#murder ghoul lore

[iamthecomet]

hi

sorry if this is kinda uncomfortable my brain just produced the idea. tw sewerslide, si, sh

i have read a lot oc/reader insert fics written in a self-indulgent comforting manner (not judging btw good for anyone writing for comfort/vent reasons)

then i thought what if murder ghouls

does the ghouls like the siblings but are inherently feral cuz they are infernal or do they just dont care about them

what if they smell fresh blood from one of the siblings dorms, do you think they'd check? do you think they'd try to supress the urge to help the harming sibling or go unhinghed because of the metallic scent. how could they help even if they wanted to

what if the metallic scent just permeated from this sibling everywhere they went, every single day and the ghouls got frustrated

what if a sibling heard about the rumors of siblings disappearing after spending time with ghouls. so they start to trying hanging out with the ghouls in the most mundane ways. they didnt know the other siblings got killed behing secluded rooms or abandoned hallways so the sibling just tried to join their movie night, or helped them baking. ghouls getting confused, haven't this sibling heard about the rumors? do they have a deathwish? yes.

Ooooohohohoho. There are so so many thoughts to be had about this. Talk about sh, and suicidal ideation under the cut.

So, in general, I think all of this is largely ghoul dependent. Especially when it comes to whether or not they actually like siblings at all, you know? I think they range from actively disliking them (Dew, Cirrus), to being very apathetic about them (Mountain, Rain), to liking them in a "I'm still going to eat you" sort of way (Aether, Swiss). So their reaction to a sibling self-harming would vary by Ghoul. I don't tend to headcanon that blood makes them feral. I think they possess incredible control over their innate bloodlust. But they all notice. You know? They can smell it all over that sibling. But it's probably not all that uncommon for siblings to smell like blood every once in a while. It's the length of time it lasts that would raise red flags. A copper tang floating behind them like perfume would certainly make some noses twitch. Aether would try to help. Even murder ghoul Aether has a soft side--driven to eliminate pain (even when he's actively eating someone, he doesn't want it to hurt too much. He's much more into psychological torture than physical). He's gentle when he wants to be, kind. Paired with that and the quintessence, I think he could do a good job toward helping both with physical pain, and emotional. Also, I'm losing my mind about the idea of a sibling hanging out with ghouls trying to get themselves killed. I think some of them would catch onto the plot pretty quickly (Cumulus, Rain). But in general, I love the idea of them trying to figure out what the game is here. Why is this sibling so...normal around them. Acting like they want to be part of the pack. Why do they reek of blood all the time? What the fuck is happening? And I think, they'd be reluctant to kill this one. Something is clearly wrong with it, you know. In my weird murder ghoul world, all those negative emotion hormones make blood taste like shit. So they're not particularly interested in eating this sad little human they've accidentally adopted.

[divine-misfortune]

Letting Rain indulge in his murder ghoul tendencies is necessary but comes with a thin line to walk because if the others are not careful he could turn that violence back around - its allowing him indulgence up to a point before hunger turns to gluttony.

Swiss and Aether both carry a lot of scars from a water ghoul lost in instinct, but Rain wears quite a few of his own in kind. He never lets himself be taken easily, fighting the two bigger ghouls till they take him to the ground and bleed him so full of quintessence his body goes entirely limp. They have to quite literally sedate him for their own safety. Sometimes it's bad enough Aether has to sift through the jumbled up wires in his brain to draw his humanity back to the surface.

Of course Rain feels guilty when he comes back to himself. He always does. He knows it's a problem but can never seem to stop himself. Every time he tells himself he won't indulge again, it seems to get harder and harder to draw himself back, but instincts are undeniable. They only remain dormant for so long.

[papastatas]

“Be for fucking real right now are you serious?”This was a lot funnier in my head but now I’m just sad !! Bfnwhfhshdh!!!!

[honourablejester]

I’m realising as I browse around that I really love lore when it comes to ttrpgs, games and game worlds. And by that I don’t mean I like to obsessively learn lists of dates and wars, and the names of leaders of factions, I mean …

I like learning weird, juicy details about the worlds of games. I like finding little nuggets that say things about the set-up and culture and assumptions of the world. I like finding fragments of ideas to hang whole story and character concepts off.

I love that in D&D 5e’s Spelljammer, the Astral Sea is full of the corpses of dead gods that you can fully sail up to in your ship. Just. Floating out there. Waiting for you to rock up to them.

I love that in Sunless Sea, the king of the drowned is the way he is because he fell in love with an eldritch sea urchin from space, and successfully married it. His niece is an angry sentient floating mountain whose mother is a goddess-mountain and whose father is a face-stealing humanoid abomination. This is fine and normal.

I love that in Starfinder, there are mysterious bubble cities in the surface of the sun that the church of the sun goddess discovered and cheerfully occupied despite having no idea who the hell built them or for what purpose.

I love that in Dishonored, the entire industrial revolution that has built the empire we’re in the midst of saving or destroying was built on the properties of whale oil harvested from eldritch tentacled whales that live half in the oceans and half in an eldritch void personified in the form of a weird-ass black-eyed shit-stirrer of a deity who was formed from a murdered and sacrificed child. And this is largely a background detail.

I love in the Elder Scrolls that the dwarves up and fucking vanished, as a race, at some point in history and absolutely nobody has any clue what happened to them or where they went, but their technology is so insane that ideas like ‘they time-travelled’ or ‘they erased themselves from existence’ are absolutely on the table.

I love that in Numenera, so many incredibly advanced civilisations have risen and fallen on this world that it’s absolutely littered with bonkers science fiction artefacts that have caused the current medieval-esque society built over top of them to develop in bizarre ways, and also you can find a mysterious artefact that absolutely baffles and delights your character, but that you the player will fully recognise as a slightly-more-advanced thermos flask.

I love that in Fallout, an irradiated post-nuclear apolocalypic hellscape, there’s a cult that worships the god of radiation as they have come to understand it, and they are mysteriously immune to radiation with absolutely no explanation whatsoever. They’re not ghouls, the usual result of fatally irradiated humans with some resistance, they’re perfectly normal humans who can somehow just tank rads all damn day. It could be a mutation, but Lovecraftian gods apparently do also fully exist in this setting, so it’s also possible that maybe they were on to something with this Atom thing.

I love that in Heart The City Beneath, there’s a mass transit train system that they tried to hook up to the eldritch beating god-thing buried under the city so that they could metaphysically chain the stations together more easily, which went horrifically and metaphysically wrong in entirely predictable fashion, and now there’s a whole order of train-knights who have to keep people safe from the extradimensional weirdness magnet the network has become.

That, and all the fantastic little details you can stumble across. There’s a biotech augmentation in Starfinder called an angler’s light that gives you a little angler-fish bioluminescent antenna on your forehead, and it was developed by asteroid miners who needed light but also both hands free for work. In Dishonored there’s a festival that everyone pretends is outside of time so nothing you do during it can be held against you. There’s a god of snuffed candles mentioned in a single line from Heart The City Beneath who has pacifist cannibal priests, and that is literally all the information you get on him.

While things like the history and geography and timeline of a world do also fascinate me, I’m not really here to memorise stuff like that. I’m here to find weird little nuggets of information and worldbuilding and delight in them. Give me funerary customs and weird myths and oddly specific circumstances and baffling little objects and absolutely bonkers cosmological implications. Give me the corpses of dead gods, and aesthetic movements with highly specific backstories, and bureaucratic fuck-ups of titanic scale, and mysterious things that seem to break all other rules of your setting with absolutely no explanation because people in-universe have no fucking clue how they work either. Why are the Children of Atom immune to radiation without ghoulifying? Not a clue, but Confessor Cromwell has been cheerfully standing in that irradiated pond that kills the player character with about 10 minutes of exposure for the last year and he’s still absolutely fine.

I just. I really love lore. I like my settings to have some meat in them, some juicy details to dig into, some inexplicable elements to have fun trying to explain. Particularly that last bit. I feel like a lot of people when building worlds feel like the rules have to be absolute and everything has to have an explanation, but nah. Putting some weird shit in makes everything immediately feel bigger, more real, because we don’t have even half an idea of how our world truly works, there’s always something we just don’t fully understand yet, and you can put that in a fictional world too. Some mysteries, some contradictions, some randomness, some weirdness. There’s a line, obviously, this depends on execution, but a little bit of mystery really does help.

Lore is awesome. And weird lore is even more so. Heh.

[irradiatedpiratebooty]

fallout tv show ghoul discussion

the only thing i dislike about the show is their retcon of ghoul lore- everything else is a banger i had a great time but the lore changing the ghouls baffles me, as it retcons and changes literally every other game in the franchise. its funny, im not mad about it, im ok with the show having different lore than the games. i just hope they make it clear that its an AU kind of thing haha mainly because if someone gets introduced to the series from the show, and they go off to play the games, theyre going to be confused. so, what are the changes? well-

in fo3, theres an entire side mission involving the underworld, where the ghouls there really hammer in that the rumors like; that they regen and so can only be killed by headshots, that they eat people, that they can go feral at any point, and that they're zombies.

all of this is just propaganda spread by the brotherhood and bigots to justify murder and genocide.

none of it is true. they bleed and die like anyone else. but in the show, these things are not rumors, and they are completely true. cooper constantly has to take this drug from a vial that prevents him from going feral. theres no explanation on where this medicine came from, who makes it, whats its made out of, etc.

so, while in the game, turning feral is unknown, seemingly at random (theories range from genetics, lack of socialization, insanity, radiation exposure, and time) and ghouls dont just- randomly turn feral. but in the show its enevitable and therefore the hate towards them is justified. the only things that are special about them is that they; age much, much slower than non-ghouls, that they can heal faster using radiation. (to my knowlege, they still need to be patched up. they do not just regen. they can still get shot to death, or maimed. they just heal a little faster.) and they need more potent drugs, as it doesnt affect them as strongly (mentioned in fo3 by some ghouls in a subway) the changes made in the show heavily changes the stories of a few characters and places in the entire series.

for fo3: changes the entire underworld. these ghouls cannot leave this place. if they do, they're shot and killed immediately by the brotherhood nearby. they discuss how they're discriminated against. in the fo3 dlc, point lookout, the ghoul there presumably hasnt left the manor he lives in for well over 200 years. he wouldnt have access to these vials. tenpenny tower. their ban on ghouls would be justified then. the entire narrative involving the water purifier and putting the serum in that will kill off all mutants. with the changes the show makes, the decision whether or not you do this has no weight and eradicating mutants becomes justified. for fallout new vegas: dean domino. he hasn't left the Sierra Madre in over 200 years. he wouldnt have access to these vials either and would have probably gone feral a long time ago. for fallout 4: diamond city. diamond city's ban on ghouls wouldnt be an issue anymore. since in the show, ghouls cant die aside from headshots, the ghouls being thrown out into the wastes to the elements wouldn't really be as heavy of an issue.

(i cannot comment for fallout 1 and 2, as i am not as knowledgable about the ghouls in those two games. feel free to add on in reblogs if you know more about them than i do)

i love the show, i think its awesome. im basically consuming it now with the idea that its canon -within its own story and lore- and is separate from the game itself. cooper is a badass and the changes work for the show itself, not so much the entire series. which is fine in my eyes.

[thecreaturecodex]

Demon Lord, Orcus

Image © TSR Inc, by Todd Lockwood.

[Sponsored by @tar-baphon. Orcus is one of the iconic D&D villains, and through the SRD and plausible deniability (he's a Roman god!), he's in Pathfinder as well. In Pathfinder, he is deliberately not a power player, and my flavor text takes that already metatextual decision and runs hog wild with it.

A note on the art: I feel like Orcus is emblematic of when D&D was seen as dangerous, and this piece absolutely feels like it should be the cover of a Black Sabbath album. It's no surprise that I was fascinated with the anti-D&D strain of the Satanic Panic when I was a kid. Also, although there has been some course correction in the 5e era, there's a trend with Orcus in a lot of art, including his official Pathfinder depiction, of making Orcus buff. Let Orcus be fat!]

Demon Lord, Orcus CR 28 CE Outsider (extraplanar) This humanoid is a corpulent giant with skin mottled like a decaying corpse. He has great black bat-wings growing from his shoulders, hooves for feet, and the head of a goat. He clutches a short staff, tipped with an oversized human skull.

Orcus, Prince of Undeath CE male demon lord of death, necromancy and wrath Domains  Chaos, Death, Evil, Magic Subdomains Demon, Divine, Murder, Undead Favored Weapon heavy mace Unholy Symbol a goat’s head with curving horns Worshipers liches, necromancers, sapient undead Minions boneclaws, deathdrinkers, demons, other undead For information on his Obedience and boons for his worshipers, see Book of the Damned

Orcus is one of the most powerful demon lords in the Universe. But not on Golarion. On that world, his is one of a number of undead cults, and not nearly the most popular. Orcus has a clear hierarchy to what undead he considers truly worthy, with those created from contagion seen as inferior to accident, and those inferior to those who intentionally seek out undeath. His most dedicated worshippers on Golarion are liches, some of whom have learned the secret of crafting a phylactery by teasing apart the Prince of Undeath’s wisdom from his threats. The followers of many other undead-focused religions, particularly vampires and ghouls, see Orcus as pretentious and unworthy of dedication, although few are foolish enough to directly oppose him.

Orcus himself knows that his star has fallen. In his extensive research into planar lore, Orcus has learned that he was once the most feared being in another universe, who went on a killing spree that left several gods dead and an entire race of lawful outsiders duped into being his pawns. That Orcus cannot accomplish this level of power in this version of reality vexes and frustrates him, and he takes his rage out on his minions as much as he does his foes.

Orcus is a genius tactician, although his temper sometimes gets the better of him. He enjoys combat as a distraction from his cosmic-level sulk, and as a way of expressing his power over others. He typically opens combat with a time stop to summon allies and cast defensive spells on himself, and then unleashes a potent death effect as soon as the duration expires. Against creatures that can resist his negative energy and poison, he uses dispelling magic. On more than one occasion, Orcus has beaten a cocky archmage to a pulp by centering an antimagic field on himself and wading into combat.

Orcus in the Great Game Orcus’ response to the brewing theomachy between Mormo and Lamashtu is cautious optimism. He desires more power in the Abyss, and Lamashtu could open the door for him to seize it. Kabriri and Zura are at the top of Orcus’ hit list, but views a direct assault on them as currently too risky to be worth the effort. If one of them were to make a move against Lamashtu and be punished for it, or if they were struck down in the scramble for power following Lamashtu’s (theoretical) demotion or demise, Orcus would happily swoop in to finish them off.  And if Mormo is capable of legitimately slaying a god, Orcus will be very keen to study her techniques.

Wand of Orcus (major artifact) The Wand of Orcus is the Prince of Undeath’s scepter of office, and it never leaves his side. Lesser versions have appeared in the Material Plane, often created by Orcus or one of his high-level clerics. The real Wand of Orcus is a Huge +5 anarchic, unholy heavy mace. In the hands of a demon, it grants a +4 profane bonus to Armor Class. The first time the Wand of Orcus strikes a living creature in a round, that creature is subject to a slay living spell (DC 30). Weight 24 lbs.; CL 25th

Demon Lord, Orcus        CR 28 XP 4,915,200 CE Huge outsider (chaos, demon, evil, extraplanar) Init +11; Senses arcane sight, darkvision 120 ft., detect good, detect law, Perception +48, true seeing Aura frightful presence (120 ft., DC 36), undead obedience (120 ft., Will DC 36), unholy (DC 28)

Defense AC 47, touch 23, flat-footed 40(-2 size, +7 Dex, +4 deflection, +4 profane, +24 natural) hp 709(33d10+528); regeneration 30 (deific or mythic) Fort +31, Ref +29, Will +34 DR 20/cold iron, epic and good; Immune ability damage, ability drain, charm, compulsion, death effects, electricity, energy drain, petrification and poison; Resist acid 30, cold 30, fire 30; SR 39 Defensive Abilities Abyssal resurrection, freedom of movement, negative energy affinity

Offense Speed 40 ft., fly 60 ft. (average) Melee Wand of Orcus +51/+46/+41/+36 (3d6+20 plus 2d6 chaos and 2d6 evil/19-20), claw +44 (1d8+7), sting (2d4+7 plus poison), gore (2d6+7) or 2 claws +46 (1d8+15), sting +46 (2d4+15 plus poison), gore +46 (2d6+15) Space 15 ft.; Reach 15 ft. Special Attacks epic spellcasting, powerful charge (gore, 4d6+22) Spell-like Abilities CL 28th, concentration +38 (+42 casting defensively) Constant—arcane sight, detect good, detect law, freedom of movement, true seeing, unholy aura (DC 28, self only) At will—animate dead*, astral projection, blasphemy* (DC 27), circle of death* (DC 28), create undead, enervation*, greater dispel magic, greater teleport, plane shift* (DC 25), telekinesis* (DC 25), unholy blight* (DC 24) 3/day—control undead (DC 29), create greater undead, energy drain (DC 31), finger of death* (DC 29), quickened greater dispel magic, quickened harm*, summon demons or undead, symbol of death (DC 30) 1/day—power word kill*, time stop*, true resurrection, wail of the banshee (DC 31) * Orcus can use the mythic version of this spell-like ability in his domain Spells Prepared CL 20th, concentration +32 (+36 casting defensively) 9th—energy drain (DC 33), etherealness, mage’s disjunction* (D, DC 31), overwhelming presence (DC 31), soul bind (DC 33), wail of the banshee (DC 33) 8th —cloak of chaos (DC 30), fire storm* (DC 30), greater spell immunity, horrid wilting (DC 32), orb of the void* (DC 32), protection from spells (D), unholy aura (DC 30) 7th —control weather, destruction (DC 31), greater scrying (DC 29, x2), repulsion, spell turning (D), waves of exhaustion 6th —antilife shell, antimagic field (D), banshee blast (DC 30), blade barrier* (DC 28), geas/quest, harm* (DC 30), mass bull’s strength 5th —dispel good (DC 27), flame strike (DC 27), greater command (DC 27), mass ghostbane dirge (DC 27), righteous might, suffocation (D, DC 29), vampiric shadow shield 4th —contagion (DC 28), death ward (D), divine power (x2), rest eternal, sending (x2)*, tongues 3rd —bestow curse (x2, DC 27), prayer*, protection from energy, rage (D, DC 25), ray of exhaustion, vampiric touch*, water breathing 2nd —bear’s endurance (x2), death knell (D, DC 26), desecrate, owl’s wisdom (x2), resist energy, spiritual weapon* 1st —bane (DC 25), divine favor (x2), entropic shield, identify (D), ray of enfeeblement* (DC 25), sanctuary (DC 23), shield of faith* 0th—bleed (DC 24), detect magic, light, read magic *—Orcus may use the mythic version of this spell in his Abyssal domain

Statistics Str 40, Dex 25, Con 42, Int 30, Wis 35, Cha 31 Base Atk +33; CMB +50; CMD 71 Feats Combat Casting, Combat Reflexes, Craft Magic Arms and Armor, Craft Rod, Craft Wondrous Item, Flyby Attack, Greater Spell Focus (necromancy), Greater Spell Penetration, Improved Critical (heavy mace), Improved Initiative, Hover, Multiattack, Mythic Spell Lore (B), Power Attack, Quicken SLA (greater dispel magic, harm), Spell Focus (necromancy), Spell Penetration Skills Bluff +46, Craft (alchemy, weaponsmithing) +46, Fly +36, Intimidate +43, Knowledge (arcana, planes, religion) +46, Knowledge (dungeoneering, history) +43, Perception +48, Sense Motive +48, Spellcraft +46, Stealth +35, Survival +45, Use Magic Device +46 Languages Abyssal, Common, Draconic, Infernal, Necril, telepathy 300 ft. SQ demon lord traits, master of death

Ecology Environment any land or underground (Abyss) Organization unique Treasure triple standard (Wand of Orcus, other treasure)

Special Abilities Aura of Undead Obedience (Su) Any undead creature within 120 feet that attempts to make a hostile action against Orcus must succeed a DC 36 Will save or be unable to take that action, wasting it. The save DC is Charisma based. Epic Spellcasting (Ex) Orcus gains Mythic Spell Lore as a bonus feat. Once per day, he can use one of his spell-like abilities or spells as if it was a mythic spell without spending a use of mythic power. This allows him to use a mythic spell or spell-like ability outside of his Abyssal domain, but he cannot augment that spell or spell-like ability by spending additional uses of mythic power. Master of Death (Ex) Orcus applies his Spell Focus and Greater Spell Focus (necromancy) feats to his spell-like abilities. Death effects created by Orcus, including the Wand of Orcus in his hands, ignore immunity to death effects except for those granted by creature type, or from deific or mythic sources. Poison (Ex) Sting—injury; save Fort DC 42; duration 1/round for 4 rounds; damage 1d6 Str and 1d6 Con; cure 2 consecutive saves. A creature reduced to 0 Str by Orcus’ poison cannot breathe and begins to suffocate. The save DC is Constitution based. Spells Orcus can cast spells as a 20th level cleric, and can prepare necromancy spells from the sorcerer/wizard list as if they were cleric spells. He gets access to domain slots, and can fill them with spells from any of his domains or subdomains. He can also spontaneously cast inflict spells as an evil cleric can. Summon Demons and Undead (Sp) When Orcus summons demons, he can also summon undead creatures.

[hypnoneghoul]

i was thinking about alpha a few days ago so heres some words that arent really like a fic but not just a ramble either. a bit angsty character study kinda thing with hc lore drop ig???

Alpha is a bad person.

If such words were said to most of the Abbey, they would be agreed with. Only one person would frown and argue.

Why?

Alpha does not know.

“I don’t even remember how it started,” he says, breathing the words into his mate’s shoulder. It is true, he does not remember. Long years had he been on Earth and for more than half of those years he had never once acted rude, unjust or…evil. Until.

“Don’t worry about it, wildfire,” Omega mutters. He wishes it was simple enough to get fixed by his words alone. “It’s just humans, you know how they are. Nothing’s as quick to judge as them.”

“I know.” He does not, in fact, know. He could never understand it, the way he had done nothing and yet was so quickly painted in all the dark colors. “But…why me?”

Omega does not answer.

But it is true now.

What Alpha is, is quiet, reserved, stoic. He does not initiate contact with strangers unless necessary. He keeps to himself and his mate, he always has. He has always been like that, but humans took his reservedness as hostility towards their kind.

It was not true...then.

All the rumors that kept spreading throughout the Abbey over the years—that Alpha is a truly evil demon, that he hurts people both mentally and physically, that he murders humans for enjoyment and eats them as dessert, that he is the embodiment of anger and just evil—got to the fire ghoul. Contrary to a popular belief, he is (or rather used to be) a soft soul, easily hurt.

It kept hurting and breaking him. Omega kept putting him back together—always, never faltering, never giving up—until all the millions of pieces of his mate were just too fragile to hold together anymore. No matter how tightly Omega held him.

One day, all the kindness for the world and people in it that Alpha still had in him vanished in a blink of an eye. All that remained intact was that little part of his heart that was his mate’s. It would always belong to him.

The rumors became reality.

He had never before hurt anyone or destroyed anything on purpose. It was the evening of sending his and Omega’s pack back to the Pit. Per their own request, but the fire ghoul was heartbroken anyway.

It was his grief, not anger, that had set the Abbey on fire.

That fire is, to this day, one of the biggest that the Ministry had seen over the centuries. And it had seen a lot.

There weren’t many casualties, barely a handful, but there’s nothing Alpha hates himself more for than that fire. He had killed innocent people. He was the monster they have always seen him as.

The news that it was Alpha’s doing spread nearly as quickly as the fire itself. Due to the magic casted upon the Abbey, the damage was brief and that’s why life in the Ministry had returned to normal surprisingly fast.

Since then the fire ghoul felt deserving of all the humans’ cruel words and they had only grown in intensity. Anyone who still had not been sure, who had doubted the rumors, considered the fire to be the confirmation.

Alpha kept breaking and breaking and falling further and further down into the well of self-hatred built by humans who, many years ago, were too quick to judge.

Now he really is all the things people always mistaken him for, their words finally having become true. He is the big, bad ghoul that everyone sees him as. Except for when he is with Omega, but the quintessence ghoul, too, feels like Alpha is slipping from his hands.

So…

Is Alpha a bad person?

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Find Your Way Back Home: Part Four

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.9k

Warnings: implicit smut (talked about but not in great detail), angst

Summary: Years down the line and you and Dean have been on again, off again. You two only get together when the tension is high, when you need to fuck one out of your systems, and when you want to go on the occasional date. After he came back from Hell, he's been more on edge, and with Sam and Lucifer going at it, he doesn't really know where to go from here.

Author’s Note: This is the fourth part of six parts of the commission for @winchester-sinchester. Dean is thirty, the reader is twenty-two, and Sam is twenty-six.

x

Four years of hunting. Four years of sleeping in uncomfortable motel beds. Four years of killing monsters. Four years of saving people. Four years of being with Dean. Four very long years of dancing with Dean and playing the “would he or won’t he” game. When you agreed to hunt with Dean and John, you didn’t think you’d be setting yourself up for failure. You got through all four years of college and graduated with a Bachelor’s in Computer Science all the while hunting and killing monsters to protect those who can’t do it themselves. Sam came back into Dean’s life right before he could graduate since Dean dragged him back into the life. Sam’s girlfriend was murdered by the same demon as the one who killed their mom, so he became all in after that.

In the beginning, you were content with hunting demons, vampires, ghouls, and the smaller monsters that you read about in lore books. Now you’re hunting archangels as they try to claim their vessels--Sam and Dean Winchester.

You’re not sure what their plans are for them but you’re going to try like Hell to keep them from it. Dean might not be your boyfriend but he’s someone you care for deeply. You might even love him if you allow yourself to admit that. To chalk it up, your and Dean’s relationship is loosely friends with benefits. He reaps the benefits whenever he feels like it and you keep giving it to him because it means you get to spend time with him.

Sure, you two have done other things like go on dates and stuff, but it’s more fucking than anything else. Whenever he feels stressed about a hunt, he fucks you. Whenever Sam pisses him off, he fucks you. Whenever he’s been away and misses you, he fucks you. It’s become the new normal for you that it’s hard to see life past it.

When he’s had a hard time on a hunt, doesn’t get the kill he’s been itching for, or argues with Sam about how to go about a certain hunt, he finds himself in your bed at the end of the day. He’ll have you on all fours and pound into you from behind. It feels amazing, every time is like the first time with him, and it doesn’t matter what you think of your situation because as soon as you get him into bed, all reason and logic fly out the window.

Do you wish you were something more? Of course. Do you wish he would ask you how your day was instead of getting into your pants? Sure. It’s your fault as much as it’s his because you can say no. He never does anything without your consent but it’s hard to say no to the one person you’ve fallen in love with. Your heart bleeds for him even if his might not bleed for you.

When you weren't doing homework or hunting, you were practicing your skills as a fighter and as a marksman. Sometimes Sam and Dean are your targets or trees are, but you’re getting more confident in hand-to-hand combat. No one can be overprepared, especially in a life like the one you’re in.

Hunts haven’t been coming in as fast as before, and there is nothing on the angel radios about Michael and Lucifer, so Dean takes you on a drive. He doesn’t have a destination in mind; he’ll drive until he feels like he’s done. He ends up taking you to a drive-in spot on a cliff that overlooks the city. No one else is here since it’s the middle of the night which is a perfect time to go.

He parks and the two of you get out to enjoy the scenery. You sit atop his hood with him right next to you, and you look at the stars twinkling above you.

“I have something for us,” you grin and take out the joint you’ve been saving for a moment like this. You take out your lighter and light the end of it before taking a long puff. “Want some?”

“Nah.”

“No? Remember that year before I graduated? I got you stoned for the first time. You giggled about Scooby Doo all night.”

“Fuck it,” Dean shrugs. He takes the joint and inhales the sweet substance. You study the features on his face. He’s been stressed for a while, understandably, since he came back from Hell. Yeah, that was a rough time. “Damn, that shit’s good.”

“What’s on your mind?”

Dean takes another puff before handing the joint back to you.

“Want me to be honest? Hell. You say I was only gone for four months but it felt like four years to me. I hate how much this shit is still affecting me, and now Sammy might have to go through it? I don’t know how to protect him.”

You take another hit of the joint before moving closer to him. You sit up and wrap an arm around his shoulders.

“If anyone can beat the devil, it’s you and Sam.”

“You have a lot more faith than me.”

“It’s because I--” No, you can’t admit that right now. Damn, weed makes you wanna confess things you shouldn’t. “I’ve been with you for a while to know how strong and resourceful you are. I’ll believe in you enough for the both of us.”

Dean turns his head toward you and glances down at your lips, and you take this as an invitation. You grip his jaw lightly and press your lips to his. The spark inside him ignites as he takes control of the kiss. There is no one around for miles so you’re not worrying when he begins to take your clothes off.

His car is still warm from the recent use, but your nipples still harden when they touch the warm metal. Dean has had fantasies of bending you over the hood of his car and tonight, they’re coming true. Tonight isn’t about going hard and fast. It’s about you two being in the moment and allowing each other to comfort the other in ways you might not know you need.

He doesn’t use a condom this time since you’re on the pill (a decision you both made a year ago). Condoms are great and should be used every time, but there is something about feeling his bare skin inside you that sends you toppling over the edge every single time.

He has your whole heart even if he doesn’t know it.

Moments like that can’t last forever no matter how much you wish they could. Lucifer and Michael are ready to make their move so Sam and Dean are gearing up to take on the devil head-on. Sam thinks he can beat him since he’s chugged enough demon blood to have a fighting chance. He wants to allow Lucifer inside of his body, trap him there, and keep him prisoner. You’re not sure if that is going to work but you’re going to back Sam up no matter what he has planned.

You’re sleeping in the back seat while both brothers are sitting up front. Dean thinks if he doesn’t talk about what’s going on then it’s not going to happen. Sam knows his brother doesn't like to talk about his feelings but they have to talk about this. Sam looks into the backseat at you before looking at his brother.

“If you have something to say, say it,” Dean sighs when he feels his brother’s eyes on him.

“I need to be real with you for a second. I know you’re hoping this all works out and I trap Lucifer in my head. I’m hoping for that, too, but I need to be realistic here. If this doesn’t work--”

“It’s gonna work,” Dean cuts him off.

“If it doesn’t, don’t go looking for me. I know you, Dean. I know you’re gonna want to do everything in your power to bring me back. Don’t. That cage will be closed. You can’t go poking at it.”

“What do you want me to do, Sam? Sip Mai Tais on the beach wishing you were with me instead?”

“I want you to go looking for a normal life. Whatever normal is these days. I want you to have everything I know you’ve always wanted.”

Dean looks at you through the rearview mirror. He can’t help but picture what a normal life with you would look like. You’d live in a two-story house on a farm or somewhere with a lot of land. He doesn’t like neighbors so having a lot of land would put him at a safe distance from having to mingle with people. He can picture you in the garden you often talk about having while he does the yard work. You’d both share the household chores, but he’d do all the cooking since you can’t cook for shit. He can picture three little ones running around the house with two dogs chasing after them.

His perfect paradise.

He can also picture a demon coming and killing everything he’s ever stood for.

“Take Y/N and get the hell out of this life. I’ll be okay,” Sam whispers.

Dean doesn’t respond to him. He still has hope that this is going to work.

It doesn’t.

Sam gets the devil inside of him but Lucifer is a lot stronger than some human hopped up on demon blood. To make a long story short, Sam got thrown into the cage with Michael inside Adam. Michael was supposed to be inside Dean but went to the other brother when Dean refused.

Sam is gone and Dean can’t do a damn thing about it. The moment that you had with Dean on top of his car in the mountains is nothing like this moment now. Instead of being sensual and loving with you, it’s rough, hard, and fast. Dean is fucking pissed and emotional which makes for a hard fuck. You agreed to this before you started because you know he needs this. He needs to get his anger out instead of drowning in alcohol bottles like he’s done in the past. You’re his new favorite drug and he can’t get enough of you.

“We’ll get him back,” you say to Dean after moments of silence. The only thing that can be heard is the soft hum of the air conditioning unit in the motel room. “Dean, I promise to get your brother back.”

Dean doesn’t respond to that. He waits until you fall asleep to allow himself to think about what’s best for you and for him. He believes you when you said you’d get his brother back. He believes you’ll do anything to do that which is why he can’t stay with you. He’s fucking tired. He’s exhausted. The best thing for both of you is if he leaves and doesn’t look back.

He’s getting too attached to you and doesn’t want to see you dead because of a mistake he’s made. If he stays with you and searches for Sam, he knows he’s gonna do something that will put you in danger. If he leaves with you, he feels like he is robbing you of helping people. You love hunting. You love saving people. How can he ever take you away from the life you knew you were getting into?

The only thing he can do is leave, and he knows exactly where he is gonna go. You’ve always been a heavy sleeper so he doesn’t worry about making a bit of noise. He packs up what he can and leaves the motel room without so much as a note of where he’s going.

He leaves thinking this is going to be the last time he ever sees you.

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[svampira]

oc lore drop👆📢‼️

text under thee cut

elias (died 19 cur 21)

lives in his middle aged best friend's basement. his job is onlyfans. kills people for fun but not food. id smash

social media star murdered an embraced by his obsessive stalker > his sire was executed by diamila on the prince's orders for turning him without permission. doesn't have any memories of his human life

occasionally acts as a camarilla "enforcer" despite being a chronic masquerade breaker himself. Somehow maxed out his presence powers just weeks after his undeath

diamila (died 26 currently 45) the middle aged best friend. Also canon fledgling > spent the last 20 years playing attack dog for the camarilla and doesn't feel like she has anything to show for it

ventrue, maxed out dominate, very high firearm skills. Has never killed anyone to feed. def did it for other reasons though

Cressida (died 65. currently 65, looks like she's in her 40s because she was a ghoul) clan tremere's newest embrace, she had been picked by her sire 20 years before her death. She was already a ghoul during the events of vtmb, and has known and disliked diamila for over a decade. Ambitious but fiercely loyal to her clan, she ends up butting heads with the equally ambitious but much less trustworthy ventrue

brooklyn (died 21 currently 40) an unpredictable vampire whose allegiances change every couple weeks. kept around because of her frequent (although cryptic) visions and her coming across as relatively saner than the average malkavian. emphasis on coming across.

eden (died 24 current 43) an anarch malk who pretends hes a brujah. has the same sire as brooklyn and they were dating before they were turned. Hackerman. Doesn't experience visions of the future and barely seems to be afflicted by the clan curse. or does he > his curse is his portrait came out kind of bad here

[wrathofrats]

Adding onto me and @divine-misfortunes delta lore bc we had a conversation that led to this fic and the entire thing destroyed me so I hope it destroys everyone else too

To understand this fic please see this and this, this fic acts as somewhat of a third installment. I’m so proud of this one honestly I’m loving this little series

Pebble visits delta after Terzo dies, omega confronts him afterwards.

Wc: 2k

Rating: teen

Warnings for: hurt no comfort, light descriptions of bodily damage/harm, major character death, implied upcoming character death, complex morality (no one is in the wrong or right), its angst yall and its sad.

Pebble twirls the key in his hands before putting it in the lock. He debates the entire time. Argues with himself through every click of the pins if he should be visiting delta again. He does this everytime, mulls the situation over in his mind until the idea feels like it’s been pureed into mush. Ultimately as the door handle turns, pebble always decides he has to.

Terzo died a couple months ago. Murdered in cold blood while the ghouls were left to fend for themselves as the church scrambled. None of them handled it well, the worst of it leading to pebble barely leaving him room for a month, let alone to make the visit to see delta.

Part of him hopes there won’t be anything there when he opens the door. Hopes that delta succumbed and his suffering is over for his own sake. He was locked in this room ages ago after an attack. Pebble tries not to blame delta for it, his own mind and body are trying to kill him, honestly he doesn’t think he knew any better. But it was for everyone’s safety, they didn’t want to risk it happening again. The other selfish half of him hopes for the worst so he won’t have to hear delta talk about their beloved papa.

Terzo used to make the visit with pebble. Deltas blind and unwavering obedience made Terzo happy, if not feeling ever guilty about what happened to him. He partially blames himself, thought delta has always insisted he shouldn’t.

Their eyes never meet. Terzo can’t stand to see the deathly color of his irises. The visits only last a couple minutes simply to make delta happy even if they end up making the other two wildly uncomfortable. Pebble winces whenever delta asks if he’s allowed to be let out yet, if omega found a solution. He doesn’t notice both of them sharing a knowing look, a solemn expression on their faces.

The sight of delta gets worse as time passes. The color in his eyes eternally fading into a soulless black, parts of his skin unnaturally stretched to cover the bone that juts out, pebble sometimes wonders if it’s even painful to him anymore. If the quintessence that shreds his humanity affects his ability to feel it eat at him or if it’s taken even that away from him also.

“You came back” delta beams, standing from his desk to greet pebble.

A small lamp illuminates the room in a warm yellow hue. It’s the only light he’s given besides the overhead fluorescent bulb that had been wired into the ceiling. There’s no windows for natural sunlight, only bright blinding white like he’s on some kind of display, or the old lamp pebble brought him. Dust particles float through the dingy light, pebble wonders the last time anything has been properly cleaned up there.

“Yeah, sorry, been hectic around the abbey” pebble mumbles into deltas shoulder.

“I thought you had gone and forgotten about me”

It’s a dry attempt at humor but the guilt makes pebbles stomach churn. He knows he hasn’t been back in a while, weeks, a month or more at most.

Pebble doesn’t mean to be away for so long. The weight of being the only ghoul who acts like delta is even still alive is almost too heavy to bear for him sometimes. He doesn’t think he’s even heard Delta's name spoken in months. The rest of the ghouls think he’s dangerous, or too far gone that he’s not worth the time. The burden to make up that energy falls onto pebble, eating him alive.

It’s always long stretches of weeks where he can’t bear to see him, or times where he should probably just bring a pillow and blanket up there since he practically lives in the room.

Neither feel good

“I could never forget about you sea glass” pebble finally says, stepping away from the embrace.

“Sea glass?” Delta gives him a confused look that makes pebbles chest ache.

“Yeah, just a nickname, do you like it?”

He really shouldn’t have expected him to remember, the small shred of hope that delta even remembered that pebble hasn’t seen him in a while soon fizzled out at the reality that delta doesn’t remember most things anymore.

“Its nice” he smiles. “Has papa fallen ill? He hasn’t come to see me in a while”

The question is innocent but it puts daggers in pebbles chest. It makes him feel sick to his stomach. He could avoid the question entirely and hope by the time the topic is changed he will have already forgotten about the passing thought, but he knows that delta will always come back to this question, even if he can avoid it for the time being.

He never told delta what happened. It would absolutely break the last bit of him that’s still in there and he doesn’t know if he can lose what he has left of his friend.

“He did a little bit ago, maybe you just forgot again” pebble mumbles to avoid the situation entirely. It’s always the debate to tell him old stories as if they happened yesterday, and praying he loses himself enough that Terzo would never come up again. He’s honestly not sure he will even remember if he decided to tell him. Doesn’t think either of them deserve the pain to speak of it. It’s not worth it if it will only be temporary.

It’s late when he returns to the ghoul wings. He walks alone in the dark and carries his jacket despite the cold. A static numb feeling from seeing his friend still in his decaying state combated by the wind that feels like needles poking into his skin.

The common room is warm and still lit when he walks in, the smell of artificial cheese making him cringe from his stomach still not being settled.

Omega stands to steer pebble into the kitchen before he can make a beeline for his room. A look of tired worry lighting up a bit when he sees pebble walk in after the long night. It’s bitter sweet, they may not be on good terms but omega still cares about him.

Pebble doesn’t want to admit that he’s starving when omega sets the bowl of Mac and cheese in front of him. Clearly not left from the dinner he missed, no, omega made it afterwards knowing pebble would be back and the steam coming from it only makes a knot form in his throat.

“Why do you keep doing this to yourself?” omega asks, sitting across from him.

He doesn’t know where to begin with that answer

His instinctual reaction is to get angry, shove the bowl away and spit something along the lines of “well no one else will fucking do anything for him” but the longer he sits with the bitter words they just die, too exhausted to want to fight like he usually would in this situation.

He doesn’t want to blame his mates for not putting themselves through what he does. The horrific scenario of watching your friend be ripped apart at the seams, slowly dying in front of you isn’t something he would wish on anyone. Another part of him just desperately wants someone else to care. Pebble doesn't like to think about it too much because the internal debate gnaws at his heart and makes him resent more than he wants to.

After more than a couple seconds pebble realizes he hasn’t answered omega who is staring at him concerned, and honestly he doesn’t know if he can choke out an excuse without tears.

“Pebble.. I’m worried about you”

“I don’t need to be worried about” pebble bites back, voice pitching as he wrinkles his nose in an attempt to stave off his crying.

“You can’t keep doing this to yourself” omega reasons. He sounds soft, as if trying to soothe the ghoul on the brink of a breakdown in front of him. Hoping the words will bring him back down.

“What else am I supposed to do? Leave him like the rest of you?!” Pebble nearly wails.

Omega expected that kind of answer. Pebbles said it to him more times than he can count. Blaming him for leaving delta and not helping him even after he’s insisted there’s nothing he can do beyond what he has, or blaming him for not visiting even though it makes him sick. He can never come up with an excuse that sounds reasonable to his conscience, no matter how much the words carve into him.

He also blames himself, and maybe a sick part of him just wants to hear pebble berate him to quell the ache in his bones that he’s done something terribly wrong, to hear it from someone else so it’s not just an absent thought he can ignore.

Honestly maybe that’s why he stayed up. He loves pebble, would do anything for the younger ghoul but a part of him feels like he needs to care for pebble to make up for the way everyone abandoned delta. He wants to prove himself, wants the acknowledgement from the ghoul that hates him most that he’s not actually evil.

Omega tries to respond rationally, all things considered.

“He’s not well pebble, what if he did something to you?”

“After what happened he’s not the one i'm worried about omega.” Pebble grits. Fork abandoned on the table, eyes low to dissipate the tears.

Some sick selfish part of pebble latches onto the thought. He almost wishes delta would hurt him so he would have an excuse to stop seeing him without the guilt eating him alive. A motif in his brain of hoping for the worst of his friend partially to end deltas suffering, partially to end his own.

Omega thinks the same in his own awful corner of his mind. Just one incident to prove he’s not a monster and that no one goes up there for a reason. For delta to hurt pebble enough to scare him and have him running back to ask omega to heal him and admit he was wrong.

It’s mostly to help his own guilt, and he knows that.

The words feel like a sticky residue in his mouth as omega tries to conjure a response.

“I didn’t do it pebble. You know that.” He focuses his gaze down, as if even he doesn’t believe the words he’s saying. He didn’t do it, he’s right about that. But it’s hard to not convince himself there was something he could’ve done.

“You dont do a lot of things don’t you?”

“That’s not-“

“I’m going to go to bed. Goodnight omega”

Pebble rushes out of the room without another bite. The tears flow freely down his face with a choked sob while his emotions all flood out at once. Omega doesn’t get up. He sits in the dingy yellow light of the kitchen and watches the dust particles float through it. He wonders when the last time the kitchen has been properly cleaned.

[deusvervewrites]

Saiyan AU: So, while rewatching TFS Plays Attack of the Saiyans, I was reminded of how Kami just happens to drop the piece of lore in that game that “anybody killed by a demon is cursed to suffer for eternity as a ghoul”.

Which is… certainly something. Especially since he was using that as an example of Piccolo showing mercy to Raditz, strongly implying that this was something King Piccolo did fairly regularly.

Wait but what about King Piccolo murdering Tien and Chiaotzu? Or the actual demons from the Demon Realm that actually appear later on who are not Namekians? Or are demons not a separate species but like something that is achieved?

Or am I overthinking the worldbuilding in a story where the author once blew up the moon twice in a row because he forgot it was currently exploded?

[iamthecomet]

I've got murder ghouls on the mind and really like your posts!

Do clergymembers ever stumble upon feeding ghouls by accident? What would happen? I imagine it wouldn't end very well for them. Also, are there any ghouls that don't feed? Would a vegan ghoul be an oxymoron? Hmmmm

If clergy members have ever stumbled on feeding ghouls, no one but the ghouls they caught know about it. It has almost certainly happened, but no one can be sure. The ghouls tend to be pretty tight lipped about those sort of fuck ups on their part. No one wants to admit they were sloppy enough to get caught. I think there could be ghouls that don't murder or eat people. It's a possibility. But I don't think any of our current line-up are those ghouls. If any of them are--it would be Aurora. But I have my doubts that she can keep up her abstinence for long. But it's unlikely in general that a ghoul wouldn't be compelled to feed. They could chose not to--of course. But the compulsion and blood lust are sort of an inherent part of being a ghoul. Some of them like it more than others. Some get pleasure from it--some see it just as a way to satisfy the urge and the hunger. But honestly, I think at one point or another they all give in.

[nastylittleghouls]

Nepenthe(s)

Relationship(s): Aether/Dewdrop, Mountain/Dewdrop

Rating: Teen

Words: about 2.1k  

Summary: Lucifer is more benevolent to his children than God. Dewdrop has always been a firm believer in that. That doesn‘t make existing without his mate any easier.

Warnings: Major Character Death, grief, mentioned Drug use, religious lore, unhealthy coping mechanisms, weed-induced weirdness about pre, implied disordered eating, unintentionally funny metaphors

Notes: Special thanks to @askingforthesun for allowing me to borrow elements of their fic (also MCD, be warned, but so good. Go read! ) and general lore so I could release this little thing into the wild. Hopefully, you won’t regret letting me into your sandbox. 😉 I recommend listening to the song I used as an intro during the second half of this fic (It'll be linked there) Unbeta‘ed as usual.

AO3 link for the so-inclined

You taught me the courage of stars before you left How light carries on endlessly, even after death With shortness of breath You explained the infinite And how rare and beautiful it is to even exist I couldn't help but ask for you to say it all again I tried to write it down, but I could never find a pen I'd give anything to hear you say it one more time That the universe was made just to be seen by my eyes - Saturn- Sleeping at last (or, Dewdrop reminiscing about Aether)

Plants behaving badly: murder and mayhem is playing on the TV. The still ongoing consequence of a shared joint, Mountain lamenting the lack of variety in his collection of carnivorous plants, and a turned too serious debate about which ghoul is the most alike to any of the aforementioned plants. Mountain can‘t let shit like this go. He has to be right and he’ll present proof. 

Therefore, sometimes things that happen in the greenhouse don’t stay in the greenhouse. They occupy the common room in the ghoul wing. 

Mountain has their enormous pack blanket wrapped around them both, Dew‘s head resting partly in his armpit and halfway on a pec, his legs across Mountain‘s thighs. Mountain’s hand is absentmindedly rubbing over a weirdly raised stitch on Dew‘s knee. Courtesy of Dew taking care of rubbed-through fabric himself.  It’s actually kind of nice to feel the thread pressing into his skin. 

Dew’s only half listening to Mountain explaining why this is his favorite documentary about carnivorous plants and how it‘ll show Dew why he‘s right.  His attention is a mess on a good day. If he's not holding his guitar or praying, his memory is even worse. Now the weed does the rest to scatter his mind all over the place. 

Mountain squeezes Dew a little too hard when the sundew finally makes an appearance. It’s uncomfortable. Even so, it helps Dew to fully focus on the right now. „See? That’s you!“

Dew narrows his eyes at the screen. He still doesn’t see his point. „And I repeat, the fuck? How?“

„With your pre. It‘s like, extra thick. Little pearls all over the red tip of your dick when you get all needy. Smells and tastes delicious. It’s a ghoul mouth trap“, Mountain emphasizes with a gesture at the screen, a dopey weed-induced grin on his face, barely managing to duck his head away when Dew half-heartedly swats at him. 

„You‘re a fly then, the way you always buzz around me despite the threat of certain death, begging for a taste.“ 

A faint blush appears on Mountain‘s cheeks and his eyes drop down between Dew‘s thighs, licking his lips. Intention clear. His nostrils flare to see if he can catch that sweet scent. If Dew‘s in the mood to indulge him. 

There is- nothing.  Not a hint of arousal.   Not even Dew’s natural smokey aroma. Yet, he’s not disappointed. The fact that Dew is here with him, willingly allows himself some mundane enjoyment, already feels like so much. 

Even more so when Mountain thinks about how often Rain had gone to the cathedral to check on him throughout the last months, how Mountain had found him earlier, sleeping surprisingly peacefully in the pew after missing yet another meal. His prayer beads wrapped so tightly around his hand that the indents were still faintly shimmering on his skin now. And Mountain had had enough. He had scooped him up and carried him into the greenhouse where this whole thing had started and now; it almost feels like a usual night before their world had been tipped upside down again. Almost. 

It’s a silver lining. 

„If anything, I‘m a bee. I only go for the tasty shit and sleep with the prettiest of flowers“, he counters, so confidently with his flat chest puffing out and everything, it‘s making Dew snort. That‘s truly his earth ghoul right here.  

“I can’t tell if you’re calling me pretty or just want to fuck your plants”, Dew teases with feigned thoughtfulness, flicking his fingers against the space between Mountain‘s eyebrows. It earns him a light pinch in the thigh and a mumbled: “fuck you”.

When the earth ghoul looks up again, he expects another snarky come back but Dew sends him a look that is not quite regretful but close to it. Dew’s hand moves up to pet Mountain’s hair, using it to pull him down to peck his lips. 

„Not tonight.'' 

Those words should sound like a raincheck. What Mountain hears is an apology when there shouldn’t be one. His love for Dew is not tied to conditions like Dew sharing his body with him. Now less than ever.  He wishes he had the means to let Dew know somehow without making a big deal out of it, for the fire ghouls sake, when he feels a small red rose bloom at the bottom of his horn, coming to his aid. He nods and leans in for another peck. Turns it into a proper kiss because he can and Dew lets him.  

„Another time,“ he agrees and plucks the rose with a small wince, tucking it safely behind Dew‘s ear, “my pretty flower”. 

The gesture makes Dew frown up at Mountain, and for a split second, it seems like the next swatting is imminent. Mountain would endure that and more. What matters is that Dew knows he is loved. But doesn’t happen. Dew just settles into his side again with a huff. 

Then the narrator moves on to another plant and the moment is over. „That Butterwort is Cumulus,“ Mountain states, in a tone that indicates he expects Dew to disagree again. Instead, Dew nods, agreeably, and even adds, „Aurora too.“

As soon as the credits roll, Dew untangles himself from Mountain’s arm and the blanket and slips to his feet, brushing his lips affectionately over the earth ghoul’s hairline and the base of his horns. His smile is weary when their eyes meet again.  

„Gonna hit the hay. Night, Evergreen“.

Mountain gives him a bewildered look but eagerly meets him halfway just the same when Dew moves in for a hug. It has Mountain holding him tighter than he probably should, his face tucked into Dew’s neck. He just missed this more than he had let himself think about and it feels too soon to lose it again. 

“Night, Lilypad. Don‘t let the bed bugs bite.”

He watches Dew walk out of the common room until he‘s out of the door and almost swallowed by the shadows in the hallway, his mind still mulling Dew’s words over. No one has called him Evergreen since….

Clarity hits him like a well-aimed sobering punch in the gut. The almost overwhelming feeling of nausea follows suit. It‘s here. The moment he dreaded, they all dreaded, may happen. In hindsight, the signs were blatant.  Dew not even trying to bargain with him about leaving the cathedral, the overly sudden surge in willingness to be social for such a long period of time when Dew had been shying away from it. All that combined with the missing natural scent, the most obvious one of them all, is unmistakable. A sure sign that fire ghouls are on the verge of leaving the physical plane of existence. 

All right in front of him. The very last one left from his old pack. Eventually, he will accept it as the honor that it is. Right now, he‘s reeling. 

He gives himself a mental shove and manages to call an „I love you. Sleep well“ after Dew just before he’s out of his sight.

Then his eyes turn back to the screen. Stares at it until his vision blurs. Stricken. Chest so tight he can barely breathe. His claws pierce through the thick fabric of his self-assigned greenhouse overall he hasn’t bothered to change out of yet. It takes all of his willpower to keep himself sitting on the couch right there, to not let his selfishness win to try to stop the inevitable. It’s not his right to interfere, if he even could, as painful as it is. As it will be, for a long time.

So he just sits there, helpless in his decision. 

A weeping willow. 

Dew ghosts through the corridors of the ministry, on a whim taking the long route to pass through the Ghouls' living quarters. The urge to hear their voices before he retreats to his hideaway is stronger than usual tonight. To lock another piece of each and every one of them once more into the respective places in his heart. 

There’s a thud behind one of the closed doors, followed by Swiss’ cackling. Aeon and Aurora complain about being bullied. That exasperated yet fond sigh? Cirrus. 

Rain‘s room is quiet except for the sound of running water. It draws Dew in so he pauses, lays both palms on the wooden door, and listens for a breath, maybe two. Sends a wave of affection Rain’s way before continuing his path. 

He can still hear Sunshine’s laughter, after their caused chaos went either according to plan or wonderfully wrong, when he passes her abandoned room, as faded in his memories as it is. He gives her door a little salute, not trusting himself to linger there. Knows that Cumulus finds solace in sitting in there for a while during this hour, singing to her lost ray of light. 

Treasures, all of them. 

He takes all of them up the stone stairs into the attic with him, the soles of his shoes scruffing over the sandy surface as he recites another prayer under his breath. As if to absolve himself for his absence in the pews. The beads around his neck feel heavier with each word, making him briefly consider turning around and visiting the cathedral for a second time today but he has to admit to himself that he wouldn’t be able to get far tonight. It’s late and the call of the stars promises a little more comfort.

Rain would be thrilled at that amount of self-reflection. 

The old oil lamp he grabbed on the way flickers as he lights up an incense stick with a press of his fingerpads, setting both up on the floor in front of him. 

After, he settles comfortably into Aether‘s old armchair, right in front of the window. Hidden amongst Aether’s other belongings that he couldn’t squirrel away into his own room, the stars in the night sky welcoming him back through the glass. One brighter than the others, brighter than Sirius he likes to think, his very own guiding light. 

Watching over him. Waiting for him. 

As he recounts the constellations to himself in soothing murmurs, he traces the scar on his palm, swallowing heavily when he reaches the end before lacing his fingers together. A sad imitation of what used to be Aether’s hand engulfing his. His mind shifts to the moments he had been curled in Aether‘s lap in this very chair and played idly with his hands. Twisting his rings up and down his fingers. Tickling his palm. Relishing in their size difference, their thrumming bond, and Aether’s pleased chuffs. At times, simply lost in sharing their respective tribes’ folklore, awed at each other's way with words. At others, well…

He needs it more than ever now. That certain kind of warmth. That fullness, first and foremost in his heart. 

He yearns for it with every fiber of his infernal being. 

To be home.

Dew sinks further into the chair and a forgotten sense of calm washes over him. No longer is that sob stuck behind his sternum that burned as hot as the unshed tears in his eyes. No longer does he feel the urge to fight it when his eyes fall shut on their own accord. Slowly. Unhurried.

The strange coldness, coming from deep down inside him and radiating through his bones like an ache, starts to dissolve. Imperceptible, his charred skin lightens and his scarred gills heal from the fire damage.  A gift of appreciation by the Prince for his unwavering devotion. Not only to the seven but to his mate as well. 

Unbidden, he remembers the last time Aether prepared morning soup for him, is sure he can taste the perfection on the back of his tongue, and for once it doesn’t twist his insides into knots. 

He is too tired. So very tired and giving in feels so right like nothing has for too long. 

His star in the sky flares up fleetingly, and Dewdrop smiles softly to himself, the first real smile in what seems like an eternity, when he feels familiar, weightless hands rest lovingly on his shoulders. His head tilts instinctively towards the touch, dipping slightly into the sun-faded brocade of the chair cushion beside him. The merest hint of Aether‘s scent, and the salt of tears still lingering in the fabric, fill his nose. 

His prayers are granted at last.

Above the stars, below the flames; finally reunited. 

The affirmation of love Dew hasn‘t uttered out loud since, leaves him with a long, blissful sigh. 

„I belong to you, my starlight“

Akin to a kiss, barely there, floats a caress over Dew’s lips, making good on a promise. 

“Oh, my Firefly….I adore you”

With his mate’s awaited response, Dew’s chest falls peacefully for the last time. The last glowing ember turns gray. His soul follows Aether’s into the night.

Home. 

[thelampisaflashlight]

Some general headcanons and lore I've established about the ghouls and other things in my fics. Below the cut for length.

-Hell is multi-layered, and follows the same sort of structure as the one in Dante's Inferno, except the circles are treated more like regions, and the residents of Hell (ghouls, demons, etc...) are able to freely move between these areas, but they cannot leave unless summoned and/or striking a deal with the toll man.

This is largely to ensure the surface doesn't get overrun.

While that might seem counter intuitive to the whole apocalypse/ruling the world thing, Hell likes bureaucracy... and paperwork.

...Pity the demons living in Limbo, that's where all the contracts and other bullshit gets sent to be filed.

Rain certainly doesn't miss it, that's for sure.

-Mountain used to be human, but he may or may not have committed mass murder on some monks/the former residents of the abbey, way, waaaay back when the original building was only about two decades old and got sent to Hell.

Additionally, his original home, his cottage/cabin, is still standing on the abbey's property; It's the gardener's cottage now, and he's real proud of how well the structure has kept up.

When asked, he will neither confirm nor deny the murder allegations.

-Dew is a hybrid; Water/Fire, with a smidge of Air mixed in to maintain the balance between his primary elements, but his percentages are even lower than half and half, because he's also part human.

He didn't display any "abnormalities" while growing up, so no one knew he was anything other than human... until he kind of sort of maybe smacked his head a little too hard in the woods and woke up in Limbo.

Rated it a 4/10, gets why Rain wanted to leave.

Toll man was cool though.

-Swiss is a half-ghoul, with a similar composition to Dew, except he had a vague idea of his heritage growing up, just not the full extent of it.

Unlike Dew, however, he didn't have to die in order to activate his ghoulish side.

Significantly less traumatic.

And lastly;

-The ghouls' den is laid out so that there are two communal areas, and a "powder room" (a bathroom with a toilet and sink, but no shower/bath), while their individual rooms have a sort of dorm style set up with the addition of personal, on suite bathrooms.

Mountain and Dew's dorm is the only shared room, and this is largely because of Dew's skull smacking through the thin drywall dividing their rooms, resulting in both a concussion and a large hole in the wall.

When Aeon and Aurora came along, and the dorms got remodeled, Mountain and Dew elected to remain roommates at the cost of sacrificing one of their bathrooms, because they'd gotten used to sharing.

[brucewaynehater101]

do you have any ideas and lore for cryptids batfam im curious what your take on batfam that are not human or batman is the only human (because batman character is being human) i once found a fic where the batfam (minus bruce and steph cause she wasnt there at the time and i cant remember if Alfred also ) got turned to vampires but still lived normally (i cant remember what the fic name is)

or like if batman was faking being not human what would your take on the idea be

Hmm... I made a post a long time ago about the various creatures I felt would fit each batfam member. If you're looking for cryptid batfam members being based on certain legends or creatures, there's quite a few that would fit each one.

A particularly interesting plot point could be pre-death Jason being human when Dick and Tim are not. Jason gets revived as a wraith, ghoul, zombie, Phoenix, or whatever and his feelings of insecurity/inferiority increase both with his new status and the fact that Tim and Dick are/were Robin as crypids/creatures. Lovely angst.

I find fics where the batfam pretends to be cryptids a delight. I enjoy the chaos, the shenanigans, the engineering, and the schemes. Let them terrify people :)

I prefer fics where the Bats are various types of cryptids/creatures/monsters. While the ones where they are the same are enjoyable, it brings extra when they aren't similar. This is particularly true when the author matches the creature to the batfam member (such as Tim being fae due to his nature of lying, tricking people, and somehow being super alluring [in a friendship like way but also romantic]).

There's two fics I can think of off the top of my head. One of them, the batkids are just creatures. Bruce is human and he adopts them and cherishes them. Each batkid is vastly different (Dick is a type of doll, Jason is part gargoyle/concrete, and Tim is an ancient statue the Drake's unearthed). It was cool seeing how Bruce handled them and their different needs (how each kid "healed" and "ate" was not the same).

Another one has the batkids as more crytpid. Apparently, they are creatures that cause humans to feel so unsettled that they try to hurt or murder them. Bruce fights this instict to give the children love and care.

This fic is a neat one. Basically, the Bats died in various ways and came back to life as cryptids. It's been awhile since I read it, but def recommend

I tried finding those two other fics I mentioned, but a bit tired to go fic hunting.

If you're looking for a specific idea for cryptid batfam, let me know! Any dynamics? Want info on which creatures I think each Bat would be? Want angst?

[literary-illuminati]

Book Review 57 – Pale by Wildbow

I have been reading Pale as it released from the very beginning in 2020 until the end. As such I am clearly suffering from a severe and acute case of Stockholm Syndrome, and you shouldn’t trust a single thing I say. But to try and step back a bit – Pale is the best 4 million word serial I have ever read, and very nearly even good.

The story follows Avery, Lucy and Verona, precocious and for various reasons marginalized teenagers in a decaying Canadian ski town. They are recruited by a council of the various ghouls, ghosts and goblins who live in the shadows of the town to be its Official Witches and investigate the mysterious death of the Carmine Beast, the greater spirit who stood as judge over all contests of struggle and violence in the region (less in the hopes that find anything and more so that any nosy outsiders can be truthfully told it has already been handled). Being of a protagonist-ey bent, they rapidly exceed their new patrons’ expectations, especially the ones among them who had a hand in the murder. After that it’s basically just literally several million words of things escalating further and further out of anyone’s control.

Or, I kid, but it really is impossible to talk about Pale without forgrounding its length and medium, I think. This is a serial which ran continuously with at least one update a week for more than three years, and (to grab another story about child wizards to compare) is roughly four complete Harry Potter series’ in length. Beyond being an entirely superhuman accomplishment as far as writing productivity goes, this had unavoidable effects on the story as it was being told. It also makes it literally impossible to provide anything like a complete plot summary in a review short enough that anyone will read it. So just take my word that there’s a lot of it, and we’ll come back to the others length-related issues.

This is an urban fantasy book, and a kitchen sink one at that – it’s clearly one of the underlying principles of the setting that it should, insofar as possible, be able to fit every type of storybook monster and horror movie plot and twilight zone episode within it somewhere. Underlying and ordering it all is the axiom that (almost) nothing magical can lie. The world will only respond to your word if its actually worth something – contradicting or gainsaying yourself harms your karma and sets the universe against you, breaking a sworn oath is an open invitation to fates worse than death. The natural consequence of this is that every practitioner (wizard, basically) worth shit has been trained from birth to be an asshole genie and most of the really powerful Others (catch-all term for supernatural creatures) come by it naturally.

None of which is new – this is the second serial Wildbow has written in the setting – but they do combine to make a bunch of amateur detectives investigating a murder really, really fun. The heroines POVs also offers a great way to introduce the setting to the reader, or, at least, provides an excellent justification for in character exposition dumps – and to be clear, this is a series with lore. I consider this an absolute win, but if you don’t like elaborate asides about random monsters or marginal otherworlds that clearly exist only because the author thought they were cool, then this is not the series for you. (On the other hand, most of them are absolutely cool). The world is vast, and the story is full of asides and tangents about things that could easily sustain a novel in their own right.

The other way the exposition is provided is through occasional Extra Materials mini-chapters (quite regular during the beginning of the story, less so as it goes on), which are just excerpts of in-universe documentation – specifically things that the protagonists or occasionally another major character would have been reading. Everything from class notes to chatlogs to investigation summaries as written by one of the girls to local social media posts to a dozen other things. Surprisingly good graphic design on most of them too, which really helps sell them as in-universe artifacts and as ways to characterize the implied authors/readers. It’s very much to the serial’s detriment that these fade away as it goes on.

The series has three protagonists, and chapters alternate between each of their POVs and internal narration. It actually does an excellent job differentiating between Lucy, Avery and Verona and giving them their own distinct voices and making each compelling in their own right (not that I don’t have my favourite, but). While the book’s not perfect about it, on the whole they mostly feel like unusually bright and dedicated teenagers (and increasingly incredibly traumatized child soldiers with variably healthy coping mechanisms), rather than short and legally disabled adults.

As is fairly common with web serials, the normal chapters are intercut with interludes from the perspective of some more minor character. Across all Wildbow’s works, these are honestly where he really shines most, I think. They’re each essentially short stories introducing and providing the history and characterization of someone from their own point of view, in the process more often than not totally recontextualizing their role in the story so far, with how they advance the actual plot almost incidental half the time. If I wanted to sell someone on the setting with as little investment as possible, I would probably just link them the first interlude – the first 90% of the chapter is a really quite good standalone horror story about a totally normal kinda shitty kid getting drawn into and being consumed by an occult living ritual (with its own creepy song! And cannibalism!)

Wildbow is actually an incredibly gifted character writer - both as a web serial author (but on the whole that’s not really any great accomplishment) and just, generally. Despite having an absolutely comically sprawling cast (like, dozens, minimum. If you told me hundreds I’d believe you), he manages to give the vast, vast majority of ones that matter their own distinct aesthetics, voices, and even their own little character arcs and plotlines. Even as much as I complain about bloat and pacing, it never stops being a joy to just spend time in any of the three protagonists’ heads, and I was deeply invested in them achieving their dreams in a way I rarely if ever am for fictional characters.

Now, the complaining. Wildbow is, as I said, one of the best character writers I know working today. The same cannot be said for his skill writing action scenes – which is incredibly unfortunate, because there are so, so fucking many of them. Some serve a real narrative purpose or showcase some bit of characterization, but most could honestly be cut by 90% and you wouldn’t lose anything except wordcount – even the ones which should be there tend to drag on past their natural end because of the book’s love of making things as desperate and hardwon as possible. Which I wouldn’t necessarily mind but like, there are individual action set-pieces that are longer than some published novels. At a certain point exhaustion sets in. If I had to guess, I’d put this down to the fact that when you’re writing 10k words a week and don’t have any concrete ideas of where to go next with the plot worked out, just extending the action scene and throwing some new monsters or puzzles or reversals of fortune at the heroes can eat up a chapter and buy you some time – but just because it’s an understandable consequence of the serial format doesn’t mean I need to like it.

Perhaps reading far too much into it, but if I had to guess, I would say the story’s more structural issues stem from the same thing. Pale was originally planned as a (relatively) short and (relatively) light serial, but in the process of writing rapidly ballooned past all planning and expectation. Which like, as I said, I just enjoyed spending time in the various protagonists’ heads and seeing them develop, but at a certain point you can absolutely start to see the plot starting to outpace all planning and spinning off in multiple entirely new directions that were pretty clearly informed by whatever idea Wildbow was turning over in his head at the time. Sometimes this worked out very nicely – I still love Avery’s whole Thunder Bay/accidental love triangle arc. Sometimes it’s a bit mixed – Wonderkand is a very fun idea, but tonally and aesthetically is kind of a mismatch with 90% of the rest of the setting. Sometimes, well – did anyone like the extended Aurum/Dark Fall trial sequence? But even aside from individual arc quality, if you are someone who cares even slightly about things like ‘pacing’, ‘narrative discipline’, or ‘plot points/foreshadowing not going in weird directions or fading in the background because the author just forgot/kind of lost interest in them in the course or writing a novella weekly for three years’ then oh boy is this not the story for you.

A similar sort of thing happens, I think, with the story’s themes. Pale is from the beginning very explicitly concerned with ideas of punitive versus rehabilitative justice, an already slightly fraught use of the subjugation/binding of magical creatures as a metaphor for oppression and colonization, and just generally with the idea of building a better world in the hidden corners of the current one. The story, well, remains very interested with those subjects, but having any coherent viewpoint on them falls to the wayside compared to coming up with ways to advance the plot or dilemmas to throw at the protagonists or just vivid bits of imagery in the moment. This more or less generalizes – I kind of get the sense that Wildbow set out wanting to write something that goes against his narrative reflexes/habits, but as the story went on and the writing piled up they just kind of crept back in. Certainly for a story that take pains at first to emphasize how hellish and cruel long term binding and confinement are, the happy ending involves a lot of various cruel and torturous prisons that are portrayed as somewhere between necessary and just. The big final villain also more or less works on a character level, but thematically is basically the single worst choice of anyone the protagonists faced down across the entire story.

I’m accentuating the negative here, and part of that is just because I’m a miserable husk of a human, but it’s also just that Pale’s real problems tend to be structural, while its high points are much more particular and specific, and hard to sell without immense amounts of context – there are so many random side characters who get more compelling stories than the actual protagonists of some books I’ve read this year, and a half dozen scenes that are pretty permanently burned into my memory. My favourite dynamic involves a character whose only present for, like, 3% of the story max.

At one point the story was intended to end with Arc 13, followed by a hiatus and then a sequel. I still think this would have been the correct choice, even that ending would rip my fucking heart out and also possibly get Wildbow literal bombs mailed to his house. Still – if you can stand that sort of ending and also are the sort of person to read million-word web serials to begin with, that would be my recommendation. Get to that point, and then decide for yourself how invested you are in spending time in the heads of the protagonists and in the world. Or read Pact, which is like a fifth of the size and ostensibly set in the same setting – though leans so much further into horror than urban fantasy for tone that functionally there’s a lot of discrepancies.

All of which said, Verona Lucy and Avery are going to live in my head for the rest of my life and I make no apologies about this.