#it’s fun trying to fit more world building into an already existing society

[the-worms-in-your-bones]

I want more lore about gallifrey and how time lord society works, but at the same time I love making shit up about it

[degendog]

I would love to learn what it means to be a real man

trying to do it alone can be tough and it's so much easier when you just have to do as your told

for starters, seeking out advice on becoming a real man is a solid first step. that shit takes some serious balls. you’ve already started.

becoming a man is about gaining confidence in yourself. don’t make yourself smaller, don’t try to take up less space. be as unapologetically yourself as you want. cis people, and even some fellow trans people, won’t be comfortable with you being confident and secure in yourself, but fuck em. you exist for yourself, not anyone else.

becoming a man is also about presenting in a way that makes you feel powerful and enhances that confidence. if you haven’t tried wearing men’s clothes, get a couple things from a thrift store or hand-me-downs from a friend. try them on, wear them to a store. get a pack of boxers briefs and pin a rolled up sock to the front pouch. that’s your dick now—wear it as much as you can, even outside of boymode.

if you’ve already done all that, make sure the clothes you wear fit your personal style, whatever that may be. punk? jock? guy that works at geek squad? make sure the outside matches the inside.

start manspreading in public. sit with your legs shoulder width apart. it’ll be easier if you’re packing. it’ll be even easier when you start t—you’d be too sensitive to do anything else.

stop giving a shit about your height if you’re below the male average. tons of short guys exist and are hot as fuck because they own it. josh hutcherson is like 5’5 and tons of people think he’s sexy. part of that is because he doesn’t come off as insecure.

apologize less. be polite to people that deserve it, but don’t be subservient. dont apologize for asking questions, don’t apologize for correcting someone, don’t apologize for existing. don’t be afraid to be a bit abrasive, even.

try out more masculine hobbies. you don’t have to abandon any “girly” hobbies you may have—it’s 2024, men can knit. try out woodworking or shooting or fishing or computer building or working on cars or even growing chili peppers. ask your male friends what they do for fun and try it out for yourself. if you have a good relationship with your dad or any other male family member, ask him to teach you. if you don’t have someone irl to teach you something, pick a hobby you’ve always wanted to try out but were too scared to, and watch youtube videos on it. even if you don’t end up loving it, you’ve stepped out of your comfort zone, which is a big accomplishment in itself, and you might’ve even had a nice bonding experience with someone.

look into how to get t, and then do it, if you haven’t already. find a trans clinic in your area, go to planned parenthood if you’re in the states, hell even do diy if you need to. if you’re in an area where it’s unsafe to start t—especially florida jfc—work your ass off to get out of there as soon as possible.

start jacking off and fucking more like a man. stroke your dick instead of rubbing your clit. get a strap on and jerk that off. repeat, “i’m a man” to yourself on every stroke. try pumping your dick. picture yourself topping. actually top. experience your sexuality as something beyond cis society’s expectations for a “woman”—because you never were a woman, so why should you fuck like one?

if you’re scared to do something that’ll help yourself transition, ask yourself “why does this scare me?” and decide if your fears are as big as they seem. many things that seem daunting about transitioning aren’t actually bad, and sometimes end up being fucking awesome.

it’s not going to be easy and it’s definitely not going to be easier than “staying” a woman, but becoming the man you were always meant to be is the best thing you can do for yourself. being able to look in the mirror and like what looks back at you is the greatest feeling in the world. i hope you get there.

[shoobydoo]

Why arranged marriages are the perfect tool to oppress women - for dummies

So, I recently saw this comment under a pin on pinterest (which praised a woman who broke up arranged marriages) which dissappointed me so bad.

I responded with this.

Now, I obviously know that two people wanting to marry eachother and two people wanting to have an arranged marriage are different things. But fact is, once you want an arranged marriage, there is no way out. You don't go searching on the side on your own and as the women, you definetly do not get to say "no" more than twice to your "elders" (=oppressors). I will explain this in more detail way more into this post. I blocked the person who responded to me but what they basically wrote is : " Desire has nothing to do with if it was arranged or it just happended."

So I absolutely lost my sh!t and am now gonna post what I posted there. Have fun reading.

„I don't agree with you. Because most of the time, spouse's of arranged marriages do not get a chance to meet each other a lot before the marriage. It's not about their feelings, it is simply a tool parents use to to build or maintain economic and social stability. So there is absolutely no room for a coincidental romantic development between the two. In most of these orthodox, strict and religious family's, girls are seen to be fit for marriage after their first period, which a lot of girls already get around the age of seven. And because women in these kind of society's are often seen as unfit for work or a proper education, they AND their family's, are financially completely reliant on her husband, which therefore has to be a man, who is already economically very well established and therefore, much MUCH older. And because of the fact that men are not so financially reliant as women, they ACTUALLY have more of a word in these decisions. Women do not. That is the reality of arranged marriages. Not some fetishized manga or anime lovestory where they just happen to fall in love uwu. I dare you to look up the amount of brutal physical and psychological abuse women in arranged marriages have ti endure. Just google it. But you won't get these picture's out of your head very soon. That is because a women in a marriage like this has no, absolutely no chance to leave. The financial stability and expectations of her family and the one of her spouse's family are pushing down on her. Plus, in community's like these, women are still expected to please and obey their husband, so a women who wants a divorce, is automatically branded a human of lower class, not a "real" women and is looked down upon by the whole society, not getting any support ever again. So do not, even for one second, try to tell me that arranged marriage is not a weapon to oppress women with. In a world where women are supplied with their rightful fundamental human right's (which isn't the case right now, but should be) there is absolutely no reason for arranged marriages to exist. If you actually belive in the sick fantasy that little abused girls actually "fall in love" with the man they are forced to have sex with and have to breed children for, you disgust me. We all know, that victims who are stuck in relationships of uneven power dynamics (which these are in 100% of the cases) often develop an unhealthy, unconditional affection for their abuser/capturer, simply because it's a waste of power for your brain to hate someone you are forced to be so close with for forever, even if they constantly hurt you. I cannot believe you are actually downplaying and defending arranged marriages here. shame on you and the harm you do women all over the world by choosing to be an ignorant piece of sh!t everyday.“

—

Now you hopefully get what I meant by writing "once you want an arranged marriage, there is no way out". Because parents who choose this path for their kids, choose by two very simple factors: money and social status. Which both, are not in any way tied to the character of the individual or the chemistry he or she could have with their spouse. That is an arranged marriage. Your parents choose someone and that's it. If your parents actually look for people they see fit for you and set up some dates, that is merely a little bit of help while dating NOT an arranged marriage. Either you libfems get your vocabulary right or you should just shut the fck up about life experiences you have never made and never will make. Goodnight.

[twistedtummies2]

Toys of a God (Vore/Crushing; Commission)

WARNING: THIS IS ONE OF THE DARKEST, MOST F*ED UP THINGS I’VE EVER WRITTEN. IT IS A VERY BRUTAL, SADISTIC TYPE OF STORY. IF THAT DOESN’T SOUND UP YOUR ALLEY, TURN BACK NOW. There? Everybody comfy after that? Good! ^^ This is a commission for @faiadragon, featuring my OC Bela Sulten, from my World of Gods Universe. I’m actually really freaking proud of this story: I went ever so slightly more “extreme” with it than I usually do, in a few ways, and I also think I found a way to touch on some really fun elements, in terms of characters and plot, in-between all the indulgent mayhem going on. Still, this IS a pretty brutal and at times slightly more raunchy (by my standards) story, so if anyone can’t “get into it,” I completely understand. On that note, I feel I should state this in black in white: unless you’re 18+, you should not be viewing my work, and especially not work of this particular nature. Please turn back now and save us all a headache, youngsters. Now, with all that out of the way...if you’re still interested in reading, enter if you dare...

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Keith yawned as he opened the door of his apartment bedroom, scrubbing his eyes and mumbling incoherently as he lumbered over to the bathroom. He took a couple of very small minutes to try and wash the sleep out of his eyes, his breathing that heavy, labored, tired sort you get when you’ve just woken up from a long rest. His face still damp, he looked in the mirror; his vision was still faintly blurry from the mild dehydration that follows after a good six-and-a-half hours of sleep. However, aside from the general grogginess and slightly parched sensation of his just-awake status, he was feeling alright. A small, plain smile graced Keith’s face, but it only lasted a second before he eyed his currently somewhat messy bedhead hairdo. Scoffing softly to himself, the man grabbed a comb and began to tidy it up a little. Keith was no one special, in any way, shape, or form. There thousands, at least, like him all over his country, not to mention the world at large. He lived in the shared territory claimed by the Gods of Vengeance, Desire, and Gluttony, and his life was a commonplace sort of story: he had graduated from college about two years ago, and was currently making ends meet and managing the rent for his apartment by working full time at a job that paid just a bit over the minimum wage. He had brown eyes and matching brown hair, was of average build and height…even his clothes were simple and forgettable, consisting of a loose-fitting plain white t-shirt and a pair of black and gray pajama bottoms. His existence was mundane, but Keith never particularly minded this: in a world where Gods literally walked among men, there was only so much a human could aspire to be, to begin with. And while he was unlikely to have much in the way of a legacy, he still had a family that cared for him, a few friends he liked talking to and occasionally visiting or invitin around, and so on: it wasn’t as if he’d be completely forgotten by the universe. Besides, logically speaking, every society needed its functionaries just as much as its elitists, if not arguably more; Pawns are just as important in chess as Queens. Once he was satisfied with his hair, Keith nodded to himself and put the comb aside. There were some paper cups on the counter of his sink; he filled one up with tap water (it was better than nothing) and took a drink. He did this till the thirst fell away, and then brushed his teeth before finally exiting the bathroom. Keith walked out into the living room area, and turned on the TV; the channel was already set for his preferred news station. The reporter on the screen was delivering a spiel on the Annual Offering to Baan, Lord of Desire, in his capital of the territory. Evidently, fifty people had willingly given up their lives to feed the massive bear God. Keith paid the report little mind; in a world of Predator Gods, it was nothing too new, and it wasn’t as if the offering day had done much for HIM, he’d been stuck at home many miles away from Baan Mehar’s capital. Not to mention the God who ran THIS city, this capital, was not on good terms with Baan, so…daring to show favor to him instead of the ruling God of the city could be…dangerous. Keith hummed an idle, tuneles sort of song to himself as he brewed some coffee and made a simple breakfast, consisting of a ham and cheese omelette with bacon and sausage links on the side. He glanced at the clock as he flipped the omelette over at one point; he still had about forty-five minutes till he needed to leave for work. That would give him enough time to eat and get dressed and so forth, he was sure. Once his coffee was finished, Keith sat down in his living room to eat. He smiled in a simple way as he ate, idly pondering his schedule and what he’d be doing that evening when he got back from work, as well as cataloging all useful job-related info for later. For him, it was shaping up to be a fairly usual day in his fairly usual life. It wouldn’t stay that way. Keith had barely finished eating and having his coffee when he heard a knock on his apartment door. He frowned slightly as he placed his dishes in the sink; he didn’t get many visitors, especially not around this time. He wondered if it could be the super, wanting to check about the rent, but that didn’t seem likely: he’d paid only last week. Another knock came, and Keith headed towards the front entrance. He shrugged to himself as he reached the door, figuring it was probably just someone delivering a package or trying to advertise something. There was no reason to expect anything completely out of the ordinary. As Keith opened the door, he saw two purple eyes and a moppish shock of raven hair. He heard a voice say, “You will do.” Then, there was a blinding flash of light…and Keith cried out, shielding his eyes and stumbling. A wave of intense dizziness, nearing wooziness, flew into his mind, swooping over his senses and causing him to stagger and fall. He passed out before even hitting the floor. What had started as a totally normal, uninteresting morning had - without any warning or obvious reason at all - just become the most important day of Keith’s life…and also his last.

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When Keith’s eyes fluttered open, he became aware of a string of different things, each one more unsettling than the last. First, it was pitch black. He couldn’t see a thing. He held his mitt in front of his face, and couldn’t even tell how many fingers he was holding up. It was so dark, he wasn’t entirely sure his eyes were open at first; were it not for the rest of his sensations, he would have thought he was in some bizarre, black-void dream. When he moved, though, he became aware of other things, and it was the movement and these other awakenings of his basic senses that allowed him to realize that, whatever was happening, it was frighteningly real. The surface of the floor beneath him was hard, cool, and smooth. He crawled on his hands and knees, groping about…but he hadn’t gone very far at all before bonking his head against a wall of the same material. As he ran the fingertips of one hand against the offending surface - his other hand caressed his sore noggin - he recognized the cold, unyielding surface as thick, polished glass. The next thing that Keith noticed - with a slight grimace - was a strange, musty odor. Not unpleasant, per se, but certainly not welcome, either. The scent made him immediately think of something wooden, like standing in an old furniture showroom or a crafts store. Then, Keith became aware of the slight chill, probably from the glass surrounding him…which caused him to become aware of one last thing: he was virtually naked. His underwear - simple old-fashioned tighty-whities - were all he had left. He flushed with embarrassment as he hugged himself, goosebumps fluttering over his back. Then, at last, he became aware of a voice…several voices in fact. Most of them he couldn’t make out what they were saying, they seemed to be sniffling, crying, and muttering to themselves, and occasionally to others, but they were all muffled by the glass, so he couldn’t properly hear anything. He did, however, make out one voice that seemed to be close to him: it was a young man, about his age, and seemed to be praying… “Our Master, who dwells among us, feared be thy name…thy kingdom come, thy will be done, no matter what we say…consume us this day, your daily sustenance, and show no forgiveness, for we deserve no mercy…let us not rot in wasteful entropy, but deliver us to your endlessness-” “Oh, for the love of life, SHUT UP!” snapped another voice, and Keith jumped as he heard hands banging on the glass of a jar not so far away from him. “When I break free of this stupid cell…!” “There is no freedom,” the first voice replied, sounding insulted that the second speaker would think there was. “There is only Him. You should be grateful to be chosen as his plaything! We are to serve a higher purpose, to be used by a superior being, we-!” “Are you completely insane, or just plain stupid?” snorted the second speaker, followed by more banging on the glass. “You’re wasting your time,” a third voice spoke up. This one was older than the first two. “You know we can’t break these jars, all you’re doing is using up priceless energy.” “Aw, you shut up, too!” the angry voice snarled. “I can do without either of your preaching!” “I’m not preaching,” the third voice said reasonably. “Just pointing out simple facts. Unlike SOME people, I don’t make idols out of monsters.” “Our God may be a monster, but he is also our sovereign,” the first voice said. “He is living, bodily perfection…so powerful…so immense…so…b-breathtaking…it would be an honor, a PLEASURE, to be accepted and be one with his might…his beauty…” A dreamy sigh followed these words, and somehow, Keith knew both of the other speakers were rolling their eyes. “We’ll see if you sing that tune when your time comes,” the third voice murmured, more to himself than anyone else. “Why is this happening to me?!” screeched the second voice. “I’m the owner of the biggest bank in the city, damn it! He can’t do this to me!” “Of course he can,” the first voice said. “You may have owned the bank, but he owns this world, and it is because of his grace we have our prosperity to begin with.” “You call it ‘grace,’ I call it ‘making sure his food doesn’t starve before the slaughter,’” the third voice replied. “I don’t care!” the second voice nearly squealed, and more banging was heard. “I shouldn’t be here with you lowlife imbeciles! I had wealth…I had women bowing at my feet…THIS ISN’T FAIR!” “If our Lord was fair, he would not be so majestically powerful and massive,” sighed the first voice again. “How I adore his…ah…ahem…um…stupendous framework…” “Tch. Subtle,” sneered the second speaker. “Tell me, is everyone in your so-called ‘sect’ as flat out horny as you are?” “H-HORNY?! I’m not-!” “Um…e-excuse me?” peeped Keith, and even though he couldn’t see anything, he suddenly had the feeling all three pairs of eyes (and maybe a few others) were trained on him at last. “Oh, our new arrival is awake, finally,” said the third voice. “Welcome, stranger,” said the first. The second just scoffed, clearly not caring a penny’s worth. Keith paused, licking his lips before speaking again. “Excuse me,” he repeated. “But, ah…c-could someone tell me what’s going on? What…what is this place, wh-where am I?” Almost before he had finished speaking, the first voice answered in a bold, rousing tone: “Rejoice, fellow mortal! Your life will soon be at an end, sacrificed to the all-powerful, all-consuming power of Bela Sulten: King of the Predator Gods, Lord of Excess, God of Gluttony! Sing hosannas of anguish, as that-!” “You can lay off the crazy talk, preacher,” snapped the second voice. “It makes me sick.” The first voice sniffed snootily in response, then went back to praying quietly. The third voice sighed, and Keith could hear the reassuring smile on their face as their voice drifted into his space: “Sorry about him. The…seriously messed up one is Shepherd. He’s actually a friar from the Church of Excess - the most devoted followers of Bela. As you can tell, he’s…zealous about his beliefs.” An uncomfortably pleasured-sounding moan from Shepherd’s area, uttered mid-prayer, gave Keith some indication of that fact. “R-Right,” Keith responded, then crawled closer to where he heard the third man’s voice, till he reached the glass wall and placed his palms upon it. “Does…does he mean it? Are we…is this…?” “You are inside the home of Bela Sulten. We all are,” the man confirmed, his tone rather grim. “How long we stay alive here is entirely up to him.” Keith felt himself starting to shake, rising dread in his heart. Bela Sulten was the most powerful of all the Predator Gods…as well as the most ravenous and cruel. His gifts to mankind were only outmatched by his sadistic butchery. The thought that he was in the very lair of the God of Gluttony - the most feared man-eater in recorded history - was obviously most perturbing. “Why?” he gulped nervously. “If you mean, ‘why he’s keeping us,’ it’s frankly to suffer in whatever way he wants us to,” sighed the man. “If you mean, ‘why we’re here’ to begin with…well…it varies from person to person. For example, Shepherd’s in here because he willingly offered himself up to be. Xavier tried to embezzle a few hundred thousand from the bank he was in charge of, and that made Bela…upset.” Xavier - the angry fellow - snarled at his name being mentioned. “And what about you?” Keith asked. “I’m Packer,” the third man answered. “And I’m ashamed to admit it, but I’m not exactly innocent, myself: I’m in here because I’m a thief. I tried to steal some gold from the Lord of Excess - it seemed like a good idea at the time - but I got caught, and…well…now I’m just as much in danger as anyone here. You?” “My name’s Keith.” “Hmph. Simple enough name,” muttered Xavier’s voice. Both Packer and Keith ignored him. “I’d say I’m happy to meet you, but under the circumstances, that’s not really all true,” Packer’s voice said with a wry little chuckle. “What are you in for?” “I don’t know!” Keith exclaimed. “I just…I was at home, getting ready for work, and the next thing I know I’m in here!” Packer let out a thoughtful hum. “That’s odd, even for Lord Bela,” he confessed. “Everyone else in this predicament insulted or defied him in some way. Someone who spilled some food or drink into his lap, someone who bumped into him while running down the sidewalk, someone who took the last item he wanted at the supermarket…you’re sure there’s nothing you can think of?” “No. But if he can be that petty, it could be any reason,” whimpered Keith. “We’re all gonna die,” sobbed an unfamiliar fourth voice, and several others joined in a chorus of despair. “Maybe you all will, but I won’t,” grumbled Xavier. “We can’t give in to dismay!” Packer called out, then addressed Keith directly. “Listen…this situation is very nearly hopeless…but I’m willing to bet there’s a way out of this with our lives intact, if not our sizes.” “Foolish mortal,” mumbled Shepherd’s voice. “Wait a minute,” frowned Keith. “What do you mean our ‘sizes’?” Before Packer could answer, Keith found out: he flinched as, suddenly, light streamed into the darkness, accompanied by a creaking sound. He blinked his eyes as he squinted, his pupils struggling to adjust…and when they did, his jaw dropped. A familiar pair of purple eyes and equally familiar crop of untidy black hair met his gaze. Now, Keith could see the figure who had them…but they were no longer of natural human size. They were GIGANTIC, at least twenty times taller than any human being should be! The figure was a young man - younger than Keith, likely just out of his teenaged years - dressed in somewhat formal garb, with a leather collar around his neck. His skin was very pale, and he moved in an almost mechanical way as he reached over, past, and around Keith…and began to fish what appeared to be jam jars from the space in which he was trapped. Inside each of the jars were other people - shrunken and dressed in nothing but their undergarments - just like Keith; they all seemed to be roughly the size of mere mice to this youthful giant! “It’s time, tiny ones,” the giant cooed, and placed the jars one by one into a very lare wicker basket that was behind hi on table; Keith realized they were in a kitchen cabinet. “Our Master awaits…the time for praying and hoping is over. If you’re lucky, maybe he’ll be merciful when he ends you all…maybe…” The words were not spoken as a threat, nor were they even spoken as a taunt. They were simply spoken: simple statements, nothing more. That, more than anything, terrified Keith…but his terror only rose when the giant smiled faintly as he lifted his jar. “Can’t forget you,” he heard the young man chuckle, before placing his jar with the others in the basket. Next, Keith heard Xavier’s angry shouts, followed by Shepherd cheering with glee. At the sound of the familiar voices, Keith looked to see what their hosts were like: Xavier, it turned out, was a fellow a little older than Keith, somewhere in his early to mid-thirties; he had slick-looking, well-groomed blonde hair, and heroic features on his face, with bright green eyes. His physique was lean-muscled and attractive; Keith would have called him handsome, were his personality not so repugnant. As for Shepherd, he was the same age as Keith, it seemed, and had a somewhat round, portly build. He also had blonde hair and green eyes, but his hair was untidy and curly, and his eyes were a somewhat darker hue. Keith heard Packer’s voice let out a soft, short grunt on the opposite side of him, and he looked to see what his new friend (if that word applied) was like. Packer was a man in his late thirties or early forties, older than the rest of them, with speckles of silver in his black, goatee and moustache. His hair was tied into a ponytail, and there was a scar on one of his bare pectorals. He had, overall, something of a rugged look compared to the rest. “You okay?” Keith asked Packer, instinctively, as the giant youth shut the cupboard, apparently having gathered all the jars he required. “As okay as I can be,” sighed Packer, and smiled somewhat wearily at Keith. “Hold on tight, kid…we’re heading into Hell.” Keith whimpered. Meanwhile, the purple-eyed young man sighed and grunted as he hauled the large wicker basket into his arms. It took two hands to carry it now, and there was no service elevator in the mansion Lord Bela called home. The Champion of Excess (Keith knew something of how the Gods functioned) huffed and puffed as he marched up the stairs with a robotic sort of gait, eyes forever trained forward, never looking down towards the humans in the jars he held. It didn’t take long for Keith to realize this young fellow was the one who had taken him…nor did it take him long to count the jars of fellow lifeforms around him. He was one in a batch of two-dozen shrunken humans. Most of them were clamoring in their jars, cursing and crying and pleading for release or salvation. There were only two exceptions Keith saw: one was, of course, Shepherd, who was singing some sort of psalm. The lyrics, which described horrors Keith could not stand to think about just yet, gave the captured little man some idea of the kind of demon he would soon be at the mercy of. Keith looked towards Packer; he was the other exception, and simply and quietly sat cross-legged in his jar, as if in a state of meditation. Keith bit his lip, looking Packer up and down…then sat down as well, matching his posture. Packer noticed, and the pair smiled at each other…then waited. There was nothing to do now, after all…except wait. After bobbing and swaying like cargo in a ship’s hull, the basket was finally carried to the second floor of the great mansion. As the purple-eyed boy carried the collection of people-jars down the hall, Keith heard the whirring of machinery, and strong grunting sounds, along with the occasional low, deadly growl. He soon found out where the sounds were coming from, as the raven-haired little giant carried pushed a slightly-ajar door open with his booted foot, and carried the basket full of people-jars into the room beyond. Keith’s eyes nearly bugged out of his skull, and his jaw dropped, as he saw the room beyond: it appeared to be an exercise room, filled with various devices intended for working out. There was a workout bench with a weight bar, and against a wall was a group of medicine balls and a rack of small metal dumbbells. In another area was another weight-lifting machine, this one apparently involving using one’s legs. None of these devices were unusual, but the sheer SIZE of them all left him stunned: just like the one carrying him, everything was larger than life, the machinery alone resembling great hills or small mountains. The floor was covered in thick foam rubber, and the whole place smelled of old sweat. Dimly, Keith could detect the sound of classical music - some sort of opera, it sounded like - playing. Not the most obvious choice of workout music, but who was he to talk? At any rate, neither the music nor these other elements could distract from the main attraction: the treadmill. Not only was the treadmill as equally monolithic in scale as the other exercise machines (and, Keith noticed with a shiver and a shudder, not only was the running track itself covered in small, dark spots that he somehow guessed were bloodstains), but more importantly, the occupant using it at that moment was impossible to overlook: a towering figure, taller than the one who carried them by what seemed like countless feet from Keith’s diminutive vantage point. Though its overall demeanor was humanoid, it was clearly not human: the black cat ears and tail, along with its clawed fingers, the fangs in its mouth, and its glowing orange felid eyes, were proof of that. The figure was male, with black-banged hair and skin the color of chocolate milk. The figure was handsome and youthful in his countenance - approximately the same age as Keith himself, as well as Shepherd - with features that were somehow both rounded and yet angular at the same time. He was also almost completely naked, that bare, sweat-speckled flesh on full display, aside from a pair of tight-fitting black boxers with orange lining. These hugged the titan’s substantial curves: his thighs were thicker than the most hardy tree trunks, his hips indicating a rump that could put a dozen dumptrucks to shame with its wide load. His arms were burly, swathed in a mixture of softness and hardy sinew that indicated prodigious strength, especially when paired with his powerful, brick-shaped pectoral muscles…but these features were contrasted by a giant ball of a belly, so big, fat, and round that it looked as if this behemoth smuggled butter for a side job. Keith heard Shepherd let out a longing sigh as, with every pace on the treadmill, the massive beast’s belly bounced and joggled. However, Keith was far too terrified by the identity of the huge, fat God to pay much attention. “M-Master?” came his kidnapper’s voice. “I…I have your mid-workout snack ready…” With a flick of the wrist, Bela Sulten turned off the treadmill; the room seemed to rock as his powerful, bare feet stepped onto the padded floor, and he pulled a small purple towel off of a nearby wall-hook. He dabbed at his face and neck, and smirked at his pet. “Very good, Kepp,” purred the God of Gluttony. “Place the basket on the floor, please.” “Of course, Lord Bela,” Kepp said, nodding eagerly and placing the basket on the ground as Bela approached. Keith and nearly all the other shrunken people trapped inside the jars trembled with terror as the fat, beefy God prowled closer; Bela’s gait was one of potent, seductive power. All rocking hips and smoldering eyes, his smirk smug and cruel. He gazed upon the tiny creatures trapped in the glass containers more like they were all of his lovers than anything else. Knowing the treatment Lord Bela gave to humans, this made the moment all the more horrifying, and Keith whimpered, crawling to the back of his jar as Bela’s huge face loomed down over them, the God crouching to get a closer look at the treats within. He cooed and reached out, tapping Xavier’s jar with a long, sharp claw, making the blonde-haired man inside near Keith yelp. “Aren’t you all adorable?” he crooned, and chuckled - a deep, low, terrible sound. “I hope you’ll all be as cute when I murder your bodies and absorb your pitiful souls into my powerful being. I’m going to enjoy seeing the way you all suffer.” The flash of teeth and a lick of his lips indicated just how much Bela would enjoy it. Kepp, meanwhile, blushed as he saw Bela inspect his prey; even crouched, the half-cat God was taller than Kepp himself. “Will…will that be all, Master?” Bela glanced to Kepp, then back at his meals before standing up and approaching his pet. He hooked a talon into Kepp’s collar, and Kepp let out a strangled squeak as he was pulled closer to the sweaty, humongous body of the God: a towering eight feet in comparison to Kepp’s far more miniscule framework. “It will suffice for the moment,” Bela said, his free hand moving to play with Kepp’s hair, twirling some strands around a finger before releasing them and cupping his cheek, making the little human blush more. “Now, run along, pet…I will call you for some water and some…SERVICE later…” He leaned close and licked Kepp’s cheek on the last two words, making Kepp shiver with clear excitement; he was panting as he nodded obediently. “Y-Yes, Master…I’ll…I’ll be ready…I promise…” “You’d better be, or I’ll shatter your skull with my arse,” Bela crooned, the words sounding disturbingly playful before he finally released Kepp’s collar and shooed him away. “Be off with you! Shoo, shoo, go play with your little toys!” Bela then grinned a truly horrifying grin at the jars full of tiny people. “I’ll be playing plenty with MINE,” he growled darkly. Keith would have started praying, but under the circumstances, what would have been the point? Kepp - Keith’s kidnapper, though he still had no clue why (and had a feeling he never would know) - scampered away, and the nearly-naked Lord of Excess locked it after him. Bela then leaned back against the door, smirking superciliously as he snapped his fingers. The jars magically opened themselves…and Keith and all twenty-three of the other miniaturized Homo sapiens let out sharp, wordless exclamations as they were levitated into the air, out of the jars, then floated in a bunch to the floor. The jars then magically sealed shut, and with a wave of his hand, Bela bade the whole basket to disappear in a puff of smoke. Now, the two-dozen shrunken humans were fully in the grasp of the God of Gluttony. Bela smiled hungrily, one hand moving to rub his bloated, round belly, a finger finding its way into his navel as he moaned, biting his lip as his other hand rested upon his plush hip. “Mmmmmrrrrrrrrrrrrr…you all look so…delectably delicious,” rumbled Bela Sulten, and chuckled at the expressions of terror and, in some cases, pleading despair on his victims’ faces. “I believe you all have at least a semi-solid notion of what is about to occur, but allow me to spell it out for you, peons: I am your God. I consume human bodies and souls. And I am RAVENOUS. I have been engaging in my daily regimen of exercises, and now I wish to play. What can I say? I’m a feline: playing with my food is simply irresistible to me.” He smacked his lips, and then wiped his arm across his mouth as a line of drool oozed from the corner of his jaw. He let out a shaky breath before continuing, clearly getting very, VERY excited by the mere thought of what he was about to do to Keith and all the rest assembled, groveling at his clawed, fat feet. “Most of you will be ending your paltry, pathetic lives in the bottomless filth-pit of my stomach,” he said, patting his belly and making it jiggle before continuing, “But not all of you. Rest assured, however…whatever way I choose to end your sorry excuses for existences…you WILL die. And it will be quite horrible…for you, anyway. For me, this is going to be most enjoyable. But as much as I would love to pontificate further on the many ways I could make you all hurt and cry and beg for your lives to go on with fresh air and light…” GRRRROOOOORRRRLLLLLOOOORRRRRB… A monstrous, abyssal rumble from the belly of the beast interrupted the scene. Bela shivered and sighed, then smiled toothily down at his little toys, his tail twitching happily. “...I believe my belly is in no mood for chatter,” he hissed. “So now, my little morsels, brace yourselves for the most hellacious agony you will ever experience…” With a ravenous grin, Bela Sulten began to reach down, one clawed hand extending its long, strong fingers as his terrible shadow overwhelmed the gathered food. “...And let the slaughter commence.” Keith jumped back, a sudden surge of adrenaline spurring him onwards…and it was a lucky thing he did, because the clawed fingers of Bela Sulten only barely missed him. The muscular fist of the mighty God instead wrapped itself around four other people, who all screamed as the Lord of Excess lifted them up, Up, UP into the air. Keith watched in horror as all four of the nearly-naked men hollered and howled, different parts of them sticking out from the gaps in the God’s grip, thrashing desperately for release as Bela smiled serenely, hoisting them up over his head. His free hand fondled the folds and rolls of his blubbery belly as his tongue slid over his perfectly-shaped lips, a light, purring hum coming from him as he looked at the squirming appetizers with the same expression one might have when watching a few amusing pets doing something silly… …Of course, most people don’t EAT their pets. And as Bela Sulten opened his jaws, there was no doubt about what he was going to do… “Ahhhhhhh…”

His teasing, elongated exhalation caused the quartet in his fist to scream louder…before his fingers released them, and they plunged head-over-heels into the waiting maw of the monster. Their shrieks were silenced as - SNAP! - Bela slammed his mouth shut around them. His cheeks bulged for a moment as he rumbled pleasantly, eyes fluttering closed as the same fingers that had held them fell to his throat, brushing it lightly as his other hand kneaded into the layers of soft, thick-looking body-dough on his pudgy belly. Then - GUUULLLP! - with a thick, sloppy sound, Bela’s facial cheeks flattened out, and a lump formed in his throat. His Adam’s Apple bobbed, and the lump disappeared under his fingertips and behind his sternum…then, with a deep, long, pleasured sigh, Bela patted his belly against its soft, silky underside, making it jiggle gelatinously. “Ohhhhhhh…lovely little first selections,” he crooned, and then without another word or further hesitation, reached down to grab more of his meat. By this time, however, the remaining twenty people were ready to run. And run they did: Keith whirled around and bolted with the rest. He wasn’t sure where he was running to, just so long as he could get far away from the giant cat God: it was the blind state of panic a rabbit might have when far from home and pursued by a wild fox. He briefly noticed Shepherd being grabbed by the arm by someone in the group mid-psalm-start, but he had no real clue about Packer or Xavier; his mind was mostly focused on his own survival. The sound of thundering footfalls - THUMP-A-THUMP-A-THUMP - only urged him to move faster. “Run, run, as fast as you can!” sang out Bela tauntingly, and his mocking, cruel laughter echoed in Keith’s ears, accompanied by more screams and a swooping sound as more men were snatched up in the titan’s grasp. Keith did not turn around, but he heard the screams become more distant…then came a loud, lewd slurping sound, and another gulp of gusto, signalling however many other men had been grabbed, they were now on their way to the belly of the beast. Keith saw that the rest of the group were racing pell-mell towards various pieces of exercise equipment in the room, scurrying like mice trying to find their hiding holes. He briefly caught a glimpse of Packer’s beard, and recognizing the only fellow human he had any friendly correction to, Keith chose to follow him. Just as he had started though… “AH! HELP! HELP ME!” Human decency got the better of Keith, distracting him as he skidded to a halt and looked back. One man had evidently tripped on a gap in the foam pads that jigsaw-puzzled the floor. Keith shuddered as he saw Bela smirking down at the downed little man, his tail swishing as his hips rocked and a single finger drew alluring circles around his deep, dark well of a navel…the God was taking his time. He had all the time in the world. His victims? Not so much. Another man hurriedly moved towards the fallen fellow to try and help him up, but the faller’s toes had evidently gotten jammed. Keith was about to run over and try to offer aid himself…but stopped short when he saw Bela pause…before grinning a truly frightening, fang-filled smile…raising one enormous, bare foot up over the heads of the tiny people below him. His fat-padded soles rippled and flexed, the soft, well-tended-to skin of his foot shifting as he wiggled his clawed toes teasingly…then brought it down just as the fallen man began to get up… SLAM! “AAAAAAAGH!” A bloodcurdling scream came from the man as his lower half was stomped on harshly, the one who had tried to help falling back onto his bunce as Keith backed up a few paces in alarm. The man had tears in his eyes as Bela grinned maliciously, crossing his arms over his chest and puffing up his big gut with obvious pride, clearly pleased with himself: the man’s upper half was wedged between two of his toes, the little mouse-sized human squealing and sobbin in pain as the weight of the God’s foot likely pulpified his legs. It got worse. A sickening series of cracks and crunches were heard as Bela began to twist his foot down, grinding it into the floor. The man let out an even more shrill screech than before; Keith felt sick as, with a final twist, all but one of his arms were dragged under the fat God’s foot…then, with a final, disturbing twist, that one arm twitched three times before falling limp and cold. Bela nodded to himself, as if pleased with his work, then smirked as he saw both Keith and the man who had tried to help. He reached towards them, and both Keith and the other man quickly wheeled about before taking flight. Keith got lucky again: once more, he narrowly evaded Sulten’s grasp. The other man wasn’t so lucky. Keith felt the whoosh of air pass over him as the clawed fingers scantly missed him, and darted forward with fresh energy to avoid being plucked up quickly. Then he paused and, perhaps out of morbid curiosity, or just to make sure he was something resembling safe, he looked to see what was going on. Bela had lifted the man up to his face, holding him between his thumb and forefinger, turning him this way and that and drumming his claws upon his big belly thoughtfully. His expression was one of mild, thoughtful interest, as if the man’s constant calls of “Please! Please no! Please, don’t hurt me! Please!” weren’t even detected by his ears, the God lost in some sort of daydream as he examined his newest victim. “Hmmmm…you’ll fit,” he murmured, in an airy sort of way. Before the tiny one could question what that meant, he got his answer, as Bela lowered him back down towards his belly…right near the black, fatty abyss of his navel. With a guiding croon, Bela inserted the feet of his little plaything into the musky hole of his belly button…and began to push him in deeper. The man howled, incomprehensible strings of inane, insane babble leaving him as he desperately clawed at the belly fat and the finger that was carelessly shoving him in. “There’s no point in struggling,” Bela chortled. “Sink. Die. Suffocate for me, my little one…I want to smother you with this. “PLEASE, GOD! PLEASE, GOD!” was all the man could say, screaming over and over again. Bela just moaned and shoved down harder, till only the man’s head was left outside of his navel. “Mmmmmm…say farewell to light and air,” he cooed in a fiendishly affectionate tone. “I’m sure they won’t miss you.” The man let out a final, tragic sob…before - POPK! - his head was crammed into the musky, fatty folds of Bela’s belly, lost in the sweaty darkness of his navel. Bela sighed deeply with pleasure, shaking and jiggling his stomach, playing with the rolls near his navel to ensure the human was buried in the black void; deep, deep in where the Sun would never shine. “And that is the last anyone will ever see you again,” he said to himself, the tone making it clear just how much INTENSE pleasure he got from the knowledge and experience. “Oooooh, squirm while you can…I want to feel you fade…poor little belly-stuffer…mmm-hm-hmmm…” Keith shuddered; he’d seen more than enough. Remembering the danger of his situation, he hurried to find the group he’d been following and escape to a good hiding spot. As he frantically looked around, he could hear Bela pick up more morsels who hadn’t hid and swallow them down; three separate cries of “MERCY! MERCY, PLEASE, DON’T!” indicated how many were to be consigned to an infernal demise in the bloated gastric prison. Another hearty swallow was followed by a rumbling, thick belch that made him flinch and grimace in disgust. Finally, he spotted the familiar face of Packer, who peeked out from behind a large medicine ball near where more equipment was. As quickly as he could, Keith dove behind the spot, where Packer, Shepherd, and three other human mites had managed to hide. “So close,” Keith panted, shaking like a leaf. “So…so close…!” “We’re all gonna die!” one of the other men bawled mournfully. “Hardly!” said Shepherd, in a rather chipper tone. “Our souls shall forever be nestled into the bountious blubber of our Lord and Master!” “That’s even worse!” another man snapped. Packer hushed them quickly. “Shhh! Do you want him to hear us?!” he hissed. “I have already heard you.” Keith, Packer, Shepherd, and the others looked up…and all turned pale as they found Bela Sulten smirking down at them with sultry, almost lustful, lazy eyes. His arms were folded, his chin in them, as he stared down, leaning on the medicine ball, his tail twitching behind him in a playful sort of way. “You can’t hide from me, little ones,” he said. “Now come here…let me indulge myself…let me devour you all…” Bela lunged down, swiping the three men in one fist. Packer and Keith raced off in another direction, cursing and seeking new shelter. As for Shepherd, he quietly snuck away to some other spot of his own… The three men hardly cared or noticed: they all yowled in horror as the God of Gluttony hoisted them up, the trio kicking and squirming as Bela licked his teeth, holding them up to his open mouth…all three gagged and wheezed as horrific-smelling breath pelted their faces… …Then, with a yelp, one of the men actually managed to wiggle free, slipping between Bela’s fingers and plummeting through empty space for a spell. Despite the terrifying situation, a sense of unprecedented relief fell over the man even as he tumbled: the fall, he hoped, would kill him more quickly than Bela Sulten. This was a vain hope: for one thing, the padded floor would have ensured no life-threatening injuries. And for another, the man never hit the ground: with a soft, annoyed snarl, Bela snatched him up in his other hand. “Oh, no,” he cooed, smirking at the wriggly little treat in his grasp. “I won’t allow my toys to break QUITE that easily. Just for that, little one, you have lost any right to see the bottom of my beautifully foul belly.” Sniffing snootily, Bela then looked to the other treats in his other hand. Both gulped nervously as he smiled at them. “As for you two…I’m going to treat you both to a lovely bath. It will clean you quite thoroughly…down to your precious, breakable little bones. Goodbye, food.” So saying, Bela casually opened his fanged maw, and tossed the two into his open jaws with a flippant flick of the wrist. They both scramble on his fat, sloppy tongue for a moment, reaching for the light that shone through his gaping maw…before the teeth clicked shut scant centimeters (or, at least, what seemed like centimeters at their size) away from their fingers. Bela then tipped his head back and moaned, crooning as he felt both meals struggle to try and make it to the front of his mouth, his teeth penning them in as he arched his slimy, slobby tongue, nudging them towards the black slope of his esophagus…then - GULLUP! - he traced the bulge they made in his neck with one black claw, the writhing distention sliding smoothly past his strong, blocky chest… …Before, with a deep “grortle,” two more tidbits bit the belly-bullet. Bela then turned his attention to the still-surviving treat in his fist, and held him up to his jaws…before burping all over him, belching like a fat, gross pig. The horrible reek of his belly gas left his prey squealing and coughing, gasping for air. The God snickered. “Awww, was that too vile for your liking?” he crooned, then grinned wickedly. “Really, you ought to be grateful I didn’t TRY to make it horrid. I have literally DROWNED pathetic runts like you with my glorious eructations…the looks on their faces as they choke to death on my stomach fumes, poisoned by my nastiness…” He shivered happily. “...Purely priceless,” breathed out Bela, while the little one in his grip just let out a groan of dread and disgust. “But don’t worry, little one…I won’t gas you. Rest assured, however…” So saying, Bela lifted something up from the exercise equipment in his other hand. “...Your end will be equally deplorable.” So saying, Bela’s hand that held the little toy swooped across…and the tiny man blinked, startled and very confused, his fear giving way to just sheer bafflement. Bela smiled villainously as the small figure was now mounted in the space between his bicep and his brachioradialis, his arm held out to his side. He gave the man a moment to take things in and gather what was going on: the little fellow could feel the strong, firm power of the brawny sinew that formed the God’s limbs, just as potent and intimidating as his ogre-like belly. And, as his prey was about to discover, just as lethal. The man looked back…and saw what the Lord of Excess had picked up earlier. It was a thirty pound dumbbell. The man looked at the spot where he was positioned, then at the bicep, then at the dumbbell…then slowly looked up at Bela, his face going gaunt as he started to shake his head, seemingly putting the pieces together. Bela smiled wider and winked, pursing his lips as he blew a kiss to the little mite…then pulled the dumbbell to him, his lower arm lifting as his upper arm bulge, bicep pressing out. The man yelped as he was pressed between the muscles; desperately, he tried to push against the bicep, as it flexed hard and pushed back…he gritted his teeth, straining, desperate to avoid this fate…but the pressure was too great. The titan was too strong. Bela smiled, and began flexing, applying just a little more pressure with each lift of the dumbbell, watching as his victim whimpered and blubbered, pleading for the God to let him live… Bela Sulten was many things. Kind and sympathetic had never been among them. Finally, the poor, straining creature could not take the stress, and with a hard FLEX of his arm, Bela’s bicep all but smothered him. He let out a short, final scream of despair as the muscles overwhelmed with a force more powerful than any tsunami…and then… CRACK-CRUNCH. Bela smirked and plucked the broken, lifeless carcass from his arm, before dropping it straight down his gullet, swallowing it like a cherry. “A magnificent spectacle, My Lord!” came a little voice. “Your dominance is unsurpassed!” Bela blinked his large, glowing orange eyes, and then looked around to find the source of the voice…before his gaze finally located it. His pupils zeroed in on the figure of a small morsel, positioned precariously between his feet, less than a foot away from the tips of his toe-claws. The God’s eyes narrowed analytically, as he took in the eager, worshipful expression on the tiny man’s face; a look of awestruck wonder and loving adoration, rather than fear or loathing. He smiled, and crouched down, resting his arms on his knees as he gave a half-lidded look at the little one. His black cat ears twitched; he could hear the way the tiny creature’s heartbeat escalated. “I am well-aware,” Bela purred, in response to the puny thing’s words, and tilted his head. “What do you call yourself, little man?” “Shepherd, O Great Master,” the little one said, bowing low…and then lower, getting onto his hands and knees in supplication to the mountain of man-eating mass before him. “A humble worshiper of your excessive glory.” “Is that so?” purred Bela, smiling a little more as he looked the little fellow up and down (mostly down), as if sizing him up for something. “Rather bold of you to approach me rather than run and hide like the vermin your kind truly are, don’t you think, ‘worshiper’?” “I did not mean to offend you, Lord Bela,” Shepherd said. He lifted his head a little, but kept his gaze downcast. “And I saw no reason to flee.” Bela raised an eyebrow. “You do realize you’re going to end your mortal life in this room, all for my own pleasure, do you not?” The way Shepherd moaned and trembled indicated these words probably sparked a “don’t threaten me with a good time” phrase in his head. “I am very, VERY aware of that, Mighty Sulten,” he answered. “That is, in fact, why I chose to present myself to you willingly.” Bela hummed, and reached out with a hand. A simple flick of his finger flipped Shepherd onto his back, making the little man squeak…then, the tip of a claw was placed to his small belly, making the little man freeze up under the God’s finger. At any second, he could be skewered. “Are you expecting a reward?” Bela asked. He did not sound upset in any way, he was simply asking the question. “Not exactly, Lord Bela,” said Shepherd, shaking with undeniable nervousness as that talon lightly scritched at his bare abdomen, resisting the sudden urge to squirm like a worm. “I…um…had m-more of a final request, before you end my life for your most divine pleasure. I have no…n-no other purpose, and I…I am ready to serve you with my demise.” Bela chuckled deeply. He looked highly amused. “You’re a funny little thing,” he cooed, and moved his claw to tuck its tip under Shepherd’s chin. “Very well, my pathetic little bitch…what is this final request? Name it.” Shepherd virtually had stars in his eyes; his heartbeat quickened even more, now with excitement, which caused Bela’s own eagerness to do harm and cause misery to rise. “Please, O Mighty Sulten - Sovereign of Stench, Master of Greed - swallow me whole, and allow my body to digest in your infernal stomach, to fuel and nourish your form. Let me become one with you, Great One! That is my one request!” Bela hummed, his free hand scratching his stomach as he took in Shepherd’s delighted, eager grin…then he shrugged. “No. I don’t think I will.” Shepherd’s smile disappeared instantly. “...Wh-what?” “I don’t feel like eating you. I said you could name your request, I never said I would oblige. Frankly, little one, I’d much rather torture you than give you anything you actually WANT. So no, I won’t be swallowing you. I would say it’s because you’re ‘unworthy’ or some rubbish like that, but really…I just want to kill you in a way that will make you scream for the wrong reasons. I want to humiliate you, not bring you joy.” “I…b-but…but I…!” “Ah! ‘Butt.’ Now THERE’S a thought on how to destroy you…” Shepherd squeaked Bela’s claw picked him up and carried him away. He dangled what seemed hundreds of feet in the air as Bela carried him over to his leg-weight machine station, and then lowered his hand before lightly dropping the little man onto the seat. Shepherd managed to scramble up to a seated position…then froze, eyes bugging out of his skull as his jaw dropped in mortification. A wide, round, fat shadow fell over him…and as he looked up, he saw the equally wide, round, fat rump of Bela Sulten over his head. The God smirked, glancing back over his shoulder, lifting his tail to give his toy a fine view of the bubbly, thick-as-cake cheeks. He gave his rear a playful spank, and the blubber on his bottom jiggled in thick ripples for several straight seconds. “I will not eat you,” Bela said. “But consider this a consolation prize: you shall suffer and die under the weight of where so…SO many of your kind end up. Don’t worry, this won’t take long…” Shepherd let out a cry of perceived betrayal…just before Bela sat down HARD upon the bench, his butt jiggling for a few seconds before going still, completely covering the tiny creature with the hundreds upon hundreds of pounds of posterior plumpness he sported so happily. Purring, Bela felt his victim squirming under his fat ass, struggling against the weight and thickly-padded softness…with a growl, he began to grind back and forth, getting comfortable upon the bench, makin Shepherd squeak and yipe as the force made his bones creak, and the rolling chub blocked off his airways. “Mine,” murmured Bela, patting his belly with one hand and burping before letting out a deep, pleasured sigh. “Ahhhh…all mine…UUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRP!” Shepherd groaned and struggled; Bela’s workout made him very sweaty, and the musky, heady over was overwhelming and none-too-pleasant under his faintly-dampened boxers, so close to that murky, deep crack…he was grateful the God was at least wearing SOME form of clothing. He tried to push away the fabric-covered fatness, but it drooped down and sagged over him, pressing him down with its tons of weight and burying his face in intoxicating, musky, deadly ass-mass. The position was degrading beyond belief, and Shepherd might have enjoyed it…except it was not the end he desired. And he knew it would be painful. Bela smirked as he felt Shepherd’s body get wedged into the middle between his glutes; he flexed hard, and sniggered as he heard Shepherd start to cry and beg. He loved those sounds. Another flex of his powerful ass, and Shepherd’s struggles noticeably weakened. The God could have kept this going for a while, but he was in no mood to take his time with his playthings on this occasion. So, with a third and final flex, he felt something pop…and Shepherd instantly went still. The Lord of Excess stayed seated just a little longer - just to make sure to thoroughly suffocate his broken, battered little toy, letting his fat mass smother him steadily…until, finally, he sensed how the heart stopped beating and the lungs stopped working. At that point, Bela stood up, picked up the little corpse…and, just because he was feeling ESPECIALLY callous, he carried the carcass to a nearby trash can and dropped it in without a care. His torment of Shepherd concluded, Bela clapped his hands together…but he still had more toys to play with. His attention was brought to the sound of clamoring little voices, and his tail curled into a question mark shape. He grinned as he saw five of the remaining toys all trying to find a way to climb up to a nearby window, no doubt hoping to escape. Bela clucked his tongue and shook his head; didn’t these adorable little bugs ever learn? Ah, well. No matter. Bela licked his lips, his tail swishing as he got down on all fours, feeling particularly playful now. “Ready or not, little mice!” he sang out. “Here comes the big bad kitty!” With a menacing laugh, the God of Gluttony then began to make his way across the padded floor, towards the desperate creatures, who - in a confusion - all started to try and find some way to escape the approaching half-cat. Bela was so focused on the five nameless morsels - and they were so focused on him - that none noticed two pairs of eyes watching from behind a leg of the bench press station. “Poor Shepherd,” whispered Keith; even under the circumstances, he felt that was a pretty cold move on Bela’s part. “We can’t do anything for that weirdo now,” sighed Packer, patting Keith’s shoulder. “I’m not even sure we can do anything for ourselves,” Keith said, gloomily. “Oh, yes we can!” Packer said, and pointed off in another direction. “Those five the God is after now were looking for an exit, but they were looking the wrong way.” Keith turned to see where Packer was pointing…and the young man’s eyes lit up with vivid hope. The door to the exercise room was shot and locked…but there was a small gap between the floor and the door itself. A gap small enough for a mouse - or anything and anyone roughly the same size - to shimmy through easily. “We can get out of here!” Keith exclaimed joyously, then hushed his voice at Packer’s shushing. “But…but what about our sizes?” “We can worry about that after we’re no longer in danger of being smothered, crushed, or eaten alive,” snorted Packer. The pair winced as they heard a bawling cry. Bela was seated on the floor, the five trapped in the space between his legs as his feet came together to form a ring-shape with his lower limbs. All five of them fell to their knees, pleading and crying, hands clasped pitifully…but Bela completely ignored them, humming a happy little tune as he lifted one of them up, licked the poor devil all over with his tongue, letting them inhale the hideous stink of his breath (and occasionally a big, beefy burp) before slurping them up and swallowing them whole to meet their end in his barbaric belly. “Stay low and move as quickly and quietly as you can,” Packer said, the former thief instructing Keith carefully. “We’ll have a chance if we don’t draw attention to ourselves.” Keith nodded, and gestured for Packer to lead the way, then began to follow the moan as they moved to try and get out from under the bench and head towards the door… …Only to stop short as a familiar blonde-haired, green-eyed figure swung onto the scene from behind another bench-leg, and barred their path. “Leaving so soon?” Xavier said, with a slightly deranged grin. “The party’s just beginning!” Keith jumped back, stumbling and falling onto his backside, as Xavier suddenly lunged at Packer. The goatee-toating thief and the disgraced banker growled in unison as they wrestled on the floor. Keith nervously looked to the left; Bela was, at that moment, teasingly dangling another one of his current attention-grabbers over his gaping mouth, dipping them close to his teeth before pulling them away again playfully…before finally dropping them into his mouth. His lips puffed as he slurped their kicking legs into his monstrous mouth and swallowed them whole. “What are you doing?!” snarled Packer, bringing Keith’s attention back to the ensuing brawl as the pair rolled; Packer momentarily managed to pin the blonde-haired elitist down. “Why are you attacking?!” “When I get out of here,” Xavier said, voice icy and cold as a wet winter wind, “I’ll have the honor of saying I was the only person to be shrunk by the mighty Bela Sulten, and escape his house alive. I won’t have that honor if there are any OTHER survivors, will I?” “Are you serious?!” Keith hissed, trying to stay hushed but unable to stay quiet. “How petty can you get?!” “You’d be surprised,” Xavier smirked, clearly having no shame. “You’re sick,” sneered Packer. Xavier responded by spitting up into Packer’s eye. Packer let out a grunting cry, and Xavier hissed like a snake before wrestling him to the floor again and wrapping his fingers around the former thief’s throat with a psychotic look in his eyes. Keith, horrified, found himself darting towards the scene, and shoulder-checked Xavier, knocking him off of Packer. While Packer tried to catch his breath, Keith moved to help the older man up…but Xavier wasn’t done yet. With a feral sound, he leapt from the floor, and this time tackled Keith, pushing him back-first against one of the pillar-sized bench legs. Keith gasped…and suddenly found he couldn’t get a breath. Xavier bit his lip, a hint of a blush in his cheeks as he tightened his grip on Keith’s windpipe…as if the feeling of taking a life in his bare hands was bringing him an enormous amount of pleasure… Just as Keith’s vision started to get blurry and his struggles to push Xavier off of him were becoming more feeble, Packer got to his feet and hurried over. He tugged Xavier away from Keith with a sharp jerk, and before the evil blonde could retaliate, delivered a punch across Xavier’s jaw. Xavier yelped sharply…then let out a wheezing grunt, the air knocked out of him as Keith and Packer, together, kicked him in the diaphragm and sent him flying… Bela had slurped up the last of his five snacks - the man’s arm reached past his lips, grasping for nonexistent aid - and had just gulped them down. He patted his belly happily and lifted a fist, stifling a crude, putrid burp in his cheeks and blowing the excess gas out the side of his mouth. “HHHRRRLLLMMMRRRPH…phoosh. Now, let’s see,” he mumbled, scratching his belly and glancing about, sniffing the air. “I know there were more of those delicious little screamers around here somewhere…” Right on cue, he heard the faintest “Oof!” and turned…grinning like the happiest overgrown kitty in the world as he saw Xavier roll out from under his weight bench. “Ah! There’s one of you!” he cheered, and reached across, picking up Xavier in his fist. “Urk! No! NO! NO, NO, NO, NO!” was all Xavier could squeal out, desperately and frantically struggling against Bela’s fist…only to find himself - like his attempted victims - choking for air as Bela growled and squeezed his grip tighter, clamping his fingers hard around the shrunken green-eyed ghoul’s ribcage. “Yes, yes, yes, yes!” cackled Bela, clearly enjoying things. “Please…please, don’t…don’t eat me!” sputtered out Xavier, trying to pry the fingers away from him. Bela smirked and scratched his chin with his free hand, humming as his stomach gurgled and grumbled; the thick, nasty churns of his sloppy gut working over the seventeen people he had already eaten was like a hurricane in his belly, leaving Xavier whimpering pathetically in fear. “Hmmmmm…what will you give me if I don’t eat you?” crooned Bela. Xavier’s eyes widened hopefully. “Anything!” he blurted out, without thinking. “Anything, L-Lord Bela, please! Anything you want! M-Money, my belongings, anything!” Bela smiled sneakily. “Very well, little mouthful,” he purred. “I won’t eat you.” Xavier nearly laughed with disbelief and joy…but the latter, at least, was short-lived. Instead of setting him down to allow him to run along on his miniaturized way, the God King pulled him closer…and Xavier soon found himself wedged into the crevice between Bela Sulten’s hard, powerful pectoral muscles. He scarcely had time to lift his arms to try and push back…as, with a growl, Bela began to flex his abs, his pecs squeezing over Xavier painfully. “A-ARGH!” Xavier cried out, straining to keep the powerful, sweaty body from killing him; said sweat made his hands feel grimy and left him unable to get anything resembling a good grip. “W-Wait! You…you said-” “-That I wouldn’t eat you,” Bela purred. “I still intend to kill you. Please, do scream louder; I love those sounds.” Bela flexed again with a louder growl, and Xavier squealed; he felt some part of him starting to creak, his face turning reddish-purple with exertion as he squirmed for dear life, the pectorals gripping him like a massive, meaty claw…pushing onto him like closing steel walls, ready to break, crush, and flatten him out… “Any…anyth-thing!” he managed to cough out, tears coming to his eyes. “P-Please!” “I heard you the first time,” Bela said, almost casually. “Unfortunately, all I want…is your life. Break now.” Xavier managed to strangle out one last scream…before, with a deeply disturbing popping noise, the pectorals closed in one last time, and his wicked life was ended at last. Bela sighed, eyes fluttering, as if coming down from a round of something vigorous and erotic, then fished the body out from his pecs before flicking it away like a piece of garbage. (He’d said he wouldn’t eat Xavier, after all.) He hummed as he tilted his head, pumpkin-colored eyes rolling upwards as he scratched his sloshing, gurgling stomach, which made deep, thick “slush-slush-slush” sounds as he played with his patented paunch. He tried to count how many mortals he had destroyed so far… “Let’s see…seventeen in my stomach…one death via pecs…biceps, my foot…the one in my navel is still crying for his mommy…that so-called worshiper is currently in the trash where he belongs, which leaves…” His eyes snapped around as a twisted, wild smile slashed across his face…the expression freezing Packer and Keith dead in their tracks. They had just been trying to sneak out from under the bench and make their way to the door unnoticed. “...Ooooooh…two more toys to play with…” Bela smacked his lips greedily, and rose to his feet. Keith and Packer looked at each other and yelled at the same time… “RUN FOR IT!” The bearded ex-thief and the innocent, average young man dashed as fast as they could toward the door…but as fast as they ran, Bela Sulten could catch up easily by just walking. The God of Gluttony and Greed rolled his eyes and clucked his tongue at the pointless sprint of his final two trinkets, as he stomped over and swiped them each up in a separate hand. He rumbled as he watched the two wriggle in his grasp. “Hmmmmm…now, how shall I deal with you two?” he crooned in a sing-song tone. “L-Let us go!” shouted Keith. “You fat, murdering psychopath! You’re no God! You’re some kind of…some kind of…monster!” Bela yawned. “You know, I DO get so tremendously bored with you treats sometimes,” he said, as if he hadn’t even heard the pair. “As much as I enjoy hearing you squeak and squeal like the rodents you truly are, it does get old after a while. Ah, well…in any case, I think I’m actually in the mood for only one more snack.” The pair froze up at those words, looking stunned and hardly daring to hope. “Oh, I could eat your entire species to extinction and still not be truly satisfied,” chuckled Bela. “But I’m only in the MOOD for one more, as I said. So…I guess we’ll have to work out some form of…” GRRRLLLG… “...Tryouts,” he hissed, quivering as his belly rumbled ominously. Packer and Keith looked to each other with matching expressions of mortal worry, as the God moved to the bench press where they had been hiding. Then, without a word, he placed the two shrunken mites upon shaft of the weight bar. Both humans extended their arms and carefully gauged the very, VERY narrow, curved platform upon which their feet rested… …While Bela - with what could only be described as “a smile like sex” - lay down upon the bench beneath them, his head parallel with the bar as both of his hands rested upon his swollen, bubbling belly. “Don’t worry, little ones,” he crooned, his rotten breath wafting up to the pair and turning their cheeks green. “I’ll be here to catch you…” And so saying…Bela opened his jaws. Keith and Packer both gulped as they stared down into the dark, wet, pinkish-red cavern below. They could see the way the flesh of the God’s maw pulsed and undulated; the way his tongue flickered; the way the saliva stretched and snapped between his off-white fangs…the slickness of his gums, the sliminess of his throat… And over all of this…a low, deep, bass groan…the whine of a never-satisfied stomach. Mingled with distant, barely-audible screams of pain and panic. Packer and Keith slowly looked at each other, then down at Bela’s open mouth, then back at each other. The God didn’t say anything, but somehow, they knew what was happening: it was a test. A test to see which of them would fall first. Which of them would be food…and, it seemed, which one of them would live to tell the tale. Each inhaled shakily - trying not to wretch at the horrible, hellacious stink wafting up towards them from that seemingly-nigh-volcanic, steaming maw - and looked towards each other. “Wh-what now?” peeped Keith, in a tiny, shy voice. Packer bit his lip, looking Keith up and down, then stared into the younger man’s eyes. “How good are you at balancing, kid?” Packer checked. “Took gymnastic classes in school, so better than you’d expect,” Keith said. “Same,” Packer said with a slight smile, which flitted away almost as quickly as it had come. “But we can’t balance forever.” “Nope,” agreed Keith. Packer paused before speaking again. “Keith, do you trust me?” he asked, point blank. Keith paused to mull the question over…then nodded. “Yeah,” he said, barely audibly. “Good. Because I have a plan,” Packer said, and gestured for Keith to approach. “Y-You come my way, okay? I’ll move yours…we’ll meet in the middle. Careful now.” Keith obeyed. Cautiously, carefully, he crept along the narrow, rounded walkway like he was treading a tightrope. Packer did the same. Bela opened one orange eye, his open-mouthed smile widening and his stomach gurgling in a high-pitched, greedy way as he watched the treats overhead. His toes curled as he could feel the over a dozen lives writhing inside of him…begging for release…begging for him to show some sort of shred of compassion or pity… He purred. Loudly. He couldn’t wait to have one of these treats squirming in his guts, too. Packer and Keith were now at arm’s length from each other, both willing themselves not to look down and allow the morbid sight of the glutton’s gullet to scare them into falling. Both stumbled slightly, and Bela let out an excited meow…which faded into a disappointed sound as they managed to regain their footing. But the God didn’t mind…they couldn’t stay up there for too much longer… “O-Okay, Packer,” Keith said, looking into the older man’s eyes. “What’s the plan?” “I want you to listen to me carefully, Keith,” said Packer. “Survival depends on it. I have only three short words to say…” Keith nodded, his gaze expectant as he was clearly strongly attentive. Packer smiled, and spoke the three words. “I am sorry.” Then, before Keith could say anything, Packer pushed him over the side and into the mouth below. Keith’s mouth opened to scream, but no sound came out. The world seemed to move into slow motion as he stared up with wide, terrified, shocked eyes at Packer, who watched as the younger man fell to his slimy doom. Keith saw the silhouette of the sharp, deadly teeth, as they framed his view of the outside world. His final words - whatever they might have been - were silenced as Bela Sulten closed his jaws around him. Keith was officially food. No telligible words left poor Keith as he was consigned to the maw of the cruel and greedy God of Gluttony. He floundered in the darkness, as the sound of Bela’s pleased purr filtered into his ears. He spluttered and struggled in wild abandon as the muscular, saliva-smeared tongue swirled about him like a python, squeezing and squelching as it worked to sop up his flavor. He gasped and spat as a gob of God gob got in his own gob. His hands flapped and clawed as he was swirled into a muscular, rubbery cheek and pressed into it till his ribs ached…then, the world spun again, and was scrubbed against a rough-ridged palette, his cries of discomfort lost as Bela Sulten moaned with pleasure. The tongue fell, and the saliva-soaked little man breathed heavily, his eyes wide and very white as he somehow crawled his way to the front of the mouth…and worked his arms and legs around until… “Gwah?” Bela blinked…then smirked around an open mouth as Keith managed to somehow push those powerful jaws open. He chuckled as he applied some pressure; Keith groaned as his bones and muscles strained to keep those sharp teeth parted, the stink of the carnivorous titan’s breath flowing all around him, burning his nose and driving his senses to bedlam. Keith heard himself shouting, but he wasn’t even fully sure what he, himself, was saying; everything was lost in a whirlwind of adrenaline and a desire to live! These basic wants and needs mattered little to the lazy glutton, who lay quite at peace on his bench, clearly putting barely any effort at all into closing his mouth, while Keith cussed and swore in gibbering tones to try and keep from buckling and bending and breaking under the strain…what had he done in his life to deserve this? Nothing he could recall. He hadn’t ever seen Bela Sulten before in real life…he’d never been to this mansion…why was this happening to him?! Perhaps he’d been too lost in his own mundane security; living life day-to-day, not expecting much, just idling through his years…happy and content in his own simplicity. Perhaps, in a way, that had been his own form of hubris: the idea that he wasn’t special, and therefore, nothing particularly awful could happen to him. The idea that he was no one important, so the likelihood of him being targeted was not great. The idea that he would die an average, common death, and that would be okay. This was not average, not common, not even in this World of Predator Gods…and he was decidedly not okay with it. He saw a finger - a huge, strong, clawed finger - rise in front of him. A momentary burst of awareness came to Keith as he yelled two words… “SPARE ME!” …Before the finger shoved him in, and the mouth closed once more, condemning to his smelly, foul, sloppy fate. Bela pulled his finger free from his mouth and let out a rumbling “Mmmmm” of pleasure, eyes closing blissfully as he placed his hands behind his head. He grimaced for a moment…and his cheeks ballooned as he burped into a closed mouth, trapping poor Keith inside an inescapable vortex of fetid gas. “BRRRRRLLLLLMMMMMRRRRRRP…hm-hm-hmmmm,” the black cat God chortled, gut bouncing with mirth as he heard and felt Keith choking on his inner repugnancy. It was time to stop savoring, Bela decided: after all, this meagre morsel was nothing particularly important to him. Just another inch of padding on his hips. Another addition to his ass. Whatever his beautiful, gorgeous bulk decided this human needed to be. It was time to swallow. Keith was crying like a lost child as he felt the tongue bucking under him, urging him towards the throat, which flapped open with an awful sucking sound that filled the depths of his damned soul with dismay. His tears clearly tasted good, judging from the almost..well…orgasmic noises Bela was making. “Please…p-please, don’t swallow,” he pleaded, his voice barely audible to himself, and neither heard nor cared about by the almighty being that had chosen to consume him, body and soul. “Please…I don’t want to die…not like this…p-please…” The body of the glutton didn’t care a bit. Keith clawed at the tongue for just a moment longer to try and avoid his descent…then - GLUGLP! - he found himself funneled into a claustrophobic tube of rippling, smooth gullet-flesh. His chest felt like it was locked in a vise, and his head began to thrum and ache, a pounding in his ears…he couldn’t tell if it was his own heartbeat, or the Lord of Gluttony’s. Whatever the case, he found movement next to impossible; all he could really do was wiggle like a worm on a fish hook, and the more he did so, the faster he seemed to slither. It was pitch black; no light at all. The humidity was hotter than any sauna, and far less pleasant to endure; the malodorous aroma that tainted every breath of the God grew steadily more disgusting the deeper Keith slid into the pulsating esophagus, waves of peristaltic contractions ferrying him to the furnace of Bela’s internal inferno. What took the smallest number of seconds felt like countless hours for poor little Keith, who woke up that morning with no conception of how horrifically badly his day would go, or how his life would be snuffed out. Finally, he felt a strange sensation, as if he was being swallowed a second time, by a set of toothless lips…then, for a moment, he found himself in freefall…before landing with a murky splash at the bottom of Bela Sulten’s grotesque belly. Somehow, Keith managed to thrash his way to the surface. He gasped and coughed and let out a hoarse screech as acrid, nauseating air flooded his lungs through his mouth, and something gunky clogged his ears and nose. He somehow shook the goop away, which left a stinging itching sensation in its wake. With no clothes but his underpants to protect him, Keith soon felt the same burning prickling across his extremities, and then all over his torso. “Help…HELP!” The words were all but coughed up in a hacking, nasty way as Keith was assaulted by the Satanic atmosphere of Sulten’s stomach. Thick, cloying, soupy sludge sloshed this way and that, stirred up by the ever-moving muscular walls that formed the greasy food processing plant of the organism that had engulfed him. Over the roar of bellowing God lungs and burbling God guts, he heard other voices, all screaming and crying in a way that could only be described as the sounds of Hell itself. “HHHHHHUUUUUUURRRRRRRRUUUUUYYYYYYUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRP!” A long, loud, rolling belch flapped free from Bela’s lips; in the belly of the gassy God, the feeling was like his last scream being stripped from his very lungs. He howled like a wild animal, floundering sightlessly in the black abyss of stench and pain, clawing as he found the stomach walls, only to be knocked aside by an elbow from someone else struggling for their life…and then kicked in the groin by someone’s flailing foot. His squeal of intense agony was completely lost, just one more voice in the symphonic chorus of death. All of them…all their lives…lost to the whims of the most powerful being that had ever preyed on the world at large. Keith cried like a baby. He wished he hadn’t trusted Packer. He wished he hadn’t woken up that morning. He wished he could be free from this nightmare. No amount of wishing would help him. Outside, Bela Sulten burped again - a crass, ugly sound that sent saliva splattering from his mouth. He sniggered and wiped his jaw with the back of a hand. “GWWWWWUUUUUEEEEERRRRRRLLLLLLCH! Ahhhhh…a most gratifying mid-workout snack…and what a fun time it’s been,” he purred to himself, showing no remorse, regret, or regard for those dying slowly in his stomach. Then, he blinked, as if just remembering something, and looked up towards Packer, who was clinging to the bar above for dear life. He had nearly toppled, himself, in the act of betraying young Keith, and was now looking down at Bela with expectant apprehension. Bela smirked. He caught another belch in his cheeks, and blew it like a kiss up at Packer, making him gag and choke. The demi-cat God never got tired of such reactions to his perfect nastiness. “Congratulations, little one,” he said, sincerely. “You don’t get to be food today.” Packer sighed with relief. He felt a bit bad for what he’d done to Keith…but it was either him or the kid, and the ex-criminal knew who he would pick the moment that became clear. He felt more grateful to be alive than anything else. Bela swung himself off the bench press, and picked up Packer carefully with two fingers and a thumb. Packer felt the Lord of Excess - the King of the Gods - carry him a short distance, wondering what would happen next. Would he be put back in a jar and returned to the cupboard, living another day but not yet free? Or - and this he desperately prayed (to any God but Bela Sulten) would be the case - would he be given his proper size, a set of clothes, and allowed to go back to his own life once again? Packer would be disappointed, to say the least. Bela sat down upon the floor, halfway between the door and his bench press. His smile was calm and serene as he crossed his legs and looked at the rather befuddled Packer… …Who soon found himself in a compromising position, as Bela lowered the last of his little toys towards his boxer-shrouded loins…and Packer gasped as Bela released him… …And a pair of powerful thighs - swathed in a healthy, even blend of blubber and muscle - slammed into him like two strong walls. Packer yelped…and, like Xavier and Keith before him, with Bela’s pecs and jaws, respectively - he found himself struggling and straining to push away the two sets of deadly body parts that were more than ready to exterminate him. He didn’t bother crying out; he simply cursed his own foolishness: of course, the God had never intended to let him live. He’d simply left it up to fate which of them, between himself and Keith, would die in his belly…or between his legs. Packer looked up pleadingly at Bela. He didn’t speak, just tried to breathe…which became harder and harder as those powerful, meaty thighs closed in tighter and tighter, his bones aching and his muscles growing sore. Bela smiled sweetly. Calmly. This, to him, was no effort at all; his look was one of placid, unfeeling amusement. This was entertaining to him, almost adorable… Keith felt tears trickling down his cheeks before he even realized what they were. He still struggled to hold onto his life, as meaningless and abandoned as it was. He felt the thighs crushing and suffocating him…he felt their power all around him…soon, he felt his limbs buckle, and screamed bloody murder as a shock of pain flowed through him…. …And still…Bela squeezed. He didn’t crush. He didn’t instantly break or shatter or squash. He SQUEEZED….taking his time…making it slow…cooing as he watched the life die between his gorgeous, thick thighs…biting his lip and curling his toes and fingers, a thrill of pleasure flowing into his bloodstream as the screams became whimpers…and, finally, with an indescribably awful sound…Packer was ended. Bela plucked up the broken body…and this time, despite his comments from earlier, he swallowed it whole. He shrugged; no point in being too wasteful. Bela smiled, rubbing his belly, kneading his fingers into it, purring like an oversized ship’s cat settling fat fish. He was deeply, deeply content and happy; satisfied in a way no amount of carnal lust could compare to. True, his hunger was neverending, but his appetite was momentarily sedated…and the feeling of so many lives stewing and simmering inside him - sacrificed to his body for no other reason than he wanted them to be - filled him with an unfathomable state of peaceful happiness. Really, Packer had been lucky, though he didn’t know it at the time: as painful as being smothered and squished between Bela’s thighs was, his troubles had been over in a relatively short amount of time. It would take hours for Keith and the rest of the shrunken Homo sapiens Bela had swallowed alive to pass on…and that was if Bela decided to be kind. Bela Sulten was almost never kind. Another rippling, thick, nauseating belch, followed by the God swallowing air to ensure his victims wouldn’t pass out too soon, signfied this. “Wonderful,” Bela murmured, drawing heart shapes over his belly, around his navel. “Truly wonderful.” So saying, he snapped his fingers…and somewhere in the mansion, a bell rang. Moments later, Kepp entered the exercise room, holding a bottle of water. Bela smirked and stood, approaching his pet as Kepp entered. “Here’s your water, Master,” the twenty year old Champion said, an innocent, lovin smile upon his purple-eyed face. Bela’s smirk became a true smile - sparkling with the only shred of real affection his black heart could carry - as he playfully ruffled Kepp’s hair. “Good boy,” he cooed, and chuckled as Kepp gave him an open-mouthed smile in return, so similar to the look of a puppy smiling up at a much-beloved owner that he couldn’t help but be endeared. The God took the water, and began to drink it down. Kepp blushed, watching the way it flowed down his gullet, and glanced away, biting his lip and tapping his fingers together. “Um…M-Master?” Bela let out a questioning grunt between gulps of liquid. “Did you…d-did you…enjoy yourself?” peeped Kepp. Bela pulled the empty bottle away from his lips, and burped wetly into Kepp’s face, belching out his reply. “YYYYYYEEEEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSS-UUURRROOORRRP!” Kepp had hearts in his eyes, subtly breathing in the stink like perfume, as if he couldn’t get enough of it in his lungs. Bela chuckled and tapped Kepp’s nose teasingly, making his pet sneeze and blush even more fiercely. “Don’t think I didn’t notice the ‘little extra’ in my snack batch,” Bela sang, and smirked knowingly, his orange eyes glittering. “I didn’t recognize that human…what did he do, and where did he come from, hmmm?” “An apartment complex a few blocks away,” admitted Kepp, and rubbed his arm, turning his head down and kicking at an imaginary rock. “I…w-well…I wanted to…just…um…g-give you something unexpected to…to please you, Master…” “Mmmm, well, he was far from the tastiest, but I appreciate the thought,” Bela said. Those words made Kepp’s heart sing: “appreciate” was not a word Bela Sulten used often. “I’m…I’m glad to hear it, Master!” he cheered, looking decidedly more perked up. “You should be,” sniffed Bela, then placed one hand on his thick hip, the other caressing his gut as he cocked his head to one side. “But I must wonder…what was the occasion?” Kepp’s smile faded. He looked almost hurt. “You…you don’t know…wh-what today is?” Bela blinked dully. “Pet, I was alive for countless centuries before you were born. I swallowed planets whole for decades before ever coming to stay on this ghastly space-rock. The days roll into each other for me,” he drawled, drearily. “O-Oh,” Kepp said, and bowed his head again. “I’m…I’m sorry, Master…I…I hope I didn’t insult you…” Bela just rolled his eyes with a soft snort, then reached out and cupped Kepp’s cheek with a clawed hand, lightly angling his human plaything’s head upward to look into his evil eyes. “What is the occasion?” he repeated. Kepp bit his lip again…then took a deep breath… …And Bela lurched back, startled, as the little one hugged him tightly. He was so much more massive than Kepp, the youth’s arms encircle his wide, heavy hips, and his head rested against the pillowy, powerful belly, which gurgled grotesquely as the young ma nuzzled against a spot near Bela’s navel… Bela blushed, as he felt the life he had stuffed into his belly button twitch and go still for good at the exact same time Kepp did that. He’d pull them free and eat their body later… In that moment, his primary focus was on the three words Kepp uttered. “Happy Anniversary, Master.” Bela paused, standing awkwardly, unsure of how to respond. Finally, he licked his lips - this time out of an unusual state of nerves - before speaking again, trying to keep his voice even. “Ah…Anniversary, Pet?” “Mm-hm,” Kepp nodded agaisnt the soft, velvety belly of his beautiful, beefy God. “It was two years ago today when you made me your Champion, Master. So…” He kissed Bela’s belly. “...Happy Anniversary,” Kepp said again. Bela paused…then smiled. He chuckled, shaking his head with amusement. “Let me get this straight…your idea of an anniversary gift…is one extra snack in my mid-workout break? One insignificant little nobody, whom no one will miss too greatly, among twenty-three other small, unimportant lives…is the best present you could think of?” Bela didn’t sound insulted, which encouraged Kepp. He sounded more…amused. “Well…I-I…kind of…might have actually not had time to find anything better,” admitted the human. Bela laughed, his gut bobbing and jostling with his amusement…and hugged Kepp back purring as he leaned down to lick and lap at the top of the twenty-year-old’s head. He waited till Kepp giggled before smiling like a Cheshire Cat and speaking. “Very well, my adorable little pet. Happy Anniversary, then…but next time…” He moved Kepp’s hand over to a very particular portion of his wide, massive butt…and grinned sadisitically as Kepp whimpered. “Next time,” Bela hissed, “Get me something better, or I’ll put the rest of you where your soul-fragment is.” “Y-Yes, Master…I’m…I’m sorry, Master…I’ll…I’ll be good…I’ll do-” Bela silenced Kepp with a kiss, and smirked a half-lidded, lusty smile as he watched his pet blush like a beet, the boy stock still and barely breathing. “You’re forgiven. Now, I need to get back to my workout. You run along and fix me a good lunch. If you do a good job, I’ll sit on you for the rest of the day.” Kepp squealed with glee, and fled from the room. Bela laughed, shook his head once more…and strutted off towards the treadmill. It was time to continue his run. He thought nothing more of the meal he’d enjoyed and the toys he had destroyed, even as his gut sloshed violently with every step on his race. He never would again, either. This writer hardly need say why.

The End

[eirikrjs]

Your Pazuzu example is interesting. While the Exorcist's depiction is a departure for Pazuzu, it fits well within the Christian myth that non-Christian deities, especially those of ancient North Africa and the Near East, are malevolent demons. This myth seems to be a favorite of Atlus's, but becomes an obstacle for coherent world building and story telling when it come to depicting Mesopotamian gods. SMT V's Lahmu takes as much influence from the Exorcist's Pazuzu as it does Sumerian Lahmu.

So the ultimate questions here are, what is genuine demonology and what is cultural ignorance or fear? This is a topic I could talk about forever but I'll try and be as succinct as I can. Where I generally stand re: demonized gods:

Sticking to a Christian worldview, no other gods should actually exist, thus demons couldn't have possibly been gods

The famous demonized gods of the Hebrew Bible like Baal, Moloch, Chemosh, Astarte, Milcom, etc. are suspiciously localized around the general Levantine area

Later demon grimoires generally did not add to demon lists names of deities not already named in the Bible

So basically, I reject as authentic demonized gods that have not already been incorporated into the fabric of the Christian worldview in the distant past. Pazuzu was never considered to be relevant in Christianity's development, so a later pop culture association does not alter the definition of what Pazuzu is. Sanat Kumara is not a demon just because of Christian polemic. And so on and so forth.

And here's a great example of this. Everyone's favorite Dictionnaire Infernal isn't just a fun romp with our demon friends, it's got its fair share of colonial-era racism in it, too. Take its entry on Kali, who appears in it as a "demon":

You'll have to click through

This... isn't a good look, is it? Understatement. It's even one of the select woodblock prints by Louis Le Breton, though this one is far less reproduced for obvious reasons. But how can Kali be an "authentic" demon with this flagrant show of ignorance?

To build on that, one of my earliest exposures to monsters and myths came from the toyline Monster in My Pocket. While it featured typical scary things for kids like vampires, werewolves, Medusa, and the like, these three maybe didn't quite fit the same mold:

What makes it worse is that this line was conceived by Matchbox, a British toy company. Kali, Ganesha, and Hanuman were placed in the same category as Bigfoot, goblins, and zombies. It generated controversy at the time and is just as culturally ignorant as the Dictionnaire.

But to answer the question posed at the top, all demonization of another society's deities likely begins with ignorance or fear, and then as it morphs into tradition it becomes demonology. By my same metric Beelzebub shouldn't be a legitimate demon because it's merely a polemic against Baal, but it happened long ago when the line between ignorance and demon was thin; and like I said in the previous ask about the legitimacy of modern myth, modern additions can be dubious because we're so much more aware of their original context and meaning, which widen that line. Birthing demons was an activity best accomplished by the mists of time.

[cupidcreates]

akdsfjkdksj I wasn’t expecting you to churn all this content out so quick (´∀｀)♡ omgosh you went above and beyond with the love language ask!! I love to see your interpretation of these characters so what do the cast consider the perfect date to be? low key vs high key? local vs out of town? -😌✨

Thank you! I’m glad you liked the love language post, sorry it took so long lol. As for their favorite dates I think I’ll do the same characters here:

Katsuki Bakugou

Rock Climbing/Hiking Dates

Canonically one of Katsuki’s favorite things to do is go rock climbing so he’d definitely want to bring a SO along every so often. If you’re an athletic person and enjoy being outdoors this will be a very fun date! If you’re not a very athletic person (as many of us aren’t) Katsuki will settle for just going for a short hike along a trail. Katsuki gets super talkative on hikes as well, as you’re walking he’ll just be talking about literally anything! From Hero work to his friends/family, to things that have been bothering him lately. Whatever is on his mind he’ll share with you while you’re both out, which is incredibly helpful as he doesn’t ever discuss his feelings at any other point in time. Plus it gives him a chance to show off how fit he is in front of you, which you both always consider a plus.

Izuku Midoriya

Movie Dates

A Classic, perhaps a little plain even, but Izuku absolutely loves to take you to the movies. He loves everything about the date, from discussing what you’re about to watch, to getting the snacks, to whispering in the back row (if you’re the type to get annoyed by talking during a movie he’ll keep this to a bare minimum). He loves being able to snuggle up next to you and hold your hand while discussing the finer points of the plot (If you’ll tolerate talking of course). Don’t think he’s being innocent here though, he definitely uses the darkness surrounding you as cover as he runs his hands up your thighs. Unbeknownst to most, Izuku is actually very much a horndog. He conceals it very well but he’s only barely capable of keeping his hands to himself when it comes to his SO. Any chance he gets to touch you he’ll take it, more than likely this is why his second favorite type of date is usually a stay-in date...

Shoto Todoroki

Dinner Dates

Another Classic, Shoto loves to treat his SO to expensive treats with his favorite being food-related dates at lavish restaurants. Not a week goes by that he doesn’t take you out on the town for the night at some place you’re sure you couldn’t even afford a glass of water at. It’s almost never the same place twice either, Shoto is actually a foodie and enjoys trying new types of cuisine whenever he can. He’s got a whole list of places he wants to take you, and if they require reservations he’s already got them locked down. If you love eating Shoto is your man, he’ll make sure you’re set with a wide variety of foods to choose from and always remembers any place you happen to be partial to.

Denki Kaminari

Amusement/Water Park Dates

Denki is a fun-loving guy through and through, he knows how to have a good time and wherever you happen to go he makes sure you do too. That being said, his absolute favorite place to take you is to an amusement or water park. It’s not often you two get to go, as you’re both very busy with your respective hero work most days, but when you do it’s a day-long affair. You’re there from the minute the park opens to the second it shuts down, riding as many rides as you can manage, eating greasy garbage food, and making sure to strike the dumbest poses for any rides that take pictures. You’ve got a whole scrapbook of these photos by now, their ridiculousness increasing with each new one added.

Eijirou Kirishima

Beach Dates

You wouldn’t expect Eijirou Kirishima to be a Thalassophile (Def. Person who loves the ocean) but he is. He adores being on the beach and it’s his preferred location for a date. You’ve spent many a sunny afternoon seaside with Eijirou, building sandcastles, chasing crabs, and just enjoying the ocean. One memorable afternoon you found yourselves right next to a sea turtles nest and you got to watch the babies pop out of the sand and scurry towards the ocean, assisted by Eijirou as he chased off the seagulls looking to make them a meal. Eijirou also enjoys surfing, and if you know how to do so he’ll get you matching boards so you can ride the waves together. If you’re not partial to surfing he’ll be sure to pull out all his tricks while you watch him, he’ll even let you onto his board with him so you two can just float together by the shore. Of course you two can’t go to the beach year round, but when you can you’re both sure to make the most of these sunny days, even if he does get an awful sunburn by the end of it. 

Hitoshi Shinsou

Gaming Dates

Hitoshi isn’t what one would call ‘social’ when given the choice between going out for a night and staying home he’ll almost always choose the latter. So it’s expected that his favorite type of date is one where you two can stay inside and enjoy each others company. You both work so hard as Heros, why not spend your days off relaxing with one another? He can spend hours alone with you, preferably kicking your ass at Mario Party or some other multiplayer game. He doesn’t need anything except you, his consoles, and a pile of your favorite snacks to have a good time. That being said, if you want him to go out for a date the best way to convince him is to take him to some kind of arcade, especially if it’s a VR arcade. He feels a kind of nostalgic joy for these places and won’t hesitate to return and feel like a kid again. Plus it’s always nice to repeatedly prove to you that yes he is the champion of Dance Dance Revolution and you will never usurp this title from him.

Tamaki Amajiki

Park/Picnic Dates

As I’ve mentioned in a previous post, Tamaki loves spending time outdoors; surrounded by and in awe of nature and it’s complex inner workings. He enjoys just taking time to appreciate the world around him, so dates where you can both relax outside and enjoy each other’s company are his favorite kind. He has a specific hill at his favorite park he likes to take you, bringing a lunch of all your favorite foods he sets you both up under the biggest shade tree for an afternoon. You both lay back on your worn picnic blanket and just cloudgaze, talking for hours about anything and everything. Much like Bakugou, Tamaki gets very talkative on these dates, discussing his week with you and anything new he might have learned over the course of it. He’s so very endearing on these dates its easy to fall silent and just listen to him for hours.

Mirio Togata

Crafting Dates

Mirio likes to have memorabilia from your dates, so you can expect a lot of dates to center around making things. More than just your average painting classes Mirio has also taken you to sculpting, woodworking, and glass blowing classes to name a few. At the end of your dates you both exchange what you’ve made and Mirio absolutely adores anything you craft, regardless of its quality in your eyes. He puts his heart and soul into making you something and more often than not it turns out spectacularly. Mirio wasn’t as good with the ceramics class, but you love the warped vase he made (even if it was technically supposed to be a cup at the start, we’ve all been there). Mirio’s kept everything you made him and even has a shelf in his house just dedicated to what you’ve made, it makes him so happy to come home after a hard day of work and see physical memories of his time with you.

Keigo Takami

Aquarium/Zoo Dates

Underneath Keigo’s charming and charismatically upbeat personality lies a bitter and broken man, drained by his role in Hero Society and left an empty shell of his former self. Underneath that personality lies a kid who never got to have a proper childhood and desperately wants to make up for it. He now uses his dates with you to do just that; not that you mind of course, dates with Keigo are always fun and lighthearted and you love to see him truly enjoy himself for once. Keigo’s favorite places to go are definitely large and intricately designed Zoos and Aquariums. He loves to look at the painstakingly accurate and detailed natural habitats, make fun of the stranger animal names you find, and learn new information about foreign bird species. Loves to mimic their calls too, much to the irritation of the birds and the zoo employees. He makes it a point to always get you a stuffed animal at the end of the date, ensuring that you now have a massive collection of them sitting all around your room. You’re always kept up to date on any Zoo or Aquarium events thanks to Keigo, as he has a calendar dedicated to all the unique events they have going on throughout the year.

Touya Todoroki

Crash Dates

Dabi is...well he’s unpredictable at the best of times and it’s very rare that you two have time for anything even resembling a date (being an S class villain does make it hard to exist normally in society and do normal couple things but it ees what it ees). However, when he can take you one a date --well the term “date” is generous here- it’s never a dull one. You’re not sure how he does it but when you go out you always manage to end up somewhere Dabi could never get into naturally. From sold-out concerts, to stand up shows, to parties at lavish houses belonging to people you’ve never even heard of let alone met before; dates with Dabi are always somewhere you two definitely shouldn’t be. One memorable morning he took you to a country club where you got to each fancy exclusive rich people food and play a horrible facsimile of golf before you were eventually found and chased out. It’s always fun to see how long you two can crash an even before being found out.

Tomura Shigaraki

Cemetery/Haunted Places Dates

Tomura Shigaraki is a man who enjoys his space from other people, in his opinion the only good person is a dead one (unless he’s talking about you, of course). So it’s not abnormal for your dates to be in a place far away from others. Again the term “date” is being very generous, more often than not he’ll approach you, tell you to follow him, and you’ll wind up in some abandoned building or graveyard. Normally this would be cause for concern, as this is exactly what happens in horror movies before someone gets killed, but Tomura has a soft spot for you so your safety is ensured. Tomura loves to see a place reclaimed by nature, vines growing over a run down house or worn out gravestones breaking apart into chunks of marble with barely legible words on them. He doesn’t talk much on your dates, but will often give you a random bit of insight about him; like on one date where you both walked alongside abandoned train tracks at dusk and he told you about the dog he had as a child. He seeks no pity from you, and these dates are not the conventionally romantic type, but you enjoy being able to be with Tomura in a way no one else ever has or ever will.

[bullshittierlists]

Spoilers for DR1, obviously. I decided to remake this list because my opinions on all of the characters have changed significantly since the last time. I’m honestly not even super happy about this one.

I see no god up here other than me:

Kiyotaka Ishimaru - Oh my lord, he’s perfect in every way (except for the thing, which I’ll get to). He’s funny, he doesn’t feel entirely insignificant, and he’s got a cool, sad backstory to dive into if you like him enough, but it isn’t required to do so throughout the main game. Everything about his genius/hard-working motif is brilliant. I think it’s incredible how he’s actually the opposing force to Komaeda rather than Junko, even though no one talks about it and the game doesn’t really use it that much. His whole backstory with his grandfather and father is so sad and I’m so proud of him for getting to be where he is today, even if it didn’t quite happen how he wanted it to. The one exception to this practically perfect prefect is, of course, the elephant in the room, Kiyondo Ishida. Here’s the thing: I think Kiyondo could’ve worked really well. However, as far as I know, Taka was swapped out last minute with Hiro and had to die in chapter 3. I honestly think this was the worst decision the franchise made after making Mikan... the way that she was. The only reason people hate Hiro is that he survived the first game. I’ll get to this more later, but I honestly really enjoyed his character for the first three chapters. After that, though, he got a little stale and even a bit annoying, especially the Kyoko being a ghost bit. I feel like Hiro really overstayed his welcome and his presence could’ve been more than made up for by the comedic duo of Hina and Taka. I understand that choosing the survivors of each game is difficult and a very meticulous process, but let’s just consider the interactions with other characters for now. To start with, Hiro hardly had any positive interactions with any of the other characters in the back half of the game outside of Hina calling him out for being an idiot. If we put Taka in his place, he could’ve had serious moments with Kyoko and Makoto, helping them to solve some of the mysteries. He also could’ve played off of Byakuya and Toko’s relationship in telling them that PDA is “not welcome in a school environment.” And the crowning jewel of missed opportunities, his interactions with Hina. They’ve both lost their best friends in the whole world and have no one to rely on. In canon, Hina had to do a character 180 just to keep up with Hiro’s idiocy and not break down about losing Sakura. However, if we had Taka, he could’ve helped her to get through it because he would’ve already gotten over Mondo with the help of Ishida. See? I brought it back around. If Taka had been able to resolve his issues with Ishida in chapter 3, he would’ve been able to help Hina to develop her character through the loss of Sakura in chapter 4. I think this would’ve been so much better for both of their characters and I weep for what could’ve been. But for some reason, Hiro just had to stick around.

Mondo Owada - I’m honestly surprised I talked about Taka for that long without mentioning Mondo. I don’t actually have a lot to say about Mondo that I won’t get to with Chihiro, but this is basically your warning to be ready for another rant and it also serves as a break from the last one. Mondo and Taka are perfect for each other, Mondo is the most sympathetic killer, bar none, and even though I’m not a huge fan of dogs, Chuck is so precious.

You’re the best:

Celestia Ludenberg - Pretty goth lady. That’s about it. She could’ve been better in chapter 3, but I honestly still really liked her plan and her breakdown was phenomenal. My favorite thing about her though is her execution. Her execution fits into the thin category of executions that include the element of specific despair, basically meaning that Monokuma made it specifically to make her sad apart from the fact that she was dying. She was ready and honestly excited to be burned at the stake because it would guarantee her an interesting death and therefore an interesting life. But then, she ends up just dying in another boring old car accident, many of which happen every day. It’s fun to watch her expression and demeanor change throughout her execution, it’s one of my favorites.

Chihiro Fujisaki - Oh boy, it’s the one I expect to get hate for. Buckle up, lovely people, it’s time to get personal. I personally headcanon Chihiro to be a cisgender male; however, I also believe that you can headcanon anyone to be anything you want. There is an exception and it’s when that headcanon specifically derails something the character was trying to present. In this case, it’s toxic masculinity and the importance of appearances in society. I’ll preface this whole section with a statement: I’m not trying to be transphobic. I could see Chihiro being a trans male, but cis or trans female just feels counterproductive to me. Let me explain. Chihiro’s entire existence is used to parallel Mondo’s. Chihiro has a strong will with a weak body, while Mondo has a strong body with a weak will. Mondo is seen, in canon, as a super manly character who is strong in both heart and body, but he doesn’t believe himself to be this way. The only strength he’s ever seen is through aggressive violence, and that’s how he shows his strength. This is proven in the fact that when he felt weak against Chihiro’s strong will, he killed him out of fear, which he had grown to believe was strength. However, since Chihiro had a weak body, people treated him as unmanly, even though he was strong-willed, so he believed that everything about him was weak and learned to be submissive to everyone else’s desires. This is proven in the fact that he dressed and acted the way he did specifically to please others, not himself. It’s shown in multiple free time events that he hates the way that he looks and that he hates dressing to appease other people. It’s not even necessary to turn to the FTEs to gain this information, it’s obvious from the fact that he goes to Mondo specifically to get stronger in what he thinks is both mind and body, as he’s been known to think that the two are connected. It can also be understood from his dialogue that he wasn’t trying to get physically stronger for himself, he was perfectly comfortable with his body, he wanted to get physically stronger so that other people would leave him alone. These are the effects that bullying had on him. Maybe I’m misunderstanding, but whenever I see Chihiro as female, trans or otherwise, it feels as though those people want Chihiro to subject to the bullying because it more closely fits their ideal. It just feels like evidence of toxic masculinity because since Chihiro is feminine, he must be female, even if he says otherwise. The difference to me between this and say, trans Gundham headcanons is that with Gundham, there’s nothing in his character that goes either way, so it’s fine to headcanon him however you want. But when Chihiro explicitly states that he wants to be seen as male, he’s ignored and pushed aside as “another missed opportunity for trans representation.” But he’s not a missed opportunity for representation, he’s just representing something else, toxic masculinity. It’s obvious that it goes over people’s heads because they don’t seem to understand this at all. I’m not trying to be rude, I just want people to understand that just because the representation isn’t specifically for the group you want, doesn’t mean that it isn’t good representation. I can talk about this more if anyone wants me to, but it’s almost 1 AM and I’m not sure how much longer and I can form cohesive sentences and I’m not sure this is the best argument to test that on.

Genocide Jack - Idk, she’s funny. I’ve already gotten past most of the characters I have strong opinions on. Whereas in the second game, I have strong feelings about my favorites *and* my least favorites, I really only have favorites in this game and everyone else is pretty neutral.

Byakuya Togami - He was actually originally my second favorite character, but I realized a good way into the series that I didn’t actually like him that much. He’s not as smart as he claims to be and he isn’t as well written as Komaeda or Kokichi. However, he does have one truly fantastic moment in the first game and that is during chapter 4. When it’s revealed that Sakura killed herself, he shuts down. It’s impossible for something to have happened that he didn’t predict and he truly believes that. It’s incredible to see his complete shift in character (at least for this trial) and I absolutely adore that moment. Everything else with him is still kinda meh.

Hey, I think you’re really cool, I like you a lot:

Sakura Ogami - There’s literally nothing about her that I can say that hasn’t been said already. She’s perfect and I love her for it.

Aoi Asahina - Like I said during my Taka rant, I think she would’ve been much better if she didn’t have to accommodate Hiro. The first game had a much darker tone than the second and Toko/Genocide Jack already had the comedic relief role covered. She and Taka could’ve still had their fair share of funny moments together, but I feel like she could’ve gone through Akane’s arc during the second game, but better because she would’ve been able to build off of Taka, who already went through the same thing. Either way, she’s cute and I adore her and Sakura’s friendship.

Sayaka Maizono - So I actually made this list back in January (it’s currently the middle of April) and just never got around to making it and since then, I’ve fallen in love with Sayaka. It may or may not have to do with me being cast as her in a secret project that I’ll announce later, but she has my heart regardless. Now, I’d probably put her behind Chihiro and ahead of Genocide Jack. She’s just such an interesting character and while it’s a shame that she died so early, I still think she wouldn’t have been as good if she didn’t die so soon. For the record, I think both Sayaka and Leon were morally in the wrong. However, Sayaka was doing it for her friends, while Leon could’ve stopped at any time and really only went back for himself. Sayaka is not a snake. Thank you, goodnight.

Mukuro Ikusaba - She’s definitely my neutral point. I have one of these in every DR game, even if I don’t realize it. I just don’t really have any opinions on her and it’s not even because she wasn’t in the game for very long. I just don’t know how to feel about her. I just finished Danganronpa: Zero and that boosted Junko way up in my book, but it didn’t really change my opinion on Mukuro at all.

Kyoko Kirigiri - I get the hype, I really do, but I just can’t get into her. For starters, I don’t like Naegi all that much, so of course I’m not going to like the people that hang around him all the time. The most I’ve ever liked her is while watching videos of her along with “Not So Bad A Dad” from Phineas and Ferb. Other than that, she’s extremely neutral for me.

Toko Fukawa - I’m including her appearance in Ultra Despair Girls, but it didn’t really help her much. I liked her in the first game, but it was only because I was going through a weird phase of obsessing over people and now I just think it’s weird because it is. I went into Ultra Despair Girls knowing that she got character development and then completely forgot to pay attention to it because I was so enraptured by the Warriors of Hope. So, I don’t know, she’s just kinda creepy and I didn’t really notice her (or Komaru, for that matter) in UDG.

I remember you:

Junko Enoshima - Like I mentioned during Mukuro’s segment, I just finished Danganronpa: Zero and it was a wild ride. I made this list before I had even started the book and I was mostly just confused by Junko. I didn’t understand her motivations or any of her plans, much less how she was able to achieve anything she was. But once I finished DR0, it all made sense. I won’t spoil it here, but she was incredible in that book and I wish I had caught on to everything earlier.

Makoto Naegi - I feel bad, but I have to compare him to the other protagonists. He’s just so boring, and I know that that’s the point of a protagonist, but Hajime proves that it doesn’t have to be that way. Makoto’s just kinda there all of the time. For example, in DR0, he shows up for one scene, but he literally doesn’t even do anything. He stands there, talks to Ryoko, is scared during a fight scene, and is never seen again. It’s really frustrating to know that he’s only there because he was the protagonist of the first game and it’s like “Wow, you know this character!”

Yasuhiro Hagakure - My only opinion on him is that he should’ve died in chapter 3. My only explanation for why he was so high on the original list is because I watched this one hysterical panel for DR1 and Hiro was by far the best character there. In the game itself, I liked him until he overstayed his welcome and cost Taka his shot to be memorable.

Leon Kuwata - I honestly can’t explain why I dislike him so much, I just really, genuinely do. He’s just kind of annoying, but that’s about it. Like I said before, I don’t really hate many of the characters from this game, they’re mostly all loved or neutral and he’s just the most negative neutral.

You are literally the worst. Actual scum. Leave this planet and never return:

Monokuma - You know the drill by now if you’ve seen my other DR tier lists, it’s kind of an obligation at this point.

Hifumi Yamada - Why. Why is he like this? Why is he this way? Honestly, he’s not nearly as bad as Teruteru or Kazuichi in the perv department, but I just hate him so much. I don’t understand why he is the way that he is, but I do understand that I’m happy he died in chapter 3. Honestly, I could’ve done with him dying earlier, but it is what it is.

It’s 1:15 AM and I am done writing. I’ve been putting this off for months and I figured it was finally time to get it over with and it definitely didn’t have anything to do with the fact that I can’t sleep. I hope you enjoy all of this and if you would like me to elaborate on anything, just drop me an ask and let me know. I’m always happy to explain any of my opinions and want to make sure I’m as clear as possible. Please do not spread hate about me until you’ve made sure you understand my point. Then go to town.

[eroticcannibal]

Common myths and misconceptions about home education

So in case anyone has somehow missed it, I have recently become a Big supporter of home education in a very lefty way, which has meant I have had to challenge a lot of views I have previously held about home education and that I know a lot of other lefties hold too. I am of the opinion that embracing home education, not as a last resort, but as the primary form of education for as many children as possible, is a vital part of achieving the required shifts in society needed to meet the goals of most leftists. So I am taking it on myself to convince you all that it is a very good thing, and also to clear up some misconceptions people have about home education that may make them feel they are unable to do it.

(A note, I am from the UK and shall be using UK terminology and specifics regarding law, policy and other such things will be from a UK perspective. I shall be using the term home education, as that is the legal term in the UK and is distinct from home schooling, which is the term for what school children have been doing during the pandemic.)

And I would also like to extend a quick thanks to Education Otherwise and the mods at Home education and your local authority for teaching me A LOT.

Have any questions about anything I’ve not covered here? Just let me know!

1. “Home education is illegal.”

- Sadly, home education is illegal or restricted to the point of inaccessibility in most of the world. From the research I have done, it seems that only the US and the UK have reasonable laws around home education (if I am using a very broad definition of reasonable, it is still not great). I do hope I can change this section soon, and I would *heavily* encourage people to campaign for the right to home educate post pandemic, perhaps cite any benefits learning at home has provided to children, perhaps???

2. “Home education is a tool used by religious fundamentalists to brainwash children!”

- This is a view many hold, and for good reason. For many of us, when we think of home education, we think of christian fundamentalists in the deep south of America, pulling their children out of school to avoid the liberal agenda. The truth is, anything can be used as a tool of indoctrination. This can happen in home education, and it can happen and has happened in schools too. In my own communities we have had instances of schools being a site of religious radicalization of children. The reality is this is far too complex and deep an issue to be solved by deeming any particular form of education as “bad”. I am not an expert on how best to deal with such issues, but I do feel that things like outreach and building a healthy community with otherwise more isolated religious groups would be a better way to address these issues.

3. “You need to have x qualification to home educate.”

- Again, a reasonable view to hold, given that state run and private education does require educators to hold certain qualifications, but in practice it quickly becomes evident the same does not necessarily have to apply with home education. Educational qualifications are very much focused on delivering an education in a classroom, which is a far cry from home education. During our home education of our child, my partner, who is a qualified SEN TA, has struggled far more than I have with educating our SEN child, despite the fact I hold no qualifications.

We live in amazing times when it comes to education. There are many things that parents and communities have to teach a child, and there are many things a child can teach to themself if given the tools to do so. You can even learn together! Their are endless resources available, books and games and documentaries, and even home education groups and private tutors if you feel that is the right fit for your child. You don’t need a piece of paper for your child to spend a day with their nose buried in a book, or to help the neighbor with his vegetable patch, or to cuddle up on the sofa while watching Planet Earth.

4. “You are required to follow the national curriculum.”

- This does vary by country (that allows home education). As a general rule, the stricter a country is about who can home educate, the stricter they are about what must be taught. In the UK, you are not required to follow the national curriculum. Education must be “efficient” and suited to the child’s “age, aptitude and ability”, and LAs do require that english and maths are covered. Other than that, you are allowed to tailor the content of education to the child and their interests. We have recently dropped geography for now and are only just picking up history again. It has also given us the freedom to focus on areas our child needs that would not be covered in mainstream education, such as anxiety management, trauma processing, self care and hygiene.

5. “Home education looks like school/is just filling out workbooks/etc”

- The thing you will always hear from experienced home educators when you begin home education is “home education doesn’t need to be school at home”. Much like you can tailor the content of the learning to the child, you can also tailor the delivery to the child. Some child need structure, timetable, instructions. Some need freedom and to bounce between topics. Some need to have an hour learning maths and only maths, some need to go dig up your garden “for science”. Some want to learn every day, some will need extended breaks.

Learning happens all the time, from the moment they wake to the moment they sleep. As an example, at home we have some workbooks, as both me and my child have ADHD and need someone to go “ok learn this” rather than us having to work out for ourselves what we need to cover for core subjects like english and maths. For the rest of most days my child is left to their own devices to binge youtube and netflix and work on their art. We try and go for a woodland walk every few days, where we have Deep Discussions about all kinds of topics, and we are also working on growing edible plants and baking cakes from around the world. We are more hands-off at the moment, due to the current bout of anxiety, but when that settles again we will get back to history themed crafts and STEM activities. Post-pandemic, we will be signing our kid up for swimming classes and “after school” clubs, and looking at sending them down to my mum for the home ed groups where she lives, like the forest school. A lot of home education outside of a pandemic is in groups and community based, or will make use of libraries and museums and other public learning opportunities. Frequently very little will happen at home.

In fact many home educators will advise new families to “deschool” for a while before jumping in to learning. This is a period where you “get school out of your system”, and just exist. Learning does not have to be intentional, you will be surprised how much you can achieve by just having fun.

6. “Home education is expensive.”

- It can be, ask my bank account. However, it is perfectly possible to deliver a quality education with little to no money. I’m not saying it’s easy, but it’s doable. Their are many online resources for free (check out oak academy), and libraries have plenty available too. Even paid resources can be very cheap if you know where to look. (psst, if your kid thrives with worksheets and powerpoints, get yourself a twinkl subscription, download everything you need for a year then cancel it.)

(This does not apply to exams. Get saving!)

7. “Home educated children are not properly socialised.”

- This is only really true during the pandemic. The rest of the time, home educated children are free to socialise whenever they want, with whoever they want, in whatever setting they choose. Socialisation while home educating is in the opinions of many of a higher quality, as they are not limited to groups of a similar age and background. Many home educating families form groups for their children to socialise together too. For ND children especially, socialising while home educated can be far less stressful and far more fulfilling than in school.

8. “Home educated children won’t get qualifications.”

- Just plain not true. Arranging qualifications can be costly and time consuming, but it is possible and regularly done. Some children may return to school or college to access exams for free, and I have heard of a handful of cases where individuals were able to secure prestigious university places without any qualifications. Home education also allows for more freedom with how exams and qualifications are approached, for example, many home educated children will pick one GCSE to focus on at a time, rather than covering numerous topics over 2 years and having exams for all of them at once like children in school will.

9. “Home education is a safeguarding risk/is used to cover up abuse/home educated children are not seen.”

- In the UK at least, home education is not considered a safeguarding risk, no matter what authorities may tell you, nor are home educated “not seen”. They still visit medical professionals, they still engage with their communities.

Now I shall add the relevant paper here should I find it again, but the idea that home education is used to cover up abuse to a statistically significant degree, or that home educated children are at more risk of abuse, is false. Home educating families do face a significantly higher risk of social services involvement than other families, but far less abuse is found in comparison to other families. It is also worth considering, when talking about social services involvement, that many families pursue home education due to failures by schools regarding a child’s vulnerabilities. In most cases, especially the Big Ones, where a home educated child is abused, the child was already known to authorities as a victim of abuse, therefore home educating did nothing to hide said abuse.

Children are also routinely abused in schools, which is another common reason for home educating.

10. “Home education has to be monitored or approved.”

- Depends on the country, I know in Japan home education is monitored by schools, however in the UK, monitoring is not lawful. Local authorities may make informal enquiries to ensure a suitable education is being facilitated (keep EVERYTHING in writing and please go straight to “home education and your local authority” group on FB for advice, you WILL need it!). In England, if your child is in mainstream education, you can deregister at will, from a special school will require LA approval. In Scotland deregistering requires LA approval. (Again, head to the aforementioned group for advice).

11. “You can’t work/get an education while home educating”

- It is hard to balance work, education and educating your child, but it is possible, people do it every day. Obviously, having at least one parent free to educate unhindered at all times is an ideal situation, but in the real world it often does not work that way. Parents may have to home educate regardless of their other commitments if a child truly needs to escape the school system. Many parents work or learn from home, and sometimes it is even possible to combine these activities with home education. Professional artists and crafters can pass down their skills while working, distance learners can invite their children to sit in on lectures. The really great thing about home education is it is flexible. Do you have a whole day of meetings? Let the kid play minecraft all day! Going to be in the office all day? Drop the kid off at the local forest school or something else they can do all day. Drop them with the grandparents to help with the gardening!

12. “Home educated are behind/achieve less than school children.”

- Their is no evidence that home education is of a lower quality than school education. Many children are home educated specifically because the school environment was detrimental to their education, and thrive with home education. Plenty of children are able to learn more simply by having 1-to-1 attention, without the distraction of an entire class. And others may well be “behind”, and are educated at home because of their specific needs that mean they will never thrive in an academic setting, so they are allowed to focus on learning skills that will allow them to live independently.

[ravnicaforgoblins]

Ravnica for Goblins

Exciting Planeswalker Visitors

(Caution: Before we begin, this post is going to be much more opinion-based than previous ones. These are my own homebrew ideas, use them as/if you wish, discard/dismiss them if you prefer.)

Planeswalkers are an integral part of MTG Lore, as well as several of its most iconic characters. Put simply, a Planeswalker is an individual with an inherent gift for traveling between planes, or worlds. The gift does not appear at birth, but is usually triggered by some manner of incredibly emotional (usually traumatizing) event. In addition, each Planeswalker displays a unique aptitude for a particular style of magic; be it plant growth, transformation, becoming transparent, illusions, invulnerability, summoning beasts, structural analysis, setting things on fire, etc. Whatever their specific brand of magic is, it’s usually on a higher level than an ordinary person can hope to achieve.

Planeswalkers, as a general rule, are wanderers by nature. They may have a home plane, or even an adopted home plane, but being able to traverse the multiverse leads many towards lives of constant adventuring/shenanigans. Add in the fact that Planeswalkers cannot bring anyone else with them on these travels (except in very rare cases), and you end up with a special breed of super-powerful magical loner. They show up, make a name for themselves with their big magic, and depart when they feel like it. Did you say, “Instant Adventure”?

Ravnica has a few native Planeswalkers among its citizens; Ral Zarek, Vraska, and Domri Rade. In addition, it has several Planeswalkers who have at some point or another (depending on your timeline) devoted enough time & energy to be effectively considered citizens; Azor, Tezzeret, Kaya, Dack Fayden, Dovin Baan, Gideon Jura, and Jace Beleren. Some of these are currently dead, missing, or magically barred from ever returning. At one point, Ravnica had more Planeswalkers on it at one time than any plane in the multiverse has ever or will ever see. If you are going the War of the Spark direction, good luck. You'll need it and so will your players. For everyone else, which Planeswalkers you choose to include in your campaign (if any), should be based on who will work the best for the story you’re trying to tell. A recommendation; if you find their lore too distracting and complicated, stick to the main beats. A lot of these figures can be boiled down to simple ideas, and you don’t want to bore your party with the entire novel of these usually dramatic/tragic lives. Trust me, the base concepts are enough.

With that in mind, here are four Planeswalkers that I, a random person on the internet, believe would work great for a Ravnica campaign. My choices are not based on who has canonically already spent time in Ravnica, or who would be the most powerful/dangerous to suddenly appear in the city. Several Planeswalkers have their own prior commitments on other planes that are pretty central to their character, and BAMFing them to Ravnica for a quick Bad Guy to take down wouldn’t do them justice. These four characters would slide into various aspects of Ravnica beautifully. These four would be the most exciting visitors to Ravnica.

Ashiok, Dream Render

I don’t think any MTG character could be as good a fit for a Ravnican Guild as Ashiok is for House Dimir. Ashiok is almost literally a walking shadow of secrets and intrigue. Their origins, their age, their motives, their face; hell, their gender is a secret yet unrevealed. Ashiok’s power is creating living beings born of the greatest fears stolen from people’s nightmares. Literally.

It’s like if the Dimir stopped half-assing the art of stealing thoughts and turned it into a weapon of mass destruction. Because even the mightiest of Ravnicans are afraid of things. Ask Niv-Mizzet about the Nephilim sometime, see how quickly he changes the subject. What’s better, for a Guild that prides itself on always having the up & up on everyone, Ashiok is inscrutable. They have no past that can be divined, no secrets that can be stolen, no previous encounters to prepare any for their arrival. Neither Lazav nor Etrata can claim such anonymity, despite their best efforts. Ashiok is a true enigma and a dangerous new weapon for House Dimir.

Ashiok also comes with the ability to create minions and NPCs from out of any PC’s worst nightmares, making encounters a great combination of roleplaying & combat. Fighting them is specifically facing one’s deepest & darkest fears made real. Can you say, “character development”?

Ashiok’s arrival could spread this new magical art to other Dimir Agents for a longer campaign, but it might be best to confine it to Ashiok in order to allow for a cleaner victory. Ashiok is not a fighter, cornering them into a direct confrontation should be enough to make the Nightmare Sculptor run for the hills. The mind is powerful, but also very squishy.

Tibalt, the Fiend-Blooded

You know how the Cult of Rakdos are technically Chaotic Evil but generally just a bunch of artsy hedonistic nuisances? Tibalt is to them what a gallon of gasoline would be to a lit stove. Good for fire, bad for everything else. Tibalt is an empath specializing in Pain Magic. Quite literally, he loves hurting people for fun. Drawn to pain like a magnet; physical, emotional, spiritual, psychological, etc, he is sadism personified.

His brief time on Ravnica during War of the Spark was enough to make a strong impression on the Rakdos.

“I like this one’s energy.”

This is because they do not realize how bad Tibalt would be for the Cult. There is a fundamental difference between the Chaotic Evil the Cult practices and the Chaotic Evil Tibalt delights in. The Rakdos have survived 10,000 years by taking in the freaks, the rejects, and the crazies, and giving them a place where they can live out their most depraved hedonistic fantasies. They are the voice of the outsiders bringing all figures of power & authority down a peg. They always punch up, never down. Tibalt is a young man with no home, no friends, no job, and no interests or hobbies beyond inflicting pain in as many people as possible. Tibalt punches everyone. The most important distinction between the two is that the Cult of Rakdos is a culture, a way of life for people to embrace; it might be crazy, but it welcomes & accepts people no matter how insane the world says they are. Tibalt does not care about anyone but himself. Following his example would see the city turned into the largest, bloodiest, and most destructive riot in its history; with Tibalt inciting and sicking every monstrosity he can find onto the city at once. He will burn the Rakdos candle at both ends and leave them to suffer the consequences of his fun. The aftermath being the city in ruins, the Cult wiped from the face of existence, and him moving on to his next project. In short, Tibalt will hurt the Cult of Rakdos as much, if not more, than the rest of Ravnica. Because that’s how he gets his kicks.

The one thing standing in his way will be Rakdos himself. As the single largest diva on the entire plane, Rakdos does not tolerate anyone who tries to steal his spotlight. As a 10,000+ year-old Demon Lord, Rakdos is in a league of his own, and Tibalt is just a hotshit little pain mage with a few tricks. It’s not a fight, it’s either an exit or a curtain call for the Planeswalker. If Rakdos is around, Tibalt’s spree will be very short-lived. If, however, Rakdos is doing his usual thing of hibernating for weeks, months, or years at a time, that’s a different story. Tibalt is good for if your campaign wants to bypass politics & intrigue and go straight to killing Cultists & Demons. He’s bad for anyone he comes in contact with.

Garruk Wildspeaker

In case I haven’t made my contempt for Domri Rade clear, I hold Domri Rade in utter contempt. As a character, as a Planeswalker, and most of all as a Gruul, he’s a failure. Scrawny, weak, gullible, and stupid. My chief grievance with Domri is that he fell short in all the areas the Gruul Clans idolize. He couldn’t survive in the wilderness on his own without his Planeswalker abilities, he couldn’t fight for himself except against weaker opponents or with herds of animals as backup, and he acted on orders from someone else who wasn’t Gruul. For a Guild built on independence and survival of the fittest, he failed both completely.

Garruk is the real deal. Gigantic, strong, savage, and cunning. Here is a man who, on a fundamental level, has embraced animal savagery as a way of life. He lives like a predator on the hunt, an alpha of any pack, and a fierce threat to all who intrude upon his territory. On a plane like Ravnica, where civilization has encroached on the untamed wilds almost completely, Garruk would be a gamechanger. Not only could he feasibly fight Borborygmos for leadership of the Gruul, he could win, and he could unite the Gruul under his howl of reclaiming the wilds from so-called “civilization”. Garruk would bring animal strength to the Gruul in ways they’ve only begun to tap into, and he’d do it in their language. Because Garruk understands the Gruul, and they understand him. They have so much in common with each other that it’s hard to think of any Planeswalker who could be welcomed so readily into a Guild. They would become so much more than rock-smashers and anarchists, they would become Ravnica’s reminder that nature will survive when all traces of society have crumbled away.

As if taking on the city itself wasn’t big enough already, Garruk has also taken to hunting other Planeswalkers, and can actually track them across the Multiverse. Meaning a few high-ranking members of Guilds and even the Living Guildpact have to take his threat seriously. He’s got a particular grudge against necromancers, dislikes talking, and has a special gift with animals of all varieties. All of which provides plenty of ideas to build from. He’s an 8ft tall Human Druid/Barbarian who willingly chooses animal savagery over intellectual reasoning, can there be anyone more perfect for the Gruul?

Did I say Ashiok was the most perfect fit for an MTG character in a Ravnican Guild? Yeah, scratch that. Garruk is.

Sarkhan Vol

Most Planeswalkers have a theme to their abilities. For some, that theme extends to their personalities as well. And then there are Planeswalkers who can be adequately summed up in a single word. For Sarkhan, that word would be “dragons”. Sarkhan sees dragons as nature’s purest & most destructive form, and carries a fascination with them that is perfectly healthy for anything with wings and scales that breathes fire, but generally less healthy for everything & everyone else.

One of the things that makes Ravnica unique is the distinct lack of dragons (emphasis on the plural). Ravnica has a dragon, Niv-Mizzet the Firemind, who made the executive decision thousands of years ago that he alone was sufficient to represent his entire species. Ravnican dragons are considered more intelligent than dragons on other planes, Niv himself being a prime example of this. Around the original signing of the Guildpact, Ravnica’s Godlike dragons were hunted to extinction, with Niv leading the hunt against his own kind. They were not entirely successful in this endeavor, but what few dragons do remain in the present day survive by staying as far off Niv’s radar as possible. Some dragons live by carrying out Niv’s will under constant supervision, or by hunting in the untamed wilds outside the city, or as sideshow attractions for the Rakdos (usually with their wings cut off to prevent escape). They are effectively stripped of anything that would identify them as “dragons” for the sake of their own existence. Since dragons are such a notoriously touchy subject for the Firemind, few have the nerve or fire immunity necessary to speak out against it.

Sarkhan would be horrified. If he thought the extinction of dragons on his home plane of Tarkir was bad, seeing them living like this would infuriate him beyond words. What would Sarkhan do once the initial shock of seeing his spirit animal (in more ways than one) reduced to pitiful scraps of life as lab rats, scared prey, and freak shows wears off? Let’s make it a game! Do you think Sarkhan will:

A. Cry.

B. Throw up.

C. Embrace this as a plane’s reality that he has no right to get involved with.

D. Scream.

E. Set something on fire.

F. Set everything on fire.

G. Bring back the dragons.

H. Burn the city to the ground with dragons.

I. Kill Niv-Mizzet.

J. All the above except “C”.

If you selected Answer “J”, then congratulations! You’ve just won a free trip to a BURNING METROPOLIS! Sarkhan will absolutely make it his life’s goal to bring dragons back to Ravnica and destroy the whole wretched city down to the last brick. How he would do it is up to you, but it’s a solid bet that even if every other Guild treats him like an apocalyptic madman, the Gruul might side with him over some shared beliefs in smashing the city apart with ferocious animal savagery. They tend to lean towards such ideas with uncharacteristic willful compliance. Ravnican dragons are primarily red, with the most prominent breed still remaining being the Utvara Hellkites beyond the city limits.

Oh, and Sarkhan can turn into a dragon, too. Have fun with that.

[the-wiresmarvelau]

T.H.E. W.I.R.E.S

Peter and his Friends are allowed to design the compound and couldn't help but riddle it with secret tunels and hallways. While Peter installs said hallways he makes some new acquaintences who he has to help and gets help from.

chapter 2

Chapter 1:  Set up

Peter let his mind wander, only barely noticing the scenery passing by behind the car window.

He was thinking back to the events of the past one and a half years.

It had been soo much.

Somehow Tony fricking Stark had ended up in his living room to recruit him for an Avengers infight, and ended up mentoring him in not only superheroing, but also all things science related and even normal everyday stuff.

The rest of the consequences from this so-called civil war however hadn’t been as awesome.

Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, owner of one of if not THE most successful companies in the world and, not to forget, Iron man himself, came home beaten, and in shock. Nobody really knew what happened over in Siberia, apart from those who were there when it all went down.

Back then Iron man hat hated Captain America and, by extension, his team.

Now, Tony was convinced he would be able to get them back in a few weeks; it ‘had taken long enough’ according to him.

Not even four months after the whole Civil War thing went down Mr. Stark had decided to get over himself and begun to consider what would be best in the grand picture; and in his opinion: The world needed the Avengers.

Anytime something like the Chitauri invasion could happen again, a mutant could decide to use their powers for their own gain or organisations like HYDRA could manage to create another super solider.

Not to mention the personal attacks aimed for specific Avengers. Those often included less casualties but if said Avenger isn’t there to react, those people tended to lash out.

So, he had put his personal quarrels with the rogues aside and doubled his efforts to alter the accords in a way that every party could agree and to get the ex-Avengers pardoned.

Before that Tony had already worked hard to mend them in a way that Peter didn’t have to reveal his identity as Spiderman and he was eternally grateful for it; Peter didn’t want this kind of attention, he cherished his anonymity.

And that wasn’t even everything. Tony wanted to make sure everyone felt and was safe.

Safety. Something that the Tower wasn’t entirely fit to provide anymore.

It had been built in a time when more or less everyone had agreed that the Avengers were a good thing or at least no danger for the immediate vicinity.

Nowadays not everyone agreed with Tony on whether the rogues should come back or not.

The general consensus of the public was that the Winter Solider was a threat to society as a whole and their opinions in Wanda weren’t much better.

At least with these two there was a consensus. That couldn’t be said for the rest if the Avengers, team Cap as well as team Ironman.

If the Avengers were to move back to the Tower, everyone in New York would feel threatened and protests were sure to break out, which in turn would bring down the already almost non-existent moral of the team (if you could call them that).

Peter couldn’t help the tiny smile creeping on his face.

As extra as Mr. Stark was he had deemed the already existing compound as too small and unwelcoming.

Without further ado he had ordered to tear the old Structures down and build everything new.

The younger of the two geniuses would never forget the day on which he had found Mr. Stark in his lab, loudly ranting to F.R.I.D.A.Y. about how little time he had; Between the accords, SI and planning the new Compound he was stretched thin as a paper.

As a joke Peter had offered to design the compound for him, stunned when the man paused and decided that, yeah, why not; Let a 17-year-old and his friends go wild with near unlimited resources to plan a living facility for a bunch of spies, mutates, super soldiers and people who could keep up with those.

On the other hand, said teenager should have seen this coming. It was incredibly on brand for the billionaire to forward the most ridiculous tasks to the most unfit to do them (in Peter’s opinion).

At first, he had been horrified to hear what he was asked to do but after some time – and three best friends positively freaking out about the idea of becoming one-time-architects for THE Avengers- the boy relaxed a bit.

Especially Shuri’s assertion, that this wouldn’t be her first time devising such a structure helped.

That was why, the next day, the boy had told his mentor that he had changed his mind and would plan the compound.

How hard can it be, right?

Turns out: it was harder in ways he didn’t expect to become problems and easier when it came to the rest. Overall: feasible.

They had finished the layout about four months ago and by now it was ready to get furnished and finished.

Exactly that was what Peter was gonna do over the next few weeks.

It was summer and he was done with his finals; Not wanting to go stir-crazy with so much time on his hands he had insisted on furnishing the compound by himself.

It was much but manageable. For him at least.

The last year had taught the young hero much, especially about himself and his limits.

For example: Peter had not known that his spider powers included that he needed much less sleep than normal humans, given that he was relatively uninjured.

How had he found out? Well between school, studying for finals, going out as Spiderman and going to the tower to tinker with his mentor he had found himself sleeping only about four hours a day and after a short adjustment period, he was more energetic than ever.

He had also realised just how much his pattern recognition had improved since the bite; and to what extent that helped with learning, for example new languages.

Shuri had taught him a little Wakandan ever since they met which had made him aware that learning languages could actually be fun, if done correctly.

His friends, of course, encouraged him to try for other languages too.

Bevor he just couldn’t decide which one to learn first. There were too many interesting ones

Now that the Avengers were about to reunite, he wanted to make them feel welcome and especially Wanda could probably use someone her age speaking a language more familiar to her than English; so Sokovian would be ideal.

On the other hand, Peter knew that both Black Widow and Mr. Barnes spoke Russian and he really liked the idea of impressing them by speaking a language so different from his native one; he liked that almost as much as he disliked the possibility that the two spies could talk about him or Mr. Stark without them understanding, right in front of them.

Then he had found out that Hawkeye was almost completely deaf and that this had caused some tension in the past whenever Natasha wasn’t around to translate.

Like that, ASL got added to his list.

Three languages were ambitious but at least more manageable than the original list of over a dozen.

Peter was still a bit apprehensive about learning them all at once. That was, until MJ and Shuri began to bet on whether and if: how fast the boy would give up on it.

He knew that if he decided to start learning, he would have to see this through.

But his friends’ gentle bullying and a short motivational speech from Ned gave him the push he needed to take on this challenge.

That was how he found himself practicing every day.

With KAREN it was much easier to practice casually over the day. while he was on patrol, in the lab or at home

She began by telling him random words, in either Sokovian or Russian, apposite to what he was doing at the moment, and also describing the sign in ASL, providing animations of the gestures if needed.

Whenever he had nothing to do, she would quiz him on the learned vocabulary, encouraging him to sign along, and once he had a reasonable basis, she began stating sentences he was supposed to translate or ask questions which he had to answer.

To avoid him mixing up Sokovian and Russian, he always practiced one language for a week, and then the other for another week.

Following Shuri’s advice, he also made sure to have a physical “marker” associated with each language.

On the days he practiced Russian, he put on a watch on his right wrist, when he learned Sokovian he wore a soft fabric bracelet on his left.

According to the princess that would help his brain connect the different lectures within a language.

At first, this process was tedious; Sometimes he just didn’t have the nerves for another lesson or he got frustrated if he didn’t get the words right.

It didn’t help that KAREN sometimes misjudged how much he had to concentrate on different things and began quizzing him at inconvenient times.

But as time went by KAREN got better at knowing when she could distract him and the young genius settled into the routine; to a point where he started to randomly sign words along as he spoke.

It helped him focus on what he was saying, but it also distracted others sometimes. Especially Happy had a hard time following what the boy said when his hands were moving all the time.

Being reminded of the head of security, Peter chanced a glance at said man, who was currently driving.

He was irritable as ever, scowling at him through the rear-view mirror every so often.

Peter flashed him a blinding smile, the next time he looked, before turning his head back to the window and his attention to thinking about the last few weeks.

Distinctly, the new… acquaintance he had made.

About two weeks ago, during an otherwise normal patrol he had found himself further outside of Queens than he usually went.

In the outskirts of hell’s kitchen to be exact.

The spider-powered vigilante hadn’t thought much of it at first and began swinging his way back in the general direction of the tower when a twinge of his spider-sense and curious soundscape in one of the smaller alleys caught his attention.

More specifically the sound of a pretty intense fight going on.

Peter, of course, promptly changed direction to find out what was going on.

Now, he hadn’t expected anything in particular; Peter had learned that having expectations means it is likely that he will be surprised. And that being surprised only paved the way for getting punched, cut or shot, depending on the situation he stumbled into.

Still. He couldn’t help but be confounded when what he saw was a young to middle-aged man, clad in a deep red suit including a helmet with tiny horns, fighting a hoard of.. freakishly soundless … ninjas?

Fortunately for the wall-crawling-superhero the ninjas hadn’t noticed him yet, giving him time to compose himself.

While he had no idea who he should be rooting for, a general rule was that the one fighting alone against a group was usually not the one who picked the fight and would be more cooperative.

Additionally, the man in red seemed somehow familiar; he had probably seen a picture of him once, but he wasn’t sure.

Still. He looked like he needed some help and helping was what the mutate was there for.

“Hey Mr. Red, need a hand dealing with these guys?” Peter asked, already webbing up the first few Ninjas. Completely oblivious to the pun* he just made.

The man scoffed slightly. “Just when I thought you wouldn’t join in on the fun” He huffed out.

“How could I not” Peter replied, delighted that the other quipped back despite his clearly visible exhaustion.

After that the fight didn’t last too long. The horned stranger asked Peter to web all of them up because he neither wanted to be followed by them nor did he kill, which, again, counted as a win in the younger one’s eyes.

They talked a bit afterwards. The man introduced himself as Daredevil aka the Devil of Hell’s kitchen. Peter answered that he was Spiderman and then started to ramble about the article he had read, about the other bringing down this renowned mob boss.

The whole time Daredevil seemed a bit irritated, or confused by something. But he didn’t ask the boy anything and the teenager wasn’t sure if it was rude to ask; after all, vigilantes relied on secrecy, so Peter didn’t comment on it.

Looking back, he kind of regretted it. He would have loved to know what had been on the other one’s mind. But he didn’t have time to sulk about it much, because they arrived just then.

Giddy excitement surged through Peter as he got out of the car and found himself standing before the massive building, that was soon to become the new Avengers compound.

Another reason for why he wanted to furnish everything was, that Mr. Stark had allowed Peter to include secret passageways, which he wasn’t forced to reveal to anyone. He was even allowed to include his own AI in them, which Ned and him had been coding for what felt like forever.

They still had to follow some rules though.

For one: the secret hallways weren’t allowed to contain any clearly dangerous contraptions or traps like great heights, spikes, or an Indiana Jones stile Stone-ball-trap. Ned had been a bit disappointed at the last one but got over it quickly enough.

A secret lab was equally off limits, because “accidents are inevitable” as Tony put it.

Another rule: he had to be able to communicate with F.R.I.D.A.Y., one way or the other, at all times.

He was permitted to veil his exact position as long as the AI could always check whether he was inside the passage ways or not.

FRIDAY also wasn’t allowed to disclose the entries to anyone in any way - unless there was an emergency that is. Most emergency protocols included giving away the entrances to the secret passageways on request of any inhabitant; as either hideout or escape routes.

A tap on the shoulder from Happy brought him back to the present and he hurried to help his driver getting his luggage out of the car.

He would spend his whole summer at the compound, half of it almost alone; with only Tony, Pepper, Vision and Happy checking in occasionally.

For the nights he could decide whether to stay at the Tower after patrolling or go back to the compound, depending on what he felt like.

He’ll still patrol of course.

He had planned to spend most of his daytime putting everything in place. Getting furniture where it belonged, disguising his secret passages, ordering final decorations and equipment, making sure everything was in place.

In the evenings he would swing his way to Queens and fulfil his responsibilities as Spider-Man.

He had to report back to either Tony or Pepper at least every two or three days, because May was on a trip for Doctors without borders and therefore not available all the time; but he had promised to call May every day.

Happy bid the Yong hero goodbye and, with a last good look back at the kid, drove off. He wasn’t convinced that letting the kid go nuts with designing and furnishing the entire compound alone was that good of an idea.

On the other hand: it was by far not the most questionable thing Tony had done -or had allowed to be done for that matter- and he didn’t have a say in the decision anyways.

Peter, energetic as ever, went straight to work, deciding that he should start by setting up his room, so he had a place to sleep for the night. For convenience.

Then he would set up his lap before furnishing Tony and Peppers room as well as Vision’s, and Happy’s, since those four would probably be his only visitors for the next five or so weeks.

Whenever he got bored of moving stuff around -or he just wanted to tinker for a bit- he could prepare the entrance mechanisms for his secret pathways, which he and his friends had begun to call “T.H.E. W.I.R.E.S.”; Short for “The Hidden Entry’s Will Indefinitely Remain an Elaborate Secret”, a sarcastic remark from MJ which Shuri proposed to send as cryptic letter to one of the Avengers, in case they didn’t notice the pathways for long enough that it got boring.

As Peter wrote the phrase down, he realised what a perfect acronym it was, since the small hallways and crawlspaces connected the rooms like wires the different parts of a machine. And just like that - the new name was born.

As he stepped inside, the boy couldn't help the chills running down his spine at the emptiness of the building.

For some reason it reminded him of the abandoned warehouse that the Vulture dropped on him.

Huge.

And empty

And. . . MASSIVE.

'No!' he reprimanded himself in his thoughts.

’This is different. These walls could withstand such a silly. Little .. sharp clawed wingsuit.

Probably...’

And besides! He was not as helpless as he had been back then.

‘I have my suit; I'm more experienced and I have Karen. I’m not on my own.’

With that in mind he began to make his way up to his new room to deposit his luggage.

The elevator was already working and connected to Karen for the time being. Tony had agreed that it would be easier to keep THE WIRES a secret if Peter were to set up the entries before FRIDAY was installed.

Additionally, Tony had more time to code the update he had planned for her; it would have been an unnecessary hustle to upload FRIDAY only to get her shut down for the update a week or so later.

"KAREN? Up to the first floor please" Peter asked; ever politely.

'of course, Peter' his AI replied.

"Where did Mr. Stark say the furniture was delivered to again?" the young hero inquired, just as the elevator came to a stop and he headed over to what would soon be his room;

Designed by himself for himself.

'Mostly in the Garage and the adjoining lap.' Karen’s melodic voice answered.' The furniture for your room and the kitchen on the ground floor are closest to the lifts entrance. For easy access. Oven, fridge and other kitchen machinery on both floors is already installed.'

"I knew I forgot something." he mumbled under his breath; then, louder: "Thanks’ Karen. What would I do without you?"

‘Starve; as it seems' Came Karen’s answer - cocky and with an almost human level of amusement.

‘Or you would have long since bleed out in some ally; refusing to call Mr Stark because „it’s just a little stab wound".'

They continued to banter back and forth like that, while Peter began furnishing his room.

His super-strength combined with his intuition for, and knowledge of physics made it fairly easy for him to manoeuvre all the stuff in and out of the, fortunately, large elevator... or maybe less fortunate and more designed that way.

‘By myself!!!’, he couldn’t help but think, as a spark of pride and excitement surged through him, while thinking about it.

He finished to set up his room and unpack rather quickly.

The carpets and wallpaper had luckily already been put up, which made the whole ordeal at least ten times easier.

Afterwards, at the insistence of Karen, he went on to get the kitchen ready for use while a Pizza was already in the oven.

Everything worked out as planned. There was no furniture missing, nothing broke and he got all the things done that he planned for the day.

It went fairly similar the day after.

And the day after that.

And the day after that and so on for about three weeks.

Patrolling seemed to go smoother lately; he got injured less, most likely because he actually went to sleep regularly; for once in his teenage years; and Peter felt the days fly by in a fulfilling blur.

But as relaxing and comfortable as these past weeks had been, Peter couldn’t help but wish for something interesting to happen. Especially as he swung through the city one night, elated from the adrenalin coursing through his veins with every twipp of his webs, every fall he caught in the last second.

He let his mind wander - through the compound, which looked more and more like a home with every shelf he installed, every painting he hung up – to Daredevil, who he hadn’t seen again even though he went near Hell’s kitchen more and more often, -to his friends, Ned and MJ, who had come over to help him for a few days, Shuri, sadly, hadn’t been allowed to come over, but at least they facetimed almost every day.

Just as his thoughts meandered to the special guestroom Mr. Stark had requested for some mysterious person who might move to the compound, according to Tony, in the not so near future; the boys attention got caught by a strange, greenish-gold light on one of the higher roofs.

It seemed so unnaturally... natural.

Too natural to belong in the middle of a city.

Nothing like the artificial neon lights and light up adds.

But it didn’t trigger his Spidey-sense, which was curious.

The spider themed hero landed on a roof not far away to inspect that strange source of light.

Now that he got a proper look at it, he realised that it was humanoid figure surrounded by something like an .. aura? in gold and a deep green. The person had about shoulder-long, black hair and wore a long, dark, leather looking coat with green accents.

They looked somewhat familiar but Peter wasn’t quite able to place them; that is, until they turned their head around, ever so slightly.

“Karen..? activate ’don’t tell mom Protocol’ please”

chapter 2

[alistonjdrake]

Adapting Historical Fashion for the Fantasy Eye

I’m back. Why? Because we’ve seen a resurgence of people talking about corsets and whether they were the death traps some would like you to believe (they weren’t and we’re not here to discuss that but I beg you to do some research), people not knowing that there is a vibrant and active historical fashion community who either engage in history bounding (dressing up in period accurate clothing) or add elements of it to their daily lives, and just as always people not knowing the difference between stays and corsets. 

But, June, you say. You’re a fantasy writer. What does historically accurate clothing have to do with anything? Historical accuracy is for losers. And to that I say, you are correct. But if you’re using something that has a heavy historical context (like clothing, technology, etc) you might as well know a thing or two about the subject before looking a fool. If only because readers like me notice the small things and cry OR because the aesthetics are cool but knowing where they come from and how they can be changed to fit your world is even cooler. 

Fashion defines a society. Fashion defines a culture. What garments are important? What garments are the same among the upper and lower class? Do their roles as garments change depending on class? (ex: stays were often wore “out” for working class women while upper class women would see them strictly as undergarments) How do fashion trends define the eras? It’s not hard to notice that throughout history nearly every decade as a definite silhouette. It’s not hard to tell the difference from a regency era gown from an early Victorian gown to a late Victorian one. They all look vastly different. 

I’m not asking anyone to know the ins and out of historical clothing but it doesn’t hurt to read up on it or look at some existing examples. To know the anatomy and construction of what would make a complete outfit (or to read about what people might wear for a given situation if no artwork or garment exists). It all feeds into how your characters hold themselves, how they might be able to move. It’s not so much that people were just “Shaped Differently” back then. Their clothes were constructed with a certain poise or look in mind. And y’know. I just want to stop seeing modern underwear in fantasy underneath historical clothing while we all pretend the undergarments don’t contribute greatly to the finished overall look. 

But again, you’re right. We’re not writing historical fiction here. We don’t need to have every mention of clothing in our fantasy novels be completely in line with the point in time we might be basing our setting off of. This is about adaptation. 

Adapting Historical Fashion for Non-Historical Purposes. 

I’ve said it a bunch by now I’m sure. My books take place in a world based off the late 18th century. Why? I dig it. As such, when I first started putting together the aesthetics of the world that period was also my go to. I know I already did a whole thing on culture and society but really this is more or less just about how fashion can amplify those two things. I mentioned setting and what fabrics might be commonly used or found. And what might make sense to use (lighter, breathy fabrics for hot climates vs thicker fabrics and furs for cold ones) vs ones considered high class and enviable or with trends that might be coming from other countries that have stronger influence. 

When I take real life fashion and shove it into my world (give or take a few changes) I usually ask myself a few things first. 

1. Who controls the fashion trends?

The younger generation, the monarchs, a group of travelers who just look super stellar? Who is the rest of the community following when it comes to the newest look and what elements of it are they trying to steal/adapt? What element is the thing that really catches on? 

Anyone who knows me knows I’m a huge fan of waistcoats and breeches and stockings, tailed coats with flaps (although anyone who reads my book will also know I axed powdered wigs. Because I could.) But to just copy wouldn’t say much about the opulent and flamboyant Escana. To increase the idea of the vanity and the peacock attitude of the younger, partying courtiers I have young men who usually dye their stockings to match their waistcoats (because colored socks > white or black socks) and forgo the coat to show off sleeve details as well as lose some of that “seriousness”. It says a lot about them while still remaining in a circle that gives readers a clue as to where my inspiration came from. 

2. Who disagrees with the fashion trends?

And how does their disagreement influence the perception of certain garments or the people who wear them? Just read one thing about how evil corsets are and how crinolines are literally cages for women and how many of us go around thinking Victorian ladies fainted every time they opened a window and understand these perceptions can be long-lasting and completely change an outsider’s opinion on how people lived. Granted for world-building or story purposes hopefully these will be happening currently instead of being a huge misunderstanding of history.

Over and over again I say things like cultures not being monoliths but neither are generations and there’s nothing that makes a world feel more lived in and full than people who don’t all wear a uniform based vaguely on what the author thinks a medieval gown looked like. It’s just also sometimes nice to get tidbits like a character wearing a scandalous or pricey color just to look good even if they can’t afford it. Is it usually super vital to the plot and story? No. If used sparingly can it be fun background information to how the society your character lives in works or views things? Sure. 

3. Colors and fabrics and spares, oh my

Okay. That’s not a question. But it’s an umbrella for me to put my thoughts under. Because I live in the 21st century I don’t often think about things like dyes or luxury fabrics but this would be front of mind for most of my characters. Not everyone can afford to wear certain colors, or certain colors come with a context that means they shouldn’t be worn for certain situations or for certain people and the same could be said for fabric. We live with these fashion rules now (although I’m not so strict in my memory of them because my current life doesn’t depend on it, but I do write about princes and courts so it’s more important for a courtier to not wear a happy color to a funeral than for me. Or things like no white after labor day).

Hand-me-downs. I grew up wearing them. They were common in history and should be more common in fantasy. If a family was not wealthy they could only afford so much fabric or to follow fashion trends for their eldest. It wouldn’t be unheard of for a family to still be wearing clothes considered “outdated” and it’s not like we all just throw our clothes out when they get old. While a trend might have moved onto a new silhouette or something, someone with less means might still be wearing decades-old clothing that have held up well (these clothes were built to last. Fast fashion could never) or could have chosen not to jump on the trend at all. In my book, the opulent courtiers and royals of Graza Palace dress completely different than some traditionalists who wear garments more native to Escan before it was an empire that are completely different from the suits and 18th century gowns I’ve borrowed. They’re timeless and probably see a lot more turnover from one family member to the next than a gown that could be out of style in a year. 

4. And lastly, making sure I’m not turning it into a costume

This becomes important when taking garments that have a cultural context in the real world and using something similar to it or basing another garment off of it. I would start with this for the purposes of using culture clues to ease someone into what actual culture the fantasy one is taking inspiration from to give them a taste of what certain things might look like without going into full detail but it’s key to then know what makes these garments...these garments so you’re not bastardizing them. Why do people wear them? (especially if a form is still worn in modern times) What are they usually made out of? What are the occasions they are worn for? A respectful nod to something will just add to your world building, a costume rendition with 0 understanding of how certain garments will work will just make it seem like all your characters are in cosplay. 

So in conclusion: No, I’m not advocating you be historically accurate for your already not historically accurate but it pays to look into why your basing clothing off a certain period and what goes into making that piece of clothing...that piece of clothing. Why it looks that way, how someone wearing it would look/hold themselves, and what it means in the context of your setting as well as things you might change and take extra liberties with for the purpose of storytelling. Clothing can add character and it could be just as useful a tool in world building (in my biased opinion) as language given that fashion can have such a huge impact on people but it can also fall flat. 

[weirdpine]

line by line analysis of Half-Elves in Dungeons and Dragons 5e by a mixed person

Preemptive: Do not respond to this about how you, individually, don’t use this at your table or how you homebrew this. I’m interested in discussing the text; not how you transform it.

Flint squinted into the setting sun. He thought he saw the figure of a man striding up the path. [...]

This intro describes a half-elf from an outsider’s perspective, and mostly focuses on what he looks like.

...an elvish grace [...] yet the man’s body had the thickness and tight muscles of a human.

It’s reiterated over and over how this stranger has qualities that are exclusively inherent to either elves or humans. No muscular elves, no graceful humans.

Walking in two worlds but truly belonging to neither,

I hate how mixed people don’t get to belong in this narrative. Yeah, it feels alienating to have things that set you apart from both your parents’ cultures, but society has methods of isolating every individual. I believe that I belong in both places my parents are from in some manner, no matter whether or not it feels like those places want me.

half-elves combine what some say are the best qualities of their elf and human parents: human curiosity, inventiveness, and ambition tempered by the refined senses, love of nature, and artistic tastes of the elves.

Literally none of this is inherent. While it is accurate in terms of “real people talk about mixed kids like this,” but I would love not to be reminded of the guy who hated immigrants that I met at a youth hostel once, who pretty much said this stuff to me about my heritage.

Some half-elves live among humans, set apart by their emotional and physical differences, watching friends and loved ones age while time barely touches them. Others live with the elves, growing restless as they reach adulthood in the timeless elven realms, while their peers continue to live as children.

Finally at the magical differences here that is actually more interesting to me, since, yeah, this stuff would be alienating to have to deal with. And yeah, if you grow up in an area that’s overwhelmingly one thing, it’s easy to feel like you’re the Only One of your kind and feel alone.

Many half-elves, unable to fit into either society, choose lives of solitary wandering or join with other misfits and outcasts in the adventuring life.

Ah, but we’re back at the “half-elves” don’t get to belong. See, society is constructed in a way where almost everyone can talk about how they’ve felt alienated. I was the only [ethnicity] among the 1800 other kids at school, repressed gay, and a massive nerd and I still made friends and generally felt like I belonged. Yeah, I wasn’t popular. No, I wasn’t bullied.

Of Two Worlds To humans, half-elves look like elves, and to elves, they look human.

This is kind of my experience in the way where “you’re defined by the ways you differ from the society around you.” But also frustrating in the ways they are emphasizing,”You will always be seen as an outsider.” And not accounting for the vast range in experiences, such as the circumstances where I’m seen as not.

In height, they’re on par with both parents, though they’re neither as slender as elves nor as broad as humans. They range from under 5 feet to about 6 feet tall, and from 100 to 180 pounds, with men only slightly taller and heavier than women. Half-elf men do have facial hair, and sometimes grow beards to mask their elven ancestry. Half-elven coloration and features lie somewhere between their human and elf parents, and thus show a variety even more pronounced than that found among either race. They tend to have the eyes of their elven parents.

This stuff is pretty boring, other than establishing that phenotypes mix. But it is something that they’re writing in the possibility of having fun elven eyes. (Looks like this is for the Darkvision trait, which is, fine.)

Diplomats or Wanderers Half-elves have no lands of their own

Now this is some bullshit. The concept that, if you’re not 100% one race, you don’t get to belong, that you lose claim to the land if you’re mixed. This is such a garbage concept that seems to imply that if your ancestors are from different places you don’t have a motherland. Which, somehow again, is a sentiment expressed to me by a different guy at a different youth hostel. But this time, this text isn’t framed as a “some say” but as a truth of the world.

Like, in reality, being mixed means there’s so many places I could call home, so many places where my family lives. My cousin straight up has dual citizenship.

though they are welcome in human cities and somewhat less welcome in elven forests.

Ah, xenophobic elves. I don’t like the way that elves are positioned as foreigners and then acting like humans are so much more accepting and progressive. Like, even the terminology of “half-elf” places humans as the default other half. But also this reads a little like, “Oh, don’t leave this human city, you don’t know how good you have it here, nowhere else will accept you like we do.”

In large cities in regions where elves and humans interact often, half-elves are sometimes numerous enough to form small communities of their own. They enjoy the company of other half-elves, the only people who truly understand what it is to live between these two worlds.

This one’s weird. Like yeah, people with similar experiences tend to group, but, the idea of only grouping with other people who are mixed in the exact same way? Why? They would absolutely have a lot in common with half-orcs, and with human communities in elven cities/elf communities in human cities, and like, with every other person who’s been asked, “Where are you from? Oh. Where are your parents from?” 

So, absolutely no mention of communities of immigrants in cities.

In most parts of the world, though, half-elves are uncommon enough that one might live for years without meeting another.

To Be Fair, I’ve not actually met someone who is mixed in precisely the way I am, before. It is harder for me, though, because neither parent is native to the country they’re from.

Some half-elves prefer to avoid company altogether, wandering the wilds as trappers, foresters, hunters, or adventurers and visiting civilization only rarely.

Setting up that half-elf ranger build. But this also is really sad.

Others, in contrast, throw themselves into the thick of society, putting their charisma and social skills to great use in diplomatic roles or as swindlers.

“Social roles” Okay, yeah. “swindlers.” That’s a turn. Setting up for the Rogue build but like, sucks that we’re right back to “half-elves can’t be trusted.”

Half-Elf Names Half-elves use either human or elven naming conventions. As if to emphasize that they don’t really fit in to either society, half-elves raised among humans are often given elven names, and those raised among elves often take human names.

This one baffles me. I know so many people, myself included, who have multiple names that they use in different contexts. Why wouldn’t their parents give them a name that would protect them, or, having a practice where half-elves have both a human and an elven name? Like, sure, this is a scenario that exists but it’s hard to believe that it’s the most common one.

Excellent Ambassadors Many half-elves learn at an early age to get along with everyone, defusing hostility and finding common ground.

Oof. This sounds awful. Trying to appease everyone around you sounds like a protective mechanism.

As a race, they have elven grace without elven aloofness and human energy without human boorishness.

Back to the stereotypes. Why are half-elves treated as a separate race here?

They often make excellent ambassadors and go-betweens (except between elves and humans, since each side suspects the half-elf of favoring the other).

Love to immediately undercut the “excellent ambassadors” bit with “but treated as untrustworthy by their people.”

Half-Elf Traits

Frankly, there’s not much in this section that I can say that I haven’t already said in this post, so I’m not gonna go through this part.

In Summary:

keeps emphasizing how half-elves don’t belong anywhere

half-elves are often seen as untrustworthy (+ “swindlers”)

got reminded of two different racist people i’ve met

[alyasalias]

Dabi Theory

I have a theory that Dabi is secretly on the Hero-side of things...or at least not 100% on the Villain's side. Spoilers for the Training Camp Arc as well as for the latest fights in the manga. You have been warned.

I've been re-reading HeroAca lately and I'm currently at the Summer Training Camp arc. I just got to the point where Eraserhead is fighting the Dabi clone and I noticed something odd: what Dabi said. Dabi tipped them off to the fact that the students were the target. Sure, what he said could have been a jab at the heroes...but I wonder if perhaps it was a veiled message like what Hawks did with Endeavor and the book.

Magne was quick to figure out the fact that someone spilled the beans on "Bakugo Katsuki" being their target and she/they seemed really panicked that it had been found out. Through the process of elimination, she/they deduced that Izuku must have fought Muscular, 'cuz there were only a couple of people on their team that she/they believed could have been the leak. It seemed like secrecy was a big deal for this band of villains.

Dabi's a smart guy as well. We've seen very little of him, and know even less about him...but we know he's calculating. We know he's not impulsive or whatever. He was the one in charge of recruiting Hawks when recruitment was usually Twice's job. He was the one that had the most contact with Hawks and also the one that trusted Hawks the least out of all of the Villains. He even lied to Hawks about the Nomu attack. "It was supposed to be tomorrow--in a different location"--Hawks said to him. Through his actions, we can kind of infer that Dabi is a cunning and calculating sort of person. I don't think he's done anything on impulse. He doesn't seem like some for-laughs villain that'll spill the beans for fun.

So...yeah, what the Dabi-clone said to Eraserhead got me thinking: what if Dabi has been on their side all along...or at least he's not 100% on All For One's side. He joined the League claiming to be inspired by Stain or whatnot...so the whole "punish the 'Heroes' that aren't selfless enough" sort of thing. We know that Twice doesn't control what the clones think, know, or feel. The clones know everything that the originals know at the point they were cloned, so the Dabi-clone wasn't saying all of that because it was Twice's words...they were Dabi-prime's words/thoughts/actions.

Dabi's a smart guy--he always has been. He had know way of knowing what Eraserhead and the teachers/adults knew. It was a chaotic situation--the teachers were panicking, trying to corral all of the students to the building. The students were scattered over a large area. There was mass confusion--that would have been clear. It would have been safe to assume the teachers didn't know what the Villains were after or even if they had a goal in mind for this particular attack. For USJ they had a clear objective: they wanted to kill All Might but All Might wasn't there when they got there--they admitted that much. Hosu and the Hero-Killer incident(s) were a bit more of an unknown for the side of the Heroes, and the way everyone talked about it made it seem like they believed Stain had joined the League and that's why the Nomu were there...so as far as the Villains know, the Heroes believed that Hosu was a coordinated attack with the Hero-Killer simply to attack things. Then we come to the training camp..."the students are the target" wouldn't be their first thought, I'm pretty sure. If I were one of the teachers I'd be thinking, "crap--do they think All Might's at this camp?" or even "damn...they found us somehow. Is there a traitor in our midst that leaked the information or is it just a coincidence that the Villains are here now and they decided to attack for no reason like in Hosu?" Officially, to the characters within the HeroAca universe at least, the students haven't been the target of Villain attacks. They were involved, but they weren't the primary targets at any point up to the present.

Dabi's a smart guy, so I don't think he'd leak information even in jest. He seems like the type to keep his mouth shut rather than go for a way to rile up his opponent. He had nothing to gain from tipping off Eraserhead to the fact that the students were their target. Sure, it'd cause a panic and it'd take a while for the teachers to narrow down which student they were after...and maybe Dabi hoped to capitalize on the confusion that sort of panic would spread...or on the despair aspect if they failed to realize it was Katsuki until the last moment. However...I just don't think Dabi's that sort of person.

I think Dabi intentionally leaked the information to Eraserhead and disguised it as a jest. He intentionally waited until the clone was dying before he said it too and we've already established that the clones think/feel/know/act independently from Twice. Twice doesn't control the clones.

So...yeah...why leak the information, right? I have two theories on that. It's possible that Dabi's a secret agent--like Hawks--sent by some Hero commission or agency or whatever to infiltrate the League. Maybe a group realized that the whole "inspired by Stain and he was working with the League" rationale was a good cover and they sent Dabi in. Personally, I don't see too much support for this theory as of yet. We don't have anything on Dabi's backstory. Even his reveal to Hawks on what his real name was or whatever was blacked out in the manga. It's only fan theories that suggest he's Todoroki Touya. My second theory, and the one I think is more probable at this point with the evidence we have: Dabi is very much like Spinner--he's not on the Hero's side or the Villain's side, he's a man who was inspired by Stain and wants to do something about the plague of undeserving 'Heroes'. We see that sort of story play out in other media too--in the Doctor Strange movie they portrayed pre-mystic-arts-Strange as a pompous doctor that chose his cases based on the fame it would awarrd him rather than on saving lives. Heroes in it for the fame or for the money exist in HeroAca too and Stain hated them--All Might and Deku are currently the only people he believes worthy of the title of 'Hero'. Spinner held fast to those ideals, stopping Magne from killing Izuku during the training camp. It proved to me that Spinner, at the very least, isn't fully aligned with the League. He's following what he believes are Stain's ideals. He'll go along with their plans and whatever so long as All Might and Izuku aren't harmed (from what we've seen so far). I wonder if Dabi's the same way...but slightly more cunning. We know Spinner was a NEET and whatever before joining the League and at times he seems kind of lost or like he's being indoctrinated more and more into the League. If I assume Dabi's "smarter" than Spinner and that he did his homework on Stain...I believe that it's possible Dabi tipped off Eraserhead to the students being the target because of his beliefs. Stain wouldn't want to harm the children. The children aren't Heroes. Sure, they're Heroes-in-training and some of them have motivations that Stain would detest...but Stain did try to spare Tenya when he first saw him and realized that he was just a student. Maybe Dabi decided that an attack on students at a training camp wasn't in-line with Stain's ideals. They brought the fight to the students without provocation. Nobody said "well, this will be a hit to Hero society and All Might if we were to kill/kidnap a few students at camp". Their objective was to capture Bakugo Katsuki because they believed him to have the ideals of a Villain due to what they saw of him at the Sport's Festival. Stain wasn't interested in making Villains. In his own way, Stain was trying to create a better society. He was trying to get Heroes to wake up to the heart of the matter--to be altruistic and all. He wanted to create a world where Heroes did things for the sake of the people--not for fame, Hero-points, or money.

The more I think about this, the more I'm thinking that Dabi's tip-off that the students were the target was deliberate. He may not have been on the side of the Heroes, but he didn't want to see kids get kidnapped or killed. He didn't engage any of the students directly either. Their task was to capture Katsuki and go away and he recalled the Nomu just in time--preventing it from killing some students (potentially unknowingly). Also, there's that scene where he's clearly staring at the bushes that Aoyama was hiding behind. It's likely that he saw Aoyama and chose not to fight/kill a cowering student.

This theory also fits in with the latest fight we saw with Dabi too. Dabi vs. Hawks and Tsukuyomi. Hawks is number 2 on the Hero charts--the chart that Stain would have disapproved of. Hawks is a super popular Hero--he's famous--that's something else Stain would hate. Saving people's lives shouldn't become a spectacle or something that makes someone famous or whatever in their eyes. So...I think that Dabi wasn't just wary of Hawks joining the League...I think that if Dabi's an avid Stain-follower he never trusted Hawks in the first place because he disliked what Hawks represented in Hero society--#2 Hero of a broken system and basically the face of what hero-fame looks like. Stain wouldn't approve of Hawks being some super popular symbol. He can save people and make it look effortless with his feathers and whatever...Stain would probably be angry that Hawks gets paid to do it and that he gets all the fame and whatever...like "if it's gonna be that effortless for you and whatnot, then do it and move on...you should be doing it and you shouldn't be basking in the praise and glory--just save the people without stopping to be thanked and praised." It also fits with Tsukuyomi being able to run away with Hawks too. Lights are Dark Shadow's weakness and Dabi's is a fire Quirk--it would have been a really bad match up. Maybe they only got away because Dabi realized a couple of things: 1) Tsukuyomi was a student and 2) Tsukuyomi was acting like a true Hero in that moment. He wasn't just following orders or saving Hawks for the fame and glory. He saw his mentor up there and he moved without thinking to protect someone he saw needed help. He stood up to face Dabi, putting himself between the one that needed saving (Hawks) and the threat (Dabi) despite the fact that they were a poor match up. Stain would probably approve of Tsukuyomi's actions here--staring death in the face for no reason other than "I saw someone that needed help and I came to give them help".

[fanworldbuildingfun]

Misinterpreting Earth stories for fun and profit: Thedas

Earth stories and songs don’t often translate well when you are a lone Erathling is new, barely familiar world

Some may work: just don’t get too specific. And drop the modern slang. References to electronics? Forget it. Also mind where you tell or sing – you don’t want to be accused of trying to instigate a revolt… Or to actually instigate a revolt by singing about anacondas too close to the local Chantry

Of course, that is assuming you are not out to deliberately troll the entirety of the world you are in. For this one moment, I shall attempt to imagine just how such an attempt shall go. Presenting:

Song of Durin, misinterpreted

The world was young, the mountains green,

No stain yet on the Moon was seen,

No words were laid on stream or stone

When Durin woke and walked alone.

He named the nameless hills and dells;

He drank from yet untasted wells;

He stooped and looked in Mirrormere,

And saw a crown of stars appear,

As gems upon a silver thread,

Above the shadows of his head.

With the release of Descent DLV, the fandom got deep into the Titan theories. Granted, we work with extremely limited amount of information. But in context of Thedas? That just gives us a lot of leeway.

In above verse, we see presume to see the titan wake up for the first time, and, curious as it is about what goes on in the world above, it creates the first dwarf. Not too farfetched yet – we do have proof that Titans react to external stimuli, and that reaction can get extremely unpleasant for those who live above the Titans. The first dwarf explores his Underground realm, untouched by any (tiny) living being. With exploration comes need for names and sustenance: and so Durin gives names to what he sees. Perhaps the words were even shaped into stone. The Mirrormere becomes the sea we have seen churn within the underground in Descend; and the starts, reflection of lyrium veins in its depths

The world was fair, the mountains tall,

In Elder Days before the fall

Of mighty kings in Nargothrond

And Gondolin, who now beyond

The Western Seas have passed away:

The world was fair in Durin's Day.

Assuming we are talking about early days of dwarves, they have not yet encountered the elvhen. They are too busy building their own society – and the reach of aboveground elvhen has not yet reached the dwarven realms. Yet the stone already echoes the stories of their existence: it begins with the creation of underground elvhen city of Nargothrond, and Gongolin. The Stone gossips, surely And to top it off, let’s place Durin’s Kingdom somewhere near Frostbanks, possibly under the modern Lake Calenhad. Let the home of Durin be Belenas, let Korth be the name of Durin remembered into the present day Thedas. Or maybe not – let those who hear the song figure this out. People are creative

That would place Nargothrond and Gondolin beyond the waking sea, and considering that’s where popular opinion places Arlathan… It would fit

A king he was on carven throne

In many-pillared halls of stone

With golden roof and silver floor,

And runes of power upon the door.

The light of sun and star and moon

In shining lamps of crystal hewn

Undimmed by cloud or shade of night

There shone for ever fair and bright.

This is where we can see the first thaigs being carved. The Deep Roads begin being built. A great civilization growing down below. Lyrium is being used for more than sustenance – enchantment is developed and widely used in fortification and utility.

There hammer on the anvil smote,

There chisel clove, and graver wrote;

There forged was blade, and bound was hilt;

The delver mined, the mason built.

There beryl, pearl, and opal pale,

And metal wrought like fishes' mail,

Buckler and corslet, axe and sword,

And shining spears were laid in hoard.

Formation of what will in the future develop into cast systems; For now, it's based mostly over the dwarf's predisposition and ability to perform a certain task. Perhaps something akin to family trades or guilds.  

Unwearied then were Durin's folk;

Beneath the mountains music woke:

The harpers harped, the minstrels sang,

And at the gates the trumpets rang.

The Golden Age of Dwarrow is coming to an end. They grow complacent, but plentiful; the Titan Song that unites them out rings louder than ever - and in doing so, attracts unwanted attention. The Evanuris take notice. The warning of their coming came too late

The world is grey, the mountains old,

The forge's fire is ashen-cold;

No harp is wrung, no hammer falls:

The darkness dwells in Durin's halls;

The shadow lies upon his tomb

In Moria, in Khazad-dûm.

But still the sunken stars appear

In dark and windless Mirrormere;

There lies his crown in water deep,

Till Durin wakes again from sleep.

This is the result of the complacency. This is the moment where the heart of the titan is taken to become one of the foci. The mountains, with the heart removed, starts sinking and Mirrormere lake slowly overtakes the space that was once occupied by it. Lake Calenhad is formed

Still, deep below it... The remains of the thaig remain, submerged in water.

[goodtimingz]

dreaming you would come true

intro. pt1. pt2. pt3. pt4. pt5.

AN: check the intro out^, as usual, if jae ever hunts for fic again i’ll cry. btw stream zombie!!!!!! sorry if it’s boring ;-; i have mundane relationship goals and i want to ask my future bf about psychology so if u study psych hmu lol

tags: studentlife, jae day6, fluff, college!au

: the one where you meet jae in your second year of college and it’s basically love at first sight. just little excerpts of what i think a relationship w jae would be like c: 

1.4k words

What can I do? I just like being with you.

Studying Psychology was great, when you were stressed you just pulled out your notes and cried into them. Which is exactly what you felt like doing at that moment, 10pm in the corner of the library. The library was reasonably packed, as it always was during finals. Just a bunch of students trying to cram a semesters worth of knowledge, some successful and others crying in the corner. You weren’t sure which group you fit into, but you were definitely questioning your existence in that moment.

The lanky boy from last week had been meeting you every night since you first met, an unspoken commitment but a consistent one nevertheless. Infact, he should be arriving about… now.

His ruffled hair and tired eyes met yours almost immediately. It had been only a few days but you were smiling at him like he already owned your heart, the smile he sent back making it harder to breathe.

“Yo y/n, what’s with the raccoon eyes, next time I see you are you gonna be in the trash?” No hello, just Jae as usual. You breathed out a sarcastic laugh wondering how he managed to look so casual? His grey hoodie had to be made from a very special material… boyfriend material.

“Ha. Ha, I actually might be though if I drop out and become homeless. Would you still hang out with me if I was a raccoon?” Jae rests his chin in his hands pretending to think it over.

“Well, raccoon’s are cute. I think having a raccoon friend would be pretty fun.” 

“Of course your logic is spot on, good to know I have a home if I really do drop out.”

,

Jae laughs, he wants to reach out and touch your face, brush his hands through your hair and jab you in your sides until you can’t stop laughing. He would do a lot to keep that smile on your face. 

The past few days you two had formed a routine without words, it kind of just happened. Bonding over your love for food, deep conversations and jokes, you two hit it off harder than Brian hitting Wonpil’s cup over in Music class.  Even though Jae had felt like a total simp at first, going to the library with the sole purpose of meeting you the day after the phone drop, he was pleasantly surprised when you swiped half of your stuff to one side of the desk and waved him over.

Every time you smiled at him, he reminded himself to breathe. He had to be alive if he wanted to take you out, so breathing was important even when you made it so damn hard. He wasn’t super affectionate romantically but boy did he want to be now. You plagued his thoughts, at night he craved the feeling of you in his arms, in the day he wondered what it would be like to walk around with your hand in his. At lunch his thoughts drew back to you. One week had been the best torture ever.

“Jae, what are your thoughts on labels?” You perked up from his side, interrupting his thoughts of you as he pretended to scroll through his Ebook.

“Labels? Like boyfriend and girlfriend?” He asked, turning to face you with a teasing grin.

,

“Hmm... similar concept!” You couldn’t help but smile in his direction. I mean… if you would be my boyfriend? You had to physically shake the thought out as Jae watched you with amusement in his eyes. “I mean, for my exam we have to discuss labelling in society, how would you label me?”

“I would label you a panda. You’re cute, you’re clumsy and you’re tired.”

“Jae, I am not clumsy, you can’t say that when you literally tripped up the stairs yesterday!” You pointed, laughing at the image. Had Jae called you cute just then? You tried to overlook it. Cute was something people called pets and small things, maybe he just seen you as small.

“How can you forget that you literally dropped your phone 8 times since we’ve met, and we only hang at night time in one place. You have butter fingers!” He had a point but you shot him a childish glare. So your phone had gone through some hard times, but Jae had literally dropped his when you first met so who was the real butter fingers?

“Don’t you think it’s time for a boba run?” Changing the topic was the only way you’d escape, or it’d be a roast about who was clumsier which would end in you both laughing until everyone around you hated your souls.

“Definitely what I needed to hear.”

And just like that you both packed up your stuff and exited the warm building. With Jae things were exciting even when life felt mundane. You’d catch yourself smiling through your day just thinking about him, and the frequency of that happening just kept increasing.

The night was cold, but you refused to shiver. If you did Jae would probably tease you and say, “I ain’t giving you my hood, equal rights!”. You would then shove him and then he’d shove you. Gosh, he was so childish sometimes and yet you loved it. He knew how to act, he carried himself as this chill guy who never let life get to him, but you knew it did. Sometimes you would hear a groan, a sigh, and you knew life just wasn’t going how he wanted it to. Whenever you asked him questions he would think them over thoroughly, even if his initial response was a joke.

An idle thought crossed your mind. “Jae, what time does the boba shop close?”  You both glanced  as he pulled out his phone, his eyes widening as it read 10:45pm. 

“11pm.” 15minutes till closing and a 20 minute walk? You watched as he tucked his phone away, but you did not expect him to grab your wrist and run. This meant you were literally being dragged along with him, and by the time you arrived at the store (receiving weird glances from the owner), you two were laughing your asses off out of sheer adrenaline. It felt good to run in the cold night together and despite you being out of breath, you managed to squeeze in a few chicken running jokes on the way.

“You’re so short it’s like watching a baby pig run.” Jae teased, poking your cheek and heading to the counter to order.

“Sorry we aren’t all lanky giraffes, Jae.”

“Don’t hate the player hate the game Y/n!” Jae held his hands up in defence with the cutest grin. “What game! Life?” You shoved him gently with a smile, leaning around him to pay for your drink. His hand quickly pushed yours away, tapping his card to pay.

“Hey! We’re both broke what are you doing?” You had no idea what he was thinking. Last time you heard he was complaining about having only $3.20 in his account.

Jae simply smiled in an sickly sweet way, shrugging his shoulders and walking to a seat.

,

He was broke. But he felt rich in soul. Okay, that was extremely cheesy. It’s just the way you laughed while running beside him, it made him feel so alive.

 He cared about you now, no take backs!

You planted a tiny seed in his heart and he was watering it everyday, it grew so fast and he knew it would be hard to get out. You sat across from him gazing around at the decorations of the store mindlessly and he couldn’t stop thinking about how he didn’t want to lose the image of you.

Life had been plain, last week he couldn’t even remember. It all felt the same. Study, play, sleep, eat and repeat. Everyday he was one step closer to stepping out of college, and he really tried hard to enjoy the mundane times of his life. But after a whole year of playing catch up with college work and performing, he thoroughly enjoyed the idea of finally having someone to share it with.

“Jae, you should let me dye your hair.” You looked genuinely excited and slightly evil, hands reaching over to touch Jae’s hair. “It’s kind of dead. That definitely means pink next.” Jae feigned annoyance but he won’t admit he leaned into your touch a liiiiittle.

“What in the world is going through your head to think I would trust you with such a special job. My hair is my image!” He could feel the tips of his ears giving away his chill image.

“Do we need to talk Jae? You know you’re more than your hair. You have a great personality too. I can book you in tomorrow at 9pm.” Your teasing made him reach over and scruff up your hair sending you into giggles.

“We get it Y/N, you’re gonna be a crazy psychologist though.” He laughed, hoping he could be there to see the day you graduate. 

BRO.

Jae needed a good slap. He’d fallen too hard in such a short time, maybe he was just stressed.

(It definitely wasn’t that.)

[tanadrin]

So all the terrible retcons and geographic inconsistency (Kul Tiras wtf) and the time travel and the bullshit with the night elves is bad (Illidan is the worst character ever, don't @ me), but the most frustrating part of WoW lore to me is its failure to explore certain complex emotional themes in a really satisfying way--like, the people who expound and expand on Warcraft lore are canny enough to notice that these emotional themes *exist*, but not clever enough to actually work with them or build them out, and so the whole thing collapses into rule-of-cool melodrama. There's nothing wrong with rule-of-cool melodrama; I love rule-of-cool melodrama. But Warcraft lore is *begging* to combine that rule of cool melodrama with some really rich and interesting emotions and character interpretations, it sets them up and is all ready to knock them down, and just... doesn't.

Take the conversation between Saurfang and Garrosh in the Borean Tundra, in WotLK, the one that ends with Saurfang saying "I don't eat pork." I think that's emblamatic of the big theme that unites the Horde, that makes it make sense as a faction. The Alliance, after all, started as a defensive association in the face of the Orc invasion; its renaissance after the creation of Durotar and the invasion of the Scourge is only natural. But what is the theme of the Horde? Is it honor? Strength? Sheer brutality? Well, none of those things. Orcs claim to value honor and strength; the Forsaken are certainly various shades of very dark gray at best, the Tauren and the Orcs *do* seem like natural allies of a sort, but all the races of the Horde have something even deeper in common: trauma. The Orcs are still (cf. Saurfang) dealing with the emotional turmoil of having been both forced and partially complicit in the atrocities of the First and Second War--after which their homeworld was destroyed, they were forced into concentration camps, and they had to rebuild their culture and their identity from the ground up. They have to find a new place in a new world, and there's this tension between the younger generation that doesn't have firsthand experience with any of this and just remembers that the Horde used to be a name that struck fear into the hearts of their enemies (Garrosh Hellscream, for instance) and the older generation that remembers how awful that time really was, and doesn't want to see the old ways revived because it might just destroy their people for good this time. Then there's the Darkspear Trolls and the Tauren, who were both driven out of their old homelands, and fell in with the Horde as natural allies with similar cultural points of reference; and the Blood Elves, whose suffering in the Third War was severe enough to radically alter their culture, coupled with being betrayed by their ruler who decided that joining the Burning Legion and abandoning them sounded like a better time than rebuilding Quel'Thalas.

And then there's the Forsaken. Oh, man, the Forsaken. The Forsaken and Sylvanas are some of my favorite characters in all of WoW, because sure, you could look at it and say, "okay, creepy undead who like green things that go plop and mad science = evil, bad guys." But you'd really be missing what makes the Forsaken interesting. They're not the Scourge--they explicitly broke away from the Scourge when Arthas left Lordaeron. They're not invaders, either. They're in fact mostly the human population of the destroyed kingdom of Lordaeron, the inheritors of that land, but who are treated by the Alliance as interlopers with no right to the very towns and villages they have *always* called home. They're treated as monsters by every living person who ever knew them, and they can't help but regard themselves that way, too. "What are we, if not slaves to this torment?" is one of the casual interaction lines you get when you click on Sylvanas: they do not *like* being dead. But Sylvanas is ruthless and cruel and after Arthas is killed, wins the Val'kyr over to her side so she can keep making more Forsaken. Why?

Simple. Let us imagine: you are an ordinary person, of no unusually great or poor moral virtue. You are hurt, badly. Grieviously. In a way you will never recover from. And everyone you love, all of your friends and your family, the whole society you come from, now sees you as an unredeemable monster that should, no, must be destroyed. How long must you be called a monster before you decide--fuck it, I *will* be the monster they call me. Because, at least that way, no one can ever hurt me again.

The overpowering motivation for the Forsaken is not power or bloodlust; it's not money, or forbidden knowledge. It's making sure no one in the whole world is ever able to make slaves of them again. To make sure they will not be hurt. And the biggest misstep the Alliance ever made was not reaching out to Sylvanas with overtures of friendship as soon as she established her kingdom--because like it or not, she has the support of the people of Lordaeron, and thus a damn good claim to her position. Maybe, if they had, they could have influenced the Forsaken, shown them that they had friends and didn't need to resort to amoral methods to defend themselves. But as it stands, they only have allies of convenience in the Horde (at least until Sylvanas becomes Warchief), and they know that no one in Azeroth is quite happy to see them continue to exist and be free. Everything else about the Forsaken--their use of dark magic, their development of a new, even more destructive plague, their recruiting former servants of the Lich King and raising new Forsaken from among the dead of the ongoing wars--makes perfect sense from the standpoint of a people that knows they are under threat from all sides, and will do anything to survive.

(The Draenei could have been something like this, too, FWIW. Like, a broken people, a people of exiles who are most comfortable in the shadows and with moral ambiguity. But then Metzen had to go make them Righteous Space Goats. I mean, come on. They're just boring now. They were never going to be Horde-aligned--there's too much history with the Orcs  there!--but having a group like that on the side of the Alliance, to help drive home the point that there is not a clear good guys/bad guys distinction here, would have been really nice.)

That actually makes them a pretty damn good fit for the Horde. Moreover, it creates an interesting point of tension with the Alliance, which is clearly *not* always the good guys. I mean, there's the matter of orc concentration camps, but also consider the refusal of leaders like Daelin Proudmoore to contemplate peace (and the subsequent, somewhat... forced turn of Jaina Proudmoore from dove to hawk) and the steadfast refusal of many on that side to deal fairly with the races of the Horde just because they appear monstrous. And arrogance, hoo boy. Dalaran, Gilneas, the Night Elves--huge swathes of the Alliance are characterized by being arrogant and not a little cruel.

And what of Sylvanas becoming Warchief? I don't know where the BFA lore is going (I'm not playing retail anyway), but right now it looks like they're setting up another Garrosh type situation, and preparing for Thrall to retake the Warchief-ship, but if they do that it would be a real pity. First of all, because, well, we saw that already in Mists of Pandaria! What, are we going to besiege Orgrimmar again? Second of all--Sylvanas and Garrosh are *very* different people. Garrosh was, well, Proud; hence the Sha of Pride. He wanted glory and power, he wanted war for war's sake, so he could live up to his father's reputation as a warrior. He was willing to sacrifice everything else that made the Horde the Horde for that. Sylvanas, though, has one overriding motivation: Keep Her People Safe. Punish the people who hurt her is a strong secondary motivation--but it's part of that first one, because if she can make her enemies' victories painful enough, she might discourage them from trying to press their advantage. And her people *trust* her on this: "Dark Lady watch over you," they say when you take your leave. She is not an autocrat--she is their beloved protector. So, she makes the ruins of Lordaeron uninhabitable. She annihilates Teldrassil. Does she spend very many Orc and Troll and Tauren lives doing so? Very well. They aren't *her* people.

I don't think this has to be a tragic flaw leading to her downfall. It sure doesn't make her a good leader for the rest of the Horde, though (even though, on an emotional and aesthetic level, I am 3000% here for Warchief Sylvanas, even more than Warchief Vol'jin, who also had a lot of the creepy threatening vibe that made him a much more interesting choice than either Thrall or Garrosh). But you could make it one, and you could do it very well--they've already mentioned in the tie-ins that Calia Menethil, Arthas's sister, teeeechnically has a claim to the throne of Lordaeron. And, even more interesting, is no longer quite among the living, even if the mechanism of that unlife is happy fun magic instead of evil death magic. Moreover, she has some sympathy for the Forsaken. You could have a squaring-off between them, and you could have a Queen Calia--maybe. If you could bridge that gap and make her understand that the Forsaken feel fundamentally apart from the other human kingdoms now, if she could come to understand just how much evil the Alliance has done to them, if she could really grok what it's like to be them. Then you could have a leader who understands their trauma--but also wants to heal it, rather than lash out at anyone and everyone that might conceivably be a threat. That, too, would be very interesting.

(There’s a reason that, while I loved the Alliance as a kid, I only play Horde toons as an adult. It’s not just that the Horde feel more interesting and vivid to me. It’s that the hypocrisy and the arrogance of the Alliance stands out in much greater relief now. The Horde aren’t good guys--nobody’s the good guys, here--but they don’t lie about their motivations, and they don’t act with cruelty and then play the victim in response. Jaina was an important exception, but they badly mishandled her character in the runup to MoP, which I find very hard to forgive.)

But knowing Blizz, even if they go vaguely that route, they won't stick the emotional landing. There is a very good, if very OTT and melodramatic (in the best possible way), series of fantasy novels or games lurking *behind*, or perhaps parallel, to Warcraft's lore. It is a shame that Blizzard has done so much to obscure it with obnoxious cruft, retcons and timeline compression, repetitive use of the same handful of characters, stupid-ass time-travel plots that create ten thousand plot holes and inconsistencies, shitty tie-in novels (cf. everything by Richard Knaak), and a total failure to make half the world's characters (i.e., everyone in the Alliance) at all interesting. I have a daydream of doing my own version of WoW lore and posting it somewhere like on AO3, but one of the things that makes WoW lore simultaneously so interesting and disappointing to me is that it's embedded in the explorable, realized space of video game worlds. Hard to reproduce that in print, I think. Might be worth it to try.