#was possible and certainly not from worms?

[toytulini]

What are some interesting parasitic worm facts???

theres like a whole bunch of them that end up ur lungs and make cough them up to reswallow them and get back into ur gut and thats just so fucking wild. also tapeworms dont have mouths? also if u get tapeworms by eating the eggs instead of eating baby worm cysts in meat of a prey animal then u get them to do baby worm cysts in YOUR meat instead and that can include the brain meat which apparently can sometimes cause epilepsy? and also is probably like the biggest evidence that the "tapeworm diet" was bullshit bc it was supposedly offering eggs which would give u the baby worm cysts in ur muscles and tissues instead of an adult worm in ur gut just stealing some nutrients.

[magnus-and-the-dragon]

current status: bolted up wide awake at 3 am, apparently because there is a specific style of kennel I don’t know how to use at the shelter I started volunteering with, and brain feels the need to gnaw itself raw until I have answers

to be clear, i noticed this issue at my first shift on SATURDAY. i’ve now been awake with it for an hour. i was fine when i went to bed. i don’t know what kind of weird fucking tripwire I walked over in my dreams but I would like it to STOP.

[textmel8r]

[ DRABBLE ] 𝐎𝐅𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒 ! ( fourth installment ) in which you are forced to plan a corporate event with your office enemy .

୨୧˚ part; one. two. three. four. five. six. seven. eight.

୨୧˚ incl; kento nanami

୨୧˚ cw; smut (?) , dub-con , alcohol consumption , profanity

( flashback; ) Wreaths and holly plants decked the usually barren, white walls of the seventh floor office level, and soft Christmas music looped on the overhead speaker in attempts to induce a jolly spirit. Colleagues conversed, discussing plans for December break over plastic cups of spiked cider. Everyone seemed in high morale; even Gakuganji, who donned a cheaply made Santa suit, still wrinkled from its time being folded in a package. Your first ever office party was about as much as you expected–not the worst time, but certainly not the best time, either. It didn’t help that you were still technically the “newbie” despite having been a member of the company for a few months at that point. Man, it was hard to make friends in an office full of stoic suits.

You remain near a far wall, slumped against the oversized copy machine with a drink in hand. Nobody had even appreciated your dress; a modest crimson thing with white, cottony trims to mimic Old Saint Nick. Figures. You pout into your cup, knocking back a heavy swig.

“Woah-ho, you sure went all out.”

The dialogue was unexpected and you sputter on a swallow of liquor, startled. A preemptive hand pats your back, something like a mother trying to burp a newborn. You swallow your spit at last, recollect yourself, and whip your head up to follow the source of the voice that nearly killed you. There stood a man tall and spindly in his stature with the most beautifully long, goldish hair drawn back into a ponytail. He is dressed down, wearing a simple pair of dark jeans and a sweater in favor of the suits nearly everyone else sported. 

“You shouldn’t sneak up on ladies,” comes your meager reply. Your free hand smooths down the skirt of your dress, and you clear your throat. “You scared the shit out of me.”

The man smiles apologetically. “Ah, I noticed. My bad.”

“It’s okay. Just… just don’t do it again.”

“Roger that.” He has his own drink, and you manage to catch a glimpse of it over the rim of the solo cup. It’s a dark, murky color, much more amberish than the cider that was being served. “I haven’t seen your face around before, it made me curious.”

“I secured a position here during spring.” Now that you think about it, he was unfamiliar to you as well. You would have definitely remembered that ponytail. “Are you–I mean, do you work in this building?”

He shakes his head. “Nah, they got me holed up in the Shibuya location,” he winks, leaning in. “I make it a habit to come to all the office parties, though. I can’t resist a little holiday cheer.” Two bony knuckles move to brush delicately against the trim of your dress. “I’m Haruta Shigemo, and you’re…?”

“Not interested.” 

Shigemo juts his bottom lip out. “C’mon, don’t be like that. I can’t know your name?”

Holding an index finger to your chin, you pretend to think about it. “What will you give me in return?”

A smirk worms its way onto Shigemo’s thin lips. He angles his hip toward you and pulls up the hem of his knitted sweater, gesturing to the uncanny flask half sticking out of his jeans’ pocket. “I brought good stuff,” he sings quietly, away from prying ears, and suddenly you understand the reason for his drink being a couple shades too dark. “And I’m good at sharing.”

Yeah, maybe it wasn’t the wisest decision to accept unknown liquor from a virtual stranger, you should’ve really considered all of the possible outcomes to this situation. You’d already had a little over two cups of warmed cider, rotating on the axis between tipsy and full on drunkenness. Your foggy brain didn’t care much to think about how some of this so-called “good stuff” would only lead to an inevitable, total inebriation. Or, a less likely but just as concerning scenario, Shigemo’s flask could be chock full of poison. Either way, you were itching to turn a less-than-okay party experience into a fun one.

“Y/n L/n,” you said finally, and Shigemo looks pleased. Strategically as to not give away the secret, he stood before you and widened his shoulders to create a makeshift cover while he poured a solid few glugs from flask to your cup. Immediately, the booze reeks of something strong like industrial glass cleaner. Your nose wrinkles as the stench singes the hair from your nostrils. “Smells fucking rancid.”

“Maybe you’re just not used to top shelf liquor?” Was that a dig? You’ll show him that you’re plenty accustomed with expensive booze (you’re not. not at all).

So you drank it. The taste of piss mixed with vinegar nearly made you retch, but after your second glass and an assload of determination, it started to taste… good? Maybe this Shigemo guy wasn’t too bad. The rest of the night was a blur of silly dancing to dumb Christmas songs, ugly laughing at the horse calendars pinned to the wall, and… well, the bathroom.

“We shouldn’t be doing this.” Your tone was breathy, a cross between giggly and pure apprehension. There in the men’s restrooms, you were perched up on the sink counter. That festive dress was slipped up around your hips by two slender, greedy hands, and a tiny waist worked between your thighs. Shigemo kissed you into silence.

“Why not?” He kisses you again, fumbling with his belt buckle. He’s nipping down your neck, whispering, “The risk is so fucking hot.”

And oh goodness, was he a man on a mission. Tearing the collar of your dress down beneath your breasts, fingering holes into your sheer stockings, stuffing a fist inside your panties… You were in no state of coherence to stop him.

Had it not been a professional obligation on his part to attend this year’s Christmas party, Nanami finds himself fantasizing about all the ways he’d much rather be spending this brisk winter evening. Probably soaking in his tub, nursing a glass of red wine and working on that book he’d been putting off thanks to the ungodly amount of work on his plate as of late. Then, he’d exercise those cooking skills he seldom had time to use and prepare a meal that had much more to offer than these feeble, sugary snacks at this party. Seriously? Cookies and cake? They were adults for goodness sake.

The floor was stuffy and claustrophobia-inducing. Everywhere he turned, Nanami was accidentally bumping somebody with his shoulder or his elbow or some other limb he lost track of. And the conversations were abysmal. Nanami has always been good with his words—he had to be in a profession like this—but Christ, talking to his zombies-for-coworkers was a worse fate than death itself. They drone on about office assignments, about deadlines and paperwork with no hint of light behind their eyes. Is that what he looks like to others? A worrisome thought, that Nanami was just as much of a slave to the corporate world as they were.

The deep train of thought is cut off before it spirals when red catches his eye. A dress red as rubies sticks out like a sore thumb among the sea of blacks and blues and grays of suits. You’re dressed in a silly get up, like those Mrs. Claus actresses in the malls that take pictures with children. Y/n L/n, Nanami recalls your name. He knows you, the newest employee in the office. He’s had very few chances to speak with you, and when he did it mostly consisted of him relaying orders from Mr. Gakuganji. But even in those brief instances, Nanami saw it plain as day: you were different. The first lively fool he’d seen in a while, eyes still glinting with the prospects of optimism and naive hope for the future. Foolish indeed, but he couldn’t bring himself to hate it. You were a breath of fresh air, but Nanami knew that it was only a matter of time before you were beaten and battered into another mindless cog in the corporation's machine.

A strange urge bloomed within the hollows of the man's chest; an urge that told him to initiate communication with you. Perhaps just a "hello" at the very least, seeing as you were his direct subordinate. It was the polite thing to do, right? Or maybe that was just a weak excuse he convinced himself of because Nanami didn't want to admit that you intrigued him in every sense of the word. You would provide an interesting back and forth, something Nanami desperately craved in the throes of this tedious party.

Golden eyes scanned the room. But no matter how long and meticulous he stared into the mass of bodies, Nanami could not locate the shade of red that had incited this search to begin with. There was a muted pit of disappointment the settled heavy in his stomach when he came to the realization that you simply were gone. He didn't doubt the probability that you ditched, no, he'd commend you for doing something he could not. Nanami sighs under his breath, lets his shoulders droop, and takes the last swig of his drink (water of course, the spiked cider was much too sweet for his tastes) before maneuvering through the crowd towards the bathroom. A five minute breather alone in a stall sounded like Heaven on Earth.

He shouldered through the metallic door, eyes closed, fingers tugging the knot of his too-tight tie as he stepped inside the restrooms. Only the sound of a feminine gasp was what pried his heavy eyelids open.

All three bodies froze: Nanami by the entrance with a slack jaw and wide eyes, a man he vaguely recalls from the Shibuya district stood between a pair of opened legs with his jeans tugged down to mid-thigh, and you. You, with your stupidly red dress in disarray, the neckline dipped below your bare breasts and the lower hem bunched up around the curve of your waistline. There you were, sitting up on the sink completely exposed... God, that bastard's hand was still buried down the front of your panties.

As if time suddenly unfroze, said bastard rips his hands away from your most delicate parts in favor of pulling his jeans back up. Nanami blinks once before cocking his head to the side at the unnatural speed of light, focusing on the faux plant in the corner, the uneven tiles beneath his dress shoes, the cracks in the eggshell paint on the wall... anything besides your indecent self.

"Whoops, would ya' look at that?" Shibuya fucker laughs halfheartedly as he fumbles with the button on his jeans, flustered and giggly. "Guess we got a little carried away there, my bad man!" He slinks towards the door, towards Nanami, but pauses. "Hey, you're Nanami Kento, right?"

"Yes." It's a cold response. Nanami doesn't look to the other man, instead he keeps his eyes trained down as to not get another eyeful of you.

"Aha right! Well," Shibuya fucker sweatdrops, clasping a hand over Nanami's shoulder. "Let's keep this a secret from the higher ups?"

The elder grimaces. "Please don't touch me."

The hand is ripped away. Shibuya fucker shows his palms in sort of a defensive stance as more anxious chuckles erupt from his throat. "Good seeing you, then!" And with that, he slips out of the bathroom leaving you high and dry. The prick didn't even bother to stay and help you get recollected.

"I'm decent." You sound meek, a tone Nanami has yet to hear from you thus far. It sounds small. Humiliated. "You... you can look now."

So he does, only to regret it. There you are, hopped off the sink and standing before him in a pitiful display. Your slender neck was tainted with love marks, darkened bruises bit into flesh with little artistry. Your stockings were shredded carelessly, bits of plumpness squishing through the holes. Your hair was mussed, forehead sweaty, lipstick smeared and... why was Nanami so irritated by the sight?

"What..." He starts, trying to find the words. "What is the matter with you?"

You gawk. "Nothing."

"Nothing." Nanami scoffs, hands pressed to his hips. "How careless could you possibly be? Fucking at a work event? I mean, for fuck's sake Y/n."

"I'm sorry, okay?" Your words are clipped. As if you have any right to catch an attitude with him right now.

"Sorry doesn't change the fact that you..." His sentence trails off into a tiny, frustrated growl scratching from the back of his tongue. The man takes his nose bridge between his thumb and forefinger. "The door was unlocked. Anyone could've walked in and saw you like that!" Exposed. Bare. Vulnerable.

"I don't know what else you want to hear other than sorry." Nanami doesn't miss the microscopic vocal crack in the word sorry. You hug yourself tight, forearms crossed over your chest. Your shoulders stutter, and your lips are sucked between your teeth to hide the wobble in them. "I'm... sorry."

You dress strap hangs off your shoulder. Nanami can't peel his gaze away from the strip of fabric. He takes a slow step in, gauging your reaction to it. You don't show any signs of discomfort, so he advances closer. The red strap is dainty against his rough fingers, so he cautions himself to be extra gentle when slipping it back up into place.

"Thanks," you sniffle.

He shushes you. Nanami isn't done yet, far from it. You still look disheveled and sad and weepy and he can't fucking stomach it for some ungodly reason. So he gets to work, first wetting a paper towel in the bathroom sink—the same one you'd been getting groped on a mere few minutes prior—and gingerly swipes away the smeared makeup from your kiss-swollen lips. Then, he's taking it upon himself to straighten out your hair. You let him stroke down your baby hairs without pushback, limply letting him rearrange your appearance as if you were some sort of life sized doll.

Nanami steps back to admire his work. The evidence of foreplay was nearly gone, save for the dreadful state of your stockings and those ugly teeth-shaped indents down the side of your neck. “Take those stockings off before you leave the bathroom,” he utters. “They look…” Slutty is the word that comes to mind first, but he’d never say it aloud. So he leaves it at that.

You’re looking at him with an unreadable expression. If anything, Nanami discerns a little concern in the way your brows turn upwards. “Are you going to tell anyone about this?”

He wants to oh so bad. To be the lame tattletale and snitch to Mr. Gakuganji because fraternization is wrong, and fraternization in the workplace is double wrong. “I should report you,” there’s a pregnant pause, “but I won’t.”

Why? He asks himself.

You seemed to have read his thoughts. “Why?”

Nanami doesn’t have an answer to that. Where is this slice of mercy coming from? All he knows for certain is that staring at the trembling woman in front of him any longer will have him blow a fuse. “Go home, Y/n.” It’s the last thing he offers before turning on his heel and walking back out into the Christmas function, swallowing down each and every confusing feeling swirling around his brain.

likes and reblogs are appreciated !

tags . • @justbelljust @amnmich @ti-mame @silkija @maddietries @vyntagei @ebrysteria @aesukuni

[hells-wasabii]

hii, hope you're doing well. May I ask for alastor x reader where reader is way more powerful than alastor? and weird thing for al is that r didn't sell their soul to anybody or make a deal, they just slayed and managed to become very strong overlord just by themselfs. Could be fem or gn reader, please

Thank you, have a nice day/night <33

A/N: I went with a gn reader, wasn't too sure how to incorporate a specific gender into this one, but i hope you enjoy!

Character: Alastor

Type: Headcanons (Alastor x stronger reader, General)

Now, this was certainly interesting! It seemed to Alastor that history really did have a way of repeating itself! Just like himself, a new soul had arrived in hell and stirred up quite the commotion! And during his seven-year absence no less! You were one powerful demon, quickly rising in the ranks of the overlords and eventually even making your way to Pentagram City. Only where Alastor had stagnated in power by himself, you kept rising. You were stronger? Than him? Now he really was interested.

But what intrigued the radio demon the most was the source of your power. Where did it come from? He had heard the rumors that you had no souls, but that just didn't make any sense to him. Not in the slightest.

Souls equal power, plain and simple, whether it means obtaining the souls of others or selling your own. but you had done neither. quite the anomaly you were. He just knew that he had to meet you!

The moment that he even stepped into the same room as you, the radio demon was filled with a sense of dread. He could feel the power radiating off of you. Alarm bells rang in his mind, he knew you were a danger. But this also meant that he knew exactly who you were when he saw you. The overlord with no souls, power with no strings attached. You certainly did not disappoint, that was for sure.

Now, Alastor was not a demon to form alliances, but one with you would he certainly wouldn't mind making an exception for. Whatever he could do to get close to you. He'd sniff out any possible opening and poof, suddenly the radio demon was ingrained in your afterlife.

He would be looking for any opportunity to worm his way in, trying to find out why exactly you were so strong. Trying to get you to make a deal. It didn't matter to him if he had to start small, as long as he could get in it was a start.

He knew one thing for sure. You were exactly what he had been looking for. He had to add you to his collection. And he would do anything to have you.

[yandere-writer-momo]

Yandere Kengan Head Canon: Look At Me

Tsundere to yandere Raian Kure x Afab Reader x one sided Lihito

TW: unhealthy behavior, cursing, degradation, breeding kink (Kure family), baby trapping (mentioned), Dacryphilia, etc.

@bobawitch13

From the moment the two of you met, Raian hated you. He hated your smiling face and your soft words as you tended to his wounds. You were just a stupid nurse at the infirmary who was insistent on tending to his injuries despite how much he complained.

You were an annoying fly he wasn’t allowed to squash. A ray of sunshine that blinded him every time you’d sit beside him to tend to his injuries he sustained from his fight with Ohma Tokita. Raian was embarrassed to be taken care of like this… like he was a weak baby. He didn’t like the way his heart would skip a beat when you were around. Perhaps this was a new level of extreme dislike for him (certainly not a crush).

“I’ve told you to buzz off already.” Raian hissed as he shoved your hands away from changing his dressings. “I don’t need your fucking help.” But you pushed his hands aside to change the blood soaked bandages around his abdomen.

“Mister Kure, you don’t want your wounds to get infected, do you?” You asked him with a soft smile. He despised how demure you were. How kind you were, it made his stomach hurt. “I’m simply doing my job.”

“Do you enjoy this power you have over me? It won’t last long. Once I’m healed, I’ll destroy you-“ you cut him off with a frown, your gaze focused on the barely eaten meal on his table.

“Do you not like the food? I could sneak you some sandwiches if you’d like.”

“I don’t want a fucking sandwich. I want you to discharge me.” Raian rolled his eyes when you giggled at him. Why did his face feel so hot? Did you administer poison on him when he wasn’t paying attention- no. You were too stupid to do that. Too sweet.

“I’ll see what I can do for my grumpiest patient.”

“I am not grumpy, woman. I just don’t like you.”

Raian scoffed but allowed you to change them. As much as he hated you, you were right. He didn’t want an infection. He wanted to heal as fast as possible so he could get away from you. Or so he thought…

You started to bring him sandwiches since he barely touched his food. Yet he would still push the homemade sandwiches off to the side and eat them when you weren’t around. Raian didn’t want you to know he enjoyed them. That he didn’t mind your company all that much as the weeks went by.

At least until he realized you weren’t just sweet to him but to every patient you had. Especially to that Lihito guy. He was a fucking loser, why were you laughing at his stupid ass jokes? Why did you dote on that insignificant worm? Lihito was pathetic and he didn’t deserve your attention. Not like Raian did. He was strong and capable. He’d be able to provide for you… he’d be able to provide for children. Raian would- where the hell did these thoughts come from? Why was Raian thinking of continuing the Kure bloodline with you? You didn’t offer him anything to benefit him other than your softness… god dammit. Raian had a crush on you didn’t he? That’s why he enjoyed your company and wouldn’t hurt you. Raian liked how you treated him like a human being despite how many times he threatened you.

Raian began to call you into his room more often, just for stupid menial tasks. He wanted you to be with him more than Lihito. He didn’t like the way the other blonde looked at you. Lihito admired you like a lovesick puppy and Raian would be damned if you dated a loser like that. Raian beat the snot out of the guy, just for a warm up.

Yet you never looked at him like he was a monster. You patiently waited for him to ask whatever he wanted of you and you dutifully did you best to fulfill Raian’s wishes. You’d fluff his pillow for him or get him an extra blanket. You never complained no matter how mean he was… it made Raian want to push his limits with you. How far could he go until you got upset with him?

“Do you enjoy the attention you get from all the men around here?” Raian asked you when you arrived to his room with his usual sandwich. His silver irises scanned you up and down. His hands tightly clutched his water jug. “You seem to be fond of that loser.”

“Lihito isn’t a loser.” You sighed before you approached Raian to hand him the sandwich. “A little stupid, but he’s not a loser. I think he has a lot of heart.”

You jumped when Raian crushed the jug in his hand like it was a grape. The white haired man was now drenched in water and ice, but it did little to soothe the pissed off look on his face. Why was he so upset? It’s not like he was fond of you or anything… right? There was no way the Raian Kure had a crush on you. He was as mean as a hornet. With his permanent scowl, his horrible manners, and his sadistic tendencies.

“Mister Kure, I’ll go get you a new gown and some blankets-“ Raian suddenly snatched your wrist and pulled you to him so that your body now laid on top of his.

“I don’t like you hanging around other men.” Raian clicked his tongue at your confused expression. Of course you’d be confused, he was too. “I enjoy your company.”

“But it’s my job-“ Raian suddenly leaned forward and pressed his lips against yours in a demanding kiss. Your eyes widened in shock as he took advantage of your state of surprise. Yes… this was what he needed. To put you in your place. To make you understand just who you belonged to.

“Open your mouth.” You obeyed, the white haired man immediately spitting a wad of spit in your mouth. “Swallow.”

You obeyed in fear of him hurting you which made his eyes light up. Yes… this is what he wanted. Complete control over you. To see your sunny expression turn to one of fear.

Raian was quick to begin to undo his hospital gown. His hands guided your hands to run up and down his chiseled chest. He relished in the salty tears that fell down your cheeks. Baby you were making him so fucking hard.

“I’m going to put my fucking child in you. Aren’t you grateful a Kure has taken interest in you?” Raian’s tongue darted out to lap up your tears. “Trust me, you’re in such good hands.”

You tried to pull away when you saw Lihto but Raian roughly grabbed your cheeks. His palms squished your cheeks together as he jerked your gaze to be back on him.

“Look at me, (your name).” Raian hissed, his dark eyes permanently burned into your very soul. “Look. At. Me.”

[elodieunderglass]

Mad Spring - sour gummies, you feral little goblin. Tangfastics. Airheads. Sour Patch Kids. Like High Summer, you choose fruit-flavored gummy sweets, but you pick ones coated in Pain Sugar. It isn’t enough to just get sugar: you’re chasing a different Sensory Experience (TM) than the rest. And that’s great.

Warm Spring - white chocolate, ruby chocolate, pastel mint drops, cotton candy, bubblegum. Marshmallows. Sweet, creamy, usually pastel. You have no particular objection to floral tastes like lavender and rose. You may be able to appreciate Turkish Delight.

Midsummer - tropical fruits: chewy and slightly creamy in pastel colors. Starburst/Opal Fruit, Creamsicles/Solero. Maoam strips. Cream sodas. Skittles, despite being jewel-toned, are in this season. Coconut and pineapple flavors go here. Also the home of chalky-type sweets like Love Hearts/candy hearts, smarties (usa) and You may be also able to appreciate Turkish Delight.

High Summer - Gummy bears and chewy, jellyish, jammy, gummy, springy in bright jewel tones. Gummy worms and jelly snakes, jelly babies, jelly beans, Haribo. Clearer and gummier than Midsummer.

Autumn Night - darker and more complex sweetness, often including an element of burning or alcohol, or another challenge. Cherry cordials, marzipan, champagne truffles. Also home of burnt-sugar tastes: maple candy, bonfire toffee, candy corn. Also home of matcha; red liquorice; red bean paste. When people bring you sweets from other countries, they’ll choose unusual local delicacies. You almost certainly were fascinated as a kid by lollipops at the science museum sold with real bugs in them.

Autumn Salt - peanut butter and peanut brittle, salted caramel, toffee, butterscotch. Toffee popcorn, Reese’s Peanut Butter cups, Snickers, Daim. If nobody has any nuts, you’ll choose chocolate with nuts, crisp or crunch over other things. Sweet just isn’t enough.

Winter Spice - herbal, spicy and medicinal sweets, usually hard old-fashioned sweets. Red-hots, burning cinnamon, chilli - eucalyptus, root beer, menthol; sarsaparilla. Hard candy, generally: old fashioned ‘boiled sweets,’ things that look gorgeous in glass jars. Parma violets. Fisherman’s Friends. You’re the only person who would eat a gingerbread house after decorating it. You’re also possibly a ghost, or used to be a Mad Spring. It’s also about the SENSATION.

Midwinter - dark black Licorice. Salty? Sweet? saltlakrids? Allsorts? Australian? You might like other things too, but when your loved ones are in another country, they go to the licorice aisle and get you the weirdest local variant they can find.

Long Winter - true chocolate, basic chocolate stuff: M&Ms. Dairy Milk. Hershey’s Kiss. But also home of fudgy tastes and sugar-on-sugar in a long slow sauce. Marshmallow, Handmade fudge, Phish Food ice cream.

Cool Winter - naturally, the homebase of minty tastes. peppermint wheels, York’s Peppermint Patties, After Eights. Also orange - chocolate orange - and, oddly, pixie sticks/sherbet and other sweet things that involve eating simple flavored sugar.

[jouxlskaard]

Strap in, fuckers. This is a long one.

I've seen a lot of discourse and discussion recently about why TMAGP isn't resonating with listeners as much as TMA did, with a lot of people pointing towards the infrequent structure of each episode and the lack of subtlety that TMA had once excelled in. And while both of these are true, I think the main culprit that has caused these problems for listeners is one thing: the pacing.

TMAGP is only going to be 60 (Edit: 90) episodes long, compared with TMA's absolute behemoth of 200. When I'd found out about this, I'd assumed that it meant TMAGP would have a much smaller story - not having to establish as much information as TMA did, and allowing the story to have lower stakes as a result. This certainly wasn't a bad thing, as many sequels that have tried to one-up their predecessors have gone disastrously wrong, but I knew that the structure would be different to TMA as a result.

However, from the 12 episodes that we've seen so far, it appears that TMAGP is going to have similar levels of stakes to TMA - not the same stakes, of course, but they'll likely be on close to equal footing. This means that TMAGP has to establish the same amount of information to listeners with significantly less time to do it in, and the pacing has to speed up to adhere to that. In the first 12 episodes of TMA, we had established one possible recurring statement character (Gerry), a disturbing worm woman (Prentiss), and the fact that Jon doesn't like his assistant and refuses to believe any of the statements. In the first 12 episodes of TMAGP, we've established every important protagonist and what they sound like, two recurring statement characters (Bonzo and Ink5oul) with one that has already physically appeared, much of Sam's backstory and his ties to the Magnus Institute and the fact that something is deeply wrong with their workplace. That is a big difference.

This difference in pacing is what I believe is turning listeners away from what they'd originally enjoyed about TMA, because there's no longer that warm, comforting atmosphere when you listen to it. Its sound isn't designed to come from a tape recorder and a tape recorder only anymore; it's no longer a sit-down and listen to the Archivist tell you spooky stories for 20 minutes anymore; and, like I mentioned earlier, the structure is no longer the same throughout each episode. The horror anthology aspect, whilst still being there, has now taken a back-burner to the metanarrative because so much has to be established in so little time. To many, that's a bad thing. They listened to the original because they liked the statements, and the little things connecting them hinted to a much larger story at play. When this story was revealed, we got to see Jonny Sims and his brilliant prose at its best, because there was no longer anything to hide and the statements were in their purest forms - no longer having to establish information to the audience, and simply basking in the fear.

I'm sure we'll get to see the same thing in TMAGP once the narrative reaches that point, but the current pacing has uprooted a lot of listeners' expectations for the show. I'm going to listen to the entire thing, personally; yeah, it's different, and it doesn't deliver the same vibes and comfort as TMA did, and I probably won't be able to fall asleep whilst relistening to the more obscure episodes like I could before, but in a frankly disturbing way, I'm still fascinated with what Jonny, Alex and the other writers have created. This type of horror is the only kind that I genuinely enjoy, and I'm excited to see what direction Protocol goes in.

Edit: I feel like I should clarify that I don't see this comparison as something that takes away from TMAGP. Alex has said that it's going to be different from the get-go, and I do think that comparing it to TMA is an exercise in futility to an extent. I just wanted to talk about the shows together because I feel like they complement one another, and the narrative beats that I've talked about are less to do with TMA on its own and more to do with general narrative structure. We have buildup, payoff and pacing no matter what show it is, because that's what makes a story. I think TMAGP could be taken a little bit like Deltarune in terms of its relation to the original source material: separate entities with some overlap in character and themes. At the end of the day, it's still early days for the show and this entire spiel could just end up gathering dust - I just think it's a cool thing to think about, and it gives me an excuse to infodump about how pacing can affect a narrative and the audience's response to it.

I wrote this while my cat was laying on me. Have a picture as a reward for reading this whole thing.

[juuuulez]

showing them your party dress, and they judge you (thinking it’s slutty or they get jealous) and won’t come to the deannas party with you. you get drunk and they help u 😝😝😝 (comfort angst)

info: Rick Grimes x Reader, NSFW, sorta drunk sex, Spencer is a creep, unsafe sex/pulling out, p in v.

summary: After pissing you off over a comment about your outfit, Rick tries to prove your worth another way.

omg idk when this escalated into smut but it did, but thanks for the request!!! thought i’d show rick some love because he’s soooo dilf and there isn’t enough rick appreciation on this page

You wrap your hair around the curling iron, clamping down the hot metal and holding it in place. Tonight, Deanna is having a party for the new residents, and you’d been practically buzzing with excitement all day. Not only was Alexandria a miracle to come across, but they treated life with some semblance of normality.

“That the dress you’re wearin’?” A voice behind you asks, your gaze fluttering up to watch Rick through the mirror. He’s standing behind you, eyes scanning the dress you’d put on.

It was black, form-fitting and short. Paired with some kitten heels, you looked good enough to eat. Except, you’d thought it would illicit a bit more… excitement from your boyfriend.

“Yeah,” You agree, “Rosita found it for me. Said I’d look good in it.”

As if to prove your point, you turn around, giving a little spin in an almost childish manner. Rick stands there, stone faced, not betraying a single emotion.

“You do,” He finally lets up, “But is this the impression we wanna give?”

A response doesn’t come right away, silence filling the space between you as the words stew in your mind. They sound strangely negative, causing your brows to furrow into a little frown.

“C’mon, baby. You know what I mean.” Rick tries again, having sensed that he’s said something wrong.

But you’ve already turned away, continuing to primp your hair in the mirror. “Are you coming tonight?” You ask, completely avoiding his previous misstep for the sake of not becoming upset before the party.

“No, not tonight,” Rick sighs, “Got some shit to sort out.”

This one doesn’t get a reply either, and Rick knows that you aren’t pleased. So far, your relationship has been anything but normal. Back at the prison, he’d kept you at an arms length, finding your alluring nature and sweet smile threatening to his morals. Yet, over time, he’d let you in, and you’d wormed your way into his life.

“You could stay home, too. Wait for me. We’ll watch a movie when I get home.” He ends up suggesting, trying to alleviate your souring mood.

It’s fruitless, for you’re still persisting. “No. I want to party, like every other person in this town.”

“In that dress?” He questions once more.

You turn again, shooting the older man a glare. “Yes. Now leave, I’m getting ready, and you’re distracting me.” You essentially demand, and as not to get bitten, Rick obeys.

Part of you is pissed that he folded so easily, even though it was your bad temper. Regardless, you swore to have fun tonight, Rick or no Rick.

So, you finished doing your hair, even going so far as to put a little makeup on. It felt good, all of it, mainly because it just felt normal. You ventured from your house, trailing down the street to where the commotion was, eager to have a fun night out and remove Rick’s comment from your mind.

Though you claimed to be over it, your actions were saying otherwise.

Alcohol wasn’t commonplace during the apocalypse, at least not for your group. It wasn’t a necessity, and would only worsen the burden of surviving, having to recover from hangovers or be momentarily inebriated.

But tonight? You’d drink as much as you wanted to. Wine had never really been your favourite, but now, it was like liquid gold.

Maybe you were still annoyed at Rick, and you certainly were annoyed at Spencer, who kept talking to you at every possible opportunity. He didn’t like Rick, so in favour, you didn’t like him.

Everything turned into a blur at one point, and you would vaguely remember sitting down on the couch, nursing a cup of water in hand. Who gave you water? It didn’t really matter, for once more, Spencer had sat next to you.

He offered you another glass of wine, and stupidly, you took it.

“Ever get bored of playing with your old man?” He asked, lips upturned into a wicked grin, like the joke was supposed to be amusing. It wasn’t.

There’s a sickly feeling in your stomach, though it doesn’t stem from the alcohol, but guilt. “I need some air.” You end up mumbling, uncoordinatedly stumbling from the couch.

Spencer follows a few steps behind you, his hand on your arm with the feinted intention of helping.

“Without you!” You clarify in a drunken yell, messily yanking both heels from your feet, leaving them in the hallway while you make a break for the door.

Fortunately, Spencer gets the message.

Not that it mattered, for there was another face you didn’t want to see, waiting right outside.

Rick looked so good in the little police uniform they’d given him, with his clean shaven face and trimmed hair. It was a completely different man from the one you’d known, but delicious nonetheless.

“I don’t need your help, asshole.” You snap whilst faltering down the steps, barefoot on the pavement. Right now, he didn’t deserve the satisfaction of helping you, or knowing how good he looked.

“Yes you do, c’mon.” Rick persists, and when he moves to take your arm, you don’t protest. Maybe you are a little far gone. He gently leads you along, one hand wrapped around your shoulder, the other carefully tugging the bottom of your dress down a little more.

It’s a short walk back home, to the little picket-fenced house you’ve been living in. The instance you’re inside, you collapse on the couch, melting into the fabric and willing to pass out right then and there.

Rick kneels down on the ground, leaning in and removing your jewellery. Necklace, earrings, bracelet. Once they’re all set aside, he sits on the couch, the movement causing you to rise with a little frown.

“What’s wrong, baby?” He asks, large hands scooping under your thighs and manoeuvring your body into his lap.

When you only look down, he grips at your chin, forcing the eye contact. The frown deepens, though now out of defiance, still drunk and a little pissed off.

“We’ve spent so long bein’ dirty ‘n muddy ‘n gross..” You begin in a mumble, the words coming out as one long sigh. “I just wanted to feel sexy.”

“You are so sexy,” Rick urges, hand caressing your side. “Always.”

“Then you should’ve come to the party with me.” You retort, that sad look still on your face, and it takes everything in Rick not to kiss it off.

“I know, I know. I should’ve been there,” He agrees, “And I should’ve told you how damn good this dress looks on you.”

Your nose scrunches up in confusion, “I thought you didn’t like it.”

Rick finally releases his grip on your chin, skating both hands down the smooth curve of your sides, all nicely contained in that skimpy dress. It’s like a perfect package, one he wants to unwrap.

“You’re fuckin’ gorgeous, baby. I love it,” He reveals, eyes locked onto yours, “But I wanna be the only one who can love it.”

A grin finally grows on your lips, still all pink and glossy from the makeup. Even in your drunken state, there’s something alluring about the way you lean closer, breath fanning over Rick’s lips.

“Then prove it.” You whisper.

Like a moth to a flame, Rick bites. He closes the gap, savouring your sloppy kisses as you devour his lips, hands fumbling to cup either side of his smooth face. Somehow, kissing him felt even better drunk, like everything else just melted away.

Disconnecting, Rick trailed purposeful kisses down your neck, sucking brief marks into your skin, staking his claim. He peeled the straps of the dress down, pushing the fabric down under the swell of your breasts, until they were completely bare to him.

You gasped as his lips trapped a nipple, fondling at the supple flesh whilst worshipping you with his mouth. But you were already strung tight, not having the patience to deal with a night of teasing.

Fingers hooked into his belt, painted nails scratching at the denim as you failed to muster enough coordination to unzip him. “Please.. please, Rick.” You whined.

“I know, baby. Don’t have’ta beg tonight.” He assures you in that rough, yet soothing tone, taking over and pulling his cock free of its restraints.

Rick pushes the dress up over your hips, the soft fabric now simply a band around your waist. You’re eager to take him, arms wrapping around his broad shoulders whilst you hover over his thighs, allowing Rick to line you up and make the slide easier.

The drunken haze has faded some, replaced by a blanket of arousal as you slowly ride him, fingers gripping at his shirt. You’re saying something, begging probably, but it doesn’t make any sense. Not that it matters.

Though you’re set on riding him, Rick knows you’re probably sore from those heels all night, so he grips tight at your hips to flip you over, drilling you down into the plush couch.

“Fuck..” You gasp, head lolling to the side as Rick bites into the flesh of your neck, body completely surrounding you as his thrusts become powerful and short, angled up right where you need it.

“I know, baby. You can take it.” He grunts, using all his strength to draw you closer to the edge.

By now, he knows your tells. The tightening of your cunt as it squeezes him, the way your legs wrap around his slim waist. Whatever words make it from your mouth, though unintelligible, take on a whiny pitch.

Rick snakes his hand between you, pressing firm, tight circles around your clit that make you gasp and squirm under him. “Quietly, baby. You can do it. Let go for me.”

And that you do, hips bucking upwards as your peak finally hits, muffling your cries into his shoulder. The pulsating around his dick causes Rick to finally falter, managing a few more staggered, sharp thrusts before roughly pulling out and spilling onto your stomach. Spurts of white cum coat the bunched up dress, some even reaching the underside of your tits.

“Fuck,” Rick pants, catching his breath. “Looks like you can’t wear this dress anyway.”

[daniswoso]

Mean.

DVD x Reader

Summary: Daan sort of terrifies you, eventually you learn you had no reason to be scared.

Warnings: Swearing, gay panic, minor crisis No hate to Ellie and Daan’s current relationship or either of them I adore them!!!, overthinking (sort of?), reader and Daan being oblivious, use of Y/N.

********

You and Danielle had been teammates for the past 3 months. You however wouldn't consider yourselves friends.

You don't know why, you don't know when, but you just automatically assumed Danielle hated you. Maybe it was the way she'd have an unreadable expression on her face when you'd speak French to your other teammates. Or the way she'd absolutely show no mercy during matches or training.

The amount of times you had been on the receiving end of an angry Danielle Van De Donk in training, well... you had lost count, you just knew they hurt.

Today was a team bonding day at Ada's house, nothing too serious, just you and all the girls from Lyon sat around playing fifa and being competitive little shits.

However, it was just your luck you arrived late. And that the only available seat was the one next to the woman you swore hated you.

But you took it, despite being shit scared of her.

Everything was going well, you didn't necessarily speak to each other that much, only exchanging one word at a time. The dutch woman clearly not up for conversation, with you at least. But she was certainly up for it with the blonde on the other side of her, Ellie Carpenter.

You don't know why on Earth it bothered you so much. The way Ellie looked at Danielle with a lovesick expression, the way she'd laugh a tad too hard at her jokes, the way she'd hang off her every word. It annoyed you to no end, and you didn't know why. Which only made you more annoyed.

Which then led to you heading into Ada's kitchen, trying to not throw the glass you were pouring wine into at the wall out of frustration.

Why the hell was this bothering you so much? You were terrified of the woman! You had seen the way she tore her opposition apart on the pitch. You had seen the way she tackled so fiercely. You had seen the way her muscular arms flexed as she was in the gym, the way she panted after a heavy training session.

Holy shit. You were scared of her. But it was maybe possible that you like liked her too? You weren't sure, and that was a whole can of worms you had no intention of opening in the middle of Ada's fucking kitchen.

You're snapped out of your thoughts by none other than the brunette herself, looking down at you with wide, concerned eyes.

"You okay?" She asks, she was actually speaking to you.

"Yeah, just reconsidering life choices and pretending not to hate myself and the feelings I have." You chuckled awkwardly, hoping it would come off as a joke rather than you over sharing. You gulped nervously as the joke fell flat, only getting a concerned slightly judgemental look from Danielle, downing the remainder of your wine.

"Okay, Y/N, maybe you should slow down with the alcohol." She chuckled, although there was an underlying concern to her tone as she removed the wine glass from your hand gently. She offered you a bashful smile, which you returned; hoping it didn't come off as a grimace.

You stand there in not-quite-awkward but not-quite-comfortable silence for a moment, rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet.

She sniffs and wipes her nose, smiling at you awkwardly.

"So.." You say, dragging out the 'o' sound.

"So." She replies, much less dragged out than you did.

"I think I'm gonna go home." You smile awkwardly, moving to grab your bag.

She grabs your arm, turning your back around to look at her.

"I could come with you? Get a cup of coffee?" She offers, before adding to it in a nervous ramble, "If you want to that is! If not it's totally fine!" she stammers before shutting up at the sound of your laugh.

"Sure, Danielle." You replied.

“Please. Call me Daan, Y/N/N.” She smirks.

"You know," you say after a beat of silence that followed the dying down laughter, "when I first met you, I thought you were mean." You laugh, shaking your head.

Danielle looks slightly shocked, her brows furrowing before she grinned, "Well, I hope I've proved you wrong."

You laugh, nodding. "You have."

She smiles triumphantly and you go back to eating your pastries in comfortable silence.

"So, what about me made you think I was mean?" She bemusedly asked, raising an eyebrow.

You thought for a moment, before your face softened and you shrugged, "I don't actually know. I mean, your confidence and your work ethic alongside how you play on the pitch? Jesus that's fucking terrifying. But I don't know why I was scared of you off the pitch, or why I thought you were mean."

You both laugh, "Alright, anything else?" She snickers before taking a sip of coffee.

"Ah! There's also that face you make when I speak French with the others, it's like you're judging me." You laugh, you swear your abs are getting more defined with how hard you've laughed in the past 30 minutes.

"What! No! I wasn't judging you! I was jealous of you!" She laughs loudly, before your fits of giggles came to an end, "And it's incredibly attractive." She murmurs quietly, quiet enough you don't hear her.

"What?" You hum.

She sighs, "And you're so attractive when you speak French." she mutters, cursing slightly as heat rises to her cheeks.

"You... You think I'm attractive?" You grin as she nods, using your index and thumb to pull her head up, making her look at you. "If it helps I think you're pretty fit too." You laugh softly as her eyes light up.

"Y/N?" She asks quietly.

"Yeah, Daan?" You ask, your breath hitching as she leaned in.

"I like you." She admits.

"I like you too."

Silence, but only for a moment.

She leans in, her lips moving against yours, almost as if they were a perfect fit against your own. Well, at least she didn't hate you.

******

A/N: hi! sorry for not posting much, but here’s something while i write up some part 2’s (and 3’s!) of stuff :)

[celestial-quill-n-ink]

What They Think Of You (Season 1)

🌟Lucifer🌟

✦ At first, Lucifer thought that everything might just go smoothly for once. You seemed generally polite and conscious of your circumstances, not at all like his trouble-making brothers.

✦ But you were only human. And temptations would be around every shadow-y corner of the Devildom... He just didn't expect you to immediately go head-first into the most personally affecting ones for him and his family.

✦ Your spontaneity between acting so innocent and demure to boldly putting yourself in harm's way threw him off in a way he hadn't truly anticipated. Especially with the incident in the Underground Tomb.

✦ You were certainly fascinating, he'd give you that. What was more fascinating and scary however, was the impact you were leaving on his younger brothers.

✦ Mammon almost never left your side, Levi actually made an effort to spend quality time with a non-family member, Beel would now often set aside some of his food for you, Asmo was completely doting on you in a way he never did with anyone else, and Satan had matured in such a short amount of time partly in due to your words of advice and interactions.

✦ He was even finding himself endeared to your earnest endeavour to befriend and understand Demon-kind. For someone who seemed so anxious and doubtful, there never seemed to be a single thought spared to abandoning your own moral code.

✦ And he respected that. He really did, and that was something his pride was slowly coming to terms with. He was starting to personally care about you, not as an Exchange Student, but as the consciously kind and perceptive individual he was now seeing you for.

✦ And yes, this development definitely had a large and potentially lethal wrench thrown into it with the reveal of Belphie's imprisonment in the attic.

✦ He felt ashamed of himself. He had clearly misjudged you all along, and you were just like any other selfish human who was just too curious for their own good. He never used to hate humans, per se, but he wasn't ever particularly fond of them either.

✦ So confirmation bias had hit him hard. Because above all else, he had let this happen. All of it. From the moment he rebelled against their Father, to how he started to soften and genuinely lower his guard around a mere deceitful human, he was the cause of all of these current circumstances.

✦ And Lilith…

✦ He only realized it upon later reflection, but he had always seen a bit of Lilith in you. He couldn't ever pinpoint it, but the moment you hugged him in the Underground Tomb, something just felt right again. After so, so long.

✦ And from that moment on, he ever so slowly started to trust you. You had unintentionally wormed your way into the family, and his brothers were certainly not letting go of you anytime soon. And neither was he.

✦ His respect for you had only grown once he put aside his pride to realise that every single action that you had taken was for the sake of his family. What obligation did you possibly have to do all of this?

✦ Clearly not publicity or fame, otherwise you wouldn't have kept it a secret and downplayed your role whenever you discussed it after the fact.

✦ Of course, an ideal circumstance would have been to gain the favour of his other brothers by saving Belphie, which would easily place himself as the grand villain of the story, and yet you had never used that narrative to your advantage.

✦ When he confronted you about these thoughts, even you seemed a bit uncertain as to why you did it.

✦ Because yes, you may have had your own personal struggles with family and didn't want the worst case scenario that almost happened to you to happen to others, but the complete dedication and tenacity you had for the task surprised even yourself.

✦ And that's when Lucifer knew. Not because of societal status or for any other personal gain: you just wanted to help people. It made you feel happy and fulfilled just to help people and see them be happy.

✦ And how long had it really been since he'd seen such genuine and reckless selflessness right in front of his eyes? The flashes of forbidden Celestial Realm food and a bedridden human in his mind was all the reminder he needed.

✦ So from there on, things were brighter for the both of you. While still reserved, Lucifer was endlessly amused by your interactions and hijinks with his brothers, and would contentedly watch on almost like a proud parent.

✦ Because he was proud to have someone like you as a part of their family...

[monster-slxt]

It was supposed to be a fun and relaxing trip to the zoo. The you got separated from your friends. The you feel into the tentacle monster enclosure. Now you're stuck with tentacles in every hole and your belly expanding with it's eggs. The onlookers are enjoying the show though.

It was supposed to be a relaxing trip to see the new exotic tentacle creature, they're so rare because it's just so hard to get them to breed in captivity so any zoo that was showing one had a big attraction on their hands. You just had to see it.

Well ok, maybe you were more excited than your friends. And maaaybe when they wanted to see the tigers you stayed behind to see the tentacle monster. So you got separated, but it would be worth it. Like, everyone's seen a tiger before, but when would you ever get another chance like this?

And you were right, it was already getting crowded. The exhibit was dug deep into the ground, a pit with rails around for viewing. It wasn't that hard to elbow your way to the front, but you weren't expecting to be knocked over the guard rails when you got there.

The fall was quick, but instead of hitting hard ground you were caught by something long and slimy. But before you can comprehend that you didn't smash into the ground you're struck with vertigo again as the tentacles position you into the perfect position for breeding.

Slimey tendrils snake under your clothes, leaving you incredibly sensitive in their wake. Tentacle slime was a very common ingredient in lube, famous for its incredibly strong aphrodisiac qualities. You're a blissed out moaning mess before you can even think to struggle, and when the first curious tentacle snakes it's way into your waist band it feels like heaven. A tentacle forces itself into your mouth, cutting off your moans and pumping more of that wonderful tingling fluid down your throat. You feel like your burning up, far too empty. You need to be stuffed full of- of something.

By now people are crowding around the enclosure, some trying to get zoo keepers to help, but most are enraptured at the show. This kind of behavior has never been documented in tentacle monsters before, and you're certainly putting on quite the show.

You barely notice when, in trying to fund a nice warm hole, the tentacle monster fully strips you. Instantly several smaller tentacles are worming into your hole, working you open for the main event. Every nerve is on fire and you can only focus on how full you feel as your prepped and stretched. The loss of contact when the creatures decides your ready feels like the end of the world, but you don't suffer long. Something even bigger takes its place and starts fucking you at a brutal pace. A crowd is really gathering now, people are recording and even though a few keepers have shown up, everyone seems hesitant to stop the show.

A new pressure builds at the base of the tentacle fucking you, and if you were less brain dead you might have panicked. But all you could even register was how good it feels to be stretched even further, to feel the bulge works it's way deeper and deeper inside you until it's deposited deep in your guts. More are quick to follow, dozens and dozens of eggs pumping deep into you, rounding out your taught stomach until you couldn't possibly fit any more.

Finally done with your holes, the creature drops you down on the ground of its enclosure, smaller tentacles caressing your swollen tummy. A keeper gingerly walks in and helps you leave once the tentacle monster fully looses interest in you. Now that there's proof of how these things breed, the zoo will obviously want to keep you around for a while. They want the eggs obviously, but they also want to figure out what make the tentacles decide you were prime for breeding. And if that turns into getting fucked full of eggs a dozen more times, well, win win right?

[oxtoxtoxto]

You know, Carrie probably stuck around in the public consciousness in a much more active way on Earth Bet than it did in our own universe.

Think about it: Carrie - the novel - was published in 1974, and it was in 1987 when the active parahumans at the time decided to go public. We can assume that, because they could decide to go public in the first place, there were probably not that many parahumans around at the time, but even so, there had to be some people with powers by that point. So that's our baseline: 1987 is when people had powers.

1974 to 1987 is a little over a decade, which is a while, don't get me wrong, but it also isn't really enough time for something as widely popular as Carrie to fully leave public consciousness, like how there are plenty of books from the mid-2000s and early-2010s that sold well enough to stick around as something people are aware of and talk about in 2023.

Seeing as how the emergence of powers seemed to ramp up after 1987 in the Worm universe, it likely was not that long (late-80s, early-90s) until you had a mass casualty event which echoed the events that transpired in Carrie. Some kid in highschool going postal with powers nobody thought were possible and had no reason to expect.

I mean, shit, technically the Slaughterhouse 9 was around in 1987.

And people would want to look for some way to contextualize that, to understand horrible tragedy like that, or just find a reference frame for it, and waiting for them, as if by design, would be Carrie, which was likely not even fully out of the public consciousness by this point. A story that has paranormal elements that aren't quite mystical, where the powers are fantastical but the situation itself is almost mundane in its cruelty and ends in a lot of dead teenagers.

I can only imagine Carrie reasserted itself in mainstream culture at that point.

I never really dwelled on Taylor making a reference to Carrie back in the story. I could put two-and-two together. But I imagine her thinking that probably carries a whole lot more weight in her world, where that shit can and almost certainly has happened, then it would here, where Carrie is mainly known for being a good novel that kickstarted Stephen King's career, and where "going Carrie" is an evocative phrase, but nothing more than that.

It also makes me wonder what kind of existential crisis Stephen King would have gone through in Earth Bet. Imagine being The Guy Who Predicted The Horrors.

[historicallyaccuratecheese]

I know this isn’t very in line with the usual “haha magnus archives worm lady” posts I usually make, but this is very important to me and I want to spread as much awareness as possible.

One of my favorite games of all time is Dead Cells, a fantastic indie roguelike developed by Evil Empire. Recently, it was announced that it’s upcoming 35th update would be the last one for the game. Now, let me start off by saying that on its own, this isn’t what I’m upset about. The fact that Dead Cells has gotten as much support as it has over the years is quite frankly incredible, and 35 updates, most of which have been free and very high quality, is an amazing amount of support. Rather, I am more concerned about the circumstances behind this announcement.

The announcement was…off, for a number of reasons. For one, Update 35 has been in Alpha and Beta on Steam for a while now, and it’s not exactly an update you’d expect the entire game to end on. Still quality, but not exactly a “grand finale.” Also strange was how long it’s been in alpha and beta, as it seems to have been in development hell for over six months. And finally, it’s clear that there was so much more planned for the game. For example, 2023 was said to be the biggest year for the game, and yet we only got two updates. Granted, one of those updates was very big, but not nearly big enough to really live up to the title of “biggest year so far.” By all accounts, it definitely seemed like there was some sort of internal issue that cut the planned lifespan of the game short. If so, that would be very unfortunate, but I would have been willing to accept there was probably nothing that could be done. However, recently some information about what actually happened has shown up, and….yeah I’m pissed.

For those who didn’t know, Dead Cells was originally made by a team named Motion Twin, but after the fourth update, most of the people working on the game left to form their own team, Evil Empire. Evil Empire has developed every update for the game since that split, and yet, they are rarely credited as the makers. Motion Twin is the company that promotes all of the new updates, as if they made them, and unfortunately very few people know which company actually makes the game. Recently, Motion Twin announced a new game called Windblown (proclaiming it was made by the same team as Dead Cells, when it certainly wasn’t), and based on recent interviews with Evil Empire, we learn that Motion Twin pulled the plug on Dead Cells against Evil Empire’s wishes. Evil Empire loved making the game, and planned to continue updating into 2025, expanding the gameplay and lore, yet Motion Twin decided to pull the plug, either to promote Windblown (which if so…why? You can have two games?), or simply out of spite towards Evil Empire, which seems unfortunately possible due to the fact that the devs do not seem to have the best relationship. And to add insult to insult to injury, Motion Twin straight up lied by saying that Dead Cells stopped development because they “don’t want the game to feel bloated”. ….THEY DON’T EVEN MAKE THE GAME WHAT THE HELL?!

So yeah…this is a really terrible situation. Dead Cells is a game that means a lot to me, it’s helped me through some very tough times and there are many other people who hold the game dear to their heart. So please, anything from a simple reblog to making your own posts about the matter goes a long way. Spread awareness about what’s going on. Tell people about how Evil Empire has put so much hard work, love and dedication into the game, and wishes to continue. Tell people about the lies that Motion Twin have been telling. Pressure the two teams into splitting away from each other entirely, so that Dead Cells might get a chance at continuing development. (Be respectful about it though, don’t commit any forms of serious harassment.) It would seriously mean a lot to me and many others, and I would greatly appreciate it :).

[the-voldsoy]

Parallels/references/a couple theories about TMAGP EP1:

grouped in order of actual theories, vague things i noticed, and even vaguer comments! (using the same terminology as in TMA for ease)

HEAVY Spoilers !!

Stronger:

“Colin, mate, you know you’re never getting out of here” +won't leave until they figure out the errors “Or they finally kill me” → couldn't quit the Archives because they thought they just wanted to understand and know (but later found out they could only get out by dying or blinding)

Lena talks about cake → Mr Spider doesn't like cake + Elias seemed to love the stuff

pub called The Seward -> Peter Lukas vibes?

“There has to be a way to do this online” → haha ! you wish. (AKA supernatural interferes with internet so it cant be dont online)

“There's this box for a "Response 121" on the form.” → MAG121 is the episode Jon is woken from his coma/brought back to life by Oliver Banks

Talk about how there used to be a separate “Response” department → Elias tells Jon its their job to watch, not interfere (iirc)

Old as shit computer → old as shit tape recorders

AKA: the computer seems to be the only thing that can handle the supernatural

“ "Dolls comma watching" or "Dolls comma human skin" “ → violently Stranger and possibly Eye, has me in mind of MAG24 (the one the Calliope is first mentioned in, where the boyfriend is turned into a doll iirc) 

Barely understandable, long as shit file names →barely understandable, long as shit files names by Gertrude 

[in response to where the files go] “some long dead database that no one will ever look at or care about” → the Archives were unmanaged, decrepit and barely used by anyone outside of them

Work during the night - no sun, cut off from outside world → worked in a basement - no sun, cut off from outside world

Martin (and later Jon) taking the statements → did the same in TMA but in reverse (although I’d love to know if there's any reason behind them being called Chester and Norris, besides what's stated?)

Haha Martin and Jon (and Jonah) are now part of the World Wide Web → shit now they're part of the Web (just like with the tape recorders !!)

Someone talks about how they're sorry, they should've listened, couldn't face not hearing him again → martin @ jon and vice versa

Stranger statement with hints of the Dark → first TMA statement was a Stranger in the dark, and it does put me in mind of the Anglerfish tbh

Sorting system for the statements (although there's is a Lot more detailed and v different) → Smirke’s Fourteen

Gwen openly does not like Lena → literally anyone @ Elias

Asked if they were tricked into working here → well, we know the Archives and Elias

“The awful, terrible thing that landed you here?” → most of the Archives (excluding Sasha and maybe Martin) had something that made them Marked, that mostly led to them working there

Someone who's into spelunking listed the Institute as “cleared” → who could that be (if we know them at all)? Buried avatar, i'd guess, but we don't really know any of them

Photos of the Institute don't show up → photos of the supernatural don't work

The Institute was “weird”, made the subject paranoid → lingering Eye

Fire twenty years ago that burned the Institute → Like the fire at Hilltop Road? Or like that time Gertrude tried to burn down the Institute?

Third floor was the most burned → assuming that's the top floor (and correct me if i'm wrong), wasn’t Jonah in (and later killed) on the top floor?

“offices like little cells” → employees were certainly trapped ! also Millbank Prison

Worried non-existent doors were going to slam shut → the Distortion

Weren’t any papers → left behind before the Institute came to this Somewhere Else (assuming it's the same Institute)? (we need an actual name for the original universe and this Somewhere Else)

Suspicious stains on some floors → my darling, that is blood ! or possibly squished worms, or ink. or possibly something Else

“an old wooden thing with a bunch of similar symbols on” → genuinely unsure what this could be

Strange symbols → For all the Fears, or just the Eye, i wonder? I think i remember them saying something about an Eye symbol at this point, but now i can't find where

“you get a job, I get a fresh victim. It’s all in your contract.” → Elias @ his employees

 “To new beginnings, with old friends” → to a new beginning, with our old friends Jon, Martin and Jimmy Magma :)

“You’re not as clever as you think you are. You think you've got us all fooled, that no-one knows you're listening, But I do. I know. I’m going to find you and then…” → hi what did he mean by this

They (jon, martin & jonah) are Watching and Listening and following through technology→ just like Elias (Panopticon vibes tbh) and Sergey Ushanka

Vaguer (idk if theres anyhting here, but wanted to include it anyway):

Alice loves coffee -> Martin loved tea

Meeting in a cemetery → Sasha with Michael pre-prentiss attack, Naomi Herne 

Not wanting to stay at home because it's full of memories → Jon moving with Georgie, Martin moving to the Archives

Gwen Bouchard wants Lena’s job → Bouchard (appeared to) climb the job ladder quicker than he should have

Heh bug list → corruption

 “You don’t seem like the usual hopeless wasters Lena hires” “The awful, terrible thing that landed you here?” → okayy no need to be rude. But anyways the OG Archives crew were actually pretty disconnected from the rest of the world +were barely there by choice?

“freight cars near Brighton” → hey where did Melanie get her first Slaughter mark ?

“it’s not too awkward working with an ex?” → Georgie and Jon?

FR3-d1 -> i feel like there's something there, but i cannot figure it out

Just words that made me irrationally scared:

Stranger(‘s)

Distortion

Opposites:

Starts with a party for someone leaving → couldn't quit the archives

“ …you are perfectly within your rights to resign. No one is forcing you to stay here.”

please put any opinions/additions in the tags !!

[bits-and-babs]

𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘 𝐖𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔

pairing: johnny soap mactavish x medic!reader (stitch)

summary: a night of drinking with 141 pushes you to the brink of your friendship with soap.

warnings: [ 1k words ] pathetic levels of mutual pining, yearning, alcohol and drinking, (f) masturbation, reader fantasising about sex with soap.

notes: i had so much fun writing this <33

Soap leans back dangerously on the stool at the bar as he laughs, a deep rumble that rattles his ribcage. The legs of the seat teeter precariously on the edge of a broken floor tile, threatening to slip into the grout grooves and knock him from his pedestal. He’s like sunshine, glowing with the grin plastered on his face as he guffaws at something Ghost had grumbled across the bar.

Even in your drunken stupor, you manage to place your palm on his lower back, curbing gravity’s inevitable pull by easing him back into an upright position. He chuckles weakly, still struggling over Simon’s ridiculous comment as he blinks back humorous tears.

“Cheers, Bonnie,” he grins, the ocean in his eyes swimming with the whiskey The Captain had been plying you both with all evening. It knocks you seasick, the way the corners of his eyes crinkled, weathered by emotional storms. They creased for you, now, his wide grin carving out crevices that would last a lifetime simply because he offered you a smile. “Always lookin’ after us, aren’t ye?”

“Y-Yeah, don’t go expecting me to catch you in the field. My job’s to treat injuries, not prevent them,” you murmur, heart cracking against your chest as it flooded your cheeks with blood, heating the skin beneath his gaze.

“Mhm- it’d mean y’d have less work,” he pointed out with a pert raise of his brows, picking up his glass of whiskey and swirling it around so that the ice tnk’d against it. Johnny doesn’t break eye contact, basking you in the warmth of his gaze that could only be rivalled by the sunshine on the beaches his salt-water eyes reminded you of.

Did other people bathe in that everglow? Did the golden rays of his affection colour the cheeks of other girls, or was that look of adoration reserved only for you? You dread to think of the possibility that you were misreading Johnny’s tender gaze, that what you had hoped were exclusive expressions of enchantment had, in fact, been handed out as frequently as the insults that Soap consistently levelled at the members of task force 141. Or even worse, there was a single ‘lass’ back home, waiting in the cobbled streets of Glasgow to receive his embrace.

Genesis: the split on his forehead that went straight to the bone. No bullets were fired; instead, Soap’s skull connected with Ghost’s knee during a football game with the rest of 141. Inexplicably, he and Simon had been on the same team, yet Johnny still managed to end up hurt. He’d smiled at you, and the sight had wormed its way into your bones, the sound of his accented voice all hushed and husky ringing in your ears. ‘Bet yer not used to fixin’ daftys like me.’

You’d assured him he wasn’t the first and certainly wouldn’t be the last.

Swallowing thickly, your fingers trail up the ridges of his spine through the thin material of his t-shirt. His back is muscular, leaking the heat of far too many whiskeys for so early in the evening. You’re sure you can feel his vertebrae ripple beneath your touch, his eyes zeroed in on your lips like he was aiming his sniper rifle at a target.

“It’s not work if it’s you,” you whisper, feeling the rest of the bar, the team, wash away in those ocean-blue irises. Soap hums softly, the weight of his hand resting on the top of your thigh beneath the sticky countertop of the bar. He seems to calculate the distance between you; the logistics of the shot.

You can’t breathe.

Defibrillator, chest compressions, mouth to mouth.

“Yer too kind, Stitch,” he murmured softly, giving your thigh a squeeze before withdrawing his touch almost as quickly as he’d offered it. Instead, he wraps his fingers around the glass containing the rest of his amber whiskey, the condensation clinging to the sides of the glass dribbling down the length of his fingers to the knuckles.

Code blue.

☆ ☆ ☆

Breathless, your back arches from the cot’s mattress as you sink your fingers into the dripping head at the apex of your thighs. You can’t help the moan that spills over from your lips as you feel how wet Soap’s single touch had made you, the burn of his palm still simmering in the flesh of your thigh.

You’d barely made it back to the barracks. Stumbling over your own feet, you’d whimpered in frustration when tearing off your clothes, needing to rub your throbbing clit to ease the pulsing need Soap had instilled in you with his fucking smiles.

They’re a nuclear weapon, so bright it hurts your eyes.

Alcohol made it so much worse. Your mind runs away with itself, imagining Soap had tripped into your bed alongside you. He’d be rubbing at your swollen clit with his thumb, sinking his fingers deep inside you while praising you for how well you received him.

‘Steamin’ Jesus, Bonnie,’ he would groan, kissing across your sternum while searching for that mind-numbing spot inside you that had your toes cramping as they curled, ‘so fuckin’ wet for me. Can ye take another? C’mon, that’s it-‘

You wail softly, rocking your hips up to meet the thrust of your fingers as you imagine the sensation of his lips on your neck, the scratch of his stubble against your pulse point.

“‘M gonna cum, Johnny,” you wheeze aloud, urging the ghost touch to keep going. Your fingers sink deeper, the ridges of your fingerprints scraping something cataclysmic when you curl them just right.

A long, anguished whine ricochets off the walls of your dorm as you drench your fingers with your cum, eyes squeezing so tight that you can almost see the ghost of Soap’s silhouette behind your eyelids, praising you for your devastating orgasm. It’s so slow, utterly debilitating as it obliterates every inch of your drunken limbs with a white-hot ecstasy.

Your lungs rattle with the force of your inhales, bleached knuckles gripping the bedsheets in a desperate attempt to brace against the explosive orgasm. Soap’s touch still simmers beneath your thigh muscles, buried into the sinews despite the trembles that wracked them.

Did he feel the same? Had your palm burned into his vertebrae, or did he imagine the touch of a girl from home, whispering her name when he came?

You dread to think. 

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[linkemon]

Would you still love me/like me if...? 

Friendly reminder that English is not my first language. You can check my Masterlists both in English and Polish here. Consider supporting me on Ko-fi. You can also check out my commissions if you're interested.

Other headcanons from this series can be found here.

Baizhu ✧ Animal

✧ Would you still love me if I turned into an animal? This was definitely not the question he expected to hear on a calm and beautiful evening. This amused him immensely. You, however, didn't seem happy with his laugh, so he would ask you what kind of animal exactly, to which you had no answer.

✧ He's not a vet but he's a doctor. First of all, he would promise you that he would try to cure you with all means possible. He would travel across the world to find some kind of treatment.

✧ You pushed him further. What if such a drug did not exist? Well... He has experience with Changsheng. The snake, of course, loudly protested that it was not the same but no matter how you look at it, Baizhu also had to feed him something and take care of him (Changsheng said that it was completely the opposite way and that he was his guardian...).

✧ You weren't entirely satisfied with the answer, so Baizhu took you out the next day to console you.

Wriothesley ✧ Worm

✧ Would you still love me if I was a worm? Wriothesley is prepared for anything. I mean literally everything! Even for his other half's philosophical questions. It's not like he heard about this trend from someone in the Fortress and thought that you'd definitely want to take part in it soon, so he thought of everything in advance... He immediately replied that yes, he would still love you.

✧ When you asked what it would look like, he said he would prepare a miniature room for you in his office. There are a lot of different pieces of machinery lying around the Fortress, I'm sure he could make a nice set of metal furniture out of it.

✧ He could carry you around with him in a special pocket in his uniform. He wouldn't let anyone crush you. He would even make special warning signs in places you would frequently be. Everyone would adjust to them because, as we know, Fortress of Meropide has a lot of people obeying him and their sentences would certainly be extended to stay there for their whole lifes if they didn't.

✧ When you asked if he would like to change you, he said that no, just to see your reaction. He wanted to tease you but don't be angry with him, he loves you very much.

Nahida ✧ Fungus

✧ Would you still like me if I were Fungus? This question did not raise a trace of surprise from the archon. To her, it sounds like any other. After all, it is not for nothing that she patronizes wisdom. She has to consider many concepts. Nahida would think for a moment with a finger pressed to her cheek. And then she would say yes, of course. She would also list every possibility.

✧ First, she would try to communicate with you. She can connect with living things, so why not with you? If you didn't like your condition, she would want to change it. By any means available. You can be sure that the students at the Akademiya would be wondering about your condition. Someone would eventually come up with some cure... or not.

✧ If your new form suited you, she would leave you in the forests of Sumeru in a safe place. She strongly believes that Fungus would be a different form that should be treated accordingly and would like to befriend you with other shrooms so you can settle in.

Nilou ✧ Slime

✧ Would I still be your best friend if I was a slime? Of course you would, she said, grabbing your hands to emphasize the importance of her words. She didn't even have to wonder.

✧ She just hopes you wouldn't be a pyro slime, because she'd have to be very careful with her hydro vision. She wouldn't want to hurt you. Apart from this fact, Teyvat's laws are thrown out the window! She didn't think about anything that made sense or was logical.

✧ In her mind, it looks like she's taking care of the absolute cutie patootie, which is you as a slime. Her friend would still go shopping with her, spend all day together and perform on stage. Now you could create a one-of-a-kind performance or, preferably, a whole spectacle. Did she leave out the fact that you probably wouldn't be able to understand her? Of course but it didn't occur to her because she was too excited.

✧ You have to forgive her, over the next week she will come back to this question at various times and tell you how cute it would be if, in the form of slime you would... Ate cake with her, danced with her, wore a tiny dress? Finish it yourself, there are many options.