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#cw human sacrifice
muppenthings · 2 years
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Gralla had always found the old sea monster traditions outdated; sink a few human ships and terrorize the coastlines. When the humans are scared enough, they'll give them a sacrifice to be left alone.
After some relentless nagging from their peers, Gralla had caved.
All respectable sea monsters recieves human sacrifices, something about offering their purest or whatever. Human or not, Gralla just needed a sacrifice for the other sea monsters to get off their back and didn't care for what it was. Or so they thought.
At the day of the collection, Gralla was not prepared for what was tied to the other end of the rope. And it was happily wagging its tail at their arrival.
A dog.
Gralla destroyed the human port in a fit of rage, but ultimately accepted the purest sacrifice and took it with them.
Gralla is now trying to figure out how to care for it.
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kinglazrus · 2 years
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The King is Dead, Long Live the King
Phic Phight | AO3 | FFN
Summary: Human criminals aren't so threatening when you're a powerful half-ghost. When Danny gets kidnapped, he decides it could be a fun Friday night experience and goes with the flow. It's not his brightest idea.
Or: Danny gets kidnapped by a cult that wants to sacrifice him to Phantom.
Word count: 4068
Big thanks to @wastefulreverie for helping me beta this fic!
Danny considers himself a realist. He and his friends have a rather good balance when it comes to their outlooks on life. Tucker tends to look on the positive side of things. Sam often focuses on the negative. Danny, meanwhile, likes to take a moment in and ponder it. Take his time figuring out if what is happening is truly good or truly bad. There's a balance to these things, you know. His life is all about balance. Hero and civilian. Human and ghost. Kidnappee and... well. He hasn't figured out the opposite of kidnappee, yet. The obvious answer is kidnapper, but he can confidently say he has never done any kidnapping in his life. At least not intentionally
The guys that threw a hood over his head and dragged him into the back of a van, however, can't say the same.
"It's a little dusty in here." They must have used a flour sack or something. Painted it black, since he can't see any light. Some traces of whatever the sack used to hold remain, and Danny finds powder entering his nose every time he breathes. He's trying not to sneeze—doesn't want to get snot all over the bag covering his face—but it's getting harder and harder not to.
Someone grabs his shoulder and shoves him forward. If it weren't for his body's ghostly composition, Danny thinks his spine might have snapped in half.
"Ow," he says, not that it really hurts, but he wants the kidnappers to know that it could have hurt. If they want to get anything out of him, hurting him would be a little counterproductive. They haven't said anything to him yet. He assumes there's more than one since someone has to be driving the van while another is busy tying his hands behind his back.
Two kidnappers, then. At least two. He felt more than one set of hands grabbing him as he was dragged off the street, but he didn't get a good look at anyone before they tossed the bag over his head. He could just phase out of his bindings, and the hood, and the van in its entirety, but Danny has been bored lately. Being a ghost hunter isn't much fun after you've outgrown your usual rogues' gallery. Regardless, they still try to put up a fight. Skulker comes after his hide at least once a week, and the Box Ghost never misses an opportunity to annoy him. But after the enemies Danny has taken on, they're small fry. He could use a little excitement.
Getting kidnapped is definitely a little exciting.
Kidnapper One finishes tying Danny's hands. They must have used some kind of cord. It bites into his flesh and already his fingers are going numb. That could be bad. Limbs can fall off if their circulation is cut off for too long, right? Danny remembers reading that somewhere. He doesn't know how long this little ordeal is going to take. Hopefully not that long. Having his hands fall off doesn't sound pleasant, and it would probably be a pain in the ass to regrow them. He knows it's possible, thanks to that time when Skulker managed to steal his little toe, but it's not a pleasant experience overall.
He would also have a hard time hiding the fact that his hands are gone from his parents. How would he even do that? The toe was easy; he made sure to always wear socks until it had grown back. But hands? He has a few sweaters with long sleeves. Or he could stuff some gloves and sew those onto his sleeves. Or get Tucker to do it since sewing using telekinesis is hard. Taking notes at school would be a pain.
If he's lucky, maybe he'll only lose a finger or two.
"Hey, what would you rather lose: a foot or a hand?" Danny asks.
No one answers.
"I think I would rather lose a foot. You could still run and everything if you get a good prosthetic, although it might take some work. I need my hands, though. Thoughts?"
"What the fuck is wrong with this kid?" Kidnapper Two says. At least Danny assumes it's Kidnapper Two. The voice comes from in front of him rather than behind, but the guy who tied his hands could have moved.
"Wow, that was just—wow. That was just rude. I'm actually really hurt right now. I thought we were bonding."
"Um... sorry?" Kidnapper Two says.
"Thank you. So, hand or foot?"
The silence stretches long enough that Danny thinks he won't get a reply until a voice comes from behind him.
"Hand," Kidnapper One says.
"Are you serious? Foot is clearly the right answer. You lose a lot more when you lose a hand," Kidnapper Two says.
"But I like hiking."
"You can hike with a prosthetic."
"I'm not saying you can't! But it would be harder. It's probably more taxing physically. I don't know, I want to hike. Hand."
"Will you two shut up?" a third voice comes from the front of the van.
Danny decides to call this person Taxi Man. He can call them Kidnapper Three, stick with the theme and all that, but he doesn't think they have earned the title yet. Kidnappers One and Two did all the work, grabbing and binding him. What has Taxi Man done? Nothing. Zero effort. Anyone can drive a van. They aren't even driving frantically. Danny hasn't slid into the wall once the entire time. They should have hired his dad as the driver, to make things extra exciting.
Kidnappers One and Two, thoroughly chastised, fall silent. Too bad. Danny was just starting to like them.
The silence drags on, filled only by the rumbling of the van. He wishes he had a better internal clock, but as it is he can't tell if they have been driving for a few minutes or nearly an hour. Either way, he's starting to get bored again.
"So, is the, like, what you do on the weekends?" he asks. The lack of conversation is more stifling than his hood. Seriously, what kind of hosts are these people? The least they can do is give him a little chit-chat to make things interesting. He has Taxi Man to thank for that, though. "You text your bros like 'Hey, u down 2 kidnap?' That was a real two in there, I hope you heard it. Is there a group chat? I bet there's a group chat."
Danny wants to lean back. Sitting on the metal floor hurts his tailbone a little bit. Too many bad falls during ghost fights.
"If there is a group chat, can I join? I think I've earned it. We're in this together now. We can split the ransom and everything. There's this guy, Vlad. He'd pay big money for you to hand me over to him. He's totally obsessed with me in like an 'I want to kill your father and take his place' kind of way."
More silence. Then, "Do you need help?" Kidnapper Two asks.
Danny flexes his fingers, trying to get some feeling back into them. Maybe his hands really will fall off. "Yes."
"You do remember why we're here, don't you?" Kidnapper One asks.
"Well, yeah, but I'm really worried. What if this guy is a pedo or something?"
"Dave. That won't matter after tonight."
Dave. What a lame name for a kidnapper. Totally ruins the vibes. He should go with something scary like Hans. Or Gruber. No, wait. That's just the guy from Die Hard.
"Oh, right," Hans says.
"Wait, what about tonight?" Danny doesn't like the sound of that. He also doesn't like that no one answers him.
The drive lasts a little while longer. They make some turns. Stop at a few lights. Do other typical driving things, Danny doesn't know, he can't see what the hell is happening. But eventually, they come to a stop and the engine cuts off. Someone grabs his shoulder and hauls him up onto his feet. Danny stumbles as he's shoved toward the back of the van. He might have fallen out if it wasn’t for the hand that grabs the back of his shirt.
"Hey, you're stretching it," Danny whines, even as he dangles forward at a precarious angle. This is his favourite shirt. He can fix his face if he breaks it on the concrete, but his shirt? Can't fix that.
Someone grabs Danny's elbow and guides him down to the ground. There is a loud creak—probably the sound of a door opening. Somehow, everything gets darker. Danny didn't think that was possible, what with the hood. Apparently whoever painted it didn't do a very good job of blacking it out and he just didn't notice it until what little light he had left was gone. Now that they're inside—presumably, since the din of the street is gone now—it really is pitch black. In the distance, he hears humming.
Danny hums along. It's a catchy tune, very low and droning. It sounds like the kind of music Jazz plays to help herself fall asleep. He never got why she did that before, but he does now. As he stumbles along in the dark, smothered in the warmth of his hood, with the low murmur of distant voices, he feels rather relaxed. If he's lucky, his kidnappers might let him settle in for a nap.
The humming grows louder, loud enough for Danny to notice it's not humming at all but chanting. A dozen voices moan over each other as they repeat something in Latin. Danny isn't fluent in it, but Pandora has taught him a few phrases, so he's familiar with the sounds of the language. He tries to translate some of it, making out the word "phantasma" a few times.
Hey. That's his name.
A door creaks. The chanting grows louder. It flows over Danny, echoing voices melding into one as whatever space they're in spits the words back at them. It's haunting and beautiful in its own way.
The hand on his back guides him forward until his toes bump against something hard. He lurches, nearly falling flat on his face, but the hand grabs his shoulder and holds him steady. Once he has recovered, Danny feels out the space in front of him with his foot. there's a step, a small one. It's curved, rather than flat, and has a slight overhang at the top. Carefully, Danny steps up. Whatever it is creaks beneath his feet but holds steady.
"Stop here, please." Kidnapper One's voice echoes as they speak.
Danny obeys. Something rustles. The noise is followed by a weight on his head. A sheet, he thinks. But with some fidgeting, whoever is holding the sheet works his head through a hole and the weight settles on his shoulders. Not a sheet, then. Perhaps it’s a shawl. Or a poncho of some kind. The hands leave him once the poncho is settled. Danny focuses on every little noise he can. A clunk. A scraping noise, but not an unpleasant one. It brings back memories of chalk drawings on the sidewalk.
"Did I do it right?" Hans mutters.
"That looks like the book," Taxi Man says.
"Alright, cool. Marcel, continue."
Again, with the boring names. Marcel at least sounds unique, but Dave? Dave? They couldn’t even come up with fake names? Unless those are the fake names. That would be a stroke of genius. Danny still prefers Hans and Kidnapper One, though. They have a better ring to them.
"There's a table in front of you. Lie down on it," Hans says. At first, Danny wonders how on Earth he is going to manage that without his hands, but Hans has apparently thought of that. They turn him until he can feel the table. From there, it's a bit of an awkward scramble—with Hans' help—getting onto it and laying down, but he finds a pillow under his head once he's flat.
This is the nicest kidnapping Danny has ever experienced, even if Taxi Man is an ass. They gave him a warm poncho and a place to lie down. That nap idea is sounding better and better. Hans and Kidnapper One are pretty great guys. If that group chat really doesn't exist, Danny is going to make it happen.
The chanting around him rises to a crescendo, filling the space. Someone snatches the hood off his head and the chanting cuts off.
Danny blinks as his eyes adjust. Three people stand around him, two men and a woman. They are encircled by a small gathering of people. Everyone wears identical black cloaks with white accents on the hems, even Danny.
The woman standing to his left holds a long, vicious-looking knife in her hands.
"Oh," Danny says. "Well. That's not nice."
In hindsight, letting himself get kidnapped out of boredom wasn't a great idea. Danny should have gone to the arcade or something. Better yet, if he wanted something exciting to do, he lives above a lab. There are all kinds of fun things to get into down there. Most of those things can also kill him, but that's part of the fun, isn't it? That's what got him into this situation in the first place. The half-ghost situation, not the kidnapping situation.
"You just straight-up want to kill me," Danny says. Now sounds like a good time to start panicking. At least it would if Danny were a normal teenager. Then again, a normal teenager would have started panicking the second they were snatched off the street. Danny is just cool like that.
He takes a moment to get a good look at his kidnappers. The cloaks don't make it easy. They're loose-fitting and flowy, giving them great breathability but also masking their bodies fairly well. From the neck down, the only distinction he can make is breasts or no breasts. He mentally apologizes to all the women in the death circle. There's no delicate way to say it, it's just very obvious who does or does not have breasts. That's the problem with one-size-fits-all unisex clothing.
The three standing next to Danny—the ones who did the actual kidnapping—have their hoods pulled down and their faces exposed. The woman keeps looking between Danny and the knife as if she can't wait to stab him with it. She must be the Taxi Man. She seems like the kind of person who despises fun ice breaker games like Would You Rather.
When it comes to the men, one is significantly taller than the other, with broader shoulders. Catching a glance at the man's feet, Danny sees his ankles exposed by the too-short cloak. One-size-fits-all strikes again.
The shorter one shrugs. "Sorry." Ah, so that one is Hans. Makes sense. He has a kind face.
"If it's any consolation, we put it to a vote first. We really thought about it," Kidnapper One says.
"It was unanimous," Taxi Man supplies.
"Wait, before we go any further, I just have to ask." Danny looks at Taxi Man. "Are you okay being referred to as 'man'?"
She stares at him. "What?"
"Like, in general. Some people don't like being called dude or guy and all that stuff. I just want to make sure, are you cool with that?"
The knife twitches in her hand. She must really want to stab him right now. "Sure, whatever. I don't care."
"Okay, cool. Didn't want to be rude." Danny goes back to his favourite kidnappers. "Can I at least know why?"
"For centuries, a battle has been waging beyond the comprehension of mortals. A Tyrant and a King caught in an eternal battle. The founder of our order witnessed the first recorded battle over a thousand years ago, in the times of Ancient Greece. The Tyrant had seized control of a powerful city-state meant to expand his power by taking others as well. But before he could, the King came, vanquished him, and left. He did not even stay to receive thanks for his great deed.
"Our founder witnessed this battle and claimed they were gods. Many people did not believe him, but others had also seen the great battle and together, they formed our order Two centuries later, the Tyrant appeared again. And, again the King came and defeated him. For centuries, the Tyrant and King have waged war against one another. Their battles are great and many. Until recently, it had been some time since the King and Tyrant were last seen. Some believed them to be dead, but those faithless few have been proven wrong, for our King has returned! All hail Lord Phantom!" Kidnapper One cries out.
"Hail! Hail!" The chant echoes around them.
Danny doesn’t like the sound of that. They’re talking about him, or his ghost half, but he doesn’t understand. The Tyrant? He gets the king bit, a little. He is the Ghost King, but he certainly wasn’t a thousand years ago. He wasn’t alive a thousand years ago. Except for that one time he and Vlad went gallivanting through time, fighting over the Infi-Map. The Tyrant thing suddenly makes a whole lot more sense. And here Danny was hoping that jaunt through history could be a fun adventure with zero consequences. With his luck, he should have known better.
"But the battle has drawn on, far longer than it should. Neither the King nor the Tyrant has prevailed. Today, however, we fix that."
"Cool, cool." Danny hums in disinterest and examines the room instead.
Beyond the questionably fashionable cult people, there's not much to the room. It's big, empty. Some kind of old warehouse with windows high up on the walls. There's a catwalk overhead that leads to an office overlooking the room. Whatever used to be here is all cleared out now, but he notices marks on the floor where machinery used to be. Deep scratches and pits from things being bolted down.
He lies on a wooden table. It's finely crafted and painted a vivid purple. Leaning over the side of the table, he notes that the table is placed on a raised platform. Rounded, like he thought, also wood and also painted purple.
"Nice craftsmanship," Danny says.
"Thank you." Kidnapper One preens. "I'm a carpenter." That explains the stocky build.
Around the platform is some kind of chalk drawing. It circles the entire thing, strange symbols etched over the concrete.
Perhaps now would be a good time to run. It was silly fun before, but there are knives and an altar now. Danny doesn't remember signing up for a cult and he isn't interested in joining one now. From the corner of his eye, he catches Hans bending down and picking something up from the floor. Danny ignores him, though.
"So, this has been fun, but I think I need to get going." He sits up and swings his legs off the table. Kidnapper One and Taxi Man back away, stepping off the platform. Danny cracks his neck and readies himself. They have put so much effort into bringing him here, he may as well put on a little show. Who's going to believe some crazy cultists if he pulls a few ghost moves on them, anyway?
He goes intangible.
The cultists murmur with excitement. Danny barely pays them any mind, though, more focused on the fact that the cloak and restraints didn't fall off.
"What the hell?" Danny lets the intangibility drop, then pulls it up again. Still, nothing happens. "Hey, what's going on? What kind of—"
Danny is yanked backwards. His head bounces off the wooden table. While the warehouse spins and black spots dance in his eyes, an arm curls around his head and pins him in place, bent over backward. A hand, Hans' hand, forces his mouth open. Something slowly tips over Danny's face.
A drop of liquid touches his lips, blistering the instant it makes contact. Danny thrashes, trying to escape Hans' grip. He twists and jerks his head, but all that does is put his eyes under the stream as it drops. Danny screams as liquid blood blossom hits his face. The mixture is cold but it burns, hot and cold, freezing and melting his skin at the same time.
"Shit," Hans mumbles. The stream redirects. It splashes across his nose and cheeks before finally entering his mouth. Danny has to swallow it. If he doesn't, he might drown in the middle of a dusty warehouse. He doesn't want to, though. Everything burns. His lungs, his throat, his tongue. His screams turn to gurgles as the liquid fills his mouth. Hans forces his jaw shut. Danny can't see it, but it must be Hans.
Left with no other choice, Danny swallows. Every second is agony. He feels the mixture flow down his throat, searing him from the inside out. It settles heavily in his stomach.
Finally, Hans backs away. Danny collapses onto the floor, sobbing and gasping for breath. He can't see. He can't speak. He can barely breathe.
"Lord Phantom!" Kidnapper One shouts. His voice booms throughout the warehouse. "You have fought long and hard, but you have been weakened, bound against your will."
The chanting picks up again. Danny's name echoes all around him.
"We offer this boy, your mortal prison, as a sacrifice in your name! We have seen his feats of power and know him to be the one who enslaves you!"
Danny crawls forward, feeling for the edge of the platform. He must be close. Through the grey haze that his vision has become, he can just make out the edge of the wooden stage. He launches himself at it. The air before him sparks.
Danny screams again as electricity courses through him. The runes on the floor glow with power.
"Hail! Hail!"
"Hail! Hail!" The cultists cry.
Someone crouches in front of Danny, reaching over the runes. He raises his head, blood and tears dripping from his eyes. Taxi Man lifts him with a hand to his throat.
"As he breathes his last breath, so may you breathe life again! Hail the King, Lord Phantom!"
The knife comes down.
The room is dark. It's still daytime, but the sky outside is black. The only illumination comes from the circle of runs. The glow is dim. The pale light reflects off the sacrificial blade. A drop of blood falls from the tip onto the runes. They pulse.
The cultists all stand back and watch their sacrifice. A deep wound carves the inside of his arm, a remnant of his futile attempt to escape his fate. The knife still found a home in his chest. Now he lays splayed out on the dais, one arm outstretched. Blood drips from his fingers, falling onto the runes. With every drop, the runes brighten, until the growing pool of blood beneath him spills over the edge of the dais.
The runes flare, blinding everyone. The room rumbles.
"It's happening." Marcel steps back in awe.
An arc of light bursts off the body. It happens again, and again, until waves of silver light drown out the runes. They explode from the boy's bloody chest and burst into starlight. The light lashes against the barrier, pushing and pushing until the runes burst into dust. The next wave of light washes over the cultists and they drop to their knees screaming.
A chill fills the room.
Marcel struggles to lift his head. The runes have gone out. The body lays still, motionless, a shadow against the dais. A figure hovers above the altar, wreathed in silver light and wearing a black crown around his throat. Otherworldly green eyes look down on Marcel.
"You wanted the King." Phantom speaks with a hundred voices. His mouth doesn't move, but the noise fills Marcel's head. Every word rumbles with power. It feels as if his skull will crack open at the next syllable.
"So here I am." Phantom's arm stretches out. The worshippers drop to the floor, ectoplasm spilling from their mouths. It burns as it bubbles up through their throats, searing their tongues and lips. The only sound they can make is guttural screams. Marcel chokes, waiting for death. It doesn't come, though. Between one blink and the next, Phantom disappears.
When Marcel looks down, the body on the dais is gone.
Prompt by @five-rivers: For centuries, the cult has anticipated the glorious rise and return of Lord Phantom. That time is at hand. All they need to bring him fully into the mortal world is the perfect sacrifice: Danny Fenton.
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tarabyte3 · 11 months
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🍁🕯️🎃 Happy Halfoween! 🎃🕯️🍁
To celebrate it being both halfway to my favorite day of the year AND National Poetry Month, here is my last poetry post: Horror Edition!
(Please mind the content warning tags! Also there are more collages below the cut to really get you in the mood)
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The Harvest
When the night falls
and the harvest comes
we huddle in our beds,
covers pulled tight
to our trembling chins,
and wait. Every creak
or moan of wood
catches our breath.
A struggle for silence. A hope
our blood-soaked offerings
and fires were enough
to satiate their endless
ancient hunger.
Our rituals used to be joyous
occasions of mead and meat
and congregation,
before the things came
and then by morning light
we found splintered doors,
gore splattered beds,
and trails of ichor
winding into the forest.
In those first few years
we dared not look out
our curtains for fear
of catching their eye,
but some saw upright shadows
pass their windows
with a shambling gait
and spindly limbs.
Not beasts, but worse
than men. No weapons,
no charm or barricade,
no prayers to God
could save our souls,
and we dreaded the dying
light—their coming.
We left the pigs out first,
tied to posts in the town square,
huddled and confused.
It helped. Lessened the hunt,
but didn't end it.
Not by half.
Then we tried the cows
as well, and still we heard
the screams and pleas
and grinding growls.
We had no choice
except to choose.
The harvesters were coming
and it was better to prepare,
to know how the night
would go than to leave
our loved to slaughter. A mercy
to die by the blade
before the tearing started.
Our rituals now are solemn,
lotteries and funerals,
towering pyres, sacrifice
and chanting to appease
these old gods of the long dark
and death. We are our own
shepherds and farmers,
our own flock and crops,
and so we must tend our own.
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Every night I awaken—
before dawn with the notion
that I am not alone.
There is a shadow with me.
Its eyes peek from
a dark corner crack,
beckoning with a wispy
curl of a finger.
Yet it is not temptation
I feel, but terror,
bone itching
and bile roiling
with a ringing in my ears
like the scream
of a tea kettle
This blackness creeps
ever closer.
Yesterday it brushed
the fringe of my rug.
Tonight it's reached
my curtains.
I know it hunts me,
ever patient,
to blanket me in nothing.
I would run,
you see,
If I didn't know
this shroud is a distraction.
A dare to rouse me
to my feet.
For in my full length mirror
by the hall door,
fading in the moonlight,
I see the face under my bed
and how it smiles.
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Not a Tree
There is a branch outside
my window where no tree
grows. Yet its twig fingers
scrape and probe the screen
for a weakness,
an opening
to pry ajar
like an oyster.
Inside I am meat.
I am prey
to this ash, this bark
crusted limb
that covets skin—
seeks to know
my bare limbed flesh
and crush my bones.
It creaks. It yearns, aches,
to slip its muddied roots
throughout my ribcage,
twine its way between
my fingers and toes.
To feel how I writhe
beneath it as my
sinews decompose.
It cannot help
but consume me
to feel alive and grow
from my absence.
It must be a tree
that knocks, that sways
palm shaped shadows
upon my bedroom wall.
What else can reach
a second story window?
That is not the question
that lashes through my mind,
but rather: did I remember
to turn the lock?
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lynxgriffin · 7 months
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Eldritchrune - The Sacrifice
1 | 2
Story Setup Eldritchrune Masterpost
Perhaps the most frightening part for Kris is the realization that whatever is happening, has happened before.
And yay, this comic's all done! A full setup for just how Kris ended up in the Dark World!
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cicicolorao · 14 days
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I AM CRINGE BUT I AM FREE I AM CRINGE BUT I AM FREE
BEHOLD, WHEN YOU LISTEN TO AN OLD ASS VOCALOID SONG ON LOOP! Ya gotta mix it in with your hyperfixation
This took me days :)))
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redlerred7 · 4 months
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Ina Performs a Ritual
Wherein the Priestess of the Ancient Ones sacrifices a volunteer tentacult member to her eldritch god. They'll get a glass of milk and a cookie after she brings them back to life the next day.
Tried a more painterly style with this one. It looks great, but it was so time-consuming to make!
Commissions open.
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sebbyisland · 6 months
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“With this you are mine now. Let’s eat together, sleep together, and have a lovely life.”
(Desc in alt)
#Updated version of an old piece#Cw gore#cw blood#Cw cannibalism#ugh so cathartic to finally type out these tags bc I’m done#Chainsaw man fanart#makima#Denji#pochita#csm part 1#No because I always believed if Makima won she would keep Denji’s corpse which would still have the scent of Pochita#Obvi she can’t consume csm but Denji is like her vessel I’m thinking like communion at church#If Pochita is Makima’s god then Denji is kinda her sacrifice for the good of humanity he’s kinda jesus son of god …#I mean he literally rose from the dead surrounded by crosses.#Csm is heavily based on Dante’s Inferno I don’t think it’s far fetched to say there’s Christian imagery throughout#Anyways. Denji is the body and blood of christ that Makima consumes to be closer to her god Pochita#Who she thinks will cleanse the world from evil and absolve her loneliness#Note that he defeats Makima with his human BODY and BLOOD devil weapon!! Btw I censored his face bc Makima doesn’t care abt it#There is only taking and taking from Denji and then BLAMING HIM for it he is MAKIMA’S LOLITA!!!!#God. Ok. I’m still sooooo normal abt the makiden dynamic.#Makima truthfully just wants Denji for his body and Denji just wants to be loved but bc he’s young isolated and inexperienced he accepts he#remember he says his type of girl is one who wants him#Makima REALLY wanted the csm heart inside him#Even tho she never cared for him Makima still provided warmth and comfort for Denji he can’t forget that#At the end of part 1 he knows all this but still loves her and cares about her as a person and#as a mother figure and as his first object of affection after pochita died. And the complicated feelings from being sexually groomed.#Makima was his first human connection and she was never even paying attention to him#she’s a lot of things but I interpret her ultimately as the worst mother figure in the world#It’s so crazy you consider all this and how historically chainsaws were developed to sever the umbilical cord.#how many connections to his life did Denji sever in order to reach the end of part 1? How many lives lost at the cost of him gaining his ow
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redhotarsenic · 1 year
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A Cruel Mockery Of Taxidermy
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snarp · 9 months
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By Randy Bolerjack, WSU Everett
When a five-person submersible descends to the floor of the North Atlantic this summer, part of a historic series of private excursions to map the famed RMS Titanic’s wreckage in 3-D imagery, it will be WSU Everett students that helped make it possible.
“The whole electrical system – that was our design, we implemented it and it works,” said Mark Walsh, a 2017 WSU Everett graduate in electrical engineering from the WSU Voiland College of Engineering and Architecture. “We are on the precipice of making history and all of our systems are going down to the Titanic. It is an awesome feeling!”
[...] The links between OceanGate and WSU Everett began as part of a group tour of the company’s facilities by students in the University’s Institute of Electrical and Electronics Engineers club. Walsh was the club’s treasurer at the time and explained that when OceanGate’s director of engineering, Tony Nissen, described during the tour some of the challenges the company faced, Walsh and fellow student Nick Nelson volunteered solutions. “Tony said, ‘OK, you’re hired.’”
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1pcii · 3 months
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thinking about younger 124ji as years of this kind of unchecked thinking and behaviour, mixed with their unnatural lack of empathy bringing them to the cartoonist extremes they display in canon.
#cw for strangulation and child death for the video clip#I've been thinking alot about the vinsmokes and Eva parallels lately#how similar yet opposite gendou and judge are#gendou doing everything for the sake/memory of his wife at the expense of humanity. judge doing everything for germa at the expence of#his wife/family#yet they both end up hurting and augmenting unatural circumstances for their children in very similar ways#they are but liabilities. sacrifices. pawns in a game they would kill themselves trying to win. cast out and abused for 'failing'#I find rei parallels especially interesting. she's a very underappreciated character already imo. and it's easy to make the shinji/sanji#connection#but Rei has so many layers to her that can be akin to the vinsmoke siblings#she is like reiju in that she does have emotion but her subservient position under judge(/gendou) means that it means very little in the#grand scheme of things#and yet she can't help but to /feel/ when around sanji(/shinji). a testimony of the love of her late mother#she is also similar to 124ji in that she is replaceable. always at risk of the technology that brought her into the world as she is#she has been molded into the perfect soldier via gendou's emotional manipulation and as such only expresses what is necessary for her#position. only parrots back what he exposes her to. unaware of it's weight or ramifications on other people#124ji I'd say have that to an extream in that violence and malice are actively encouraged in their minds by the fact they do seem to be#able to express /negative/ emotions#which naturally lead them to growing into the abusive assholes they are today#but it's sad yknow? that they never had the chance to be anything else#psii.txt#psii.mp4#text#meta#vinsmoke siblings#vinsmoke ichiji#vinsmoke niji#vinsmoke yonji#124ji
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yandereloveraw · 4 months
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Yandere! Devotee, who has resorted to human sacrifices to get their deity's attention: Just know that what I am doing is part of a plan~ I will connect with as many souls as I can, and the soul that controls me, the one I should know must see my work here, which means you have to go~ Surely you could understand~! Haven't you been in ♡love♡ on the edge where there's no turning back~? Just the thought of it can take you to some new dimension, so you do what you can just to get their attention~!
🔪 Circus - Lindsay Mendez
[Lyrics and song belong to Lindsay Mendez]
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rederiswrites · 2 years
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You know, when you study pre-Christian northern Europe, periodically human sacrifice will come up. They did it; there’s no real question they did it. I’ve never studied it deliberately but I do know that. The only reason it’s controversial is because a lot of people react with horror to the idea of human sacrifice. Me, I react with scholarly interest, so I don’t really get it anyway. But at some point, I think when someone made a snippy reply on my post about Vikings, it occurred to me that as modern USAmericans, our government routinely engages in highly ritualized killings of select individuals, i.e. the death penalty, so probably we should like, do a little perspective-taking exercise.
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scare-ard--sleigh · 6 months
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something that i think is interesting is like. aside from the other christiansens, who else is In this cult lmao??? i know robert was implied to be but obviously that's over, and even as far as his family goes: the kids are merely vessels and joseph thinks so low of mary, i doubt he sees her as having any sort of power ("alcoholic wife whose life i destroyed.") it's really just him and cthulhu or whatever????? why the outfit, why the Dramatics if he's got no one to show off to?????? who is this FOR??????
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'we're better than you because we have better taste in human sacrifice' stellar logic from medieval iceland (from kristni saga, source here, give it a read, it's good fun)
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The heathens then held a well-attended meeting and made a decision to sacrifice two people from each Quarter, and called on the heathen gods not to let Christianity spread throughout the country.
Gizurr and Hjalti held another meeting with the Christians, and they said that they also wished to hold a sacrifice of as many people as the heathens. They said this:
'Heathens sacrifice the worst people, and push them over cliffs and crags, but we shall make our selection on the basis of people’s virtues and call it a victory offering to our Lord Jesus Christ. We must therefore live better lives and be more careful to avoid sin than before, and Gizurr and I will come forward as the victory offering for our Quarter.'
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I want your body....
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You can be my fur coat to keep me warm, my rug as décor, my blanket to dive under and have my wicked ways. And your head as my trophy on the wall. And your bones for my alter. I will hunt you, skin you, devour you, sacrifice you. You will finally be of use.
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blyth-thehuman · 1 year
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Polytheists on twitter are fucking scary what do you mean Aztec human sacrifice was good???? What do you mean animals being killed in big amounts is good??? What do you mean in nature males are dominant and protect and provide and females don't and that that's how human societies should be like??? What the fuck is wrong with these people????
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