from the Kaminoan genetic code and generations later the project had been forgotten, and it is assumed that Kaminoans simply were not Force sensitive. This is not quite true. What those initial scientists did was make Force Sensitivity above a specific threshold, well below the level to actually be considered Force Sensitive, toxic to Kaminoans. 

The funny thing is that after the genetic treatments to ‘remove’ force sensitivity, miscarriages among the Kaminoan population (which at that point was still reproducing, not cloning) shot through the roof, often including the death of the mother/carrier (I have no idea what the Kaminoans called the egg producer). At the same time the Force is not simply in sentients, it is also a vital part of the lifeblood of the planet.  There is a careful balance that the Force maintains which was utterly fucked by the mass death, and continued death, of any Force Sensitive Kaminoan.  While the connection is never made, these imbalances are the cause for the global warming that eventually floods the planet, also the violent frequent storms.  It is this and the birth rate issue that caused the Kaminoans to start cloning and genetic experiments to survive (All the while they kept including the genetic code that turned Force Sensitivity toxic). 

Even as their reputation as cloners grew, they never cloned sentients other than themselves (And there were no Force sensitive Kaminoans now). So they never realized that The Force on Kamino (in particular Tipoca City, but across the planet) had grown dark, violent, and feral. It is noted that animals cloned on Tipoca city tend to be more aggressive than normal, but that is not really noticeable given the contracts they were getting.

Not until the cloning of Jango Fett begins.  The Clones are near human and, though Jango Fett is not particularly Force sensitive, they are the first sentients since the treatment was completed for whom being touched by the Force was not lethal (since the Kaminoans no longer remember that the particular piece of genetic code was artificial, then never think to add it to the Fett clones).  The Force on Kamino curls around the clones, it loves them with desperation and the long lasting memory of the last time its children walked the surface. The Force ensures that every Fett clone is Force sensitive. 

To the trainers and Jango Fett there are a number of spots on Tipoca City that feel…deeply haunted. The more superstitious refuse to enter some of the oldest parts of the city, including where the growth tubes are located (no one is left alive to know but the growth tubes are placed in the oldest labs, where the subjects of the first scientist endured horrors beyond imagining).  

To be clear, the Force on Kamino is of the dark side. It is corrupted.  It is suffering and horror and despair leaching like poison into groundwater. It is a beaten, hurting animal biting anyone who comes close to prevent being hurt again. It is a feral thing that can not distinguish between friend and foe. And the Clones belong to it. 

This comes to a head when the majority of the CC batches are six.  One of the trainers spits out that the Jedi would also think the clones were just useless meat droids. And the Force on Kamino may have been a feral thing, a thing of suffering,  but it was also connected to the rest of the Force and it knew that the Jedi would love its children. 

It whispered this to the children, curling around them. One of the children, who would one day be Fox, glared up at the trainer and spat out that the trainer was lying.  The trainer, reacting more to the tone than the words, struck CC-1010. 

The Force on Kamino reacted. It had suffered the trainers to live because they were making it’s children strong. There had been no decommissioning or reconditionings because the Force was working to ensure its children performed exactly as they should.  But now the trainer had hurt one of its children, and not for training, but for speaking.  The barely leashed violence broke free and roared through the clones. The clones, empowered and driven by the Dark, this vicious protective energy built of the suffering from long before, took the city. It did not matter that the oldest of them were barely physically 8. Within 4 hours there were not any trainers left in Tipoca City (Jango Fett had been off planet on a bounty). Within 6 hours there were no Kaminoans either.  Within three days the Clones were the sole living sentients on Kamino.

Jango Fett came back three weeks after that to a very changed landscape. He is allowed to land because Boba (the toddler that he still is) does consider him a father.  The children, and they are all still children, have not eaten anything solid in two weeks (The Force is sustaining them, also the Force does not know what are good child rearing practices for near humans-it has existed long enough that it can’t even really tell the difference between child and adult in near humans).  The clones are now clearly something OTHER and very unsettling besides, but they all call him dad and he gets the creeping sensation that Jango was not allowed to deny them (Very much ‘oh no these ARE your children (threat)’).  The Force start playing with Clone ages (trying to figure out the best age for each clone to be for ‘their’ Jedi, the Kamino Force is invested in the Clones getting whatever they want and knows some Jedi will love the Clones dearly). 

Jango makes it another 6 months before he ‘sneaks’ away to make a panicked call to the Jedi Temple (He knows he screwed up), trying to make it their problem instead of his. Prior to this he made several attempts to call Dooku but none went through. He is chased down and told that The Force (called Buir/Protector by the Clones) allowed him this far because it knew that he would call the Jedi, but that it is time to return home now. 

There was a wandering Jedi, Master Faye, closer so she came to Kamino and was immediately given the feeling that she would care for the clones or else.  The Force on Kamino is still a wild, feral thing and the Clones are that much more aggressive for their connection to it. However the innocence of the clone children, now that they are not being trained for war any longer, has also been bringing balance back to the Force on Kamino. As they behave as children do, they have begun to drain away the leftover suffering, bringing light back to the Force. 

Some of the storms have even begun to ebb. 

It is still a bit of a horror show that Jedi now have to deal with, also children (who may be more than a little eldritch) who committed at least one Genocide. But there is hope.

[rynnthefangirl]

Ranking the deaths of the Targaryen Kings:

17. Aerys I- unspecified cause of death, so can’t really be ranked. -/10

16. Jaehaerys II- nothing special here, just sudden illness. No pizazz. 1/10

15. Daeron II- again, just an illness, although this one is at least an infamous plague and he was accompanied in death by two of his heirs, helping mess up the succession. 2/10

14. Jaehaerys I- old age, points for living long enough to actually die of old age though. 2/10

13. Aegon I- some points because it reminds me of the Godfather’s death. Just a normal stroke. 3/10

12. Aegon III- also just illness, but points because somehow consumption feels so in character for him. 5/10

11. Aenys- possibly poisoned by Visenya, possibly just died of stress (same). Pathetic either way, but also a bit tragic. 5/10

10. Aegon II- poisoned by his own men. Pretty funny and well deserved and saved my baby Aegon III. 5/10

9. Viserys I- again, just illness. HOTD makes it pretty dramatic though, the scene where he walks to the throne to defend his daughter will always be iconic. Also being left to rot by the Greens is so horrifically morbid. 6/10

8. Maekar- hit by a falling rock, wtf Maekar. Kinda lame, but also a little funny. A rock?! 6/10

7. Daeron I- slain under a peace banner, pretty iconic of the Dornish tbh. The tragedy of a young man’s ego. 7/10

6. Viserys II- probably poisoned by his own son. The drama, the hatred, the kinslaying, the tragedy bc he actually would have been a great king. 8/10

5. Aerys II- pivotal moment in Jaime Lannister’s character arc, and Jaime is great. Basis for some of the best development and dialogue in GOT. 8/10

4. Baelor- starved himself to death because his sister had sex. Hilarious, this is your brain on religious extremism kids. Iconic of Daena to cause this. 9/10

3. Aegon IV- literally fell apart and rotted due to his own gluttony and morbid obesity. Everything Aegon IV ever did was so needlessly extra, including his death. Legitimized all of his bastards on his death bed as one final act of spite against his dead siblings and his own son. Ruined everything for everyone as his last act on this Earth. What an icon. 10/10

2. Maegor- murder? Suicide? Slain by the throne itself as a manifested condemnation of his corrupted soul? What’s more epic than an age old eternally unsolved Westerosi mystery? 10/10

1. Aegon V- answer: another age old eternally unsolved Westerosi mystery. The sheer tragedy of cute little Egg setting himself, Dunk, and most of his family on fire is enough, but throw in a spiraling mental state, the dark theory that he was attempting a blood sacrifice, and the ominous refusal by the survivors to speak of what they saw. Love us a good unspeakable horror. Rip Egg🕊🍳 10/10

[kingtrash-fox]

I am writing this because of HATE.

Hate for this DENTURE LOOKING BASTARD.

Am I overreacting over the death of an Alligator NPC gone sentient? Maybe. Is it justifiable? Probably. Am I still gonna write this? YES

So you know that one YT video called 30 Ways to kill Yoshi? I’m making a list of ideas for yall to torment Y’all’s Caine Plushie for Gummigoos death and Pomnis need for therapy. Also Jax might be satisfied with the bloodlust I’m displaying and I hope yall will maybe commit? Not a guarantee or a demand but hey here’s hoping.

Play Baseball with him.

Throw him in a river with his limbs all tied up

BLIND HIM With Various flashlights

Give him cavities (Just smear some sweets on him. Bonus points if it’s gummy Alligators.)

take a picture. Upload that pic on your computer. And digitally tear it apart. Congrats you killed the closest thing to Canon Caine!

Car. Just run his ass over.

Baseball reprise: Get a BaseBall Launcher. Tie Caine to a Pole. Unleash hell into him.

throw him into a Pit!

Drown his ass in a bucket of Water

Just Put a Spamton Plushie near him. The power of Spam Emails and the [HOOCHIE MAMA] might just cause him to simply fade to nothingness

make him look at R34. Note: Might not work since he has seen the horrors of Content Farms

just put him in the sun for an hour in Arizona. The heat might cook him like an Egg.

Get a Pomni plush and a Jax Plush. Give em guns. Unleash the firing squad into him.

Get a Gummigoo Plushie. Get your Caine Plushie. Give em both Guns. Dual at high noon. Ps: Blind Caine using the sun or something. (WARNING: Don’t use actual guns use BB guns or something like that so you don’t ruin your Plush this applies to both Gun Based Suggestions. Thank you.)

Go to a Tall Ass Building. Tie a Penny to Caine. And drop that boy off. If it’s Heads He’s dead! Tails he’s still kicking. Repeat till you get tails.(I’m gonna make a part 2 so I figured I might as well make the Halfway mark a nice one)

and @gooseworx feel free to share some ideas for ways to mess with TADC plushies!

[sinner-sunflower]

P.2 HH Lucifer-centric AU 16/?

STORY 1, PART 1, PART 2, PART 3, PART 4, PART 5, PART 6, PART 7, PART 8, PART 9, PART 10, PART 11, PART 12, PART 13, PART 14, PART 14.5, PART 15, PART 17, PART 18, PART 19, PART 20, PART 21, PART 22, PART 23, PART 24, PART 25, PART 26

It's time we get back to the angel duo.

To those re-reading the fic on ao3, you'll notice some dialogues or descriptions have either been added or changed so it's not an exact replica of the chapters here. It's like little easter eggs of what I didn't get to put back then.

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

Gabriel: How dare you, Michael!

In an obscure corner of Heaven, sat the six remaining Archangels, engaged in a heated debate over what had just transpired between Michael and Lucifer and the Fates. The atmosphere was suffocatingly tense. It's as awkward as you think being Emily and Sir Pentious in the room who seemed to fade into the background amidst the chaos.

The moment the others arrived, any semblance of order was thrown out the metaphorical window as questions upon questions were asked all at once. Sir Pentious stood rigidly at attention, though his efforts went unnoticed by the bickering Archangels. He's stiffer than Emily and she...

Emily has never been in a situation as tense like this before; even counting the disastrous court hearing with Charlie.

Since her creation, she had always been told that these are the most fearsome angels in Heaven; that they are both merciful and merciless, especially when it comes to protecting Heaven.

Sera: We strive to be like them, Emily. Our actions must all lead to one goal: safeguarding Heaven.

Emily: But Lucifer was their brother!

Sera: Those in power are always faced with harsh choices. And they stay in power because they can make those choices.

Emily: I still don't understand.

Sera: As Head Seraphim, I am also faced with constant challenges. But I do it all to protect our home. But you, you are still learning. And for now.. this shall be my burden to carry.

Emily: But.... What if I mess up?

Sera: That is why I will teach you, Emily. You still have so-

Emily: No! I mean.. The stories said that Lucifer was their most precious brother but he was still cast down. So what I mess up, Sera?

Sera: What?

Emily: Will you cast me down too?

Sera never did give her answer.

Uriel: How could you keep this from us, Michael? Do we not deserve to know such vital information? Especially when it's about our dear Samael?

Michael: I understand you're all angry. But I only found out mere days ago. I kept coming back just to check if my eyes weren't playing tricks on me. I wanted to be sure-

A resounding bang echoed through the room as the Archangel of Healing forcefully slammed his palms onto the table, causing a collective flinch amongst everyone.

Rapahel: Bullshit! You were going to keep this all to yourself again; just like everything concerning Samael!

Jophiel, who is next to him, is rubbing circles in her brother's back in an attempt to calm Raphael down.

Jophiel: Given your track record concerning our little brother, we have every right to doubt you right now.

Camael: I think what they're trying to say is that you should've told us the second you found out. It doesn't matter if you're not sure, we can be there to help you figure it out. Something as concerning as Samael's death... that is not something you keep for as long as you should have.

Sir Pentious: Lucifer.

A sudden quiet fell over the assembled angels as their attention shifted towards the unexpected source of the interruption.

Emily stares at Sir Pentious is slight horror because her new friend just interrupted the Archangels' conversation.

Camael: I'm sorry?

Emily: Sir Pentious! You can't speak to them like-

But the snake only repeats himself.

Sir Pentious: Hisssssss Majesty's name isssss Lucifer.

For an agonizing minute, no one spoke. Whether it's because of Sir Pentious' correction or their presence, Emily isn't sure.

It was Michael who broke free from the collective stupor. With a weary sigh, he ran a hand through his disheveled hair, the weight of responsibility present upon his face. Emily braced herself, anticipating a reprimand for their intrusion, but to her surprise, the Sword of Heaven merely nodded in acknowledgment.

Michael: He's right. We can't keep disrespecting Sa- Lucifer's wishes even if he isn't here with us.

That broke whatever freezing spell the others had, confusion now paints their features.

Gabriel: I'm sorry who are these people?

While that question was directed at Michael, the Archangel of Wisdom directed theirs on the two of them.

Uriel: Who are you?

Emily: I'm uhm Emily, Your Heavenly Grace. I'm the Seraphim in training under Sera.. and this is Sir P-Pentious. Our uh newly redeemed soul from Hell.

She said the last part almost in a whisper but it seems like they all heard it nonetheless because they are now looking at them with pure disbelief.

Camael: Redeemed?!

Jophiel: From Hell?!

Raphael: Are you saying that this was once a sinner soul?!

Sir Pentious took a bit of an offense to that.

Sir Pentious: This has a name. I am the great Sir Pentiousssss, inventor and former resssssident of the hellish realm!

Uriel: H-How is that possible? Were you planning on keeping this from us too, Michael?

Michael and Emily both stood up so fast at that accusation.

Michael: No! I only knew of this today!

Emily: He didn't know!

The Messenger of God only raised an eyebrow at this and crossed his arms, a silent gesture to explain further.

Michael falls to his chair looking more tired than ever before.

Michael: Apparently, this soul arrived here months ago but the Head Seraphim chose not to mention anything to me or any of you.

Emily: Sera just wanted to know how it happened before telling anyone but with what happened that last... extermination, I think she was afraid.

Gabriel: She had the right to. What was she thinking?! First approving of this yearly genocide behind our backs and now this redeemed soul?! Tell me, young Seraph, are there any other secrets you're keeping from us?

Emily: I-

As multiple eyes manifested across the Archangel's form, a tangible sense of unease swept through the room. Michael then made a decisive move, positioning himself firmly between his brother and Emily, a silent but unmistakable gesture of protection.

Michael: There's no more, Gabe. Aside from this soul's-

Sir Pentious: ehem

Michael: -sorry, Sir Pentious' current redeemed status, Sera knows as much as us. Isn't that correct, young Emily?

Emily: Uh- Yes! We have no idea how, he just showed up in a beam of light suddenly. Please believe us.

As Uriel also positioned himself in front of Gabriel, his gaze a silent warning, Gabriel relented, reverting to his usual form and taking a seat, the tension visibly vanishing from his posture.

Michael gives him a silent thank you and controls himself.

Michael: Young Seraph, as much as we are delighted to know that redemption is possible, with the threat of a war hanging upon us, it is too dangerous right now to grant new souls in. We cannot do anything about the current human souls that is entering our gates but we can control those coming from Hell. So we can't let it be known for now- in Heaven or in Hell.

Emily understands but she still felt anger bubbling inside her. This is supposed to be good news! They finally told the top angels and they still need to keep it a secret? Charlie would be so hurt not knowing that her dream is becoming a reality.

Raphael: Damn the war, Michael! Our baby brother is going to die! I am not gonna make the same mistake twice by choosing Heaven over my own sibling. Never again.

Gabriel: What he said.

Emily can't count anymore how many times the Head Archangel had sighed throughout their encounter.

Michael: I know. I would like nothing more that to prevent that. But.. this is the Fates.

Uriel: ...He's right. We all know that even Father can't change what has already been woven.

Jophiel: So what? We just sit here and let Lucifer die?

Michael: Lucifer does not want our help. And we cannot stop Fate. This war will happen and Lucifer will perish in it.

Camael: Then what can we do?

.

.

.

Michael: We delay it.

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

Forgive me if it's a bit messy.

If you can't tell this is kind of in Emily's POV.

I love Sera okay but if I kept a secret as messed up as a genocide, I would probably refrain from telling my bosses that we there was probably no need for it anyway after finding out that redemption is real.

I'd also like to think that the Archangels are just as emotion-driven as Lucifer but only in front of their family. Anyone outside of them sees them as stoic and cold (that's why that is how Emily sees them).

[cdroloisms]

yeah hi me again with another question SO if cpunz knew the contents of the revive book the whole time cdream was in the prison, why was cdream so terrified of being killed while imprisoned? couldnt cpunz just revive him?

good question :D

i mean, dying is still kind of catastrophic, tbh -- being revived makes it really obvious that c!Dream isn't the only one with the book, which could destroy all the effort they put into staged finale (which is exactly what happened in the genuine finale, as the reveal of c!Punz and the book is what jeopardizes both his and c!Dream's lives with the nuke plan), for one. the terror of dying is something that's necessary to emphasize that He Is The Book You Need To Keep Him Alive, which is what's expected from a scenario where he's the only one with the book which is what everyone else thinks is the truth ... so there's no good reason for him not to act terrified, ykwim? Additionally, revivals are obviously causing problems (though it's unclear if he and punz knew about this by the time the prison began -- I'm inclined to say yes, but it's not hard confirmed in canon afaik) and keeping unnecessary ones to a minimum is a good play, regardless. plus, there's a lot of fucked up things you can do to someone when you can kill and revive them, and the necessity of not killing dream was very much what was protecting him in canon from shit like quackity, bc of sam's commitment to keeping him alive, etc. keeping people from ever knowing that that's a possibility protects him from Those Horrors (which have been explored already by quite a few people in quite a few AUs, at this point, LOL) -- not dying is for sure the safest choice for him, and the consequences of being killed range from "pretty bad" to "outright horrific" for c!dream no matter how you cut it -- plenty of reason to be afraid besides just death, imo.

for a much more hypothetical side of this answer, c!dream's dying to tommy and tubbo in the genuine finale really kicks off a lot -- which ends up leading to the Incident, not that it's super clear what specifically happened to trigger it (considering the planned fight against XD, the egg hatching, and the nuke literally all happened at the same time.) it's still unclear what c!Dream's specific connection to the supernatural, especially XD, is in particular, so it's hard to make any definitive judgements -- and it doesn't seem likely for c!Dream's death to be Specifically meaningful considering how many times he possibly died in death/revival experiments with c!Punz (which we. obviously still don't have a specific number, but c!Dream does say that he's been to Limbo more than once very intentionally and c!Schlatt makes a point of saying that he saw c!Dream, not Mexican Dream, in Limbo with his book of moon runes a few times as far back as march 16th) -- but that being said, could c!Dream's death be part of the Event Hullabaloo that might've played some kind of role in the everything that has to do with the server reset? I mean, possibly? He's always been someone related to the supernatural stuff on this server, so it's hard to say for sure. This latter point isn't definitive in the slightest and I think "because being terrified of death still makes sense/was the smart act to play into" is more than enough explanation for why he was acting so terrified, but it's an interesting thought experiment, I guess.

[bugflies00]

Another wilbur thought. I always think about how like. His father is the angel of death. His mother is death. Death probably didn't terrify him all that much--- like um, you grow up and your father is casually married to death. No one ever thinks much about how this interacts with Nov 16th at least from what I see.

What did he think would happen when he died. He would see his mother. He'd be dead. He has concrete knowledge of what death should be who She is AND HE ENDS UP IN LIMBO ANYWAY.

That's one of my main hangups on limbo I always have considered limbo a symptom of the time loop within the server that the egg causes and not a "natural" part of dying. He explodes himself and he expects what will happen next. Then he's in train hell. Death is not (his mom is not there. Where is she) there only trains.

I know this isnt a Phil blog but also can you imagine the visceral horror of realizing that after you killed your son (sent him to his mother) (now your wife isn't talking to you) (you assume it's because you killed your son) (fair enough) he DIDNT GO TO TO WHERE YOU THOUGHT HE WOULD??? Spins them

cwilbur thinking he'd finally be free from it all he'd be able to rest away from everything and in his mother's arms and instead he's alone with nothing but his thoughts that drove him to death in the first place for thirteen years