#i love the literal reading of cannibalism but there’s layers

[piizunn]

god bones and all was so real!!!!! that moment when you unwillingly inherit a parent’s character trait and it makes you hate yourself </3 also they hate you for it and the people around you do too

[bvnnywrites]

Still Waters Run Deep

Chapter 2: Überprüfen

PAIRING: Eldritch!König x Reader

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Sorry for the very long wait. My body gave out on stress and I passed out the side of the road this Monday on my way home. Also, I was manic and I had an episode yesterday so yayeet. Also, I read all your comments in the last chapter and asvbhbvdvdhdhfhv I LOVE ALL OF YOU GUYS. THANK YOU SO MUCH RAHHHHHH. Anyways, enjoy the chapter! UwU

WARNING: NON-CON/DUB-CON, DARK, SMUT, NSFW, Creampie, Breeding Kink, Fingering, Stomach Bulge, Age Gap, Unprotected Sex, Cockwarming, Implied Discharge, Power Imbalance, Abuse of Authority, No Beta Reader, Dom! König, Size Kink, Size Difference, Cannibalism, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Cannibalistic Thoughts, Older!König, Eldritch!König, Monster!König, Masturbation, Dark Romance, Blood and Gore, Violence, Monsterfucking

THE ONLY INTERESTING THING TO DO AT KORTAC, if he wasn’t out and about in the field, was apparently dwelling in the thought of committing fraternization – and König chided himself that he was better than this.

But there’s nothing to worry about. Of course, he isn’t losing sleep overthinking the eager look on your face to get in his good graces—his approval and validation. No. he isn’t staying up late, seeing your adorable pouty lips and sweet-looking eyes glancing up at him because you’re too small whether you stood or sat. Especially, the softness of your flesh when he held your chin to make you look at him, or the warmth of your body when he soothed you from seeing those disgusting pictures.

König definitely does not want to know every detail of your life—what your flesh taste like pressed against his tongue, what it feels like as the tentacles on his face roam your body and leaving slick in its trail, what you like or hate, what blood type you have, how soft your hair is when he’s gripping it in his fingers while he’s shoving his cock deep in your little cunt, what your favorite position in bed is, what it feels like to have your pussy milking him desperately as he breeds you again and again until you’re pregnant with his children.

No.

No.

Who the hell was he kidding?

He’s is a fucking pervert—the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

What he’s doing is fucking disgusting and he can’t believe that he’s thinking this way about you. God, König knows he’s a thousand shades of fucked up, but he did not expect to be like this. The colonel never expected he’d go this fucking low. He doesn’t want to be like he’s father—a disgusting fucker who was selfish and sick in the head—but he can’t help but fall straight down the rabbit hole and into the maws of the abyss of his own wicked desires.

König is a fucking disgusting creep because you’re so sweet, calm and understanding when he threw the first few layers of ugliness from his soul, dumping it on your lap, and you so graciously comforted him. He is disgusting because you’re literally twenty-three years younger than him, old enough to be his daughter, and yet your eagerness to obtain his approval has him losing his shit. You have him losing his morals. The softness of your skin has him wanting more, his teeth clenched with poorly contained desire, and yet he demands more – to be closer, to reach into the depths of your soul and twist it until you’re as fucked up as he is—craving him the way he craves you. You have him understanding why his father did what he did because now he thinks that maybe the sick fuck couldn’t control himself in the presence of his ‘Aphrodite’.

And you… you were König’s ‘Aphrodite’—the embodiment of his desires, both good and bad.

He is a fucking pervert because you were eager to help him in this manhunt for the so-called beast. Eager and desperate to advance in the ranks of the military – that’s all you were probably hoping, but instead of following the logical side, König had let himself be swayed by the waves of his depravity.

König was always proud of his self-control – his more human nature that he had inherited from his beloved mother. He never thought the day would come where these sickening thoughts would run in his mind. He was a monster, yes, but nature does have a way of being more predominant than nurture. At least, in this case. It didn’t even matter that his mother – who despised and loved him at the same time – had engrained the Lord’s teachings into his head or the holy scriptures that she would beat into his flesh.

All those teachings went to waste because at the end of the day, he was his father’s son.

He could see the disappointing and disgusted look on his mother’s face right now.

But all that washes away when his mind comforts him with the thoughts of you. The way your pretty eyes look up at him through long lashes, the way your voice addresses him has desire pumping in König’s veins. Because somehow, when it comes to you, he feels calm as he feels the need to lash out. He feels the need to bite and claw at you, marking you as his own little wife to love and to fuck. He wants to rip off his mask in front of you and make you braid his hair and weave flowers into it because you called him ‘beautiful’, wants to let one of his tentacles slither around your neck while he bites you and marks you as his. His little and eager to please mate—his beloved wife-to-be.

He can still see your pouty face, as if you’re there right in front of him. Your pretty wide eyes looking up at him—looking at him as if he wasn’t a disgusting monster—like an actual breathing person. Your scent lingers in his nose for the past two days. You smelled delicious – divine, if he’s honest. You reeked of the shower gel that you use,  and that suffocating perfume—or is it a cologne?—that you’re using to make yourself fresh. Several thoughts ran in his head, wanting nothing more than to smother you in his scent. Rubbing his smell all over you, until every single being—doesn’t matter if mortal or not—would know that you’re his.

The thought itself had his cock twitching more than it did before. It’s throbbing hard, leaking precum all over his hand as he pumps it with his fist while the other grips the sheets. Judging from your smaller form against his, you’d definitely be fucking tight, which was why he was gripping it mercilessly. The pictures of pin-up girls had long been discarded. He doesn’t need those when he has your pretty face, adorable ass, and alluring scent engraved in his mind. He’s a fucking perverted old dog… and it was all because of you.

König wants to have you on his knees before him. Relieving him of his stress by wrapping your adorable lips around the head of his dick, soft tongue lapping at the precum he’s making as if you’re a goddess and the gushing liquid was ambrosia—the very thing you needed to live.

He wants to take care of you, cradle you in his arms and pepper your face with kisses and show you how much he can just provide for you—KorTac isn’t cheap in their payments, and he is one of their best mercenaries they have, not counting the huge mess he has made that his superiors are ordering him to clean up. He was too valuable for them to lose, so they’re just asking him to wipe away the evidence and pin the blame on some poor soldier who was there at the wrong place at the right time.

König wants nothing more than to hold you close. He can’t even think about letting you fall in the grasp of another man—whether they be as old as him or young as your age, whichever you prefer—because you are fragile as you are gullible. He can tell by the way your eyes glimmer at him or the kindness that blossoms on your face whenever you cater to the soldiers under your command, acting as if you’re a mother to them. He wants you to be his. His little, beloved wife. Waiting for him in the house he’d buy for you in Hallstatt or maybe he’d catch you walking along the shoreline of the lake while you’re telling stories of yours and his love story to his unborn child that grows in your womb.

By God König wanted you more than anything.

He’s thinking of putting you on your knees, preferably on his bed so it wouldn’t make you uncomfortable in the long run, so you can be comfortable while he shoves his cock down your throat. Your pretty lips wrapped around his cock, little whines and moans vibrating from you and on to his length and muffled from how strong his thrusts are inside your tight, wet, and warm mouth.

 Your face would be messy, mascara running down your cheeks, if you had any, and lip gloss smeared and staining his cock. And König would try to be gentle, so he wouldn’t end up breaking you, but it’d be impossible when you’re so eager to please him. You’d have trouble barking out orders and speaking normally, because he knows he’d wreck your throat by the time he’s done with you.

König is fantasizing about it—having you in such a state, making use of your delicate mouth and moving tongue.

But guilt flashes across his mind. No. No, he couldn’t do that to you. You’re a fragile little thing—not to mention a human. You’re like an adorable little mouse beneath him. Breaking you would break him too—hurting you would hurt him too.

He is a worthless monster, a disgusting being that should be shot dead for just thinking of you—his klein hase—like this. That woman who read his future was right. He was depraved. He’d ruin you…

But God have mercy on him because he couldn’t bring himself to care enough to back the fuck away from you.

Your name falling from his lips like a prayer, chanting your name as if you’d be able to save him from eternal damnation – and maybe you could, in your own human way. A primal and dark urge to have you in his full mercy, waiting for him to claim you. He… He just wants to be accepted by people, to be welcomed by his peers, but none of it matters now because he just wants to be accepted by you. He’s panting and groaning, pumping his dick several times, chasing that climax. He is shamelessly hard, cock angry as it's about to burst.

König feels dirty for this. He felt like a teenage boy who’s jerking off to his crush. And despite that, he’s imagining you sucking on his cock or having your forehead pressed against his, whispering how much you love him and how you can’t wait to be filled with his cock. He imagines your cum-drunk expression, eyes glazed as your head is muddled and filled with nothing but pleasure, and that makes him cum; thick ropes of white shooting out from the tip, while his cock pulsates as he pumps it continuously before gradually slowing to a halt.

He keeps cumming, more than he usually does. The white, thick liquid staining his abdomen, pants, and sheets. He moans, biting his lips in a poor attempt to conceal his pathetic whimpers. His release covering his hand—sticky and disgustingly warm. Bless KorTac for allowing him and other high-ranking superiors to have their own room, because he knows goddamn well that he won’t be able to commit such sinful acts in communal barracks.

Post-nut clarity hits him hard, almost the same way his mother would, and he’s shameful for what he had just done. The two of you barely know each other, only getting information about you out of your files, and yet he was infatuated with you the moment you arrived on KorTac that sunny day. And yet he fell in love completely in just a matter of two days after talking with you.

He wants to resent you for what you made him do. He wants to worship you and mark your body with his marks. He wants to be left alone—preferably in your arms while you stroke his hair and look at him lovingly because no one ever looked at him the same way you do.

“Mein Gott, Shatz. What are you doing to me, liebling?”

König pants, letting his head fall back into the pillow as he sighed. His muscles relaxed, so much that he feels like he’s going to be one with the mattress. He lays there for a bit in his own bodily fluids before he got up to clean himself and get changed, replacing the sheets with cleaner ones.

“Colonel, are you there?”

Your soft voice came to his ears, making him stop in his tracks. Was he delusional to the point that he’s imagining your voice? He’s losing it. He’s definitely losing it because no way in hell did you sought him out at—he glances at his clock and sees that it’s 24:58 on a Wednesday—this late in the night. König ignores the voice, opting to throw himself back into the bed, cuddling his pillows and imagining that it’s you.

“Colonel?” Your voice echoes, followed by a soft knock. “Sir? This is very important, I’m sorry.”

Oh. Oh. No, he’s not actually hearing things. You’re actually outside his door. König wore his mask, covering his ugliness because he didn’t want to scare a pretty little thing like you. It would be too soon for you to see his face. It’d be like putting a frog straight in boiling water instead of heating it up little by little.

He rushed to fix the cloth over his head, zipping and buttoning his pants. König almost tore the bolts of his door just to immediately see you, and when he swung the door open—almost ripping it off the hinges—he saw you standing there with several dossiers in your arms. Your pretty doe-like eyes, the ones he fantasized about as he came literally just seconds ago, looks up at him with a sheepish gaze. You smile apologetically up at him, neck craning to properly look at him. He sees the way your eyes glanced at his shirtless torso before flickering up to look at him.

Were you attracted to him the same way he is to you?

Did your cunt also drip at the thought of him, the same way his cock throbs at the mere thought of you? Did you also touch yourself when you were alone the past two days after you two spoke to one another? Did you also call out his name? Whimpering and panting as you flicked your clit and plunged your tiny fingers in your weeping pussy–

“Sorry to disturb you so late at night, I was ordered to give you these documents. Horangi said that I deliver these to you because it needs your immediate approval, sir.”

You say to him, spouting out your reasons and he can see that you’re doing so in hopes of not angering him because you think you’ve disturbed his sleep. How adorable. König keeps a note to himself to tell Horangi not to let you out this late at night; he doesn’t want you being suspected as the killer. Your cheeks are slightly red, and König finds red pretty on your face. So much so that he wants to just grab your squishy cheeks and pepper it with kisses. Maybe nibble on it affectionately.

“It’s alright. No worries. Come in, Schatz.”

He moves aside, letting you in. And, oh boy, you eagerly entered his chambers as you rushed to the desk in his room. You bend over to place the heavy papers on his table, and he has half a mind to bend you over the desk, tear off your clothes, and fuck you stupid until all you can do is mewl and whine on his cock. The fact that he was imagining you on your knees, choking on his cock or pumping it with your hands while you whispered sweet nothing to him five minutes ago didn’t help the colonel either.

“I’m really sorry. I know you’re probably sleeping–”

“I said it is fine, liebling. No need to lose your head over nothing, ja?”

He finds it endearing that he calms you, that his words weigh that much for you. Usually, he’s used to barking orders, establishing things with force. And yet, when he speaks to you softly, reassuring you, that it’s alright if you waltz into his room—into his heart, even—and take whatever you wanted is a nice change of pace. He’d give more to you on your way out, because he loves you. He wants to marry you. He wants to take you back with him to Austria. You’re beautiful in gear, but König knows you’d be more beautiful in maternity dresses.

But he is sane about you. Completely sane about you. Totally normal. Absolutely nothing wrong with his state of mind regarding you. Everyone loves strongly, ja?

“It’s late at night, and I don’t want you to end up as a corpse in the halls, liebling. Let me escort you to your quarters, ja?” He says softly, walking up to you as he effortlessly moves the paperwork that were practically heavy for you. “It would ease me to sleep, knowing you’re safe and sound in your bed.” König pats your head.

“I… um… are you sure, sir?” You look at him, confused as you tilt your head in confusion. “You must be tired for the day, and I’ve already taken up much of your time.”

He ignored your words of worry as he grabbed his hoodie and wore it, finally giving you an ounce of mercy because as much as he loves the way your eyes are drawn to his torso, he also doesn’t want to give you cardiac arrest just because he was being too much for you.

Now that you’re here in his room, alone with the colonel, your heart hums nervously. You pray that no soldier would see you walk out of his room at this hour. Because you don’t want to burden him with silly rumors when he’s drowning in paperwork, focusing on an investigation, and you don't want to add up to his plate.

“I want to protect you from harm, Schatz. With me around, I doubt the beast would hurt you.”

Lies. No, wait. It’s not all lies, so basically just half-truths. With König around, the thing that lurks in the halls of KorTac would never hurt you, if anything it would worship the ground you walk on. Ask him to give you a town for your dowry, and he would enslave every continent on Earth and lay it by your feet—because the thing in the dark is him, and he loves you, and he wants to give you the world.

“Okay. I mean… if that’s okay with you, sir.”

“König.”

“What?”

“Please, mein liebe. I would appreciate it if we drop the formalities. We are comrades, ja?”

“Alright… as I was saying, I… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to burden you, König.”

“You’re not a burden. Not to me… not if it’s you, mein liebling.”

Your face scrunched up in confusion with the way he addressed you. It sounds like German, and the way he pronounces it makes you feel important. You don’t know German, and you kick yourself mentally because you wish you knew what he was calling you. For all you know, he’s calling you stupid affectionately. Because it took you weeks before you realize Izzy was calling you ‘stupid’ in the most affectionate way possible, so who’s to say the colonel is any different?

Before you can ask him what the words mean, he walks past you, opening the door for you. You walk out his room, thankful that no one’s there to see the two of you together.

You two walk down the halls, side by side. And poor little you.t you’re practically walking alongside the devil. The halls are empty, devoid of any soul. The trip to your room was quiet, no one is around, obviously. Soldiers were already asleep, and those who didn’t need to follow the curfew were chilling in their room or buried in neck-deep paperwork in their offices.

König wished he wasn’t the monster right now. He wished it was someone else, because he wants an opportunity for him to be a hero. To be a protector. To put up all of his pent-up aggression on someone else while you praise him for his strength and bravery. Maybe shower him with loving kisses, even. He wants something to try and kill him, just so he can show you that he can protect you from anything and anyone who would want to kill you, but then you stop in front of your room, making you turn and smile at him.

He loved your smile, the way your skin stretched and your adorable features twist just to give him a kind gesture

“Well. This is my stop.” You offer him a warm smile, unaware that it’s a currency that König could never afford yet you willingly give it to him for free. “Thank you… for looking out for me, König.”

“You’re a valuable soldier. It would be a shame if the thing lurking the base comes and kills you, Shatz—I want you safe.” He smiles at you beneath the mask, and the way his eyes crinkle is adorable and you know he’s smiling when they do that. “For as long as I’m able to, I’ll protect you, okay?”

His fingers gently held your chin, afraid that he’d break you at the slightest pressure. Your heart thumps in your chest. How could Roze or Izzy ever tell you to avoid him? He was practically a sweetheart. The colonel wanted you safe more than anything, isn’t that enough to warrant an inch of friendship from you?

Your eyes met his, those eyes that remind you of a storm at sea, are filled with nothing but warmth. It makes your breath hitch with how… oddly intimate it feels. You’re sure that if you weren’t a soldier, if the two of you met outside the forces, as civilians, without the medals and badges, you’re sure that he would’ve kissed you right then and there. It felt like your heart was about to explode – it’s too overwhelming.

So, you forced yourself to look away, stepping back and away from his grasps—from his touch. The absence of his touch makes your head clear without realizing it felt hazy in the first place. Such a strange effect that the colonel has on you.

König is displeased that you’ve put more distance between you two, but he doesn’t show it. He doesn’t want to make you worry, despite the adorable look on your face whenever you do look troubled. So, König opts to pat you on the head briefly.

“Sleep tight, Schatz. Don’t forget to lock your door, ja?”

“Alright, co–König. Good night.”

As you shut your doors, the monster outside stood there for a few more minutes before it walked away.

“Did something good happen today, colonel?”

“None of your concern, major.”

Horangi was as sharp as ever, deep voice rumbling in his chest which intimidated most people around him. He was also the only one in the ranks to be able to speak casually with his superior – even though all of KorTac members usually avoid the giant soldier since they don’t really want to risk being discharged because they can’t function properly anymore. Horangi was the closest thing König has to a friend – which is kind of sad since a former gambling addict was the only one who can tolerate his shit and can understand him, even with his hood permanently on.

But Horangi was right.

Something good did happened.

You happened.

“That new lieutenant.” König starts. “If you’re sending her out to deliver files, tell me so I can escort the klein hase to her destination,” the colonel orders him, “I do not wish for her to be hurt.”

He spent the night awake, drinking and shredding it in the gym, trying so hard to put your adorable face out of his mind. You were out of sight alright, he hasn’t seen you running around base for the day because he’s too busy cooped up in his office and signing off the papers that you’ve given him hours ago, but the way your facial features would get distorted into something more adorable every single time he closed his eyes was highly concerning.

And he calms himself down in those wee hours the same way he did moments before you knocked on his door—jerking himself off until he felt nothing but self-hatred and the yearning of having your soft body pressed up against his.

“She’s a lieutenant, König.” Horangi snort. “You know I don’t recruit the weak.”

“She’s a woman,” König responds, “I’m not saying she’s weak, but most soldiers in base are men… I’m sure you can see where I’m going with this.”

“She can handle herself.”

“And what of the monster on the loose?”

“Why? Do you plan on eating her next?”

“… Perhaps.”

König thinks for a moment. It should be easier if he would have an official legal reason to keep you by his side. Have your desk literally in his office so he can always keep his eyes on you, make sure no one lays a finger on you. König chucks his delirious thoughts to the lack of sleep, his fingers held down the paper while he wrote with his pen, but he wished he was holding you down and fucking into your wet cunt instead. He had those things before – overthinking about the tiniest details in someone he never truly knew, but understood that he can’t be with them—it could be his childhood crushes that he could never had thanks to his hideous appearance… and anxiety. It could be fantasizing about a pretty woman that caught his attention one day—imagining a life with them, multiple kids, and maybe a dog or two. König is aware that he has a problem , but not like… this; never dangerous.

The problem was that he knows he can have you.

Perhaps not in a traditional way. No. He can’t court you, that’s against the rules, and König wished nothing more that you were a civilian instead of a soldier. Because of your badge, he couldn’t be with you. He has half a mind to snatch you away and leave you as his perfect little bedmate because he knows you would never marry a monster like him, so abducting you was… reasonable. He can shower you with gifts in your captivity, decorating you with all the gold and jewel in the world while he’s fucking his child into you. He can have his men kidnap you, and yes, it is inhumane but you would be happy with him as his wife than a woman playing as a lieutenant. He would soothe your worries, fuck you every single hour with no rest until his cock rearranges your insides and impregnate you until he can convince you that he was the perfect mate for you, and then boom – happily ever after.

He knows that he can have you.

And it drives him crazy because he has never felt a strong urge to want  something so bad in his life. At this point, it’s not even a want. It’s a need. It’s hilarious how the two of you barely knew each other, but König was head over heels for you. He wants you by his side, whether you’re willing or not.

“Have you eaten?” Horangi asked.

“Not yet.” König answered.

That’s how he found himself sitting down at the mess hall, eating this food that was barely stimulating his senses. Horangi didn’t join him, said he had to attend a meeting with his soldiers since a complaint was given to him. It was good, actually. There was rice, three hamburger steak, gravy and mashed potatoes. They gave him a bigger serving simply because he was a giant man, it only made sense to give him enough sustenance to function. The food was delicious, but König didn’t really pay attention much to it.

Now that he has had a taste of you—you giving him kind words and smiling at him—König couldn’t get enough. You were like a drug. He want to pin you down, ravage you in bed, feel your walls clamp and spasm around his cock over and over again while you’re reduced to nothing but mewls with a cum-drunk expression the same way a drug addict heats heroin over a spoon before injecting it into their systems.

He needs you under him, panting and blushing, lips puffy from kisses, skin glazed with sweat and marked with his lips and teeth.

He needs you under him, creaming on his cock while he stretches out your cunt deliciously – taking him to the hilt like a good girl, cock forming a bulge on your abdomen. Juices dripping on to the sheets while he suckles on your nipple, his other hand groping your other tit.

He needs you under him–

“Colonel?”

König’s eyes snapped up and locked on to yours, and the concern scribbled on to them has his heart swooning over you once more. Your brows are turned upward with worry and you standing in front of the table he was sitting at, calling out to him has him wanting to put you on his lap and nuzzle against the crook of your neck. He smiles underneath the mask, seeing you again, blessing his eyes with your beauty.

“Ah, liebling. What brings you my way?”

“Roze is on a mission and Izzy is currently in a meeting, and every seat is taken. So, I was wondering if I can sit with you.”

“Of course, mein liebe. Your company is always welcome.”

You can sit on his lap.

You can sit on his face, ride him while he eats you out. Tongue lapping at your sweet juices as you cum on his face. God, he wants to spoil you. Cover you with kisses and embrace you because he loves you.

To König, you’re adorable when you eat. Your cheeks puffing a little like a chipmunk as you chew your food, before gulping some of your water. There’s a bit of mashed potato smeared by the side of your lips, and you don’t seem to notice. Before he can stop himself, his fingers had made contact with your skin, wiping away the stain. He sees you visibly froze, eyes widening so adorably.

“You had mashed potato on your face.” König chuckled, wiping the food off of his gloves with a tissue.

“O-oh…” You stutter, smiling sheepishly. “Sorry. I was hungry… I missed breakfast.”

Your cheeks turned red, flustered at his gentle gesture, and König eats that shit up. His mind keeping the moment in his head. His desires spilling over it like ink; tainting a shared innocent memory between you two. He stares at you for a solid minute, engraining your features into his memory—as if he hasn’t memorized your face at this point—and smiles softly beneath the mask. There are scars all over his body, including his face, and the tentacles on his face struggles not to reach out to you and feel your skin against it.

He wants you to know that he would do anything for you. How he’s willing to lay down his life for you. How he’s willing to protect you from anything because you’re all he ever wanted in his whole life. You would appreciate a man with scars, right? After all, it’s a sign of bravery.

König took part in many battles, too many to count with his tentacles and fingers and toes combined; spent his youth training to be the best killer possible. He took part in many conflicts and killed hundreds, maybe thousands even,  while feeling nothing but recoil. He isn’t afraid of anything – maybe, except for talking to people sometimes. It’s not like he’s terrified of them, but rather afraid of making a fool of himself. König always hated talking to people, but being colonel meant he had to communicate to soldiers under his command and his superiors.

He isn’t afraid of anything. But… he is afraid of you finally seeing underneath the mask and thinking that you, in fact, find him revolting to look at.

The colonel takes one look good at you, and figures that maybe it’s worth the internal turmoil if it meant that he would have you by his side. He would agree to get as many ranks as possible if that meant he could provide for you and have you quit your job as a soldier. If that would allow him to come home to every day and night instead of sleeping alone in his room.

“I suppose you enjoy your breakfast, liebling?” König chuckled, and your face just goes even more red.

“It’s delicious,” You answered, smiling sheepishly.

He loves it when you smile. Obsessed with it—the way your eyes twinkle with delight whenever you cast your gaze at him without a hint of disgust.

“Would you like to get coffee someday?” König offered. “I know a café that has really good coffee or if you prefer non-caffeinated drinks, they also have milkshakes and their desserts are pretty good.”

 And you with those pretty doe-eyes of yours say, “Sure! Set the time and date, colonel.”

Other soldiers are looking. They’re glancing at you and him, but you don’t seem to notice the stares or the fact that it had gone slightly quiet. He is a creep, weirdo and all the words in a song that he’s been blasting in his tiny headphones these past few days because he can smell the sweetness of your perfume and the way you are smiling at him with such unbridled admiration was driving him mad.

“How about this Thursday, ja?” König inquired, wanting to hear your opinion on the matter.

You think for a moment, brows furrowed and König finds it really endearing. Izzy said she’d take you to a café but she wasn’t really sure yet since she says it might be the day Horangi and her go on missions. Roze wouldn’t be back until Sunday, and you’re left alone with nothing on base.

Well… there is König.

“Sure! I’m free this Thursday.” You say to the colonel, brimming with excitement at your newfound friendship.

The monster is pleased. It seems you’ve checked out all the boxes he’s looking for in a mate.

Tags: @itsbellaham,leslie-lemon,tapioca-marzipan,starcrossed02,manjiroxs,mr-sol,euuuuuuun,sleepyoriana,urmom-77,marriedtoeddie,sylviatherosairy,breannab2018,asmicity-writes,slutforelliewilliamss,3-kai-3,notsamaira,kenz-ee

P.S. Idk how to tag or if I did it right^^

[pears-palette]

"Mural of the Martyr"

[ID in Alt]

I am so proud of this piece! I need to talk about my inspiration and symbolism (Warning: some manga spoilers ahead)

Several people have pointed out that Falin is often put on a pedestal, especially by Laios, Marcille, and Toshiro. The way they see her is almost saint-like; as if she could never do no wrong. This comes from a place of love, but it still puts pressure and unrealistic expectations on Falin. Due to the religious connotations, I styled this after murals of Saint Michael the Archangel.

Someone (I can't remember who, so if you know, lmk) pointed out that almost all the fan art of Falin focuses on her relationship with others or the emotions she inspires in others. For the most part, she is shown by herself in fan works only when she's a chimera. Which, I fully understand, Chimera Falin is cool as hell. But it is also the state where she lacks the most agency- literally changed into something else and under someone's control. That's why I wanted to do a piece that had her front and center, yet still lacking a face.

There's also the more minor symbolism; The winged lion looking down upon her, with wings framing the scene, the thistle- even if the transformation was unwilling, you could tell Falin still cared for Thistle. The honeysuckle ties into her memories of youth and her attempts to keep herself from starving. There is the claws of the griffin ready to tear into flesh, added because of how it was initially mistaken for Falin, and the themes of "eating something to honor them" + cannibalism, The middle being the rabbit stew that was such a trial of dedication to obtain and Falin's comfort yet downfall. The runes in the golden borders at the bottom are the same runes used in Marcille's resurrection spell for Falin.

If you've read this far, thank you! I love Dungeon Meshi and enjoy incorporating layered meanings into my art.

[thebottomfromhell]

Hi! Sorry to bother you! But may I request a Dom!male reader like househusband x uppermoons head canons? Like the reader knows there a demon but literally doesn’t care and still loves them and the reader is basically the sole definition of “your doing great sweetie” (and the reader basically just supports them in everything and is like basically there 1# supporter)

(You can choose the uppermoons for the headcanons! I don’t mind!)

have a nice day! ♥︎

(Also if you have already done a similar idea you can just ignore this! I’m a little new to your blog and I really like your writing!)

I liked this ask a lot, also the image it's very cute, it made me smile, you might also like the traditional courting Headcanons 1 & 2 (but by this time you probably saw them already 😅) Also I didn't really know if as "dom" you meant as in dynamic or in sexual content, so I have a sexual connotation or two.

Househusband Human Supportive Dom Reader x Uppermoons. (Nakime, Douma and Gyutaro are not in this one, since their living conditions make it hard to step in as a house spouse. Also the clones come as a package in this one).

Warnings: Polyamory (Hantengu Clones), Slight sexual content (some characters and reader make out in a more sexual tone, but no explicit sex, so it's mostly implied), Cannibalism (mostly reading sharing his blood),

Gyokko:

"Okaeri, Gyokko. How was it today?" Gyokko is very organized with his time, he always comes back around the same hour and expects you to be awake to welcome him. "Tadaima." He just says, looking a bit tired. Probably some slayers did comments about his art, that pisses him off a lot. "I guess by that, it wasn't your best night. Is there is something this husband can do for you?" You tease as you get closer to him and hold gently the upper hands of his head, using your thumbs to carress circles in them. He relaxes and sighs after that.

"How about a cup of blood? That might cheer you up." You say as you guide him to the kitchen where you have a first aid kit, which you use a needle to take out your blood. "No, that is an artery. You will bleed out, let me do it myself." It's less messy this way, specially with Gyokko's help (he knows the circulatory system better than you), but it seems this time he doesn't have the patient to that. "Did you kill them or just put them in a pot?" You start a conversation as you put the red liquid in his favorite cup. "It was horrible, this was a Hashira and those sidekicks they have, they were so tasteless, didn't know how to appreciate arts. And the sidekick was infuriating, a damn child!" And you spend an hour with him drinking with one mouth as he complains with the other.

By the time he finishes there is are two hours left for sunrise, so you stand up and kiss the talking mouth "Meet me at bed, I will lock down the house." You close the window, three layers of curtains and move some objects for the weight to secure them more. "Do as I say, and I will treat you good." He compliains of you being "bossy" as you leave the room, but you do find him under the sheets once you step in your room. It doesn't have any windows, so it's already safe. You close the door and then go to sit in front of Gyokko. "You deserve to rest your mind once in a while. You are very hardworking, so let me..."

"Enough talking, darling. I already told you the night I had. Now I want my husband to spoil me. Now." You roll your eyes, and he calls you bossy? Still, you get under the sheets and kiss one of the mouths and you put your thumb in the other, tasting your own blood in the other's tongue as in joins yours. You also feel the teeth and tongue biting and salivating the thumb, you make sure the liquids don't fall into his lower eye. Still under the sheets you get on top of Gyokko, who's arousal is visible. "Then I better spoil you good."

It's already noon when you finish, you are very tired, but Gyokko just rest his head against your naked stomach because he is uncomfortable like that. You are always surprised by the unlimited demon stamina, you massage his scalp with your fingers to help him relax further. "There are people who just don't understand art, Gyokko. But you and I both know you are a great artist. Don't let things like this get you so worked up." He only groans a bit against your skin to speak after a minute of silence, you almost fell asleep before you heard his voice. "Well, I got my husband to support me and make me feel better, don't I?"

You chuckle a bit. He does.

Hantengu:

"T-t-t-tad-d-daim-a..." there, he said it (whispering), as he stepped in, closin the door behind him as quietly as possible. "Okaeri." Hantengu shrieks when you come next to him, when did you get this close? He thought you would still be asleep. "What are you doing up at this hour?" He asks quietly, still covering himself with his arms as he took a protective stance of the fright. He knows you won't hurt him, but it's a reflex. "I couldn't sleep, so I decided ro eat something. I just finished cleaning the kitchen after. How was your night?" He slowly puts his arms down as he sighs.

How long did you stay in a barely understadable ramble of how aggressive and scary Hashira are, how his master is an exploiter, how everyday and night are both nightmares alongside a self-pity monologue? Two hours, at least, but you only show him you are listening, not interrupting him once. Once he stops talking to tremble hard as he hugs himself you walk around him slowly, making sure he can see where you are and what are you doing with your hands as you put them on his shoulder. "Calm down, darling. It's ok. You are home right now, safe with your husband who wants to make you feel better."

He starts to relax as you squeeze and massage the stress away, then going to his back, feeling it full of knots. You sigh, you also did this yesterday and it's like this again? Well, it's not like it's Hantengu's fault. He didn't ask to be conditioned by the emotion of distress, it's already good enough he can find some comfort in you. "Thank you for doing this for me... How was your day? What did you eat just now." You appreciate his interest, even if part of it is only to be able to distract himself from the bad feelings as he listens to you. You do describe your day, talking mostly about when you went outside to buy some things the house needed. "It must be nice to not burn under the sun... even my clones can step on the sun."

"Well, other demons can't go under the sun neither. Have you eaten already? I can give you some of my blood." He shakes his head to reject the proposition "I don't have the stomach to eat today... thk u fr offr.... [thank you for offering]." You don't get to hear that last part, but you just finish the back to get in front of him. "Let's go to bed, I will give you a leg massage, check that the sun won't get through the windows and take a nap with you. That way you should feel better." Demons don't need to sleep, you already know that, but you are tired and asleep Hantengu feels a lot better than while awake, so he agrees.

Once you finish all those things you cuddle with his face against your chest, having him crying over everything and nothing specific as he hugs you tight. "Thank you... I feel better here." He answers honestly as you pat his back to valm him down as you feel the tears move through your abdomen. "It's ok dear, your husband is here for you. Just try to sleep." He does, you feel he stops breathing, but at this point it doesn't bother you, his nature is different to yours. He is still very dear to you, and so you help him as you can.

It can be tiring, but it's worth it.

Hantengu Clones:

"TADAIMA!" Scream Urogi and Karaku as they open the door, waking you up instantly as Sekido was lecturing them. You put another outer robe as you go towards the entrance to find your four idiots, Aizetsu is the first to notice you and go to see you before the others. "Y/N, Tadaima. We have had a rough night... can you please calm them down before going back to bed? I think you are the only one who can." He gives you big sad eyes before blinking fast a few times, making sure to look as cute as he can, manipulative little-. You can only nod before he leaves to the main room where you were sleeping "Okeari, by the way." You say before he disappears in the hallway.. Once he does that the next one to jump over you is Urogi, in his case, literally.

"Y/N! Hubby! We missed you so much!" He rubs his face against your as he has his arms and legs wraped up around you. "Sekido got beheaded like 7 times! It was so funny! Karaku actually had to save his a-" "SHUT THE FUCK UP, UROGI!" Karaku only laughs in the background. "He still got to thank me, ya know? I was so heroic back there, bet that if you saw me killing that slayer you would have gotten a bo-" "Karaku...." Yeah, that's the sign. If you don't step in Sekido will leave them outside all day. "Okaeri you all. I also missed you." You kiss Urogi's horn, wish makes him giggle. "I will set the house for sunrise, so if you want to help-" Joy and Pleasure leave to the main room in order to avoid work, leaving you with Sekido. "Those little shits..." he is very angry.

"Are you ok?" He doesn't answer, so you grab his hand gently and take it to your mouth to kiss it's back, making him blush but relax the frown. "I'm sure you all did great, at least did you all eat." He nods before you let him go, that means you don't need to offer blood (thank the one above and the one below, because you would die if the four were to drink blood from you), you both secure the house and find out that Aizetsu already secured the main room as Urogi and Karaku joined togeter several pillows, futons and sheets. "The beddings are ready! But if you want to have some fun before that, I am willing to give you some "cake" in the bathroom~" Karaku winks (which makes Sekido growl) at you, meking you (and Aizetsu) roll your eyes. "Nah, I'm good. I just want to cuddle and comfort my husbands if that is ok." Urogi laughs at the rejection as Karaku shrugs "Your loss."

Aizetsu goes to take both yours and Sekido's hand. "Can we please get along today. The sun will be up in some minutes, I can sense it... and it makes me sad that we would be trapped here while fighting." The Sorrow clone probably did already the eye trick to the other two and, since you already calmed down Sekido, it works on him to. "Thank you... " In the end you end up all un a fort under the sheets as they tell you the whole story. You are brushing Urogi's hair with your fingers as he lies on his stomach by your side, Sekido gives you his back as he uses your other arm as pillow, Karaku has your head in his lap to massage your scalp and Aizetsu rests his head in your stomach. It's not the most comfortable position to be, but you are happy to be like this (besides, you still could fall asleep how you are.)

You know they are also having a good time, since Sekido nuzzles against your limb, so you know he is there and comfortable. Aizetsu has his eyes close, so he could be asleep, once Urogi gets bore of you playing with his hair he starts nibbling softly your arm as if he was a cat (trying his best to not hurt you) and Karaku lies in his back with you still in his back. "Hey, Y/N... thank you for taking care of up. We like to be with you a lot." Karaku starts. "Yeah, we love you so much! You are the best husband ever!" "... you are good. Thank you for being there." "That tone didn't really sound sincere, Sekido." "Shut up, Aizetsu!" You can only chuckle at that. What can you say, you also enjoy taking care of them, even if as demons they don't need it.

"I love you all, too."

Akaza:

Akaza looks tired, emotionally exhausted, as he steps inside the house, he was just scolded for not killing the Hanafuba earing brat, the weakling, that little shi- "Okaeri, you came back early. Did something happen?" You ask him, you were just going back to sleep (you woke up to eat something) since Akaza usually comes back just some minutes before sunrise, looking for Muzan's imaginary flower he comes back to complain about. "Y/N... Tadaima... sorry, I... did you do the dishes?"

You laugh as he looks concerned, he didn't meam to change the topic, but "I told you I would do them..." he pouts, Akaza likes to be helpful around the house, so most of the time it's you both competing to do the chores. "Go to sleep, I will do the rest." He wants to clean, since the house is already set for sunrise. "You can fix the house for yourself, but I already did everything else after you left." You say proudly as you watch him grind his teeth. "I will cook you breakfast later then, and the house must be cleaned every day, so tomorrow I do the chores." He really likes to take care of you and gets easily frustrated when he can't. It often backfires because you also like to take care of him.

You cup his face in your hands to make him look at you in the eyes, smiling softly as he melts alightly in hour touch. "You look way too stressed for that, how about you tell me first how was your night?" Turns out his boss lectured him for not killing a child, the one he fought the day he didn't come home for sunrise (that night you were worried to the point of sickness, it was the first time since you married that Akaza didn't spend the day in your house) and he is very angry. "I have always done everything he told me! I swear that brat, weakling, will die at my hands. Damn weaklings taking advantage of...." his breathing become unsteady at that, so you pet his face. "I know you will, you are way too stubborn to not manage to kill someone you want dead. I'm sure even that Douma will fall under your hard work sooner or later." You don't really know about Douma, but fantazising of his death makes Akaza feel better.

"How about you go to bed with me? I am a bit tired and I would like to lie down somewhere." He nods as you take his hand and guide him to the main room. Once in the bed you push him so he can lie on his back as you get over him in the space between his legs. "Didn't you say you wanted to lie down?" You smile as you move your robes to expose one shoulder "Well, I will need it depending on the amswer. When was the last time you ate something?" By the look of his face you can se it has been a while, so you pull him from the back of his neck to your naked skin. "Take a bite, love. And I will also take a piece of you. Deal?" The second he bites theough your skin, you know you are on.

You didn't last that long, mostly because of the wound in your shoulder. You curse you only have 4 liters of blood and half gone already show it's effects, unlike Akaza, who is tending the bite. "If it makes you feel better, it's always hot when you bite me." You say something you know is stupid to make him laugh, he hates hurting you, even when you ask him to. "Well, I do think you are a snack, dear husband." You also laugh, gods that was awful.

You love, trust and support him, and Akaza better damn well know it.

Kokushibou:

Kokushibou just breathes in before closing the door behind him, fully knowing you are not only awake, but in the end of the hallway. "Tadaima." He answers without even looking at you, to be honest he was hoping you would still be asleep. He does love you but... he is not the best with feelings, and you are just so- "Okaeri, Kokushibou. How have you been?" good to him, and he just can't aswer the same way. It makes him feel inadequate. He hates that, so he tends to leave for long periods of time. "It's been six moons since the last time I saw you, anything interesting?"

And yet, you never anger, you never are anything but understanding, and that is just so confusing. There was other man that was like that with him, no matter how evasive or cold Michikatsu Kokushibou could get, he would still welcome him warmly, forever patient and stable, like the sun that burns all demons. You remind him a lot, and the worst part is that it attracts Kokushibou, the familiarity and the way you treat him. "Hey, are you ok?" You say as you notice he lost himself on his thoughts, once he gets out of his trance he looks at you. He only wanted to see you, that is why he came back, he hoped you wouldn't be awake when he did.

"Do you want a drink?" Blood, you are offering your blood and he can't find himself to day no. No when this is the only way he can drink it from a cup without calling it what it actually is, that way he can pretend he is still a samurai drinking tea in his free time, that he didn't transform into something that is not human. "Please. That would be nice." He sits in a mat as you serve him the red liquid, and besides thanking you as you hand the cup to him, Kokushibou doesn't say anything. There is a big chance he will leave soon, so you tell him everything that happened while he was missing. "And then I had to tell the ladies I was to old for marry his daughter, but I think she didn't believe me. Still, I'm a faithful husband to the second most powerful demon is not an explenation that will be well received."

Thankfully, between the blood and your story telling, he decides to stay for the day, so you prepare the house so the sunlight won't be able to come inside. You must hurry since you realized he would be staying when there was half an hojr for the sun to come up and he didn't move at all. You started with the room you are with Kokushibou, then the whole house, there was already sun when you finished the last rooms, but Kokushibou didn't burn and you consider that enough. "Kokushibou, the house is ready. You can move arpund if you want." He does, only to get to find yourself in hour room as you followed him. "You look tired. Sleep for a while I will stay here." He says as he sits in front of your bed.

The thing is, you are tired, you were at least half of the night awake and the missing blood is not doing you any good. But you don't want to sleep, you want to spend time with Kokushibou before he leaves. "Only if you promise we can properly say goodbye to each other bedore you go." He agrees, so you get ready for bed, knowing he likes to watch you sleep for some reason. "Kokushibou, remember that if you want to talk about anything, I will listen." ..... "Thank you." He just says that before becoming dead silent. It's very hard to be there dor Kokushibou, since he does and doesn't want you around at the same time.

Still, you try. That is enough.

[pageofheartdj]

Lucifer would for SURE have that insecurity. Pulling away? Not wanting to make the first step towards communication? Feeling out of place and like he doesn't belong? I bet the other's would catch on and they'd all develop their own approaches into encouraging Lucifer out of his depression cave, so to speak.

Alastor would probably annoy him out of it but if that didn't work would probably ask Rosie or Lilith for help? He's got a reputation as the Unflappable Radio Demon to uphold (headcanon: Alastor is awkward with emotions and doesn't quite know what to do so he sorta.. either doesn't say anything when he has to deal with emotions with others or is snarky because he at least knows how to do that. He develops his own way of showing appreciation and comfort though)

Alastor and Rosie ABSOLUTELY would have gossip sessions. Lilith might join in just to hear the updates about some big drama (ugh Susan) and offer tea and biscuits or something? Lucifer popping in with a snarky comment but wanting to just sit back and enjoy their company is sweet!

I could see Rosie's insecurity maybe coming from wanting to help everyone and feeling sorta guilty that she isn't in cannibal town there to help 24/8? Like, she might get worried that she'll miss something or something could happen to the town while she's gone?

Lilith uhhh. Maybe she feels out of place? The rest either did something to piss off god (lucifer) or actively earned their spot in hell, meanwhile she just.. didn't want to be a servant to an asshole of a man. Like, absolutely fair but probably doesn't feel equivalent to literally gifting humanity freewill and whatever Al and Rosie were up to. She's in between a fallen angel and human but didn't really live the life of either?

Charlie would be SO supportive and Alastor would take such joy in flexing that he has some of/literally the most powerful demons on "his side" (they love him despite being showy sometimes).

Maybe there'd be some tension between Luficer and Alastor because Al is more like the stereotypical devil than Lucifer is?

They're all so silly and quirky and have such potential xD honestly relationship goals tho? In a polycule (queer platonic, in my case) where everyone can get along in different ways and support each other and be comfortable being themselves?? Goals xD

Yeah the feeling of shame and guilt will keep appearing and therefore 'who would want to someone like him, cant even create anymore' TT

Oh I absolutely believe being geniunely open and vulnerable is extremely hard to Alastor! His smiles and sharp behaviour is not just a mask but a protective comfortable layer! And even if he tries to be more close it's still the default that is hard to pass by. I believe he can muster something actually real if the other person will be so crushed they aren't reacting to anything else anymore!!

Honestly Rosie and Alastor are a nice tag team xD He deals with the depressed king when he is too inside of his head, he can be manhandled by Alastor xD And when he is actually responsive, Rosie can step in and gently reassure him. And Lilith will give this 'do you love us? respect us? we would never stay with someone we dont care about and you know it'. This harsh love xD

I really like how in terms of dealing with stress and trauma Alastor pushes forward and Lucifer pulls away😭

I've read Rosie likes cooking! Like Al!! Imagine them preparing food for private lunches! I hc Lucifer is a decent cook, but there is not point in trying when these two are amazing XD And Lilith can watch over and make sure they aren't slipping something more fleshy XD So in the end they just sit there and Rosie gives all the hot goss with Alastor and Lilith joining in and Lucifer chilling while following their conversations and occasionally commenting <3

OH she might! She is very envolved with her community and she probably takes to heart when she fails someone while she expected not to! I LOVE characters that put too much on their shoulders!!(she is just like Charlie fr fr)

I don't know with Lilith. It seems she got all she wanted: got away from Adam, got an awesome new home where she 'thrived'. I do wonder if she is... vengeful? SHE got it all good, but her husband was crushed and he never properly recovered. She might be furious with Heaven for this. And for exterminations.

Oh Alastor is truly an attention seeker, he would always flex his partners in public(but never be actually intimate with them because it is for HIM to see only!)

It may be at the beginning? But it would be fun if Lucifer will actually use Alastor's scariness xD Oh you want a scary devil? I can give you something scary xD And Alastor enjoys it, intimidating and jumping people is his favourite type of fun xD

*sigh* All their dynamics are so fun it's a treat <3 (Rosie and Lilith having ohoho mean gossip sessions with their 'pathetic' looks on others(ugh Susan), Rosie and Alastor going on hunts and cooking together, Alastor and Lucifer having improvised lighthearted musical competitions(full blown dance numbers), Lucifer and Lilith going to concerts and theatres incognito, Lilith and Alastor having violent and fun radio podcasts, Rosie and Lucifer going to hellborn balls and Cannibal Town gatherings)

(for me it's only QPR cause everyone else can mess around and I'll jump in for a short smooch and be out jkhj XD)

[davaia]

W: What is your favorite pairing to write?  Favorite pairing to read?

W: Favorite to write is Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan, but Joe and Nicky are a very close second -- mostly because with Joe and Nicky you can pull out all the stops are just write the most florid, scream-it-from-the-rooftops, dramatic declarations, romantic love and it's literally impossible to go over the top with it 'cause it's Joe and Nicky.

To read: it's exceedingly rare, but I think a convincingly written NBC Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham. Reading a work that has masterfully captured their absolute batshit intellectual cannibal-banter veiled in like four layers of metaphor and literary criticism and yearning makes me want to throw my phone across the room in a good way. I can't even fathom how people can do it.

Thank you!!!!!!!!!!!!

[fanfic writer ask meme]

[whitegoldtower]

Differences in my characters personalities;

Melauriel - tender, soft. Restoration mage who abhors killing, despite his vampirism. He cries rivers, and when he loves, he loves deeply. He holds Erik and Brelyna closest to his heart, and doesn’t want to be a monster.

Edward - jaded, bitter. Accepts his vampirism as a cruel trick of nature and uses it to his advantage. Will take Harkon down from the inside, he is scheming and calculating. A lot of trauma, and his terror has made him cruel. He is a cannibal, and feels little remorse where killing is concerned unless he forms an attachment to them beforehand. Sociopath.

Severin - wise old conjurer. Knows that necromancy is wrong but sees it as a valuable font of knowledge. Frightened of death, funnily enough. Sees a lot of his younger self in Ancano, and tries his hardest to prevent Ancano from going down the same (or a worse) path. Highly sympathetic, but also autistic. He struggles with eye contact and reading the room.

Myling - arguably the smartest of my OCs. Unlike Edward, though, while he possesses the brains to be scheming and calculating, he simply cannot be bothered. He does what he needs to in order to live, and at his very core, that’s all he wants; to exist. Most people mistake him for a child due to his stature and youthful appearance, which renders him equal parts bitter and relieved. Bitter that he can’t have a normal adult life, and relieved because he can get away with masquerading as a teen, forgetting responsibility. He craves closeness, though, and hardly anyone is able to give it to him due to their fear of how they will be seen. His love interest is Cicero, and he has a very close bond with Babette, he feels they both understand him on a level that most do not.

Solemnar - I would say he was pure evil, were joining the Thalmor his own choice. He was indoctrinated as a battlemage, and in his vulnerable state from fighting on the front lines of a war, he was easy pickings. At his centre, he has PTSD and DID, and his constant exposure to traumatic events has rendered him pretty much incapable of returning to the way he used to be. He’s now this hardened soldier who is just willing to climb over everyone and everything to ensure his own survival, and he hurts people to prevent them from getting close to him. He has a toxic relationship with Rulindil, and seeks him out specifically so they can break one another’s boundaries and hurt one another.

Dagduach - Academically, a complete dipshit. Streetwise? Not much better. What he does know how to do, though, is kill monsters and get paid for it. You won’t meet a better hunter. He’s a bit emotionally stunted, but is a softie once you peel back all those layers of uncertainty. He sees the good in everybody, and doesn’t take it to heart when people don’t want him in their towns. A bit like a sheepdog in human form. He does, however, have a bit of a grudge against the nords and is a bit morally grey in the sense that he will literally just hand over Ogmund to Ondolemar. Whether that’s due to his hatred of Talos or just because he thinks Ondolemar is hot is another matter entirely 🥴

[musical-chick-13]

In Hannibal, a mentally ill man isn't abused by his therapist. Get your understanding and your facts right. If you don't enjoy dark subject matters like cannibalism and murder, why were you watching Hannibal, from where you get the right to talk about 'moral compass' in fiction ? I won't write to you again, just letting you know you understood nothing about the dark layered parabolic style.

OMG, finally, my first accusation of incompetence by an anon!! What a momentous occasion, I can’t believe it took 4 years!! I should celebrate this tumblr milestone.

Look. I actually have been a victim of psychiatric malpractice. I see that relationship as a tangle of emotional and psychological abuse. You can disagree with that, that’s fine. But don’t come in here telling me I’m watching a show wrong. But also, art is subjective. I’m the last person who’s going to try to moralize a ship or a show. Like. I like Game of Thrones. Jaime and Cersei are one of my favorite romantic pairings, and their relationship is a MESS. One of my favorite movies is Ex Machina, and that one ends with a robot lady stringing along a perfectly innocent man and then leaving him to starve and die in the middle of nowhere. Another one of my favorite movies is Earthquake Bird, which is about a love triangle that ends in death and ALSO involves a dishonest serial killer.

HOWEVER, it’s all in the framing. When I talk about these works, I’m not calling them a secret rom-com. I’m not saying they’re the Height of Romance. I call them for what they are: two horrible people in a horrible relationship. The point of my pinned post is not and has never been to “call people out” for shipping a “bad ship.” I SHIP DAVOS AND MELISANDRE AND ALL HE DID THE PAST FEW SEASONS WAS TALK ABOUT HOW HE WANTS TO KILL HER. I DON’T. CARE. ABOUT. “BAD.” SHIPS. It’s how we as fandoms TALK about neurodivergence in fiction. It’s how I and all the other people like me always get left out of these talks. It’s how I get anons like you telling me I have a lack of reading (or, I guess watching?) comprehension and accuse me of being an anti over a post about how I don’t like sacred show Hannibal and sacred ship Hannigram, but every time I actually try to have a conversation about neurodivergence representation, I get ZERO kind of interaction at all. It’s the fact that everyone in all fandom circles I’ve ever seen is ALWAYS more than willing to talk about the ups and downs of queer representation, but when I try to talk about having more mentally ill characters, they tell me to shut up and that I should be content with neurotypical gay characters because that’s more important. The point of my pinned post is that people are more than willing defend “problematic” (I really hate that word, but I can’t find a better one at the moment) gay characters and gay ships, but the SECOND I try to talk about mentally ill/neurodivergent characters, I always get criticized and picked apart for whatever I have to say about them. The fact of the matter is that OFTEN, queer ships are frequently seen as “perfect” or “sweet” or “healthy/an expression of realistic love everyone should strive for” instead of just ADMITTING THAT THEY’RE PROBLEMATIC. Literally if I saw even ONE post where ANYONE admitted that these dynamics/characters/whatever are dark and screwed up, I would be fine. But I keep seeing y’all seriously call Hannibal a rom-com. Like. Not even as an inside joke. A completely serious label. Not even a dark rom-com or a black comedy. Just. A rom-com. That’s the thing I take issue with, not the fact that Hannibal is “dark” or “problematic.” I don’t care. I legitimately cannot reiterate that enough.

Also...where you see Dark Layered Parabolic Style, I see pretentiousness to the point of silliness because I don’t think that style was effectively done. Art is subjective. I can understand something and still not like it, that’s literally the whole point of what art is.

This is NOT ABOUT SHIPPING. IT’S NOT ABOUT BEING A PURITY POLICE OFFICER. It’s about the discrepancy of how we talk about one underrepresented group I am a part of versus another one I’m also a part of. It’s about the fact that, at least in my own personal experience, part of me has ALWAYS been erased. EVERY SINGLE TIME I have tried to have a broader conversation about representation I have been told that “I should wait for neurodivergent representation because right now gay representation is more important.” I am tired.

You can hate me, or think I’m stupid, or whatever. Honestly, I don’t really care, especially since you can’t even say it to my face and hide behind the fact that I have anonymous submissions on for the sake of any followers who might have social anxiety. This anon post suggests you aren’t actually interested in having any kind of respectful discussion about mental illness in fiction and its stigmatization in real life, which, I remind you, reflects THE WHOLE POINT. OF THAT POST.

You want to accuse me of being a moralizing idiot? Come off anon and say it to my face. You have a problem with my opinions on a COMPLETELY FICTIONAL PAIRING? Then just block me. I haven’t decided if I’m  going to answer the Ratched post because I only have so much energy and I know you’re not reading these anyway.

[iceeckos12]

a study of hands

thinking about jon’s burned hand. warning for graphic discussion of burn/burn scars.

edit: had to remake this post since i accidentally deleted the read more when i was editing it a;slkdfal;skdjf

Georgie isn’t there when Jon gets home.

Small mercies, he thinks hysterically, distantly, squeezing his wrist. His right hand doesn’t feel like a hand, doesn’t feel like skin layered on sinew and meat and muscle layered on bone. It feels like someone stuck a ball of agony, a ball of pain so incandescent that it transcends his comprehension, on the end of his arm. He doesn’t dare look at it. Just the smell is enough to make him feel sick.

He staggers into the bathroom and fumbles with the tap, turning the water on as cold as it will go. He doesn’t have the strength to get ice cubes from the freezer, even though he knows that it will help. (He’s not sure how he knows that it will help, but some part of his brain is screaming don’t cover it, that will trap the heat in, put it in ice water and keep it there, but it won’t do much for a third degree burn, you need a skin graft, you—)

He stares at the bottom of the tub for a moment, wondering why it isn’t filling up the way it should. Then he remembers that he needs to plug the drain, because otherwise the water is going to keep swirling away, away, down the plumbing and deep into the earth, like—like—

He twitches his hand. He doesn’t mean to, or maybe he does, he’s not sure, and the pain is so intense that he immediately vomits into the water.

The drain wasn’t plugged, he thinks hysterically. Small mercies.

-

He doesn’t go looking for Mike Crew the next day.

He can’t. Georgie had poked her head in when he woke up, and he’d rasped, “I’m going to have a bit of a lie-in.” And he’d said, “I’m fine, just not feeling well.” And he’d whispered, “Don’t worry about me, just...just—don’t worry about me.”

His whole body feels like it’s been lit aflame, like he’s on the shore of a burning sea that keeps lapping in and out, in and out. The waves keep crashing in and out, in and out, breathtaking and exhausting.

The burn, when he can finally bring himself to look at it, is ugly, even worse than the worm scars. Blackened and charred around the edges, red and mottled in the deepest parts. An actual, literal brand in the form of a handshake. He wonders if, whenever he shakes someone’s hand, their fingers will slot neatly into the confines of the scar.

Come on. It won’t hurt.

He chokes on a sob and rides the agony into oblivion.

-

Jon used to have pretty handwriting.

He knows that’s a weird thing for a boy to have. It was just another thing that they used to make fun of him for in school, but he used to be defiantly proud of it. It was something that he worked for. He used to open calligraphy books and copy each painstaking letter onto the paper, his tongue poking out from between his teeth, until they looked just right, every time.

He’s not sure why he cherished it so much. Possibly because he had so little to be proud of when he was young. He was stubborn and a know-it-all and difficult, but at the very least he had gorgeous handwriting. His classmates used to pay him to write love letters.

It’s not something that he thinks about until he gets back from that whole debacle with Mike Crew and Daisy and Elias—and reaches for a pen. His right hand throbs in agony, and his fingers don’t bend quite right, and the pen skitters to the ground and across the floor.

He stares at it numbly for a moment, frozen in place, lips parted. Then his hand throbs, and he sinks into his chair, breathing through the pain, as he’s become used to doing.

He hadn’t thought about—about his fingers not quite bending all the way anymore, about his grip not having the same strength that it used to—

Even after the agony subsides into a low, manageable simmer, he keeps breathing, counting the beats, head bowed over his curled and mangled hand.

-

He uses Institute funds to buy a machine that makes labels for him. In the meantime, he practices with his left hand when he thinks no one else is looking, putting each painstaking letter to paper.

-

He’s been wearing button-ups since his first day at the Magnus Institute.

He remembers wearing a rented suit to his job interview, nervous and fresh-faced and eager to please. Elias had taken one look at him, smiled, and told him to relax, that they were a little more casual around here, that it was fine.

Jon had insisted on the button-ups. He’d turned their care into a bit of a ritual, making sure that each one was starched and ironed, lines crisp and precise. That was how he wanted to be seen: crisp and precise. Qualified.

The execution of that intent had been flawed, though. He had sabotaged himself by shutting his eyes to the truth of the supernatural, and it had eventually turned against him.

He looks at his many shirts now, and all he can feel is dread. Each button is shaped like misery, the starched fabric sandpaper. He knows without trying that he will be on the floor, breathing through the pain, if he tries to put one of those shirts on.

-

He tries anyway.

-

He wears things to work that he never would have in the past. An open jacket layered over a t-shirt, tucked into the hem of black jeans. A chunky cardigan made of smooth, comfortable fabric over a long, serious skirt. Enormous sweaters that he can bury himself in. Things that are easy to put on, easy to wear.

His skin itches when the others look at him.

-

He thinks that he understands what Elias means about choices now. Regardless of whether or not he wanted to become a monster, the choices he made lead to him becoming one. Regardless of whether or not he wants to be vulnerable, he chooses to do so. 

(The other choice is struggling over the buttons of one of his formal shirts, his hand going more and more clawlike with effort. It doesn’t feel much like a choice at all.)

-

Jon picks up the mug, and Martin lets out a shout of horror and scoops it from his grip.

“Jon, that’s really hot, be careful!” he admonishes. He’d seized the tea roughly, but his grip goes gentle as he carefully lifts Jon’s scarred palm, fingers fluttering over the warped scars. “This is your bad hand, too—does it hurt?”

Jon stares at his hand too, at the still healing skin, at the way the reds bleed into pinks bleed into more red. The scars create deep rents in his skin, almost to the bone in some places. He thinks about monsters and pain and emotions and apathy, and the indistinct lines they create.

“No,” he says honestly. There had been nothing to feel.

-

”You used to plait your hair,” Daisy says.

It’s been quiet for several hours now. Jon thinks that’s the thing he likes best about Daisy: her presence is undemanding now. Not calm, perhaps, but not frenetic or wild, either. Focused. Unconcerned until you give her a reason to be otherwise.

She gets concerned about a lot more than Jon thought she would. Her patient, searching gaze seeks out the exhaustion in his bones, the hungry way his body curls in on itself, increment by increment. She is in stark opposition to the cold and uncaring Eye, who would let Jon cannibalize himself just for a little entertainment.

(She is in stark opposition to herself less than a year ago. A blunted knife, a dulled edge.)

“I did,” Jon concedes.

Daisy waits, because he usually elaborates. It’s about choices, though. Choices are something that he’s thought about a lot in the past few months, especially after his coma, especially after the Buried. He wants to tell Daisy, but he doesn’t want to feel as though he was guided into it.

It’s ridiculous. It’s—he knows that it’s silly. Nonverbal cues are a language that he had to learn, so he should respond. But—he wants to be asked.

After a beat, she asks, “Why don’t you anymore?”

Jon lets out a gusty sigh and raises his right hand so she can see the twisting, ropey mess. He concentrates hard, pressing his lips together as he closes it as far as he can, shaking the whole time.

Daisy sighs, a sound sympathetic to his own.

Jon lowers his right hand again, letting it rest on its side, half curled.

“I could do it for you,” she says.

Jon hesitates for a second—

(Georgie was the person who taught him how to plait his hair. His gran had always cut it short herself, insisting that this was easiest and it saved money anyway, even though Jon had always wanted to grow it out. By the time he met Georgie, his hair was loose around his ears, and he had no idea how to take care of it.

A year after they met, Georgie drunkenly tripped over the couch and told him that she was going to plait his hair. She’d tried to do something difficult, too difficult for her inebriated state, before dragging Jon into a clumsy, playful kiss. He’d responded enthusiastically, but in the back of his mind, he remembered the tug, the sensation of twisting strands, and it had felt good.

She’d done it for him for almost two years. She’d force him to sit on the floor while she sat on the couch, and then she’d bodily drag him as close as possible before turning his ever-growing hair into something beautiful and complicated. Just like you, she’d told him, half-serious.

One day, she’d laid her hands over his and said, “Let me show you how, for when I’m not here.”)

—before nodding, and forces himself to remain very still as Daisy gets to her feet and approaches him from behind.

In the Buried, Daisy’s hand had been small and tight. He hadn’t been able to feel the warmth of it, or the minute scars pricking her skin. He’d gripped back as tightly as his burned hand could, which he’s sure wasn’t very tight at all. There’s a lesson in that, too, but it’s more specific. Intent and execution.

Daisy’s thumb had carefully rubbed the edges of the scars, touching patterns in the divots in his hand. Her hand had fit kindly.

Jon shivers at the first gentle touch in his long tresses. He thinks about the duality of knives and let’s go through the voicebox, and about gentle understanding in the crushing sensation of the Buried. Execution, with nebulous, incomprehensible intent.

-

Martin holds Jon’s hands in his and looks at them like they’re beautiful.

Jon’s still getting used to that. The soft, fond way Martin’s eyes alight on him when he’s barefoot in the kitchen. The teasing grin when Jon glares mockingly across the space between them. The exasperation whenever Jon skips a meal or stays up until the darkest hours of the night.

He wants to be with Martin and he chooses to be with Martin. His intent is synonymous with its execution.

He keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop. He takes long walks in the burgeoning light of dawn, the hem of his skirt getting soaked in the morning dew. He retreats into himself when his leg and his hand and his everything are all screaming at him in tandem, a symphony of past and current aches.

Martin always welcomes him home. Martin’s gaze is that of the dawning sun, soft and radiant. He tucks Jon’s fingers over his and sweetly kisses each scarred knuckle, reverent, like he’s holding something precious.

Jon learns by example. When Martin wakes in the middle of the night, his eyes distant and hazy, Jon clumsily turns up Martin’s hand and presses his lips against the warm, smooth palm. When the fog rolls in around them, Jon carefully holds Martin’s face between his hands (one half-curled, the other firm and steadying) and leans their foreheads together.

[herstarburststories]

Quarantine Boredoom (Dick Grayson x Reader)

✾ A/N: It’s been a certain couple of months since I wrote smut/erotica, but here you go! Although, I think it’s better classified as silly porn aka Nightwing’s type? Anyway! Thanks to my friend for being my beta for this one.

✾ Request: hiya! i saw that your requests are open and then i had a mini asthma attack because i had come back from binge reading your masterlist oops,,,,that got me thinking,,,how funny would it be if reader has asthma and just has to use their puffer during sex? like could you imagine if that were to happen to dick or jason? i’d like to see that happen 👀 also your writing is absolutely amazing!!! keep up the good work!! 💕👌🏻🤠

✾ Disclaimer: fingering.

A purposefully loud huff escaped your lips when your body met Dick's couch. He looked away from the copy of Robin Hood in his hand to raise an eyebrow, but the only response he received was a dramatic sigh.

"(Y/N), are you okay?" Bludhaven's protector ultimately asked, placing his book on the desk to offer his girlfriend unrestricted attention.

"I’ve never been so bored in my life," you grunted, tilting your head in one of your best dramatic performances. "Quarantine isn’t as fun as it looks in the movies."

"I'm sure zombies will appear and we’ll convert to cannibalism soon, (Y/N). Don't worry," Dick replied, humor obvious in his tone. You rolled your eyes, huffing once more. "Also, it’s only been two days. You can't be that bored, right?"

"Easy for you to talk, Nightwing. You still go out on patrol every night. Something you shouldn't do, by the way." You changed the subject of conversation, returning to a topic which you and Dick widely disagreed. Fortunately, the acrobat had an idea of ​​how to entertain you and change the subject to something less likely to end up with him sleeping in the room he currently resided in.

"You know I can’t abandon my role, (Y/N). Especially at a time like this. I take the necessary precautions, like using my sticks instead of punching them in the face, don't worry." His patented wink was followed by the classic playful smile. Before you could rationalize the joke, he continued, "But I might have a hint of ​​how to get you rid of your boredom..."

The suggestive tone in his speech caught your interest instantaneously. "I would love to hear your idea, Dick Grayson."

Grayson's next words evaporated upon his lips, giving space to a malicious smirk as his body leaned over yours on the couch. His mouth easily found its home; your lips, into the slow, lazy beginnings of a kiss.

When you drink for the first time, it is easy to get drunk. Then, you start drinking on more occasions and your limit increases. Two glasses are needed when, a while ago, it would take just one. The organism gets used to it and needs more to achieve the sensation of the first time. With Dick, it always felt like the first time. It didn't matter if he had kissed you two minutes or two months ago; every single touch of him reached a new layer of everything good that someone could transfer to another person, like discovering a new exciting part of yourself.

His hand cupped your cheek, drawing you closer in. The world existed outside that apartment, each minute still had sixty seconds, and Dick Grayson was willing to spend all of them making your body reach a new level of highness for him, without even needing more doses of change to do so. Your heart felt like it was tied to his touch and his only. Dick's hand slowly fell down on the side of your face. His thumb pulled down your lower lip, a farewell present in the intense softness of the gesture.

You giggled, and Richard smiled at you. The playful fingers began their private journey in search of paradise itself on earth. More murmurous kisses were offered as bargain and readily accepted by you. It was a small distraction from the new heights your body was reaching.

Fingers from your chin to jaw, his tongue found yours and caressed it as if he were trained for it. Kissing him was like a dance, it always had been. Grayson's hand stopped on your neck for a moment, but there was no trace of pressure there. Dick just kept dancing, holding on; you wanted to wrap your legs around him, offer some comfort to your wet pussy, even if it was just pressing it against his erection, which was now hard against your leg, to make his self-control more difficult. Yet, you knew better than that. He would have already pulled your legs if that was the plan. His fingerprints on your chest indicated the antics the hero wanted to use.

Dick placed his lips on your neck, lavishing attention upon that spot as much as he wanted. You closed your eyes, unable to decide what you liked most: the bites and gentle suction on your neck or the tender fingers that were already on your stomach. Your hips moved of their own will, seeking the carnal solace you craved as you moaned softly. The former Robin laughed in pleasure at your neediness, moving away from his little branding job to look you in the eyes. He loved to watch you like this, spreading your legs for him while his hand found its way inside your pants.

And now, looking at you and feeling wetness in your panties, Dick decided to keep it a bit slow, as if to see how far you would go. After all, it had been three long weeks without sexual activity. Between his work of detective division vigilante and yours in full-time journalism, 24 hours weren't always enough, but in this moment, all he had to worry about was how needy for him you could get.

Grayson's digits circled your vulva, playing on the edges of its outer lips until he received an impatient sigh from you. He laughed, temporarily satisfied. You looked at him, ready to tell him to do what he knew how to do, but you were silenced by one of his fingers entering your vagina. You pressed your lips together and pushed hips towards him, a nonverbal way of saying that you wanted more. Dick, however, just moved his finger out of your reach. It caused you to open your eyes, stunned.

"Dick!" You were breathless, probably from the rush of sensations he had been — and was supposed to still be — making you experience.

"What?" There was false innocence in his voice that contradicted everything that was happening, especially when he took the finger that was inside you to his mouth and sucked, expression shifting into contentment. "You taste so good, baby. Imagine when you're coming for me."

"Richard John Grayson, if you don’t put— Fuck." The ensuing groan encompassed an ugly word. One of his fingers was still inside you while the other was pressed to your clitoris.

"How am I making you feel, huh?" he asked, despite knowing the answer as well as he knew your sweet spots. Adding another finger, Dick started looking for your G-spot, clitoris being well taken care of by his ring finger. Fuck, he was almost salivating by just thinking about eating you out, your taste, putting his tongue in the warm, wet place his fingers were, but for now, Grayson wanted to watch you enjoy yourself. It was in the way you bit your lip, whimpered for it and moved your hips to get more as if you didn't already have it all when it came to Dick Grayson. "Am I making you feel good?"

"I..." The weight on your chest worsened significantly, almost as if you had put a rock there. You mentally screamed at yourself. Fuck, out of all possible times, you had to be literally running out of breath while your pussy— Come on! The only good thing was that you knew your own body language well enough to quickly understand what was going on. "Dick, I can't breathe."

Dick, on the other hand, was too involved in taking you apart to reach the same conclusion as you.

"I’m making you breathless now?" Indigo eyes meet yours, full of lust. For a millisecond, you wondered if you could handle the random crisis, or if you could be confused about two different things with similar symptoms. That is until the shortness of breath had gotten worse. Fuck.

Well, the opposite of fuck now.

"No, Di— FUCK!" Feeling like the air wasn’t getting into your lungs and the fact that your boyfriend had just found a certain spot inside you while simultaneously rubbing your clitoris didn’t help you remember how to breathe. "I’m literally... My puffer!"

"Wh-- Oh my God, your inhaler!" Mentioning your little miraculous friend that wasn’t between his legs finally brought Detective Grayson's dormant instincts to the surface. He almost jumped away from you, hastily looking for the inhaler. "I'm sorry— I thought... Wait." The scene would be comical if you weren’t coughing in despair, gasping for air and yet simultaneously turned on. He found the puffer on the floor, beside the desk, and handed it to you. Relieved and mildly frustrated, you forced oxygen back into your body for a few moments. You forced yourself to calm down until the inhaler could be discarded next to Dick's book where it originally was.

You faced each other. What could be said? Sorry for forgetting how to breathe while you fingered me? Sorry for confusing your moans of "I can’t breathe’’ for "You’re making me breathless"? Can we agree never to use this expression again? So, I almost died, but am I still up for it? Is my cock still hard after your near-death experience?

For the second time in the evening, words were passed over to make room for another way of communication. The two of you burst out laughing, loud and scandalous. What the fuck just happened? A few good minutes later and you looked at Dick with a smile, your hand full of sin located on his thigh.

"We still got plenty of time. You know, quarantine perks."

Noises of 'you are unbelievable' from him were drowned out by a few more giggles, which soon gave way to corny moans. Perhaps the last two options were the right things to say.

[tazzytypes]

Apocalypse: Sanctuary - Chapter 2

Read on AO3

Just because your roommates are horrible doesn't mean you all can't have a good time now and again... just don't tell Venable.

Hey guys. this scene is pretty short in comparison with my other chapters thus far. It didn't blend well with the other things I have planned, but I thought it was important to show the good times at Outpost 3 as well as the bad. Consider it a palette cleanser for what is to come. Michael will be here by Chapter 4...

The excitement over the idea of salvation by the cooperative was a short-lived joy. After months of listening to “The Morning After” by McGovern over and over and over was enough to make the residents of Outpost 3 question their sanity as well as their conviction.

Em walked into the salon, her hands wrapped around a collection of pens she had been able to scavenge from her room. She pulled at the obnoxiously high collar of her white shirt. Whenever evening wear wasn’t an obligation, she liked to dress in as few layers as she could — Victorian underwear and a dress that made her look like some governess of orphaned children in a period drama. 

Swinging the door open, she stopped in her tracks. The room was usually devoid of life except for the 6 o’clock “cocktails.” Andre sat there on the couch, his back to her as he stared into the fire.

The brunette debated turning on her heels, but by the time she took a step back, it was too late. Andre’s head turned, hair raising on the back of his neck as he sensed her green eyes boring into his back. He wondered if she would go away if he ignored her long enough, but curiosity got the better of him His head turned ever slightly and Em pretended like she had meant to be seen by the man.

Heels clicked against the wood flooring, only a few steps before pausing at the edge of the large black coffee table between the two large dark sofas.

Two months after Stu’s death and his cheeks were still damp with tears. His red eyes burned her, anger unyielding. She was deserving of his hate... even more so than the others. Just as she couldn’t reassure him of Stu’s safety she could not tell him of her guilt. At least the others showed remorse and disgust at their own actions.

Em tried to speak with Andre on multiple occasions, but her words came out hollow. Anything she said was just to chase off her own guilt. At one point she had mistakenly reminded Andre that he had also eaten from the stew... it didn’t end well. 

Needless to say, these days, the only person he spoke to was Dinah.

There was so much anger and grief twisting inside him. He wanted to scream and throttle Venable damn the consequences. At least then he’d be reunited with the man he loves... loved. One meal and the bonds made in good faith and mutual tragedy were fractured with the crack of a whip. 

Em wished he would just verbally eviscerate her like he did Evie. His silence was suffocating. Instead, they stood in awkward silence. She really wasn’t good at this.

“So…” Em trailed, leaning back on her heels and biting her lips as she thought of what to say. Another apology would sound insincere and they both knew it would end them right back where they began. 

“So,” Andre mocked, scoffing as he turned back to the fire. 

Em rose a hand as if to reach out to him, mouth opened before closing it once more. Her hand reached out to him before drawing back, hand running through her hair then returning to her side. 

 “What’s it like having Dinah Stevens as a mother?”

Another scoff, followed by his gaze flickering up and down her with disdain.

She finally settled on the couch opposite him, “Sore subject… fair.”

“Also literally asked by every person I’ve ever met.”

Mc nodded, “basic.”

“Yup,” Andre said, popping the “p.”

Fiddling with the pens in her hand, Em racked her brain for something to say. It was a curse, anxiety. It made everything seem much worse than it was and was often accompanied by an overwhelming desire to be liked by everyone… well… almost everyone. Involuntary cannibalism would have been considered some of the worst, but it pales in comparison to nuclear winter. 

Her leg bounced up and down and her eyes flickered from the fire to the ceiling to Andre and back again. Usually, in these moments she’d take out her phone, pens could only distract one for so long.

“God, I wish we had alcohol,” She sighed.

“Amen to that.”

The door creaked open. Em jumped to her feet, holding back the urge to run towards Emily as she quietly closed the door behind her. It felt like an eternity before she turned around. A smile lit up Emily’s face and she waved a collection of paper she had been able to find.

“Ready?”

Relief rolled off Em, tension leaving her shoulders as they can to settle around the coffee table. There was plenty of room, but Em still found it more comfortable to sit on the floor, skirt billowing around her like a puddle of purple. She took a pen and piece of paper and leaned over the table.

“You start. Give me a band.”

Emily’s lips twisted and her nose scrunched as she thought, “… The Beatles.”

Em scribbled down the name and tore it from the rest of the paper, placing it in a small wooden box Emily had brought with her. She grabbed a paper and pen of her own and turned to Em. “Now you.”

“Panic at the Disco.”

“Why am I not surprised.”

Em couldn’t help the laugh that left her, “shut up. You said The Beetles.”

“What? It’s a classic.”

Andre’s attention turned from the fire to the pair sitting across from him. He would have left, but after months and months of doing nothing but waking up and waiting to sleep again he was dying for something different.

“Lady Gaga,” Em said.

“Madonna.” Emily countered.

“Justin Bieber.”

“Justin Timberlake.”

“What are you doing?” He finally asked after a few more rounds of them shooting random words back and forth. 

“Pictionary,” Emily answered him with a smile, cheeks flushed from laughing, “Em had the idea.”

“Pictionary?” Andre asked, slowly scooting closer, “Is that a game?”

“Yeah!” Em answered, “My siblings and I used to play it all the time. Right now we’re coming up with random things to go in a hat.”

She motioned to the box slowly gathering more and more strips of paper, “The game is to pick one of these and try to draw it while your teammates guess what it is.”

“So like art charades?”

“Pretty much!”

A small smile flickered to Andre’s lips as he stood up and came to sit beside Emily. 

“Okay. I have one: Dinah Stevens.”

“Oooh,” Em awed, pointing a pen at Emily and Andre, “that’s a good one. Should we do one for each resident?”

Emily shrugged, “I don’t see why not.”

“How angry do you think Coco would be if we put her in there?” Andre asked, grabbing a pen and paper of his own.

Em looked like the Cheshire Cat, smiling ear to ear, “Furious,”

“Let’s do it.”

As the hours passed, more and more residents joined. A few Greys even whispered ideas into Em’s ear as they passed and she would scribble them in and throw them in the box. Em finally took a seat on one of the couches, Timothy and Emily on her right and Coco to her left.

“Okay!Okay!” Em exclaimed as people yelled things at her all at once, “One at a time! Give me stuff. Movies, books, albums, famous people, sayings. Coco! Go!”

“Michel Jackson!”

Em scribbled down the name and tossed it into the pile of paper that threatened to spill from the small box, “Alright! Now… Emily!”

“To Kill a Mocking Bird!”

She nodded as she scribbled it down, “… and since I’m Emily squared I get to go next.”

Gallant groaned, “oh, c’mon!”

“Hey!” Em snipped, smiling as she swung a pen at the man who could only smile and laugh at her antics, “I’m the one with the pen. My pen, my rules!”

Coco leaned over Em, “What are you writing?”

“Stevie Nicks!”

Leaning back in his seat, Gallant draped an arm across the back of his chair, perplexed, “Isn’t that the woman that sings Jolene?”

“NO!” At least five people yelled in unison, quickly falling into a collection of giggles.

Em feigned insult, “how can you mistake Dolly Parton with Stevie Nicks.”

Gallant waved a dismissive hand, “We aren’t all from the countryside of Georgia.”

“I was raised near Atlanta, thank you very much,” Em jested, “I’m only a quarter country girl.”

“Do you have those shirts that say: ‘don’t talk to me until I’ve had my sweet tea?’” Coco asked, hands spreading out like she was hanging up a banner. 

Em couldn’t keep her smile down, “That was one time!”

“Uh-huh,” Gallant laughed, “Suuure it was.”

The brunette grabbed an extra pen and chucked it at the man. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d laughed like this. God knows none of them had even been in a room together without mandatory attendance.

Timothy sat at the edge of the group. He shuffled through the cards they had made, sorting them so they’d fit in the box. “I think we’ve filled out the last one.”

Coco looked around at everyone, “So… we get to play now?”

“Not today,” Emily declared, smiling at Timothy as he held out the box for her to place the top on it. Coco, Andre, and Gallant booed them.

“Look,” Em defended Emily, hands wringing at her wrists “I know y’all were just spitting out words, but I had to write them all down. My poor wrist needs a break.”

“Oh boo-hoo,” Coco said.

“Half the fun is not knowing what’s coming,” Timothy reminded, his eyes not leaving Emily. Em could tell he was smitten with her. Poor boy didn’t know how to hide anything.

“Well I don't know about y’all,” Andre spoke, mocking Em’s slight accent as he rose from the couch, “But I’m going to take a nap.”

“I agree, y’all,” Gallant jumped on, dodging another pen Em threw in his direction. 

“Words are an illusion created by humanity,” She jested, earning a dismissive wave from the hairdresser as he walked out the door, “It’s conventional!!”

Coco sighed and laid back on the couch, closing her eyes as she began to whine “I wouldn’t mind the constant hunger if it didn’t come with the constant tiredness.”

Em looked to Timothy and Emily. The latter rolled her eyes.

“I feel like I’m back in college,” Em said, leaning back on Emily, “Eating sleep for dinner.”

She could feel Emily’s shoulders shake as she laughed. Timothy took a seat on the other side of the coffee table, resting on the arm of the chair, “C’mon. It couldn’t have been that bad.”

“I spent finals week eating only spoonfuls of peanut butter. Then the next year I bought a Costco-sized thing of ramen noodles.”

Emily leaned back her head and groaned, “Don’t talk about food. Even ramen noodles make my mouth water.”

Somehow, Em had made her way from leaning on Emily’s shoulder to having her head in the other girl’s lap. Emily’s hands absentmindedly ran through the brunette’s short bob which was growing longer by the day. 

“Oh!” A memory struck Em like a lightning bolt, “my friend took me to an authentic ramen place before the bombs.”

She hummed at the mere thought of the food, “Best. Thing. Ever. They had special ramen eggs and topped it off with a slab of pork that just fell apart—”

Coco jumped from her seat with a huff, “You’re all sadistic!”

The three of them watched as the blonde stormed across the room, door slamming behind her with a loud bang which made their bones shake. Then they looked to each other, biting their lips but ultimately falling into laughter.

“If I knew it was that easy I would have done it months ago,” Emily laughed.

“C’mon,” Timothy tried to be the voice of reason, trying to keep a straight face but ultimately failing, “That’s just mean.”

“So is Coco,” Em scoffed, reaching for a glass of water, “it’s not like we threatened to kill her.”

“You did,” Emily reminded. 

The other girl paused in her movement and pointed up at her, “Mead said ‘murder’, not me. I said I’d come for her… I didn’t specify how.”

Timothy sighed and shook his head while Emily only looked at him with a smile. 

“At least we have each other,” Emily noted.

Em smiled at that, finally sitting up, “The Three Musketeers!”

“All for one and one for all,” Timothy said.

Emily sighed, “God knows Venable won’t do it.” 

[queerfables]

Supernatural Post-Mortem (1x12 - 1x15)

P, N and I discuss these episodes after the fact, because I didn’t make notes while we watched them. I don’t think I actually have any major warnings for our conversation about these episodes. 

1x12 - Faith

Notes to self, as a reminder of what it was about: “Dean faith healed, reapers”

When I read these out to P & N, they both start making excited sounds and I join in because yeah, we all really loved this episode!!

N: This is when Dean nearly died saving kids, too. P&I: Is it? N: Yeah, at the beginning, when he got electrocuted! Another point for Dean is good with kids! P: A good boy!!

This is the episode where Dean’s life is saved when it’s traded for the life of the gay man.  Me: So, like, Dean was given his heart! P&N: Ohhhhhhhhh. N: Aw, Dean has a queer heart. Me: I mean, we knew that already.  N: Yes, but it’s surprisingly literal and I love it.

N says, “I think every time Dean tries to problem solve in an episode, there’s probably a simpler solution.” When he was in the tent trying to stop the faith healing from happening, he yells, fire, but he could have like ACTUALLY started a fire, which would have stopped the lady from hanging around and trying to continue killing the guy. Or he could have faked a heart attack, which might have made people doubt the whole faith healing thing. 

P&N disagree with me on this, but I personally think the subtext of the villain in this episode trying to kill Dean when she realises he’s trying to stop her is that it’s because he’s queer. She doesn’t try to kill Sam, even when he’s trying to stop her just as much - she locks him in a basement and tries to reason with him about why his brother is an abomination. (Ofc I do tend to think Sam is queer too, but maybe she hasn’t figured that out). 

I generally loved the lady who had a brain tumour in this episode. It was really powerful to set her up as, like, complicating the narrative of “We have to stop these healings from happening”. It’s not wrong but she kind of shows why it’s not that simple, there’s always a cost even to doing the right thing. She also feels like one of the first ladies Dean actually had a real connection with, their - maybe romance? maybe friendship? whatever it was - really worked for me. 

N says they loved how the reaper was super keen to kill the lady who’d been controlling him. “I mean, I would be too. I don’t wanna go around murdering queer people!” P agrees. “Right? I love queer people.” I would definitely rather murder homophobes instead. 

1x13 - Route 666

Notes to self: “Cassie, Racist Truck”

P: Oh! I loved Cassie!  N & I agree. Cassie was great. 

I actually did start making notes from this episode while we watched but I never finished them. Here’s what I had: --Dean says he was called by a friend who really wouldn't have called if it wasn't urgent. Me: "That sounds like an ex" --It's Cassie! I'm excited to meet her! --P, N & I agree Cassie is a babe and we're excited to see how Dean fucked this up

N says, “It might have been me reading too much into it but I actually thought this episode was a pretty solid commentary on race.” 

N: I really thought that, despite the entirety of supernatural handling race about as well as a greased football, this episode had a solid multiple-layer analogy for the way racism, historically and currently, expresses itself across communities and generations. the analogy goes as far as making it clear that the instigating incident that prompts the angry, racist resurgence is done by a white dude, but that he is shielded from the initial backlash and consequences while the revived racism starts out targeting tangentially-related black people instead--something that definitely happens irl. It also makes it clear that a) racism is something you have to actively examine and purge, sometimes multiple times, b) it is not over even when the racists are dead and its spectre lurks amongst our communities and, most importantly, c) respectability politics are junk and sometimes you have to help cover up a racist’s murder

P says that they love that the white dude was a cop but, like, actually a good cop. Again, because of the covering up racist murder. 

I’d like to emphasise that I loved the way that Dean and Cassie’s relationship was portrayed. It turned out it was actually not entirely Dean’s fault that this fell apart. I mean, I personally think he should have lied to her until he was able to come back and then told her the truth, so she wouldn’t think he was coming up with a bizarro lie to leave her, but also like... He was trying to be honest, he wanted to really connect with her, and I have a lot of feelings about that. 

I’m sad that Dean and Cassie aren’t going to work out in the long run but I understand why. Would have been cool to see her again, though.

I just want you all to know that through a very, VERY meandering conversation, we now have N and P arguing over whether octopi or alligators have the perfect body.  N: Sack! Tentacles! Beak! P: SCALES AND TEETH. N: I’m just saying that the number of problems you can cause as an alligator is kind of limited. All you can do is bite things.  P: That’s all you need!!!! We’ve declared the conversation a draw for now but they’ve promised (threat) to come back to it later

Also N is now looking at Giant Squid fanfic and keeps announcing things like “There’s a whole tag for ‘Dubious Consenticles’??” and “SQUIDITCH”

None of this is related to Supernatural but it IS very funny. 

1x14 - Nightmare 

Notes to self: “Sam’s visions, telekinetic abuse victim gets revenge”

N says, “This was just fucking intense, if I remember” and P says, “Yeah, it was scary.” 

N says they saw the guy’s death coming as soon as it was revealed it was him committing the murders.  Basically, Sam and Dean couldn’t have trusted a rehabilitation arc without being directly involved and the nature of the show is that they couldn’t have been directly involved.

We understand why the episode played out the way it did but we wish it handled it differently. We were all 1000% on the telekinetic victim’s side and fully supported him murdering his abusers. I remember when we were watching it, being, like, horrified by the things that happened to his dad and his uncle and then when we found out the truth about how they were abusing him we were like “Oh, yeah, warranted.” We do think the mother was probably abused too and that’s why she didn’t step in to stop anything. Still understandable that he can’t forgive her, though. 

My main thing I’d like to say about this one is that I love Sam connecting with the other people who’ve been affected by the yellow-eyed demon (in later episodes too) I would really, really love more of that tbh, I want him to form a network. I love how much he understands and relates to this kid, and how hard he tries to save him. 

I also love the part where seeing a vision of Dean in danger allows him to use telekinesis too. We’re in the middle of s2 now and we haven’t seen that again and it’s a shame!!! I want more of that!!!!

P says xer mad the show dropped Sam’s telekinesis stuff too. “In a later episode, Sam says he gets visions but other people get other things, and it’s like, ‘No! Buddy! You have more than that!’” N says it would be cool if they set it up so that Sam’s powers, in addition to getting visions about the other people like him, included being able to use their same powers when he’s near them. Like the episode later on where a guy can use mind control?? Instead of just being immune, wouldn’t it have been rad if Sam could do that too?? KILLER. 

1x15 - The Benders 

Notes to self: “THE MOST DANGEROUS GAME. Sam in a cage.”

P: OH YEAH, this was the one that wasn’t even like -- N: It was just people.  P: Yeah, it was just dudes being dudes. 

I very much enjoyed this episode. N agrees. I think P is distracted typing something on xer own computer. N says, “It wasn’t as fast paced as some of the other ones but it was fun.”

N: I have thoughts about the way they handled the cop killing the head of the family. I feel like he was already cartoonishly evil--to make him openly sneer in the cop’s face about her dead brother and hunting ppl as an in-the-moment justification for killing him seems... almost cowardly? he was an irredeemable human-hunter who raised an entire family to hunt ppl in the woods. that’s enough justification! i think viewers should get that. you don’t need to make him have a rude snarky one-liner to justify his death. commit to ‘some humans are Bad’ properly!  P: I have thoughts about the little girl. She was weird and creepy and I didn’t like it. I think my major issue with her was that she was a child, who was used as a twist to be the worst one of the family, which is so overdone. We get it, kids are creepy. And also, given that the rest of her family - her dad+uncles/brothers(??) and her grandpa/dad(??) - were murderers, implied cannibals, and general all around awful people, she’s more likely than not a victim of abuse. So I think portraying her as the worst of them all is callous at best, highly problematic at the worst. Get her therapy and away from the people that call themselves her family. Anyway, it boils down to that I think it’s overplayed, and I wish she had a happier path than “Oh, she’s so creepy!!!!”

I love N & P’s really interesting and coherent thoughts but I have to be completely honest that 90% of my thoughts about this episode were like “Mmmmmmm, Sam in a cage” and later “Mmmmmm, Dean tied to a chair.” The other 10% was me having emotions about Dean being desperate to find Sam. Don’t let that undercut the extent to which I loved the episode though. I really loved this episode. 

[theyearoftheking]

Book Forty-Nine: Black House

“Here is a true American loner, an internal vagrant, a creature of shabby rooms and cheap diners, of aimless journeys resentfully taken, a collector of wounds and injuries lovingly fingered and refingered. Here is a spy with no cause higher than himself.” 

After almost fifty books, The Talisman still stands at the top of the leader board as my favorite Steve book. It’s richly layered, full of memorable characters and horrible villains, with a satisfying conclusion. It’s the type of book fantasy and horror lovers alike are eager to escape into. 

It’s sometimes hard to embrace the sequel to a book you love so much... I mean, I can be bought, but my criteria are stringent:

Consider setting the book in Wisconsin... perhaps the beautiful, sad, remote, desolate western part of the state right along the Mississippi river.

Maybe a Dahmer reference? 

Scratch that. Instead, go with an old-school serial killer no one really talks about anymore. How about... Albert Fish? He’s pretty gross. 

On second thought, reconsider a Dahmer reference. Maybe an evil spirit that links Dahmer and Fish together? 

TONS of Dark Tower references. 

If Steve and Pete were to consider writing a follow up to The Talisman with all these elements, I might consider reading it. 

Spoiler! 

Dark House contains all this goodness, and more. 

It’s so fucking dark, y’all. I don’t think I’m ever going to be able to drive past a long-term care facility and NOT think about an old man inside wanting to eat the buttocks of small children.

Oh hey, trigger warnings for cannibalism, and violence against children. 

So, Dark House is set in fictional Coulee County, Wisconsin (not a place). But Steve and Pete (I need to start giving Peter Straub some shout outs as well) describe the western part of the state magnificently. Not too long ago I had a sales job that required me to travel the entire state, and I always loved my jaunts west. I’d park right along the Mississippi, eat my lunch and just soak up the isolation. I’d much rather make the drive to Pierce county than the Quad Cities, which my current employer is asking of me. *Silent scream for help*

Despite Coulee being fictional, the actual Wisconsin references are thick:

De Pere (where we recently found out Steve spent a few formative years)

The Brewers 

Miller Park 

Kingsland Ale- while fictional, it’s a nod to Wisconsin’s rich brewing history, and favorable climate for microbreweries

Dahmer (several times, actually)

Racine. Y’all. I have no idea what Steve’s obsession is with Racine... it comes up in multiple books. It’s really not that great. Take that from someone who spent a brief period of time working there. Honestly, my favorite thing about Racine is the authentic Thai restaurant right in downtown, Sticky Rice. If you find yourself in Racine, please go check them out... their red devil curry is amaze-balls. 

So, yes... lots of Wisconsin. Also, lots of Dark Tower:

Eye of the King

Crimson King

The Tower

Red roses

Breakers

Little Sisters 

Gunslingers and their weapons

Roland and the ka-tet

Monos! Blaine and Patricia

Chief Breaker Brautigan- who allegedly tells hilarious stories about his escapes. I miss him already. 

I have questions about how Steve convinced Pete to include so many Dark Tower elements into this book...

Steve:  “Pete, bud... I know you might have a different vision for how this book plays out. Buuut what about if we make it part of the Dark Tower universe?”

Pete: Stares for a long minute. “Um, I thought that series was dead in the water. Do we really need to use Dark House to resuscitate it?” 

Steve: “Remember the car accident? You know, the one that almost took my leg?” 

Pete *Oh fuck, he’s bringing up the car accident as a bid for sympathy, and to convince me to make this a Dark Tower book...* “Of course I remember!”

Steve: “Well, it shook some things loose. I’m about ready to finish the series. I just thought it might be fun if we make this book a lead-up to the finale” 

Pete: “It’s intriguing, but I’m not really sure it’s the direction I want to go in. I was thinking more-”

Steve: “I ALMOST DIED IN THAT ACCIDENT!” 

Pete: “Cool, Dark Tower book it is!” 

I should write fan fiction. I’ve obviously got a gift. 

Black House is told from a birds-eye narration view. Literally... there’s this fat, evil crow named Gorg flying all over town, giving us the lay of Coulee County. Bad stuff has been going on: little children have gone missing, and only a few of their bodies have turned back up mutilated and broken. 

The chief of police, Dale Gilbertson, knows he’s in over his head, and keeps trying to convince his pal, retired police detective, Jack “Hollywood” Sawyer to come consult on the case.

Jack isn’t having it. He retired young and moved to Coulee County from Los Angeles after tracking down and arresting serial killer Thorny Kinderling. The majestic beauty of western Wisconsin caught him by surprise, and he happily invested in reasonably priced (read: cheap) real estate with a view. 

Upon moving to Wisconsin, Jack befriended Dale’s blind uncle Henry Leydon; who voices several radio programs, including The Wisconsin Rat, which plays indy screamo bands and has plenty of shock-jock antics. The two hang out together, listen to jazz music, and sometimes Jack reads to Henry. Henry was able to use his elevated senses to study Jack’s speech pattern and figure out Jack’s mom was THE Lily Cavanaugh; the Queen of the B’s. 

While Jack and Henry are reading Bleak House, Charles “Burny” Burnside is wandering around the Maxton Elder Care Facility, pretending to have dementia, and dragging children into The Territories for Lord Malshun to either use as Breakers, or for Burny to snack on if they have no Breaking skills. So, Burny’s a bad dude who did some suspicious things in Chicago; but an evil spirit (the same one who invaded Albert Fish and Jeffrey Dahmer’s bodies) is what’s causing his kidnapping and cannibalistic urges. I know I say this every ten books or so, but Burny might be the worst King villain ever. I was not upset later on when his intestines were violently ripped from his body.

A sweet little boy (with strong Breaker powers) named Tyler Marshall goes missing outside the Maxton Elder Care Facility. While he was being pulled into the bushes by Gorg who kept repeating his name; his mother, Judy receives a taunting package and letter from The Fisherman, which sends her over the brink, and she’s institutionalized. 

Tyler’s disappearance really amps up the town outrage, and Jack agrees to help the police department out. He’s starting to suspect there’s some Territories nonsense going down, and he can help. 

From here, the book goes at break-neck pace and includes everything from micro-brewing bikers, a dog bite that causes one to dissolve into a foamy puddle on the couch, our old friend Speedy Parker showing up as a gunslinger, the world’s most annoying newspaper reporter, plenty of flipping between worlds via the creepy old black house hidden in the woods, and a happy(ish) ending. Honestly, there’s a warning at the end of the book, which allows you to choose your own ending. You can stop reading five pages before the end, and enjoy a happy ending where the good guys win; or you can get the real world ending. Both are satisfying... I recommend reading all the way to the end. 

So, just a few quotes for you... 

“Wolf died of a disease called America.” 

This line gutted me. I didn’t realize how much I loved Wolf as a character, until I had to read a follow-up that didn’t include him. His soul was too clean and beautiful for a fucked-up world like the one we currently live in. 

“He doesn’t like the cell phone to begin with- twenty-first-century slave bracelets, he thinks them...”

No explanation needed. 

“Why must life always demand so much and give so little? Parkus answers her question with a single word: ka.” 

Again, no explanation needed. 

Was this book as good as The Talisman? 

No. 

Did I want more? 

Absolutely.

But was I satisfied with the end?

You bet your (un-chomped on) ass.

Total Wisconsin Mentions: 33

Total Dark Tower References: 50

Book Grade: A-

Rebecca’s Definitive Ranking of Stephen King Books

The Talisman: A+

Wizard and Glass: A+

Needful Things: A+

On Writing: A+

The Green Mile: A+

Hearts in Atlantis: A+

Rose Madder: A+

Misery: A+

Different Seasons: A+

It: A+

Four Past Midnight: A+

The Shining: A-

The Stand: A-

Bag of Bones: A-

Black House: A-

The Wastelands: A-

The Drawing of the Three: A-

Dolores Claiborne: A-

Nightmares in the Sky: B+

The Dark Half: B+

Skeleton Crew: B+

The Dead Zone: B+

Nightmares & Dreamscapes: B+

‘Salem’s Lot: B+

Carrie: B+

Creepshow: B+

The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon: B

Storm of the Century: B-

Cycle of the Werewolf: B-

Danse Macabre: B-

The Running Man: C+

Thinner: C+

Dark Visions: C+

The Eyes of the Dragon: C+

The Long Walk: C+

The Gunslinger: C+

Pet Sematary: C+

Firestarter: C+

Rage: C

Desperation: C-

Insomnia: C-

Cujo: C-

Nightshift: C-

Gerald’s Game: D

Roadwork: D

Christine: D

Dreamcatcher: D

The Regulators: D

The Tommyknockers: D-

Now I move onto From a Buick Eight. I’ve had an advanced reading copy since the book came out, but never had the urge to actually read it. That should tell you everything you need to know about my level of enthusiasm right now. I’m hoping it’s not a Christine 2.0. 

Until next time, Long Days & Pleasant Nights, Rebecca 

[choptopsbigstinkyslut]

Home

Did I do this self-indulging? Yes.

Did I do this because I would literally fucking die for this rat man? Yes.

Do I care if it’s cringe-worthy? No.

{} By the way, I vaguely remember someone giving Nubbins the name Percy. For me, it stuck. Thus the use of it. I do not remember who exactly gave him this name. However, if you remember please let me know! {}

{ Also! Let’s talk Canon for a second yeah? So I suppose in this timeline you could say they weren’t always cannibals. That it was a progressive trip to Cannibalism. Don’t like it- that’s cool. I do. Eat a shoe.}

Let me live cowards.

What had once been her favorite time of year turned to days that seemed to run together. Though that wasn’t anything new. For the past seven years, things hadn’t been the same.

For seven years, she watched tragically as the family fell apart. She watched Drayton grow more aggressive towards her, Percy and Bubba. Though he wouldn’t talk about it, Zoey saw that Percy seemed to feel the same way she did. A sense of emptiness.

Zoey had a vague memory of two girls from when she was in high school. The memory was foggy but she coulda sworn they were named Carol and Annie. That they were inseparable. That the two felt like they could tell each other anything. Taking some assumption from the bond those two had she assumed it was similar for them.

For her, she took the pain she felt in her heart and multiplied it by six for what Percy must’ve felt and most of the time, Zoey felt the most pain when she’d watch Bubba constantly walk past the big window in the living room, waiting for the day the rest of the family had been waiting for.

It was a fond memory. One that seemed to play over and over and over in her mind almost anytime the war was discussed on TV. She remembered getting the mail that day, reading over the names on the letters. Some things for Drayton, junk, more junk but then she saw something for her love.

She remembered picking up the pace as she jogged up the few stairs of the house and into the living room, distributing the mail to the respective owner before heading into the kitchen to get her tea. It was the last time she had drank green tea. The thought of making a cup of green tea scared her. If such news would arrive while she drank it, she didn’t want to risk drinking it again and receive the devastating news.

She couldn’t forget the tension that was felt in the room on November 18th. She remembered walking into the living room, sitting down beside him and the look on his face seemed to tell it all.

She knew something was wrong. Bright blue eyes trailed down to the paper he held. The feeling was so familiar. Her stomach dropped and her mouth felt dry. She remembered setting the tea down on the table with a soft clank and swallowing back her tears as she sat on the couch, her entire world felt as if it had just come crashing down on her.

For two weeks Zoey felt nothing but numb and she had cried more than she had in her whole life.

It was a present memory that Zoey was aware would stay with her for years and by God it had.

But for seven years, there were things that held her over. Letters were, of course, fortunate despite being rare and sporadic, Zoey appreciated and valued every single one. The other important thing that held her over was the simple ring clinging to her finger. She had worn it proudly for eleven years and would continue wearing it until he came home and she could add a lovely little wedding ring.

Those positive thoughts certainly helped, but now it was just a waiting game and had been for a while now. Every morning Zoey would wake up but felt no different.

However, that was far from the case this day.

Zoey had turned in early the night before, simply due to her own feelings getting to her. That stupid song had been playing on the radio all day. Multiple times. Damn Elvis for releasing it. Damn the radio for playing it over and over and over. Damn Drayton for keeping it on that day. By seven-thirty, Zoey had heard it far too many times and the memories had been too much to handle that day.

The memory of standing in the kitchen with the love of her life, wrapped up in his arms, swaying gently to Elvis’s soothing voice. It was a good memory in general but not today. Not when she was standing in the kitchen doing the dishes and it played for the sixth time that day. Not at all.

She had slugged her way up the stairs, into her room and shut the door gently, forcing herself not to cry as she peeled her clothes from her body, tossing her jeans onto the vanity chair, followed by her shirt and Bra and replacing it with a baby pink nightgown. Crawling into bed shortly after.

Zoey slept peacefully until six in the morning when her body had woken her up. She tried to go back to sleep but something inside her wasn’t letting her. Finally giving in, Zoey rolled out of bed.

A soft sigh escaped past her lips as she scuffed her feet across the wooden floors, trying to keep her volume down as she knew sleep was precious in this house. Especially for Bubba. Despite her need to pee, the need to check on him was far stronger. Gently her fingers gripped the soft white robe hanging on the back of the door, pulling it off the hook and wrapping herself up in the comfort of it all.

As Zoey gently turned the knob, she couldn’t help but cringe as a pained squeak escaped the door. Her heart dropped, terrified this whiny door had woken up those still asleep.

Zoey held her breath as she gently snuck out of her own room, looking around nervously for a moment.

She heard no rustling from any of the bedrooms and assumed she was safe. Zoey took one step and then another, now standing at Bubba’s bedroom door. Her fingers gently wrapped around the knob and pushed the wooden door open, praying it wouldn’t squeal out and wake him. Despite the darkness, Zoey felt at ease seeing that Bubba was asleep. A soft sigh of relief slipped past her lips as she gently shut the bedroom door.

But as one door shut, another opened, turning to face the bedroom at the end of the hall, Zoey’s eyes widened “D-Drayton?” She asked softly, already fumbling with her hands as she prepared to face the eldest brother’s rath. “Zoey. You’re up early, any particular reason?” He asked, seeming to already be dressed and ready to head to the station.

Zoey choked on her words before responding “Just uh, had to go to the bathroom but uhm...something in my heart said to just check up on Bubba.” She explained, her eyes looking past Drayton, a silent prayer that he’d buy it.

Fortunately, it seemed as though the eldest Sawyer brother bought her lie. 

“Alright, sorry to bother you.” He said with a shrug of his shoulders, not seeming to want to ask further questions. Zoey stepped aside to allow Drayton around her and down the stairs.

“Oh uh Zoey,” He said, stopping and turning to face her. Internal dread hit her as she turned around “Yes Sir?” she asked nervously “Get Bubba up soon. If he ain’t up before Lunch I’ll beat both your asses.” He threatened before continuing down the stairs.

Zoey inhaled deeply, shaking it off “Water off ducks back...water off ducks back.” She said to herself, continuing on her path to the bathroom.

Once the bathroom door was shut, she sighed softly, unsure why she felt such a strange way this morning. It didn’t matter.

Zoey was quick to use the bathroom and decided to first try a shower to make herself feel better. As the water warmed, Zoey sighed, her body hurt and her being hurt. Everything just hurt.

Zoey feared that today was going to be a bad day. A day where every little memory she had of her and Paul would slap her across the face. Those were some of the most draining days. Days that she struggled to finish her chores or her food or finish much of anything. It really was simply a day she’d spend more time locked in the bathroom crying than living.

Either way, she had to get in the shower, her robe was pulled from her body as she dropped layers of clothing onto the floor before pulling her hair up into a tight bun to try and keep it as dry as possible.

As she stepped into the shower, she felt the hot water drench her skin, a sense of relief hitting her. It didn’t fix everything but it did make her feel somewhat better. As she washed her body, her mind began to wander. First to what she might head downstairs and find to eat than to what she was going to feed Bubba and then it began to spiral. It began to spiral to a place that wasn’t good for her to go.

She thought about what her precious Paul was eating. How miserable he must be, how exhausted he must be. It terrified her beyond belief.

“No.” She ordered herself “you can’t think like that. He’ll be home soon.” She reminded herself, continuing her shower, coating her body in a layer of Rose scented body wash. “Think positive Zoey. Think positive.” She insisted, rinsing off her body rather quickly.

She hadn’t intended to take a long shower, just enough to clean her body off and move on. Zoey turned the water off, exhaling heavily as she did and reaching out. She pulled the soft green towel off the rack, wrapping it around her body, trying to get her thoughts back on track, but, it was hard.

Seven years was a long time to only imagine his laugh, his voice, his embrace. She missed him so very much, every day was a struggle, not to mention the additional fear that one day the news would come around that her sweet snuggle bunny wouldn’t be coming home.

As Zoey brought her mind back to earth, she pulled the bathroom door open, stepping out and hurrying to her room. She truly did not want to be seen by Bubba. She didn’t need to traumatize him in that way.

When she had made it back to her bedroom, she made her way over to her dresser, painted in soft white, the top was covered in many things from a vase full of fake tulips to her little jewelry box to the shoe box she kept up there.

The shoe box was old and beaten, on the verge of falling apart but the memories outweighed its appearance. This box Zoey had gotten from her mother. It was the box her shoes came in for the Valentine dance she attended when she was fifteen. It was the first time she had gone to a school event with her lover. She still had the shoes somewhere, but they were not in the box. For her, she used it as a letterbox.

Every single letter that had been addressed to her was held in that box. Seven years’ worth of letters were in that shoebox and if anything happened to it, Zoey wasn’t sure if she’d survive.

Zoey pulled open the top drawer of her dresser, digging around for a moment before finding herself a pair of undergarments and a bra, tossing them onto the bed.

She was quick to turn to the closet, pushing the door open and the colors that met her eyes sent a shot of excitement down her spine. She scanned the shirts, jeans, and dresses that hung in her closet, trying to decide on what she wanted to wear that day.

Her eyes scanned shirt after shirt, bottom after bottom until her eyes landed on a dress. It was one she hadn’t worn in a long time but she liked it. She thought about it for a moment and it occurred to her that she wore this dress out on a date with Paul.

The dress was a mid-thigh black loose-fitting dress, long-sleeved of course but the shoulders exposed. On the bottom of the said dress, it was lined with shades of orange and blue pattern.  Deciding it was the right fit, Zoey tossed it over her shoulder onto the bed.

Soft blue eyes trailed onto the shoe box resting on the dresser. Internally she wanted to get dressed and sit on the bed to read some but knew better. If she did she’d ruin her own day. She’d begin to miss Paul even more than normal and it would consume her day.

“Maybe Later…” She reassured herself, wanting to let her aching heart know that later tonight they could sit on the bed and imagine these words being said by him.

Now fully prepared to get dressed, Zoey dropped the towel to the floor with intentions on cleaning it up later and quickly got dressed. Underwear then bra and finally her dress. 

Once fully dressed, Zoey turned to the vanity, tossing her shirt and jeans from last night onto the floor. Yet something else she would clean up later. Zoey was quick to pull her ponytail out and fluff her hair.

Gently Zoey reached down, opening up the top drawer, as she pulled out her hairbrush.

Beginning to run the bristles through her hair, she tried not to let her mind wander. But, she couldn’t help it. As the bristles of her brush ran through her hair she couldn’t help but remember how Paul would run his fingers through her hair. How he would twirl it around and around his finger when they’d cuddle together. How much he loved to play with her hair. She couldn’t help but visualize the smile on his face he’d have whenever she’d ask if she looked alright.

A shaky breath escaped her as she set her hairbrush down on the vanity. Staring at her own reflection. For a moment, just a moment she could see him in the mirror. She saw him sitting on the side of the bed, watching her get herself ready. It made her chest ache for a moment before shaking it off and standing up. She scooped up her laundry and tossed it into the hamper in the corner of the room before heading out. Shoes were irrelevant.

Zoey shut her bedroom door behind her, silently dreading a full day of chores. As Zoey made her way to the stairs, she stopped outside Bubbas door, knocking lightly “Bubba…” She said quietly, gently opening the door “Bubba...honey come on...it’s time to get up…” Zoey chirped, watching as the sleepy head sat up “Good morning Bubba!” She said softly, watching as he crawled out of bed “Hey Bubba, listen, I’m gonna go start cooking so uhm, just meet me downstairs once you’re ready okay honey?” She asked, keeping her voice down.

Zoey knew how much Bubba appreciated when she’d wake him up, only because she’d keep her voice down and warm. She watched as Bubba started getting ready for a busy day. Zoey took that cue to head on downstairs and start cooking.

Once she was downstairs, Zoey started cooking per Usual routine.

Slowly it all began to run together. Bubba came downstairs, ate, Zoey ate, did the laundry, swept the floors. It felt like every other day Zoey had been living for the past seven years.

As the sun began to set, Drayton came back and helped her make dinner. It was slowly becoming another day that Paul hadn’t come home.

That was until Zoey was in the kitchen, washing the dishes from dinner, her eyes glued on the window above the kitchen sink. Staring off into the distance, daydreaming about that moment. The moment she’d get blinded by headlights and she’d be reunited with her Paul.

But, it seemed strange. Her vision was slowly filled with bright lights...headlights.

Her hands gently turned the sink off “Uhm...Drayton? I don’t mean to bother you but I think someones here…” She said nervously, turning the corner to catch the eldest Sawyer sitting in his chair “Ah Dammit Zoey, are you sure?”

“I Saw headlights pull’ up to the house-” Zoey responded, watching Drayton rise from his seat. “Dammit-” He sighed, making his way out of the living room and off to go collect whoever it could be.

Zoey watched as he walked off, her heart sinking a little as Bubba flinched when Drayton walked past.

“Don’t worry Bubba...I’m sure it’s just another dumb lost tourist…” She explained quietly, on the verge of sitting down but stopped the second she heard the yelling outside.

“Goddammit Drayton where is she?!”

Zoey’s eyes widened “Uhm...Bubba, I’ll be right back okay?” Zoey said nervously before turning and hurrying off, flinging the front door open and tossing it back, now standing on the porch.

It took her a moment to process who was standing beside that beat-up truck but once it occurred to her who was here.

Her Paul. He was home. He was really back home. Back in Texas. Frozen in shock for only a moment longer before she shoved past Drayton and hurried down the stairs, pouncing on top of him. Her arms wrapped around him tightly with her entire body pressed against his. The comfort she felt wrapped up in his arms with his chin resting on the top of her head.

“You-You came back...You-you’re home and I-” Zoey sniffled, on the verge of continuing but stopping as Paul spoke, “Shhhh Darlin, Shhh.” He responded as his hand began to trail up and down her back.

For him, he was just as thankful and shocked to be home and holding her. “You look incredible-” He said, daring to let his hand wander down to Zoey’s bottom, giving it a firm squeeze.

“Zoey you look absolutely perfect-” Paul said, finally taking a step back to look at her and just admire how gorgeous she looked. 

“I-” Zoey was at a loss, now finally having a chance to look at him.

She saw how tired he was. How thankful he was to be home with Zoey.

“Let’s get you inside hmm?” She offered, on the verge of turning to head back inside but Paul pulled her back “Zoey I dunno where you think you’re goin’ but I haven’t gotten a single kiss from you.” He insisted, keeping her wrapped up in his arms.

Zoey blushed lightly, leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to his lips and damn did he soak it all in. “Oh, my precious Zoey you’ve not changed since I left.” He said when she finally pulled away.

Zoey grinned “Thanks love, now can I getcha inside?” She asked, gently taking his hand in hers “Yeah...you can…” He said with a gentle smirk, letting his lovely lady drag him into the house.

That evening was spent well. After Bubba had said his Hellos to his brothers, Paul and Zoey were left alone. To be together.

To enjoy each other's company.

To be a couple.

[avvidstarion]

For the album ask game... how about The Black Parade?

oh ABSOLUTELY. i LOVE you. this is all subject to change at the drop of the hat bc im wishy-washy and i love all of these songs anyway so

this got WAY too long so i am putting it under a readmore shhvkldlkdgjlkdsj

not including b-sides:

1. Teenagers- kind of a basic pick i know, BUT, in my defense, the song slaps. it’s such a fun song, especially when you’re singing it at the top of your lungs. the guitar part is super cool too- im trying to learn it rn but it’s a slow process bc im bad at guitar.

2. Mama- what can i say. it fucks. the old time-y feel, the harmonies/background vocals, the layers. the guitar goes so fucking hard. banging lyrics- “you should’ve raised a baby girl, i should have been a better son”??????? songs to be trans to.”but the shit that i’ve done with this fuck of a gun” is the kind of lyric that you can only properly convey if you’re screaming it at the top of your lungs. the whole ending is just. mind blowing

3. The End.- LISTEN!!!!!!!!! the end is WAY TOO FUCKING UNDERRATED!!!! oh my goddd i love it so much. i love it SO much. it’s such a perfect beginning to the song. the lyrics are great (”now come one, come all, to this tragic affair” if you look in the mirror and don’t like what you see, you can find out first hand what it’s like to be me”, “another contusion, my funeral jag. here’s my resignation, i’ll serve it in drag. you’ve got front row seats to the penitence ball, when i grow up, i want to be NOTHING AT ALL!!! SAVE ME!!! GET ME THE HELL OUT OF HERE!!!! SAVE ME!!! TOO YOUNG TO DIE, AND MY DEAR!!! IF YOU CAN HEAR ME JUST WALK AWAY AND TAKE ME!!). the bit with the snapping and the ooooohs is fun too. such a good song, it could honestly be 1 or 2 but my ranking system isnt based in logic and makes no sense to even myself

4. House of Wolves- house of wolves was my favorite mcr song for a good chunk of time, but as a result i’m kinda burned out on it, which is why it isn’t higher.  however it is still number four  because it’s objectively a fucking amazing song. the guitar is so fuckin fun, the lyrics are great, and it’s just. fun to dance around and sing it at the top of your lungs. you better run like the devil cause they’re never gonna leave you alone!!!!! tell me i’m a bad, bad, bad, bad man!!!

5. Welcome to the Black Parade- the big man itself. the titular song. their biggest hit. a lot of people shit on wttbp for being popular and, like, pretty much the only song of theirs to ever be on the radio anymore (and even then it’s once in a blue moon), BUT. it got popular for a reason. it’s a really good song. i love the structure of it, i love how it builds and builds and builds. the lyrics are wonderfully done- “a world that sent you reelin from decimated dreams/ your misery and hate will kill us all”, the whole “do or die, you’ll never make me” stanza is The Ultimate rallying cry. and the “im just a man, i’m not a hero” is just. ughghghdlkslakdjglsdkg. the titular song of an album entirely about death and dying and misery being SO hopeful and SO upbeat really portrays the album as a whole much differently- mcr is known as The Emo Band because, yeah, their aesthetic is dark and their songs touch dark stuff but they have never been all whiney and boo-hoo-y and melancholic for the sake of melancholy. there’s always been a positive note to their music and a lot of people just don’t get that which makes me sad. anyway. wttbp is fun and i like it and i like the drums and the trumpets at the end. marching bands fuck

6. Blood- ok so the pattern here seems to be that i favor the fun songs over the slow ones, and blood sticks with that. much like with mama, i love the old time-y feel. i love that this is like a fun little bonus ditty to end the album on. the lyrics are silly and fun and jovial, and the piano is great. love it and it makes me happy

7. Disenchanted- OUGHH. OUUUUUGH. i know cancer is objectively the saddest song on the album, but disenchanted just hits different. “when the lights all went out, we watched our lives on the screen/ i hate the ending myself, but it started with an alright scene” just DECIMATES me, man. the acoustic guitar is a nice change of pace, and the vocal performance is just. so fucking emotional. especially the “woahhhhhhhh-ohs” at the end. great song, makes me Feel Emotions

8. The Sharpest Lives- ok so i know this is pretty much in the middle of the list, but i want to stress that i dont hate any of the songs on this album, so even the middle of the list is pretty fuckin good imo. the sharpest lives makes me go batshit.  the lyrics are so fucking wild. “a light to burn all the empires, so bright the sun is ashamed to rise and be” is SO fuckin sick like OH my god. what a line. also “there’s a place in the dark where the animals go/ you can take off your skin in the cannibal glow/ juliet loves the beat and the lust it commands/ drop the dagger and lather the blood on your hands, romeo” like WHAT?????????????? GERARD POPPED OFF W THIS ONE FOLKS!! also i love how at the beginning the whisper-y vocals bounce from ear to ear. also “so why don’t you blow me......a kiss before she goes” is fuckin hilarious. honestly this song should be higher but i havent gone through a phase where i’ve been obsessed w it yet so it stays down here for now. one day it will take hold and be all i can listen to for a month straight and THEN it will climb the ranks. 

9. Cancer- makes me cry like a liddol baby. my mom doesnt let it play in the car cause it makes her too sad. twenty one pilots covered it and it was FUCKING AWFUL so the song is kinda ruined now cause i can only think about their shitty cover. like the AUDACITY. but anyway besides that the song is heart wrenching and amazing. the hardest part of this is leavin you!!!!

10. Dead!- look, i know technically the end. and dead! are the same song/ are just continuations of each other but i’m listing them separately bc dead! is, to me, the worse of the two. not that it’s bad or anything, it just doesn’t pop off the same way the end. and all the songs before it on the list do. however i do love the guitar at the beginning and the solo, and the “one! two! one two three four! LA LA LA LAs” are super fucking fun. 

11. Famous Last Words- i used to hate this song!!!! i truly did!! it’s obvs not on the top of my list now or anything, but i have grown to appreciate it a lot more than i used to. like with wttbp, it is the silver lining of the album that betrays its optimistic side. it’s a happy final message to a dark album. the ending is fucking amazing. I am not afraid to keep on living!!!! i am not afraid to walk this world alone!!!!!!

12. Sleep- Sleep is, unfortunately, just kinda boring in comparison. i almost forgot to even put it on the list. however, i do like the “the hardest part’s the awful things that i’ve seen” and the “a drink, for the horrors that i’m in. for the good guys and the bad guys, for the monsters that i’ve been” lines. also the “three cheers for tyranny, unapologetic apathy!” line. but overall it’s just. eh

13. This is How I Disappear- i have. complicated feelings on tihid. on one hand, it reminds me of my favorite oc, re, and is on their playlist. on the other hand, i have grown bored with it over time. it just doesn’t stand out to me at all really. that being said, i do really like the “who walks among the famous living dead” and the “can you hear me cry out to you” stanzas. 

14. I Don’t Love You- while i dont think idly is a bad song at all, it just simply isnt my kind of song. i do think gerard’s vocals are extremely strong throughout, especially during the “when you go, would you have the guts to say/ i don’t love you like i loved you yesterday” line. like wow ok maam please continue. but overall i just dont vibe w breakup songs bc i cant relate

including b sides: 1. Heaven Help Us

2. Kill All Your Friends

3. Everything else

4. My  Way Home is Through You

my reasoning: 

heaven help us is tied for my favorite mcr song Of All Time. everything about this song is catnip for lil old me. the angsty christian imagery, the vocals, the guitar. all of it. the lyrics make me lose my mind, especially the “will you pray for me? or make a saint of me? and will you lay for me? or make a saint of- cause i’ll give you all the nails you need/cover me in gasoline/ wipe away those tears of blood again/ and the punchline to the joke is asking ‘SOMEONE SAVE US’” and the “you don’t know a thing about my sins/ or the misery begins/ you don’t know, so i’m burnin! I’m burnin!!!” parts. like i absolutely vibe with this song so fucking hard. i sing it constantly, it’s great to sing (very stimmy for me), it sounds beautiful. i am obsessed with it through and through

similarly, kill all your friends also speaks to my very soul. i can’t pick favorite lyrics bc id just have to copy and paste the whole song. i love the build-up, i love the time progression throughout the song (it’s been TEN FUCKING YEARS since i’ve been seein your faaaaaace rounnnnnd heeeere), i love the “you’ll never take me alives”. literally everything about this song makes me emo. it just Gets Me. it’s literally about my greatest fear. all my friends growing up and moving away and getting on with their lives without me, leaving me to rot in my hometown waiting for them to return. we only see each other at weddings and funerals, so it’s time to kill all your friends so we can party when the funeral ends!! it’s probably tied with heaven help us, but i’m putting it at number two just because it didn’t hook me as strongly as hhu did. it’s more of a strong, steady favorite than a “this song has latched on to my very soul and i have to listen to it on repeat over and over and over again”, if that makes sense. it’s still in my top 5 mcr songs though

i never vibed with my way home is through you. i don’t listen to it often, and i just don’t really feel it. it’s not bad, it’s just. eh.

anyway if you’ve read this far down i love you so much. thank you for listening to me ramble, mcr means a lot and i love to infodump about my music tastes. i really really appreciate being given an opportunity to do so <3

[heartlesslywhumping]

hi i love your prompts!! my friend is writing a story and wants to have some whump in it, so i thought i’d ask you if you had any prompts for it! it takes place 100 years after nuclear war broke out, and 12 young adults were forced into cryofreeze 50 years ago to see if they could live above ground. and while a lot of radiation cleared out, there’s still areas that are dangerously radiated. to make things worse, they all had their memories wiped and there are basically mutants above ground. ty!!

Oh daaaaaaaaang I love that idea! It reminds me of the 100 series, both the book series and TV show

(I refer to the young adults as a team here for ease of writing) ((also, there’s nothing bad under the cut, this is just a really long post and I’m breaking it up a bit))

One member gets a debilitating disease from the radiation, something similar to cancer. The rest of the team has to watch as the member suffers and slowly deteriorates, all while the member brushes it off and tries to hide how they’re suffering. Whether or not the member recovers is up to the writer.

The vegetation has mutated leading to the team preparing something wrong or eating the wrong thing. This leads to allergic reactions, poisoning, comas, seizures, vomiting, hallucinations, all the fun stuff.

There’s something bad in the water to include rain, mist, snow, etc. Does it cause them to hallucinate or does it cause physical harm? How does the team react to having no water?

One member touches or eats something that messes with their brain and leads them to attacking the team. The team has to physically restrain and contain the affected member. Now the team has two members out of commision, one injured and one potentially insane. The team has to listen to the affected member raving, screaming, thrashing, and pounding against their restraints. The team doesn’t know what happened, if it’s curable, or what they do next. The elephant in the room is the fact that they may have to kill the affected member. Meanwhile, the member acts like a rabid animal, snarling, clawing, screaming incoherently, sobbing, thrashing, throwing things, tearing at everything and everyone.

Consider what the member was/is. Weakest or strongest? Social butterfly or lone wolf? Leader or rebel? All of this will affect the team emotionally and physically. The way a trained warrior fights versus the way a healer would is vastly different. The most experienced or the least experienced would react and hit differently than the other option

If the member recovers: They now have to live with what they did for the rest of their lives. Do they look at the injured member and are stuck with horror and guilt?  How does their dynamic with the team tear at what they did? What are the lasting emotional and physical repercussions? Is the injured member unconscious? Is it debatable if the injured member will live? What if the affected member potentially killed their friend? Were they aware of what they were doing but unable to stop? Were they fully gone? Do they still hear the screams and pleads to stop? The horrible things they said? Do they still feel what they did to the injured member? Can they still smell and taste the blood and dirt? Is there still blood under their fingernails? Will they ever trust themselves again? Will anyone else?

If they don’t: Who decides to kill the member or make the executive decision to leave the member behind? Does the member fight back or lie still when they’re about to be killed? Do they have moments of clarity and beg for either death or life? Are they shot, stabbed, poisoned etc? If they’re left behind, are they left food and water just in case? If they still manage to recover, does the decision to leave the member behind come back to bite the team in the butt? Or does the recovered member come back and save the team? The team now has to deal with leaving the member behind. Walking away to the screaming and thrashing.

If the writer is writing from multiple POVs, play with writing in one you wouldn’t expect here. Try writing from inside the affected member’s mind. Are they aware of what they’re doing but they’re a puppet in their own body? Are they completely insane? What does that look like? Do they think the team intends to harm them or do they think the team are intruders? What do they think or feel as they die? As they’re left behind to die slowly? POVs can really add to some unique whump

There are mutants?

Is the team revered or looked down on because they are not mutated? (Or are they?)

Revered:

Treated like gods, which seems nice at first until the people start demanding miracles

If they team can’t provide those miracles, it’s likely that they will be killed and/or tortured

The team frantically tries to escape while providing those miracles

Consider El Dorado (the animated movie) if it wasn’t a children’s comedy and things went significantly worse

Looked down:

Are they experimented on?

“Welcomed” by a group only to find out later that they’re meant for a sacrifice or meal

Enslaved

Hunted for sport

Creatures have mutated. Give them elongated necks, extra heads, insane amount of eyes, rows of teeth, reloadable stingers, giant insects, heightened vision and hearing, what have you. Let your horror mind go crazy (we all have a horror mind). The more grotesque and crazy your mutated creatures get, the more havoc they can wreak. Remember that this is a dystopian! In the Hunger Games there were birds that could mimic voices/screams, and wasps whose stings could cause hallucinations and/or death. Go crazy! Have your creatures melded with technology? Or gotten technological features all on their own? Do they have specific radiation related abilities? Play with this and then set the worst of it all upon your OCs *evil laughter*

Some ideas to play with just from our own world that creatures (animals, insects, aquatic beings) can do

Bites

Stings

Poison/venom

Swarms

Suffocation

Overwhelming a prey

Camouflage

Lures (think of angler fish or cookie cutter sharks that light up in the darkness to attract prey. Or venus flytraps)

Crocodiles and their death rolls

Forcing a prey to drown

Some octopi can whip their prey with venomous tentacles

Animals and bugs can spit

Choking

Marble cone snails literally deploy a venom filled harpoon

Suckers or various ways of sticking to prey

Constantly following until the prey is exhausted

There is a breed of wild, big cat (like a leopard) that mimics the cry of baby monkeys

Crushing

Paralyzation

Echolocation

Just read what tentacled sea snakes do!

“They can basically read minds. Maybe they can’t control other objects, nor can they tell exactly it is what they’re thinking, but based on their evolutionary method, they know where their prey is going to swim, and wait there with their jaws wide open. How does it manage this, you ask? Well, because of a fish’s innate reaction to perceived danger. It’s call C-start. When a fish sense sound waves in the water, their body automatically jolts and they go swimming speedily away from potential predators. The tentacled sea snake, however, moves its mid-section in order to purposefully trigger this response, then, when the fish tries to flee, it ends up right in the snake’s waiting mouth.”

And all of this is just from our own world. Also….just look at Australia.

Some more quick ones are to remove resources. Remove food, water, shelter, anything. Make the world itself a terrifying place. Mess with the elements of nature, mess with creatures, mess with people (do the mutants have powers? Even simple things like better strength or endurance? Better senses that can smell, hear, see, taste danger? Natural resistant to things that hurt the team? It doesn’t have to be X-men style powers unless you want it to), mess with           e v e r y t h i n g.

Also, how have the mutants survived so long? What do they have that the team doesn’t and how can that hurt the team?

To heighten something,  add a layer of time sensitivity or danger. Is something coming for them? Do they know?

And of course, there are lots more for mind wiping. This is just getting into a pretty long post and I’ve already re-written this several times (stupid tumblr kept crashing and my webpage kept reloading and deleting everything I’d already written) so I’m going to cut it off here with those quick ways to add whump as well.

If you’d like a follow up with mind wiping stuff, just message me! I’ll try to respond quicker this time 😅

Thanks for the ask! I’d love to know how this story goes! If it’s ever publicly shared somewhere (printed in a book, turned into a comic, posted on wattpad) message me again! I’d love to read it! (And if it’s never shared, I totally get that. Writers are weird and stories get away from us.) All the best of luck to your friend!!!!

Some gruesome things that animals do below this line

_____________________________________________________

Cannibalism

Eating prey alive

There is a breed of ant that makes a vertical, sticky platform filled with holes. Once a bug sticks to it, the ants pop out and pull it in various directions while stinging it to death. Some bugs can be stuck there for hours, being torn into manageable chunks

Spiders and their webbing up prey for later. Some do it while their prey is alive