#( Because they come from particularly dark or gruesome stories )

[ofsavior]

Private Muse List (to be edited):

These are muses I no longer want listed on my main roster to limit crowding. I may have dropped these muses for any number pf reasons. However, I would still like to invite those who would like to interact with these muses.

Cartoon/Comics

Graham Calloway - Carmen Sandiego

Catra - She-Ra

Red X - Teen Titans Kitten Walker - Teen Titans

Anime/Manga

Osamu Dazai - Bungou Stray Sogs

Hirato - Karneval

Ferid Bathory - Owari no Seraph

Sasha Necron - Misfit of Demon King Academy Ray Gransdori - Misfit of Demon King Academy

Sakuya Watanuki - Servamp

Ochako Uraraka - Boku no Hero Academia Mirio Togata - Boku no Hero Academia

Irina Jelavić - Assassination Classroom

Courier - Akudama Drive

Sebastian Michaelis - Kuroshitsuji

#( Honestly tempted to make a separate sideblog ) #( That might be a better feeling considering I don’t write some of these characters here ) #( Because they come from particularly dark or gruesome stories ) #( Hmm; I’ll think about it ) #supreme lean meme machine ( ooc. )

[homosexuhauls]

By Vidya Krishnan

GOA, India — My niece was just 4 years old when she turned to my sister-in-law in a packed movie theater in Mumbai and asked about gang rape for the first time.

We were watching the latest Bollywood blockbuster about vigilante justice, nationalistic fervor and, of course, gang rape. Four male characters seized the hero’s sister and dragged her away. “Where are they taking Didi?” my niece asked, using the Hindi word for “elder sister.” It was dark, but I could still make out her tiny forehead, furrowed with concern.

Didi’s gang rape took place offscreen, but it didn’t need to be shown. As instinctively as a newborn fawn senses the mortal danger posed by a fox, little girls in India sense what men are capable of.

You may wonder, “Why take a 4-year-old to such a movie?” But there is no escaping India’s rape culture; sexual terrorism is treated as the norm. Society and government institutions often excuse and protect men from the consequences of their sexual violence. Women are blamed for being assaulted and are expected to sacrifice freedom and opportunity in exchange for personal safety. This culture contaminates public life — in movies and television; in bedrooms, where female sexual consent is unknown; in the locker room talk from which young boys learn the language of rape. India’s favorite profanities are about having sex with women without their consent.

It is the specific horror of gang rape that weighs most heavily on Indian women that I know. You may have heard of the many gruesome cases of women being gang-raped, disemboweled and left for dead. When an incident rises to national attention, the kettle of outrage boils over, and women sometimes stage protests, but it passes quickly. All Indian women are victims, each one traumatized, angry, betrayed, exhausted. Many of us think about gang rape more than we care to admit.

In 2011 a woman was raped every 20 minutes in India, according to government data. The pace quickened to about every 16 minutes by 2021, when more than 31,000 rapes were reported, a 20 percent increase from the previous year. In 2021, 2,200 gang rapes were reported to authorities.

But those grotesque numbers tell only part of the story: 77 percent of Indian women who have experienced physical or sexual violence never tell anyone, according to one study. Prosecutions are rare.

Indian men may face persecution because they are Muslims, Dalits (untouchables) or ethnic minorities or for daring to challenge the corrupt powers that be. Indian women suffer because they are women. Soldiers need to believe that war won’t kill them, that only bad luck will; Indian women need to believe the same about rape, to trust that we will come back to the barracks safe each night, to be able to function at all.

Reports of violence against women in India have risen steadily over the decades, with some researchers citing a growing willingness by victims to come forward. Each rape desensitizes and prepares society to accept the next one, the evil becoming banal.

Gang rape is used as a weapon, particularly against lower castes and Muslims. The first instance that women my age remember was in 1980, when Phoolan Devi, a lower-caste teenager who had fallen in with a criminal gang, said she was abducted and repeatedly raped by a group of upper-caste attackers. She later came back with members of her gang and they killed 22 mostly upper-caste men. It was a rare instance of a brutalized woman extracting revenge. Her rape might never have made headlines without that bloody retribution.

Ms. Devi threw a spotlight on caste apartheid. The suffering of Bilkis Bano — the defining gang rape survivor of my generation — highlighted the boiling hatred that Indian institutions under Prime Minister Narendra Modi, a Hindu nationalist, have for Muslim women.

In 2002 brutal violence between Hindus and Muslims swept through Gujarat State. Ms. Bano, then 19 and pregnant, was gang raped by an angry Hindu mob, which also killed 14 of her relatives, including her 3-year-old daughter. Critics accuse Mr. Modi — Gujarat’s top official at the time — of turning a blind eye to the riots. He has not lost an election since.

Ms. Bano’s life took a different trajectory. She repeatedly moved houses after the assault, for her family’s safety. Last August, 11 men who were sentenced to life in prison for raping her were released — on the recommendation of a review committee stacked with members of Mr. Modi’s ruling party. After they were freed, they were greeted with flower garlands by Hindu right-wingers.

The timing was suspicious: Gujarat was to hold important elections a few months later, and Mr. Modi’s party needed votes. A member of his party explained that the accused, as upper-caste Brahmins, had “good” values and did not belong in prison. Men know these rules. They wrote the rule book. What’s most terrifying is that releasing rapists could very well be a vote-getter.

After Ms. Bano, there was the young physiotherapy student who in 2012 was beaten and raped on a moving bus and penetrated with a metal rod that perforated her colon before her naked body was dumped on a busy road in New Delhi. She died of her injuries. Women protested for days, and even men took part, facing water cannons and tear gas. New anti-rape laws were framed. This time was different, we naïvely believed.

It wasn’t. In 2018 an 8-year-old Muslim girl was drugged and gang raped in a Hindu temple for days and then murdered. In 2020 a 19-year-old Dalit girl was gang-raped and later died of her injuries, her spinal cord broken.

The fear, particularly of gang rape, never fully leaves us. We go out in groups, cover ourselves, carry pepper spray and GPS tracking devices, avoid public spaces after sunset and remind ourselves to yell “fire,” not “help” if attacked. But we know that no amount of precaution will guarantee our safety.

I don’t understand gang rape. Is it some medieval desire to dominate and humiliate? Do these men, with little power over others, feeling inadequate and ordinary, need a rush of power for a few minutes?

What I do know is that other men share the blame, the countless brothers, fathers, sons, friends, neighbors and colleagues who have collectively created and sustain a system that exploits women. If women are afraid, it is because of these men. It is a protection racket of epic proportions.

I’m not asking merely for equality. I want retribution. Recompense. I want young girls to be taught about Ms. Bano and Ms. Devi. I want monuments built for them. But men just want us to forget. The release of Ms. Bano’s rapists was about male refusal to commemorate our trauma.

So we build monuments with words and our memories. We talk to one another about gang rape, keeping it at the center of our lives. We try to explain to our youngest, to start protecting them.

This is how the history of the defeated is recorded. That’s what it all boils down to: a fight between forgetting and remembering.

#rape culture #radical feminism #indian feminism #vidya krishnan #misogyny

[rockislandadultreads]

Fairy Tales & Legends Retold

A Spindle Splintered by Alix E. Harrow

It's Zinnia Gray's twenty-first birthday, which is extra-special because it's the last birthday she'll ever have. When she was young, an industrial accident left Zinnia with a rare condition. Not much is known about her illness, just that no one has lived past twenty-one.

Her best friend Charm is intent on making Zinnia's last birthday special with a full sleeping beauty experience, complete with a tower and a spinning wheel. But when Zinnia pricks her finger, something strange and unexpected happens, and she finds herself falling through worlds, with another sleeping beauty, just as desperate to escape her fate.

This is the first volume of the "Fractured Fables" series.

Gods of Jade and Shadow by Silvia Moreno-Garcia

The Jazz Age is in full swing, but Casiopea Tun is too busy cleaning the floors of her wealthy grandfather’s house to listen to any fast tunes. Nevertheless, she dreams of a life far from her dusty small town in southern Mexico. A life she can call her own.

Yet this new life seems as distant as the stars, until the day she finds a curious wooden box in her grandfather’s room. She opens it—and accidentally frees the spirit of the Mayan god of death, who requests her help in recovering his throne from his treacherous brother. Failure will mean Casiopea’s demise, but success could make her dreams come true.

In the company of the strangely alluring god and armed with her wits, Casiopea begins an adventure that will take her on a cross-country odyssey from the jungles of Yucatán to the bright lights of Mexico City—and deep into the darkness of the Mayan underworld.

Juniper & Thorn by Ava Reid

A gruesome curse. A city in upheaval. A monster with unquenchable appetites.

Marlinchen and her two sisters live with their wizard father in a city shifting from magic to industry. As Oblya’s last true witches, she and her sisters are little more than a tourist trap as they treat their clients with archaic remedies and beguile them with nostalgic charm. Marlinchen spends her days divining secrets in exchange for rubles and trying to placate her tyrannical, xenophobic father, who keeps his daughters sequestered from the outside world. But at night, Marlinchen and her sisters sneak out to enjoy the city’s amenities and revel in its thrills, particularly the recently established ballet theater, where Marlinchen meets a dancer who quickly captures her heart.

As Marlinchen’s late-night trysts grow more fervent and frequent, so does the threat of her father’s rage and magic. And while Oblya flourishes with culture and bustles with enterprise, a monster lurks in its midst, borne of intolerance and resentment and suffused with old-world power. Caught between history and progress and blood and desire, Marlinchen must draw upon her own magic to keep her city safe and find her place within it.

Kaikeyi by Vaishnavi Patel

“I was born on the full moon under an auspicious constellation, the holiest of positions—much good it did me.”

So begins Kaikeyi’s story. The only daughter of the kingdom of Kekaya, she is raised on tales about the might and benevolence of the gods: how they churned the vast ocean to obtain the nectar of immortality, how they vanquish evil and ensure the land of Bharat prospers, and how they offer powerful boons to the worthy. Yet she watches as her father unceremoniously banishes her mother, listens as her own worth is reduced to the marriage alliance she can secure. And when she calls upon the gods for help, they never seem to hear.

Desperate for independence, she turns to the texts she once read with her mother and discovers a magic that is hers alone. With it, Kaikeyi transforms herself from an overlooked princess into a warrior, diplomat, and most favored queen.

But as the evil from her childhood stories threatens the cosmic order, the path she has forged clashes with the destiny the gods have chosen for her family. And Kaikeyi must decide if resistance is worth the destruction it will wreak—and what legacy she intends to leave behind.

#fairy tale #retelling #fantasy #mythology #fiction #reading recommendations #reading recs #book recommendations #book recs #library books #tbr #tbr pile #to read #booklr #book tumblr #book blog #library blog

[squeakygeeky]

Till The World Ends review

This review is basically just for @absolutebl, who should not watch this.

This series operates on post-apocalyptic B movie logic, with strong currents of dark humor and political satire. This definitely undercut my ability to take seriously the more tragic and romantic moments, of which there were many since this was still a BL. Well, that and its inexplicable tendency to use Christmas carols as background music. I enjoyed it, it wasn’t bad, but whatever it was a good example of is such an odd duck I don’t think it would be to most people’s taste. Definitely content warnings for the kind of violence, gore and general nonsense a post-apocalyptic B movie normally contains.

Full spoilers from hereon in:

The premise is that the moon is about to hit the earth and the whole story takes place within 13 days. Everyone is supposed to be evacuating into bunkers, as if that’s going to help somehow. (Every time the moon hitting the earth was mentioned I had to laugh and yell at my own brain to stop trying to apply logic to this show.) Golf has major anger issues so he ends up knocking out Art with his guitar when he thinks his new girlfriend is cheating on him with Art. Golf's ex takes his phone with the QR code or whatever you need for the bunker and he stays behind to care for Art and also because he wants to wait for his brother, who is in prison for political crimes and therefore won’t be allowed in the bunker. Art wakes up with amnesia.

There’s a second couple who are the leader of a gang of psychopathic cannibals and his leather eye patch wearing subordinate. The leader’s sister dresses like a sexy schoolgirl. I am obsessed with them. It’s been like two days since everyone went to the bunker, how did this murder spree even get started? They are the high heat couple and get a particularly tragic and gruesome end, but tbf they were the villains.

Somehow Golf and Art manage to get together in typical BL fashion even after Art learns the truth but yes, the world literally does end at the end, it said so on the tin, the moon absolutely hits the earth and destroys everything and Golf and Art did not make it to a bunker, not that that would have mattered. The moon hit the earth, I cannot emphasize this enough.

Some events:

Golf serenades Art with the same guitar he knocked him out with earlier. It is very obviously duct-taped together. (P’ABL I feel like this is your ultimate nightmare scenario.)

The fact that extremely cliche post-apocalytic gang are cannibals is just casually dropped as they eat dinner together and one of them finds the earring of the lady they just murdered.

Art wears a shirt that says ‘nothing lasts forever’ to his own wedding.

Golf and Art don’t manage to get around to kissing each other until significantly after said wedding.

The scene once they finally get together is pretty good though.

Many people are violently killed and also one dog.

Chekov’s nail clippers come into play not once but twice.

There’s a road trip portion with gorgeous cinematography. Often shots feature the Giant Moon, which is very pretty but also to me hilarious.

Golf and Art make love for the last time on a rooftop under the Giant Looming Moon.

There are many many cgi fireflies throughout.

#till the world ends #till the world ends series #thai bl #thai ql #ql series #ql

[aceofspadesblog]

Restless Reprieve

Geno and Aftertale belong to CrayonQueen Reaper belongs to Renrink

If there was one good thing to come from being stuck in this stupid void, it was Reaper.

Geno wasn’t one for overdramatic clichés, but he truly felt like he’d found his soulmate. 

The god of death didn’t magically make everything better. Geno’s day-to-day was still a living hell. But Reaper was a bright spot in the darkness. The god helped him through the worst moments, he was a support to lean on. He was a distraction from all of the bad things happening in Geno's universe.

Reaper had stumbled into the Save Screen one day, trying to reap Geno’s soul. Geno had, of course, told him to fuck off. They fought. Reaper won. Reaper tried to take Geno’s soul. He failed.

Both skeletons were surprised to discover that Reaper’s Death Touch didn’t work on Geno. Neither was sure why. It may have been from Geno’s half-dead state, or the amount of determination he’d consumed, or a mere side effect of the Save Screen. Or maybe there was just a glitch somewhere in his code. Whatever the cause, that encounter had led to Geno’s new recurring visitor. 

At first, he’d found the death god annoying. Reaper was a terrible flirt, always so touchy-feely... probably because Geno was the only person he could touch without them dusting on the spot. But still. It was annoying. Geno had been irritable whenever the god visited. But as time passed, he’d begun to enjoy the other’s company. Geno told himself it was just because Reaper was something different in his monotonous life, but it was difficult to fool himself for long.

Reaper would tell Geno about different AU’s he’d visited, sharing stories about particularly strange deaths. Gruesome, sure, but it gave Geno something to think about aside from the violence happening in his own world. Reaper brought trinkets and snacks to the Save Screen. He’d find colorful designs to fill the void, or force Geno to try weird candy flavors. And it was nice, to have something different. To have something to look at other than the surrounding blackness. To be able to taste something again after so long not needing food to survive. To have new experiences for the first time in years.

Geno’s favorite gift by far were the books. They gave him something to occupy his time after Reaper left. And the fact that the god of death had thought about what Geno went through while he was gone, had thought to bring him a distraction... it was endearing. 

They grew close. Eventually, they started dating. Sort of.

Geno couldn’t really go on dates, since he couldn’t leave the Save Screen, but Reaper didn’t care. He seemed to take it as a challenge, trying his best to recreate all of the stereotypical date locations in the void. 

There coffee date had been sipping coffee while sitting on the floor of the Save Screen. They’d spread a blanket over the grassy patch of the void for there picnic. The theater date consisted of Geno and Reaper snuggling together with popcorn and a blanket to watch a movie on Reaper’s phone. 

It was simple, but Geno liked it. Reaper was creative in his quest to make every “date” different. To keep bringing new experiences to the void. And it was sweet. 

But it wasn’t enough to overcome the hell Geno went through whenever Reaper was gone. When the god of death left to reap the souls of those who’d passed, and Geno was left alone with a handful of books and that view of his family and friends viciously dying on loop.

Some days, he could shut out the human’s torture and focus on the distractions Reaper had provided. But some days those distractions didn’t work, and he felt like he was slowly losing control. How long could he watch these same scenes before he lost his mind? 

As much as he loved Reaper, those emotions couldn’t overcome the need to destroy his universe, to stop the human, to save everyone from there endless suffering. He kept trying to talk to Sans, to convince the other monster to help him. Sans continued to refuse. The Resets kept happening. His friends kept suffering. Papyrus kept dying. 

Reaper kept visiting. It felt like he was the only thing keeping Geno sane. But it was like a ticking bomb that kept being reset. There’s still an impending explosion, it’s just being delayed. 

How long until Geno bursts? When will it all become too much for him to handle? At what point will he fall apart so much that he can’t be put back together? 

---

One day, everything changed. 

Reaper hadn’t visited lately, and Geno was feeling a little extra crazy, like he’d explode at any moment. He restored Sans’s memories of the previous Resets. 

Geno had been worried that he’d pushed too hard. That he’d broken his double, that he’d have to wait for another Reset to attempt his negotiations again. But it worked. At least, Geno thought it had. Sans agreed to help him. 

But it’d all been a trick to drag Papyrus into the Save Screen. To get Geno’s baby brother to talk him down from the edge. They were convinced they could find there happy ending. Geno didn’t believe in happy endings anymore, but he let them try.

Apparently all it took to end this hell was a damn piece of butterscotch-cinnamon pie.

<- Previous | Next ->

#geno sans #aftertale #Reaper Sans #reapertale #afterdeath #dissatisfied series #resets #ace writes

[stackthedeck]

Please do give us the two types of fictional consent rant

Yes!! Okay, so there are two types of fictional consent, in-universe and narrative. Think of it like watsonian vs doylist or diegetic or non-diegetic music. (discussion of sex but nothing graphic and mentions of rape under the cut)

So in-universe consent is where the characters look at each other and say hell yeah I wanna fuck. It's not something that's particularly hard to establish. Often times in the debate around censoring mature acts from literature, works with no in-universe consent get targetted

narrative consent is much harder to establish. I think of it as you giving your consent to the writer. The reader kinda enters into a relationship with the text, but like all consent, it needs to be informed. The text has an obligation to signal to the reader through foreshadowing and tone that whatever sex acts happen are coming and you the reader should suspend your disbelief and feel a certain way about it. Narrative consent isn't established because it's the right thing to do, but because it's good storytelling.

So you have stories with in-universe and narrative consent. Congrats you wrote a sex scene and your reader enjoyed it! The characters wanted this to happen and so did the reader, whether that's because it's a slow burn with gentle hinting at a greater passion, the two characters locked eyes and felt a spark, or there was a half naked man on the cover, the reader knew what they were getting into.

Then you have no in-universe consent but you do have narrative consent. There's something impeding the characters' abilities to consent and the reader knows this, but the tone and framing make it so the reader isn't upset by this but continues reading for some kind of desired response. These are your bodice rippers, your sex pollens, your mating cycles, etc. A kidnapped princess can't really consent, but the narrative describes it as pleasurable and she doesn't feel bad afterward and so there's narrative consent. Why would someone want to read that? The prevailing theory is the displacement theory of sexuality. When society vilifies sexual pleasure in a group, that group feels shame around sexuality but they're still human and feel desire. These stories provide the paradoxical fantasy of receiving sexual pleasure while also having a distance from desire. The reader is in a position where they feel that they are not allowed to want, so a character that does not want but still receives, can be a gratifying experience. Not for everyone in the group that is made to feel shame btw and idk if I even believe this theory but it is a neat explanation

and that's only if the desired response is pleasure. Stories the have no in-universe consent but narrative consent can also seek out catharsis as the desired response and depict rape. The reader will have a "bad" reaction the same way they will have a "bad" reaction to a tragedy or horror, you know. Not everyone reading something dark is getting off to it you know. Sometimes you just want fiction to hurt and the story tells you that's what's going to happen, clearly signaling what's going to go down through tone and framing.

I'm tempted to call all stories with no narrative consent bad writing. Like if there's just suddenly a sex scene that you the reader weren't prepared for, that's bad writing. Often times texts don't establish narrative consent because they're simply not that good, not because they're trying to harm their readers. Have you ever read a sex scene and it's just really boring and then nothing changes afterward and the characters don't get closer because of it? That's a violation of narrative consent. Sometimes you're reading a horror novel and then there's a gruesome rape scene and woah you really didn't think it was that kind of novel. That's a violation of narrative consent

And like I don't think it's strictly necessary to call this concept consent because it's just the full effect of communicating with the reader through genre conventions, tone, foreshadowing, etc. But I like to call it that because I think trashy romance novels have really mastered this idea and sex is held to a very different standard than other acts in fiction. I think tragedies and horrors are also really good at his, at holding the reader through the catharsis, not just hitting them with the horrible thing, but sitting with them in the horrible thing and letting them have the fallout.

#asks #sorta nsft

[clefairytea]

Do you have any horror book recs? you are very big brained and I trust your opinions

OH BOY DO I. Standard warning that this is all horror so it's all like. Fucked up. I'll try to place warnings for anything specific but like. There's just going to be a lot going on in general. If you’re interested but maybe concerned I’d advise looking into any rec further before diving in, especially as some of these I read a while ago and may not remember certain aspefcts of!

I have to start by repping my fave novel of all time, We Have Always Lived in the Castle, by Shirley Jackson. It's maybe not as well-known as her short stories (e.g., the Lottery, which from what I've heard a lot of Americans study in school) or The Haunting of Hill House, but it's such a spectacular, dark, weird novella. It's about witchcraft, family, alientation in the American suburbs, and how fucked up a teenage girl can get. There is barely a second of wasted breath in it. It's funny, dark, creepy, and weirdly triumphant all at once. I love it so much. Warnings for familial abuse and murder.

Recently I also read Sayaka Murata's short story collection Life Ceremony, which I thought was absolutely fantastic. Murata's insights on conformity in Japanese society are fascinating, and while I'm not sure Murata has ever come out and identified as one way or another, there's a lot of queerness baked into her work (particularly from an ace-aro perspective). These short stories are fantastically freaky, sometimes funny and sometimes scary. A lot of it concerns s/ex, cannibalism, gore, death, and reproduction.

Speaking of Japanese horror, the short story The Human Chair by Edogawa Ranpo (https://pseudopod.org/2021/08/21/pseudopod-771-the-human-chair/) has been living rent-free in my brain since I listened to it almost a full year ago now. It basically is about a guy who wants to live in a chair and uh. It escalates. It's a bit of a weird horror in that it's one where when you read it you're like 'haha, this is silly' and then when you lie down to sleep later you're like 'DDD:'. Warnings for paranoia, sexual harassment, and uh. Being very fucking creepy generally.

I also recently finished This World Does Not Belong To Us (which, what a NAME, eh) by Natalia Garcia Frere. This novella is INCREDIBLY dark, grimy, and weird and I loved it so much that I wanted to eat it. This one is about a dude who is sold into slavery as a child and returns to his familial home to enact revenge. It's so so bleak, but beautifully written - almost more of a prose poem than a novel - and it's just so astoundingly eerie. I want Del Toro to adapt it to a stop-motion film. Content warnings for abuse, slavery, gross bodily functions, and SO MANY insects.

For something a bit campier and maybe more like, fun horror, I'd recommend Horrorstör by Grady Hendrix. Try and get a physical copy of this one, rather than ebook, if you can, because the entire concept of this it's a horror-comedy novel based entirely in an off-brand IKEA, and the book is styled after an IKEA catalogue. It's pulpy, spooky, a lot of fun, and I devoured it all in one day. I wouldn't say it's scary exactly, but it is a gruesome anti-capitalist ghost story so. Who can say no.

If you're after more 'terrible women being awful' horror, I'd recommend Tell Me I'm Worthless by Alison Rumfitt. This is about a fraught friendship between a trans woman and a recently radicalised TERF, following a traumatic incident they had together at a haunted house. While I do think this book suffers a bit from needing a more brutal editor (esp considering the author's relatively young age), it's really compelling and gripping. Content warnings for transphobia, discussions of geno/cide/naz/ism, r/ape, terrorism.

If you're a YA reader, I'd suggest Louise O'Neill's 'Only Ever Yours'. Don't be put off by the corny-ass cover most editions have - O'Neill is an incredibly skillfull writer and this a great, dark dystopian novel, exploring misogyny against teen girls taken to its absolute extreme. While it's very much an YA Novel in many ways (sometimes it does feel like it's sitting you down to Explain How A Sexism Works), I think that's just par for the course for the genre, and if you're reading YA just something you have to expect a bit. Content warnings for r/ape, eating disorders, body image, misogyny, and homophobia (I think, it's been a while since I read this one!).

Yeah, those are my big picks off the top of my head!

#clefairy squeaks #Haha I feel like I don't SEEM like someone who loves horrible misery books but. #I read Heartstopper recently too and liked it I swear #Haha writing this post got me all excited maybe I'll read Only Ever Yours again

[onerabong]

Dark Matter rambles

Warnings for major spoilers for the fic Dark Matter by @lara60

Something I’ve been meaning to say, I find it very interesting that Boros’ Meteoric Burst form so closely resembles Iryo’s body👀 Wonder if it’s just coincidence, or something more..

Edits of comments I left on the the Scorcher arc

I absolutely LOVE three dimensional characters with pasts shown for the readers to sympathize and relate to, while also maintaining their characteristics. There’s this Korean webtoon called ‘one last god Kubera’, and it doesn’t really have a single protagonist, rather, all the characters, including the antagonists in the story are shown their motivations, has complicated stories of their own supporting the motivations. Of course, there’s a balance between the main protagonists and the others via screen time but even the really side characters are shown to have depth and it makes the story absolutely heart gripping and insane. And I had a feeling that DM had that trait even in the earlier chapters, it intensified with the scorcher arc, especially introducing Valerio with his attitude towards Laura, and this chapter really sealed the deal. The whole story of Valerio’s and Lagareos’ past is, without a doubt, heartbreaking. Laura’s reaction however, is the cherry on top for me. How she still tries to use the situation to her advantage, to escape from the figure that abused her her whole life. Succeeding in it, but having heard his story, not feeling victorious at all. (on ch.15)

I love the characterization of Valerio. He seems more approachable, more kind, to confuse Laura(and the readers) and it works, and just when we’re getting comfortable he shows cruelty again. And the best part is that him being more kind is not some sort of act on his part, but is all genuine. His cruelty and kindness is both a genuine factor in his personality, which honestly makes him one of the most interesting characters I’ve seen. (on ch.16)

I love that it starts with a random newbie unaware of Nova’s powers adding to the suspension of what’s coming. Really shows how terrifying Nova is when you’re her enemy.

The twins meeting their fate was absolutely something else. So gruesome, so cruel, but very deserved, in Nova’s point of view. It’s not like I particularly liked the twins, for obvious reasons, but seeing them go was still kinda sad. Satisfying, but unfortunate at the same time(If that even makes sense lol). Because for them, of course Nova was the number one enemy, more for Nai, because she hated her so much. They were both horrible but they really tried so hard to win and still failed. But that’s what happens, which makes Nai’s last look of hatred towards Nova all the more chilling.

Boros giving out orders - Even if it was in such a high stressed situation and very natural since everyone was on edge, it’s still definitely something. It means he was that much sure of his decision and sure of his place as a crew member. I love to see his confidence grow little by little, especially in situations like these, cuz it really feels natural. Not to mention the fact it feels like a foreshadowing to his leadership..

Him having the idea to broadcast their message as a distress call too, that was so smart. Boros has been a huge help for the crew this chapter, when he’s only been part of it for a relatively short amount of time, which is pretty significant..

And to mention significant, him killing the scorchers. This is actually the first time we see Boros mercilessly kill sentient beings. He killed in the very first chapter, but the tone was very different. That was more of a self defense, he was lost and vulnerable and was attacking in a much more defensive stance. This time though, he was trying to protect Proxima and his friends, and they were his enemies, but the emotion that went into it(or the lack of it), the anger, the cruelty, is what makes all the difference.

(In this universe, killing sentient beings itself doesn’t seem to be a major problem in one’s morality. At least in the group of people we get to see. Be that the pirates, the scorchers, or other various smugglers. Which makes sense, because the nature of their work environment requires constant battles, and dwelling on the moral implications of each lost lives would change the fic into a whole different genre. Similar types of morality scale(?) I think can be found in Star Wars or the MCU. The problem arises however, when a subject with no power to, or desire to fight back is killed. Which can be seen with how the Pirates tried to save that little family from the Scorchers, and how Nova was disgusted with the massacre of civilians on her mission. Also with how the Voyager tried to contact the Maelstrom with the intention to help when they thought it was out of control. (I think))

So Boros killing those Scorchers is not a problem in itself, we see Nova do much worse. The changing factor here is that he’s gone from what was relatively a neutral bystander, to an active participator in the crew’s needs. The Dark Matter Pirates are the first real family Boros has ever had, the first people he actually loves and cares about, and he fiercely wants to protect them, to keep them.

“A cruel reminder that nothing in this universe is untouchable, and that if he wants to stay with his friends – with this wonderful group of people who had taken him in, considered him part of the crew, part of their family – he needs to stop hiding.

He needs to protect them, no matter what. It doesn’t matter from who – common bandits, law enforcement, Scorchers, or even the General and his pawns.” (from ch.17)

Dillio’s death was what really made him realize this I think, and right after that he’s faced with the risk of losing another member of his family.

Anything that threatens his family he will not hesitate to kill. He’s angry at the sight of the Scorcher soldiers, because their very presence is a direct threat to the survival of Laura. So he kills without mercy.

In a sense he is very similar to Laura, she also meets the Pirates and feels familial love for the first time. She loves them, wants to protect them, and anything that threatens them is her enemy. She hates the Scorchers for the things they do, and for the things they made her do, especially Valerio who was in the middle of it all. But there was a chance to see past all that, to heal and have a real connection.. Before they killed her friend, her real family. After that she shows no mercy. No doubt in her mind, no hesitation, she kills anyone that is a threat to her friends’ safety.

The difference would be that Nova’s been fighting battles almost all her life, either as a Scorcher, or as a Pirate. She’s used to death in battles, and this is just another one, one that is necessary to protect her friends. Boros however, is not. He was never a trained warrior, never in the midst of battles, he was just an engineer, watching from the sidelines. Now he actively joins in, all with the intention of death, to protect his friends. A natural change, but a big one. As of now Boros’ actions is similar to that of Nova’s.. but I wonder how that will develop over time..

Now it’s clear that Boros’ dreams show the future. The way he was about to call Proxima.. just before she does it herself- that realization, that his dreams show him the future, the CHILLS dude. God I wanna know how this is gonna work out as the story progresses. Can’t help but wonder if it’s connected to the visions Iryo’s been seeing. And the voice the Cyborg talks to. And the picture of the Galaxy that started all this. Also I am SO hyped for Iryo and Boros’ interaction. I mean, there’s gotta be a reason it was Iryo that was chosen to hunt him. Yeah, he’s a great tracker and has the General’s trust so he was chosen, but in a story sense- He has that protagonist vibe. Maybe I’m going overboard but I wanna see him and the General in action so bad.

The fact that Nova faces Valerio without her armor, it makes the interaction all the more real.

Valerio’s speech.. that he hoped for a life together.. that her coming back was a sign of trust, of reconciliation, just shows how self centered he is. If only he knew that what he was doing was hurting others, hurting the people he loves, that he was the problem and not them.. His method brought him from having nothing to leading a successful empire. He was the one who built everything up from scratch, and there was nothing to indicate that what he was doing was wrong, because the one person who said that he drove away a long time ago. And that was a fluke. It was Lagareos who was in the fault, not him. So he goes on, alone, and after a while makes someone he can care about again. This time the relationship is not one of an equal standing, but rather, one that is based on hierarchy. Laura is his daughter, his subordinate, so of course he gets to make the decisions for her. Control her behaviors, her future, her values. It never occurs to him that what he is doing is not an act of love, but of cruelty. He doesn’t realize that having a child doesn’t mean you possess them. Which is why Nova running away, making friends of her own, is a betrayal.

He mentions Lagareos, saying everyone he loves betrays him in the end. And the tragic thing is he did love them, both Lagareos and Nova. Of course he feels betrayed, the people he loves just won’t do as he says, won’t stay in his control, and for him, what is that if not betrayal? Everything has to be in his control, including his loved ones. But of course that can’t happen. He doesn’t realize that that kind of relationship is not a relationship at all. So with Nova’s ‘betrayal’ he learns nothing, and resolves to start all over again, this time without any ‘weakness’.

For a moment there I thought Nova was just going to talk to him, to just tell him how much of an idiot he’s been but no, all she has in mind is her friends’ safety, her number one priority. So she fights. Her tears as she kills him just adds to the tragedy.

Something about the first thing she sees after all that being Boros. Something about how after all that, she still has the energy to recognize her friend, and say his name.

The whole of the last sequence is such a beautifully written tragedy, the best conclusion this arc could’ve got.

(on ch.18)

The message Boros received.. the thing that started all of this.. I keep wondering if it has something to do with the Heart of the Universe..

-Most of this post is just edited comments for now but I’m gonna add more rambles as time goes-

#Dark Matter #boros #lord boros #opm #fic #fanfic

[heyyesimtrash-whatofit]

An explanation has been asked of me and so I shall deliver. So here go my thoughts behind Mischa’s doodle in my most recent RTC post. Enjoy :)

So it’s been said that in the (absolutely genius) Ghost Au the choir can and does try to protect Penny from the bullying she receives at school, yes? Well the moment I heard that my brain immediately pictured a certain scenario, one which I had Mischa draw out because it would look kickass and I think he’d enjoy it. Said scenario goes a little something like this-

Penny’s getting bullied and the choir isn’t having it. First it’s small things: knocked over supplies, slammed lockers, a shove or two, things like that. However as they gain more power they’re able to do more. For example, passing whispers telling the bullies to quit it while Penny isn’t around, flickering lights and shadow apparitions, appearing in mirrors, etc. Penny remains mostly in the dark about these things, or at least most of the motive behind them, only really hearing about them through rumors and stories from classmates. Until of course it all comes to a head and the choir full on appears behind her when she’s cornered by two random classmates. I, an avid horror fan might I add, like to imagine that it’s not just them either, but rather a more gruesome image of them that’s in a way similar to how they looked after the accident. Seriously terrifying shit, which just so happens to be the goal. Perhaps they say something along the lines of “leave her alone”, maybe they just stare, they could ever cause some poltergeist havoc by slamming some lockers and popping a lightbulb or something- whatever it is, it terrifies the kids and they take off screaming. It clicks with Penny moments later that they saw the choir and ohhhh shit. The entire school knows about it by the next day, as you’d expect, half believing the two students and spreading a rumor about Penny having some connection to the dead while the other half call bullshit. Either way it’s very interesting for Penny as she tries to A) process what happened, B) dodge the rumors and whispers, and C) deal with a rather excited choir that want to test this “new ability”

TL:DR- the choir goes full ‘horror movie ghosts’ on two particularly bad bullies and Penny has to stop them from causing more chaos before her classmates burn her at the stake

#rtc #ride the cyclone #rtc ghost au #ride the cyclone ghost au #heeeey guess what #it’s an explication for Mischa’s doodle #surprise!! #as a huge fan of horror and ghosts and such I’ve had this idea for ages #it’s been so fun to type it out #just- let them have some fun #let them terrorize a few kids #as a treat :) #said two kids are now terrified of Penny but that’s okay #at least according to the choir it is #Penny would disagree #I especially love the idea that this entire thing happened by accident #they didn’t mean to appear #it was simply a combo of strong emotions and a mutual urge to protect their designated human #Fi I hope you’re happy cause scenarios like these have TAKEN OVER my brain #there are many #help :) #not sure if you’ve ever had anything like this in mind but personally I think it’d be kick ass

[bugjizmsquawk]

I don't know, man. I cannot seem to ever get what I want at the exact moment I want it. Everything remains terribly elusive; it all remains frustratingly out of reach and some days the frustration takes over and becomes the whole of my personality. I cannot escape it; everything, every possible thing, tends to frustrate me on these days. I cannot get what I want and I want it right fucking now.

I now understand why serial killers do what they do. Not being able to have a truly remarkable sexual experience tends to drive one mad, tends to drive one into states of absolute depravity if there are no alternatives present. It's not enough to have a willing partner who wants you, who enjoys you, who will let you do whatever you want to her as long as you want it. No, you end up wanting what you shouldn't want which is anyone that does not want you and wishes to get away from you. It is all about pursuit and prey which do offer a most fascinating experience for the daring and the willing to face the fear of discovery. Being discovered is a thrill all its own because it means one will be recognized for their work which is of utmost importance. The absolute worst thing is to accumulate a fair number of corpses without your name forever attached to them. Anonymity is the most frustrating condition of all for every killer who just wants recognition.

Serial killers fascinate us because primarily they do what our imaginations would have us do if only we weren't terrified of the ramifications of such grotesqueries. We are scared of being caught and thrown into a dungeon forever but some are able to break free of these irrational fears and do whatever the hell they want to whom ever they want whenever they want it. They are the truly bold but they must remain outsiders in any society that wants to maintain a semblance of Law and order.

We all have terribly dark thoughts, don't we? A flash of a slitting the throat of a child, or pushing one into a train. We just want to bash somebody's skull in sometimes for no reason other than because it comes into our head and it seems like a good idea at the time. But we do not do any of these things because we are reasonable people and we honestly understand that we just do not have what it takes to be a criminal of any sort. We certainly cannot make a career out of homicide, particularly gruesome, depraved, beyond description. These type of stories sicken the average person who insist they are free of such thoughts; however, they are aware they are fooling themselves. We all have such thoughts but most of us are able to ignore them. We don't heed their call and certainly do not express our rage upon the flesh of another mere human.

So, we are satisfied to live vicariously through the actions of our beloved serial killing heroes now and again because we are under the impression that it's safe. But what if we could experience the kill at the moment the life is snuffed out? What if a virtual reality could create that experience for us in the sense that we could cut that little turdling throat and push that brat into way of the train? Would we want to? What if you could rape somebody and experience it as if it was happening exactly as it is presented to you? Or be raped?

It seems imperative to contemplate the thought processes of those who do commit acts of atrocity just because they can and because it's satisfies some strange directive they are under. The measured man does not give in to the temptation without a certain amount of contemplation. Indeed, there is a lot of time between the initial thought and the final deed. Preparation, imagining every conceivable aspect the final performance, the sheer Joy of accomplishment after a lengthy prelude are all essential.

It remains true that very few persons want to admit publicly that serial murder must be fun for the killer. It must provide a certain type of satisfaction that nothing else can match; no job, no advancement, no kind word can ever approximate the simple yet exquisite series of feelings that accompany one of these actions. Unfortunately, it just does not last which means another must be arranged at some point in the near future. Strangely, it often takes years to accomplish this. It is as if the killer wants to retain every conceivable aspect of the kill for as long as possible before he must go out and complete the task anew.

It's very convenient to say that the typical serial killer is simply depraved which causes them into their very personal modes of existence. The fact remains many of them have families, they live double lives. The excitement is generated from this fact. They are sneaking about, being very dirty boys, getting away with something that nobody else knows about. It's terribly delicious, and it stimulates them more than anything they've ever known.

It is my contention that your average serial killer has developed a peculiar way of getting off from the get-go. Their erotic pleasures have never been normal and in fact have always been rather secret which enhances the thrill. Most likely, being caught in a compromising position is very exciting especially if there is a punishment. Having punishment attached to your masturbation habits is a guarantee that you will end up equating sex with violence which is a computation that defines most serial killers to the point that they cannot ejaculate without seeing either blood or suffering of some sort.

Personally I fully understand just how this intermingling must occur in the minds of young boys who are inherently violent and who are inherently stupid about sex. They don't know what they're doing with their cocks and they don't know how to treat a woman with respect and the dignity which she deserves. In fact this respect and dignity is often lost on themselves as well because society and parenting and their peers and instructors have no clue how to address their pain. A lot of us grow up angry with no discernible measure to assuage our anger. Unfortunately, some of this anger is directed towards women. Sometimes women become a target of the rage that boils inside of us to the point that we want to punish them.

#Spotify

[adamwatchesmovies]

Santa's Slay (2005)

Santa’s Slay is almost good. Writer/director David Steiman tries - and fails - to make a movie that's "so bad it's good" on purpose but when he indulges in holiday-themed puns and gruesome slayings, you'll have a good time. Call me sick, but seeing people drowned in eggnog, skewered with candy canes, blown up with trick presents and run by Santa's sleigh, it’s ghoulish fun. All that’s missing is a story worth watching to bring all the Yuletide carnage together.

The result of a virgin birth through a woman and Satan, Santa Claus (Bill Goldberg) indulged in yearly massacres from which Christians protected themselves using Christmas Mass. In 1005 A.D., an angel defeated him in a curling match and sentenced him to be nice and deliver presents for 1,000 years. Now, it’s 2005 and he’s eager to indulge in his bloody ways again.

The film’s highlights are the various killings. Some of them you see coming. Others take you by surprise. Cinema had to include someone getting skewered by a menorah eventually and if that’s the sort of thing you want to see, you’ve got it here. There is also a rather charming homage to the ‘60s Rankin/Bass Christmas specials that’s sure to put a smile on your face. It’s so ridiculous it actually works.

Every other aspect of the film disappoints. The special effects are dodgy but that’s ok. You wouldn’t mind so much because they can - at times - enhance the dark humor. The insurmountable issue is the “plot”, which should’ve been tossed away and redone completely. For the most part, there is no story. Santa randomly shows up and kills everyone in sight while making puns - if I never hear "ho ho hoes" again, it will be too soon. It’s funny (for the most part) but not so original that audiences won’t be left wanting more. When Mr. Claus isn’t leaving bloody footprints in the snow, we follow Nicholas Joseph Yuleson (Douglas Smith) and his girlfriend, Mary McKenzie (Emilie de Ravin) trying in vain to warn everyone in the town of Hell of what’s happening. It gets repetitive fast.

I know what you’re thinking. Santa came from a virgin birth. The other principal characters (other than Nick’s grandpa, played by Robert Culp) are “Joseph” and Mary, the hero’s first name is Nicholas. There’s got to be some connection between them, some twist at the end that proves these people were destined to battle, right? No, there isn’t. This is why I'm complaining about the writing. The names seem to have been chosen out of a hat at random instead of serving a satisfying purpose. In fact, when you look at the big picture, you’ll realize Nicholas has no impact on this story whatsoever. The dialogue is clunky, meandering and primarily included to pad out the movie - "say anything, as long as it helps us reach feature-length running time". At 78 minutes, Santa's Slay is more of an elongated sketch than a proper film. The ending is abrupt and unsatisfactory and the film is sloppy. A great example comes right at the beginning. The picture opens with pages of illuminated manuscript detailing through illustration the “true” story of Santa Claus but the text surrounding the drawings isn’t even Greek; it’s just random characters with occasional cast member names thrown in. At least it sets your expectations appropriately.

Santa’s Slay is bad but not so bad you can’t have somewhat of a good time with it. If you throw this on the TV during your holiday get-together, your guests can occasionally look at what's on the screen, rub their eyes in bewilderment and instantly have something to chat about. Sitting down and paying attention would only mean becoming appalled by the sloppy execution. If you choose to watch Santa's Slay, stick around for the admittedly cleverly done end credits, particularly if you’re a fan of the WWE. (November 27, 2020)

#Santa's Slay #movies #films #movie reviews #film reviews #David Steiman #Bill Goldberg #Douglas Smith #Emilie de Ravin #Robert Culp #Saul Rubinek #Dave Thomas #Rebecca Gayheart #Chris Kattan #Fran Drescher #2005 movies #2005 films #christmas movies #christmas films

[steelcitygirlreviews]

Fringe Reviews 2022 - Medusa

Playwright/Director: Brianna Seferiades

Performers: Mimi Han, Claud Spadafora

Show dates, times and tickets available here: https://boxoffice.hftco.ca/event/866:569/

Content Warning: Violence (enacted live or graphic description)

_____

Myths are a great topic to explore and re-explore over time, granting audiences an opportunity to experience well-known classics. Brianna Seferiades’ reimagining provides a rather twisted look at the creation of monsters and how we define one in Medusa.

Using clever movement and minimalism, the mythic duo of Mimi Han and Claud Spadafora lure the audience into their seemingly childish and often horrific shadow puppet story of Persephone and Medusa, two cursed females and their connections to the land and the mother of monsters. It has both characters coming out of childlike wonder and making gruesome decisions with disturbing delight. Both Spadafora and Han are quite skilled in their physical acting and vocalisations. These aspects keep the story flowing; both performers relying on one another which adds to the effective staging techniques. Spadafora is particularly mesmerizing as the titular embodiment of the doomed Medusa. She understands the rage, grief and acceptance of one’s fate with a deliciously chilling malice. 

At times, the show (particularly near the end) seemed like it lost its way and the use of the beautiful shadow puppetry felt abandoned. Several times throughout I had to step away from my own personal remembrances of the myths of Persephone and Medusa respectively. However, this allowed the reimaging to be effective because we are forced to rethink and evaluate how myths change over time and how they continue to speak to modern audiences.

If you enjoy the dark and twisty stories of ill-fated women, this one will not disappoint you.

#hamiltonfringefestival #classical mythology #myth retelling #theatreaquarius

[lifeofkaze]

The Little Ghost Lady

This is my entry for the @hphmsecretsanta Secret Santa Event 2021 and a gift for the lovely @hphm-madness 💛

I had so, so, so much fun with Ben and your Little Ghost Lady and utterly fell in love with the concept. I do hope I managed to capture her and her relationship with Ben and that you have as much fun reading this fic as I had writing it. Because honestly, I had a blast.

Merry Christmas! ✨✨✨

There wasn’t much the little ghost lady remembered of the day she died. She couldn’t recall how long ago it had been, nor how exactly her life had ended. The only thing she did remember was how hard she had found it to adjust to her new life-after-death.

She had heard of ghosts before, of course; after all, who hadn’t? She just would have imagined becoming one herself to feel different. She would have thought that maybe there would be a big light at the end of a dark tunnel, at the end of which she’d get a choice; or maybe her life flashing in front of her inner eye; or even an all-consuming pain as her life was ripped from her body and her heart stopped, although maybe that was a little dramatic.

The truth, she had to admit, had been rather underwhelming in comparison. One day, she had opened her eyes and found herself to be a ghost; anything which had happened before, as much as it vexed her, she had forgotten.

One thing did strike her as odd, however. She would have thought that as a ghost she would be able to move objects, rattle some chains or slam some doors. But she very quickly found that everything she tried to touch just passed through her as if she was nothing but air.

Not even the people she tried to scare by moaning and screaming in the middle of the night cared for her effort. It took her some time to figure out that this wasn’t because she didn’t do a good job, but because they somehow just couldn’t hear her.

She had no idea what was wrong, because one thing she remembered distinctly was that ghosts passed their times by frightening unsuspecting mortals. It escaped the little ghost lady why this wasn’t working for her, and whether this was a ghostly problem in general, or if it was just her.

It was a lonely after-life she lived; haunting houses and setting up pranks wasn’t particularly fun when no one was there to appreciate it. She saw families come and go from the house she not-lived in, and with every new one the little ghost lady grew increasingly bored.

Until the Coppers moved in.

The Coppers had a son, a little boy called Ben. He was a scrawny little kid, with big brown eyes, and sandy blond hair. The little ghost lady grew fond of him quickly; Ben was easily scared and for some miraculous reason, he was able to see her.

The little ghost lady did her best spookery to impress tiny Ben Copper, giggling to herself when he ran screaming from his room. She would make a game of following him around, telling him stories she made up on the spot and embellishing them with the most gruesome details she could think of.

One day a letter arrived for Ben, written on heavy parchment in emerald ink. She hovered just over his shoulder and blew her icy breath into his neck as they both read it.

Would you look at that, she thought. Little Cry-Benny was a wizard.

There was much confusion and excitement in the Copper household as a witch in robes as emerald as the ink on the letter arrived to explain everything to Ben’s scared parents. But out of the three, Ben seemed to be frightened the most at the prospect of leaving his home and moving to a school far away, full of witches, wizards, creatures and ghosts.

The little ghost lady’s ears pricked up as the witch told the Coppers about the Hogwarts ghosts. If there were others like her, maybe she would be able to make some new friends? It wasn’t like she could let poor Ben go and face this new adventure alone anyway, so the little ghost lady decided it was time to pack her figurative things and go to this new school with him.

But to her disappointment, the ghosts in the ancient castle were either very stuck-up snobs, or - just like everyone else besides Ben - unable to see her. It was weird, floating around the other ghosts without a single one of them noticing her, but this time, the little ghost lady didn’t find it as bad. She had a friend in Ben now, after all.

Whenever she told him that, Ben didn’t look as convinced as the little ghost lady was, but that didn’t matter; she was convinced enough of their friendship for the both of them.

They spent many years like this; the little ghost lady passed her time pranking Ben or chatting to him, jumping out from behind suits of armour and telling him all the terrible ways she could think of how Ben could possibly meet his demise while doing mundane things like crossing the clocktower courtyard or sitting down at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall.

Whenever Ben got scared by one of the other ghosts, or creatures, or plants, or a weird looking shadow, she would sit by his side and pull silly faces until he laughed again; no one but herself was allowed to frighten her best friend, after all.

All the while, she watched little Ben Copper grow up. With the years his self-confidence grew, if only a little in the beginning, and he started making new friends. The little ghost lady wasn’t too pleased when he started spending more and more time with the boys from his dormitory and students from other houses. She found it thoroughly unfair that Ben had many people to talk to, while she only had him, and now he wasn’t even properly paying her attention anymore.

But as long as he would still jump whenever she popped up through the table right in the middle of his plate, she was fine with sharing Ben’s affection. As long as he was still scared of her, the world of the little ghost lady remained intact.

Until one day, Ben wasn’t scared anymore.

It started slowly, and if the little ghost lady would have paid close attention, she maybe would have noticed it earlier. As Ben hit his final years at Hogwarts, something about him changed. It wasn’t as easy to scare him anymore, and as time drew on, instead of being intimidated by her miserable moaning, whining and screaming in the dead of night, he became increasingly annoyed by it.

Naturally, the little ghost lady couldn’t let that stand at all, so she tried harder to impress Ben. And when that didn’t work, she tried harder yet again. Until one day, Ben had enough of her.

It was close to Christmas, and Ben was sitting in the library, studying for some boring test with his boring friends and his even more boring books. Boring, boring, boring.

The little ghost lady had busied herself for a while with telling Ben exactly how many ways there were to die from a paper cut, but Ben stalwartly kept ignoring her, so that wasn’t much fun at all.

A little sullen at being so rudely disregarded, the little ghost lady hovered above the heads of the students, looking at the dusty tops of the bookshelves and wishing she could write some obscenities into the dust with her finger.

When Ben wasn’t looking, she let herself sink downwards again, sneaked under the table and appeared right in front of him again with a resounding “Boo!”

Ben had been so concentrated on his work that he hadn’t noticed her and now gave a violent start. The little ghost lady could feel the tip of his quill run straight through her head as Ben threw his arms up in the air; good thing she was dead, that might actually have hurt.

She watched with amusement and Ben with horror as the inkwell Ben had knocked his hand against, toppled and then fell, spilling dark ink all over Ben’s neatly written essay.

Ben cursed under his breath and pulled the parchment off the table as fast as he could but it was too late; the ink was dripping from it onto his textbook and his face went pale.

“Look at what you’ve done now,” he hissed at her through gritted teeth. “That essay took me two weeks! Can’t you just bugger off and leave me alone, for Godrick’s sake? This is all your fault!”

The little ghost lady opened her mouth in outrage and laid a hand onto her chest over her unbeating heart. How dare he talk to her like that? His best friend?

Ben’s other friends exchanged worried glances.

“Are you alright?” a boy with red hair and a face full of freckles asked. “Who are you talking to?”

“No one,” Ben said and gave the little ghost lady a dark look. “Absolutely no one.”

The little ghost lady wrinkled her nose indignantly. She’d only wanted to cheer him up and distract him from his boring homework. It wasn’t her fault that he had knocked over the inkwell, he had no right to blame her for that whatsoever. She had only meant well and he was snapping at her. That wasn’t nice, that wasn’t nice at all.

She made a dismissive sound and with her head held high, she floated towards the exit of the library. On her way, she made sure to pass right through Ben and the shudder he gave at the cold feeling of her ghostly touch filled her with satisfaction. That’s what he got for being so rude!

The little ghost lady fully expected Ben to come after her and apologise. She waited around the corner of the library, striking a sullen pose every time she heard someone approach, but it was always someone else, someone who couldn’t even see her. Of Ben, there wasn’t so much as a trace.

Fine, the little ghost lady decided, if Ben could sulk, then so could she. She would show him what it meant to be so nasty towards her. Had she not taken care of him since he’d been a little child? Had she not cheered him up whenever he had been scared by anything else but her? Had she not made sure his attention wasn’t slacking with well timed pranks?

Exactly, she had done all of this, and this was how he thanked her? How utterly ungrateful. It was time Ben learned that she was not to be trifled with.

It was already late at night when the little ghost lady returned to Gryffindor Tower and let herself float upwards straight into Ben’s dormitory. All the boys were fast asleep and she hovered over Ben’s bed for a little while. She cleared her throat several times and stretched her neck, ready to give the best Banshee performance she’d ever done, but for some reason, she paused.

She looked down at Ben, her old friend Ben, lying peacefully in his bed. Sleeping like this, he almost looked like the little boy who had been so scared and alone when she had first met him all those many years ago. His face was relaxed and he was snuggled into his covers, one hand hugging his pillow and the other his old stuffed bunny he’d had since he’d been a child.

The sight made the little ghost lady sad. Even though he looked like he was the same, he wasn’t and she knew it. Ben was growing up, while she was stuck being how she was right now for eternity. Before long, Ben would be done with school and even if the little ghost lady followed him, would she still have a place inside his new life? Did she even have the right to ask for one?

She blew the air she had been holding inside her cheeks out of her mouth and sighed as she turned away from Ben’s bed. Maybe she should let him grow up, she thought, let him go, like he deserved. Maybe she was bound to be alone forever after all.

For the next few days the little ghost lady kept her distance from Ben, watching him from afar every now and again. She saw him laughing and joking around with his friends, and the sight hurt her more than she cared to admit.

She tried not to let herself get down by it; she followed other people and ghosts around, hopping around corners screaming, blowing icy air into exposed necks or just chatting away to her heart’s content. But it just wasn’t the same; no one could see or hear her, and as far as she was aware, the only person who could hadn’t even noticed she was gone.

Ben, however, had very much noticed the little ghost lady’s unexpected absence. At first, he had enjoyed a few days of peace and quiet, but the more he thought about her, the worse he felt for losing his temper.

He decided to apologise, but couldn’t find the little ghost lady in any of her usual places. But then again, her usual place was by his side.

After searching for some time, Ben found her in the old, abandoned clockwork tower. He could see her translucent legs peek out from beneath the giant bell, swinging back and forth to a melody which she had sung to him when he’d been a child.

“Little ghost lady?” he called up to her and the singing stopped abruptly. “Are you there?”

“No, I’m not,” came the sullen answer. “Go away.”

“Listen, I’m sorry for snapping at you,” he sighed. “I shouldn't have. I was just upset about my essay. That was a lot of work, you know?”

The legs disappeared and the head of the little ghost lady came into view.

“You shouldn’t have alright,” she exclaimed accusingly. “I was only trying to lighten the mood. And that’s how you thank me?”

She gave him a dark look. “How did you find me, anyway?”

Ben shrugged. “This is an old, creepy tower. What better place to spook around on your own? I hear that’s what ghosts usually do.”

“I’m no ordinary ghost.”

“No,” Ben smiled, “you aren’t at all. In fact,” he added after a moment, “you are really special. And not only because I’m the only one who is able to see you. You’re my friend. Really,” he insisted when he saw the little ghost lady’s dark look. “It’s just that sometimes you and your pranks can be a bit much. I’m not a scared little boy anymore. You don’t have to try and get under my skin all the time. We can be friends without that.”

“You think so?” the little ghost lady replied sceptically. “I don’t know how to be friends with someone without scaring them. That sounds awfully dull.”

“You could try,” Ben said with a hopeful smile. “It’s really quite relaxing. You might like it.”

When the little ghost lady still didn’t look convinced Ben sighed.

“Listen, the train taking us back home for Christmas is leaving soon. Do you want to come, or do we talk about this when I get back.”

The little ghost lady tilted her head from side to side and looked at him through squinted eyes. “I don’t want to come with you,” she decided eventually. “I quite like this tower. It has great acoustics, listen.”

She opened her mouth and let out a blood curdling scream. Ben winced and covered his ears when the heavy bell started ringing with her echo. When she was done, he slowly lowered his hands again.

“I thought you wouldn’t want to go home with me,” he said and a smile appeared on his face. “Which is why I have a surprise for you.”

“A surprise?”

“A surprise,” Ben confirmed. “I can’t promise it will work, but it’s worth a try.”

When it came to surprises, the little ghost lady didn’t have to be asked twice. Ben and she left the clockwork tower behind and she followed him out of the castle and over the snowy grounds until they reached the entrance to the Forbidden Forest.

The little ghost lady looked around curiously; she’d never been here before.

Ben stared at the darkness of the trees and swallowed. His face was pale and the little ghost lady found it hilarious that after his whole speech from before, he was just as scared as she knew her Ben to be. She wanted to make a joke about it, but something about the look in his eyes made her stop, so instead, she followed him in silence.

After a short march over a beaten looking path through the trees they reached a clearing. The little ghost lady's eyes went wide as they fell onto the small herd of animals standing in the middle of it.

They were horses of some sort, and the little ghost lady had seen them before. They were the ones pulling the carriages with the students when they arrived on the train down at the village.

They didn’t seem to have any meat to them, because the little ghost lady could see every single bone beneath their matted black coats and she felt sorry for them; she didn’t quite remember how it felt to eat, but someone should really feed these poor horses. Even their wings - which, the little ghost lady supposed, they shouldn’t have if they actually were proper horses - were looking gaunt, like they should belong to a very big bat instead of a horse.

Maybe no one cared for them because they weren’t exactly pretty. It was a little mean to say that, but their faces reminded her of lizards. It wasn’t their fault they were ugly, however; where would they be if you only got something to eat when you were nice to look at?

“They’re Thestrals,” Ben said quietly. He was watching them with a strange expression; the little ghost lady wasn’t sure if he looked more scared or sad. “They usually pull the carriages to and from the train station. These ones stayed back because of their babies.”

It was only now that the little ghost lady saw the tiny little horses jump around between the larger ones. Even they were looking malnourished and she felt a flare of righteous anger inside her chest. How could anyone treat a baby like this?

“Not many people can see them,” Ben explained, “and they usually scare those who can. Just like you.”

“Just like me?” the little ghost lady whispered, her eyes fixed on a little Thestrals looking in their direction.

Thoroughly fascinated, she left Ben’s side to hover closer to it. She didn’t expect anything to happen, but when she slowly extended her hand towards the Thestral, its black ears pricked up and it carefully sniffed her hand.

“Oh my God, Ben, look!” she squealed in delight. “It can see me! It can really see me!”

“It can,” Ben said behind her and she could hear the smile in his voice. “I wasn’t sure if it would, it was just a guess. But I’m glad it worked.”

He stepped next to her and looked at the Thestrals thoughtfully.

“I figured if I have new friends, so should you.”

The little ghost lady turned to him. “Does that mean you don’t want to be my friend anymore?”

“Not at all. We’ll always be friends. In a way,” Ben said with a wry smile that made the little ghost lady giggle.

“I just don’t want you to be so alone when I don’t have time for you,” Ben added after a moment, but the little ghost lady wasn’t listening to him anymore. She was floating in circles around the little Thestral, which was now jumping through the snow. She was laughing loudly when it passed through her and shook its matted coat.

“Merry Christmas,” Ben whispered.

With a last smile he turned to walk back up the path leading to the castle.

The little ghost lady turned around to wish him merry Christmas as well, but Ben was already out of earshot. She considered going after him, but then decided against it; instead, she watched the little boy, who used to be so scared but wasn’t scared anymore leave with a smile on her face.

Something rustled in the bushes next to the path and out of nowhere a squirrel jumped in Ben’s way, almost colliding with him before fleeing up the next tree. Ben gave a violent jump and the little ghost lady chuckled to herself; maybe he still was a little scared.

Before Ben could round the corner and disappear from her sight, the little ghost lady turned away to give her new horse friend its due attention. She was mesmerised by its coal black eyes which were looking at her - at her, not through her - and she blew a gust of cold air into its face. She snickered at its baffled expression.

That should definitely keep her entertained.

For a week or two.

Just enough time until Ben would be back. He was in for a late Christmas surprise and the little ghost lady was already looking forward to it.

But now, there were some pranks she had to discuss with her new friends first.

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #ben copper #the little ghost lady #secret santa 2021 #secret santa #merry christmas 💛

[picwew]

SQUAD UP! It’s time for Yuna and his crew of miscreant demons!

(Picrews are here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, and here!)

The characters are, top to bottom, left to right--

Nakajima, Yuna: A human with unusually high magical potential. His specialty is the binding of demons into servitude, which he utilizes to stop particularly troublesome demons from threatening human populations across the globe. Most of the demons under his care were seduced by him, as he has quite a knack for making men want him. As such, several of his servants are vying for his favor, but, in his own words, “I don’t play favorites~”

Obviously, Yuna is a bit of a flirt. His tastes extend well beyond demons, into just about any non-human he can get his hands on. He has a ravenous appetite for handsome men, but no plans to settle down any time soon. It isn’t that romance doesn’t appeal to him, more that he’s still young and a little too free-spirited for anything permanent. The way he dotes on his servants, though, you’d certainly think he was in love with them, Nihil in particular.

Mourning Dove: Affectionately referred to by his coworkers as “Dovey”, this little fellow was the first of Yuna’s servants, and is therefore his most staunch defender. The details of his past are hazy, even in his own mind, but he was born into the slave trade, nameless, nothing, the psychological toll of which would not become apparent until his eventual escape. He was full of hatred for the humans who had callously treated him as property, and claimed many lives before Yuna was able to soothe his aching heart. “You’re pretty as a mourning dove,” Yuna told him. From that moment on, he decided that this would be his name.

Dovey is, above all, an empath. Much of his time recovering from a life of slavery was spent learning to feel again. Once he got the hang of it, however, he found that he felt a little too much, so much so that he’s become somewhat of a crybaby. When others are in pain, he is often the one to comfort them. His sweet disposition and cute appearance have earned him his coworkers’ love, although they still get a bit miffed with him whenever he tries to hog Yuna’s attention.

Dr. Callaway: An interesting case, and a tough nut to crack. Only Yuna knows his full name; no one knows his story. All he’s shared is that he was fingered for human experimentation, and that, no, he has neither learned his lesson nor wishes to. Still, he behaves himself well enough, perhaps because he is entirely obsessed with Yuna in the most unhealthy way. While most of his coworkers consider one another family, Dr. Callaway is detached and often mocking of their sentimentality.

As expected, Dr. Callaway is a terrible sadist. He takes great pleasure in hurting others in any way he can. Nowadays, this is limited almost entirely to insults and threats, but he has been known to get physical with others when Yuna isn’t looking. It doesn’t help that nothing seems to bother him in return. You could beat the man senseless, and he’d come out of it grinning like a jackal.

Corvo: This one was a misunderstanding--or, rather, a case of cultures clashing in a very gruesome manner. Corvo is a hybrid of demon and crowkin. Beastkin are not true demons, but are often lumped in with them, so mixed-race families are not uncommon. Unfortunately, this can lead to some problematic offspring, particularly when one or both of the parents are detached from human society. Corvo, like many crowkin, was taught that food is food, and that human meat is the most delicious of all. He bore no ill will toward humans, but his view of them as, essentially, cattle culminated in a visit from Yuna.

Following his binding, Corvo began the lengthy process of finding something he liked more than human flesh. This, as it turned out, was sweets--all sweets, from pastries, to ice cream, to candy. He had never had sweets before, and everyone agreed that they suited his bubbly, affectionate personality more than human flesh anyway. He is certainly the gentlest of all of Yuna’s servants, dedicated to his family and to protecting those in need. He’s especially fond of cats.

Erebus: Known by those who worship him as the Master of Crows, Erebus is an ill-understood being. He is ancient, but has had little to do with his own kind since time out of mind. Instead, he appears to have become so entwined with his worshipers that he can no longer live without their faith to sustain him. During the Northern Crusades, a great many of them were persecuted for their faith, and Erebus fell into a centuries-long slumber. Only when his followers began to grow in number again did he wake--and command those loyal to him to seek vengeance for their fallen brethren. Naturally, Yuna had a thing or two to say about that.

Erebus is highly asocial, but does not dislike his coworkers. It would be a stretch to say he views them as family; even so, he gets along well with them on the rare occasion Yuna can talk him out of his comfortable pocket of darkness. As the oldest of his colleagues, he is respected and even admired, but he cares little for the love of his own kind. He desires mortal love, which he receives through his worshipers. Due to their number still being relatively low, you’ll rarely catch him awake. Only Yuna seems able to rouse him, and only because Yuna is his “most cherished one”.

Mage: A troublemaker with a bark worse than his bite--but he can and will bite, so mind your fingers. Like Dr. Callaway, his true name is known only to Yuna. His coworkers know him as Mage, taken from Magenta, the name of the rather nasty chemical he produces to draw in his prey. He doesn’t harm them, but he has seduced many a married man away from his wife. Causing strife among couples is what he does best. As an incubus, he finds the taste of a married man’s energy too sweet to resist. So, of course, when he found himself seduced by Yuna, he was completely baffled--and absolutely obsessed. He still toys with married men now and then, when he gets the chance, but spends most of his time trying to talk Yuna back into bed.

Though rare, Mage can be persuaded to bust heads, and does so with the best of ‘em. He’s highly territorial, meaning that although he rather likes his colleagues, he often tangles up with them over Yuna’s affection. He is particularly hostile toward Nihil, who rather delights in teasing Mage with his closeness to their master. Outside of his romantic conflicts with his housemates, he tends to be rather lackadaisical, spending much of his free time lounging on every comfortable surface available. People find his presence enjoyable due to his easygoing disposition and passion for mischief.

Nihil: Of all the demons under Yuna’s employ, Nihil is the one who has come closest to winning his heart. Theirs is a strangely intimate relationship, one which Yuna insists is platonic--and yet, Nihil is at his side always, his obedient shadow. Of course, they weren’t always so close. Nihil is an inherently violent, cruel man whose sole purpose in life is to cause as much pain and grief as he possibly can. He is absolutely, positively insane, for no other reason than this is how he believes a demon should be. This is his aesthetic, and a demon’s aesthetic is absolute. He minds his P’s and Q’s now that he’s bound to Yuna, but never lets his “family” forget what he is, Yuna least of all.

Nihil loves no being, except, by his own admission, Yuna. He teases his master constantly, always pushing his limits, always pushing his buttons. “I am your loyal dog,” is a favorite line of his, spoken, with a pointed smile, whenever Yuna asks something of him. For some reason, it never fails to fluster Yuna, which allows Nihil to worm himself further into his darling’s heart. Unlike his colleagues, he is not afraid to get physical with Yuna, and many of their more heated arguments have ended in the bedroom. Whether Nihil actually enjoys servitude remains to be seen, but for Yuna, he would pull the moon from the sky.

Pox: The general consensus on Pox is “unfriendly, but not unbearable”. A life of self-isolation has made him difficult to approach, even more difficult to befriend, especially given that everyone he’s ever loved, he has killed. He is a demon of sickness, of plague and of rot, of suffering so old as to be carved into the bones of the earth. When he was young, he could not control the disease that spread from him. Though his mortal mother tried desperately to guide him, eventually, she was overcome, and Pox left the village he had once called home, now populated only by the dead and dying. He learned then that he could not live among his mother’s people, but he knew nothing of his father’s. Rather than seek them out and put them at risk as well, he exiled himself to the outskirts of human society, interacting with it only when necessary. With time, he came to understand his power, and was able to control it--but his peaceful life came to an end when one of the few humans he had allowed himself to love was killed in a botched robbery. Pox designated himself judge, jury, and executioner, and it wasn’t long before Yuna showed up on his doorstep.

Pox hides his self-loathing under a cold, hard outer shell. His mask is flawless, perfected through a lifetime of guilt, and he allows no one near enough to break it. His coworkers believe that they are despised by him, but in truth, he loves each of them with every inch of himself. Saying so is difficult, though, and such an admission would only encourage them to endanger themselves. He may be in complete control of his magic most days, but there are times even now when he catches himself slipping. He is desperate to protect Yuna and the strange family they have all built together, so much so that he would rather suffer in silence than risk their lives asking for help.

Seta Sericum: The peculiarity of his name has led to his coworkers calling him Silky, a moniker which he has accepted only begrudgingly. Silky is a Nephalem, the product of a love between angel and demon. Typically, his fathers’ love for one another would have ended in tragedy, but the two stayed together even after their angelic half was cast from divinity. Silky was raised in a happy home, albeit a mobile one; his fathers couldn’t risk staying in one place for too long, lest the Church track them down. Ultimately, it was the Church, their greatest fear, that was their end. They were cut down while protecting Silky, who was forced to flee in the vain hope that his absence might somehow save his fathers. The Church searched for him, but he had hidden himself well. Now an orphan, he swore vengeance on his parents’ murderers--and he got it too, once he was old enough to control his immense magical power. He despises the Church, but killed only those among its ranks who had directly harmed him. Regardless, Yuna came for him, and he submitted to servitude as recompense.

Silky’s demonic father was a real fop of a man, and his son is no different now that he’s had a chance to adjust to a normal life. He insists that everyone pull their own weight, that everything be in its place at all times, and has a fondness for indulgences such as expensive wine and imported chocolates. Without these little luxuries, he would surely have gone mad, for both his mischievous master and his trouble-making housemates frustrate him to no end. He has tried, with mixed success, to serve as a role model for them, but, oh, they are all such children. Dovey is far too naive, Dr. Callaway is far too sadistic, Corvo is far too oblivious, Mage is far too flirtatious, Nihil is far too violent, Pox is far too cold, and Vincent is far too reclusive. Erebus, at least, is well-behaved, though Silky thinks he could stand to mingle more with the group.

Vincent Blythe: On the forefront of medical progress during the Victorian Era, Dr. Vincent Blythe has become little more than a shell of his former self. When his prostitute mother was murdered by one of her stags, something snapped in him. He began targeting, torturing, and finally killing any man who frequented brothels or whom he had seen with street-walkers, believing himself to be the protector of his mother’s people. It was only then when he realized he was something more than human. His father, it turned out, had been a demon who had fallen terribly in love with his mother, but whose feelings had been spurned by her. After receiving a near-fatal wound in a skirmish with a prominent vampire hunter of the day, Vincent tucked himself away in a dark corner of London to heal. He slept for over a century, and when he woke, attempted to pick up where he’d left off. Confused, his trauma still fresh in his mind, he killed all who drew near. Phone calls were made, flights were booked, and Yuna arrived on scene to bring him back to his senses.

Vincent is terribly withdrawn. On the one hand, he is distrustful of all humans, and men in particular frighten him. On the other hand, he has had little to no experience with his own kind, and so struggles to fit in among them. He finds himself at an impasse, unable to shake the trauma of his mother’s murder, and equally unable to bond with his father’s kin. Because of this, he is prone to bouts of violent madness when he feels that he is being threatened, or when he wakes from particularly vivid nightmares, in which he witnesses his mother’s murder and can do nothing to stop it. Dr. Callaway has oft remarked that Vincent is a genius, a true medical prodigy, and that it is too bad he’s so “broken”.

#picrew #male ocs #demon ocs

[gallpall]

canaan bubble redux as a womb for story/character arcs

I’m sure most of this has been posted about before but: ever since my initial read I’ve been obsessed with the gross bodily/gorey stuff in the Canaan redux and I wanted to organize some of my constant+chaotic thoughts!!

TM has said that a lot of the motifs/events in the bubbles are actually “Silent Hill stand-ins” for story elements and she hopes we pick up on stuff, so here’s my Attempt!

At the same time that Harrow’s mind is being made a tomb for Gideon Nav Wake’s subconscious is pulled in to act as a womb for certain plot elements right alongside it. The chronology/time period of HtN mimics a full nine-month gestation. There’s a lot of very literal imagery here (which is below the cut), but I also think we’re meant to see it as metaphorical: we’re able to glean some things about character arcs based on how everything in the bubble goes down.

I’m particularly interested right now in those ‘side’ characters in the bubble who aren’t actually dead, who barely appear in the bubble at all except to get summarily offed, all in very distinctive ways. Judith, Camilla, Palamedes, and Coronabeth.

(cw below cut for some pregnancy/insemination imagery, canonical body horror and gruesome bubble deaths rehashed)

First of all just some quotes showing some of the imagery that I’ve attributed to being Wake manifesting pregnancy trauma stuff (there’s possibly some of Harrow’s conception trauma here, too) seeping through, for the purposes of this line of speculation. 

This isn’t nearly all of it, but some things that stood out to me as possibly comparing Canaan House 2.0 to a functioning reproductive system:

(ch. 21) a “collection of large, rusted pipette needles” -- turkey basters?

(ch. 35) “great, slithering, pulsing tubes” which contain “whitish-pearl bubbled globules”-- this perhaps recalls ovaries/fallopian tubes, with the ‘globules’ being follicles produced by superovulation for insemination, or corpus luteum that supply progesterone to maintain a pregnancy.

(ch. 45) “stretched webs of organ [...] like nets of sticky venous spiderweb” --uterine walls, maybe; it’s all over the windows, totally encasing them in Canaan’s rooms, and arguably even contracting like a uterus would: “every so often they would tremble uncertainly and erupt in floods of bloody, foamy water.”

in the next pgh we get some more of the tools Wake would have used to conceive/upkeep the pregnancy: “pipettes, broken glass-fronted containers filled with dark fluid,” skeletons sitting atop piles of “capsules or pills” perhaps hormones/supplements. (also holding Drearburh tools, the way Wake’s skelly would have been doomed to do)

(ch. 43) “from that hole emerged a clattering pile of plex scope slides, the type you would preserve a cell sample between“ -- Wake would’ve had to carry out the IVF process for implantation, this also seems like apparatus for that

(ch. 47) there’s the “libation” Abigail uses to summon Wake which is... well. It’s a “thin, milky, whitish liquid pooled at the base, sluggish in the cold,” and the summoning involves a bunch of ‘come’ commands, which I think might be Muir making a very elaborate jizz-adjacent “silly buggers with the emissions” joke. 

Just a note, cause I’m hopeless about Pyrrwake: the Seconds’ quarters are almost completely preserved from the leaky body horror (though it’s still cold in there)--as if they represented a sanctuary in Wake’s subconscious. There are also letters in the nonagonal coffin room which spell out an anagram of “PYRRHA” (ch. 47).

So with all that in mind, I’d posit that the fake-ghost deaths are all metaphorical “rebirths” of various characters arcs for ATN. I haven’t delved into what this imagery might mean for Harrow or Gideon specifically because I know there’s a LOT and it’s probably above my theoretical paygrade (I would love for someone to tack on with that though!!) but I can talk about ‘side’ chars on a very big-picture level.

Judith’s simulacrum gets knocked off first (ch. 18); shot through the heart (both atria) while she and Marta’s ghost are trying to complete the winnowing trial. The Sleeper shoots her 7 more times after that, I guess partly just ‘cause she can, but Ortus notes that it seems like there was an element of "Anger” to it. It’s possible Wake wasn’t pleased to have someone messing around with Pyrrha’s lyctoral trial, infuriated that anyone would be attempting to replicate G1d/Pyr’s original downfall. She then ignores Marta entirely and climbs back in the coffin (now with the sword) once Judith’s out of the way.

[Marta’s] scarlet necktie looked redder too—by the time they’d gotten hold of Judith Deuteros the blood had dried hers nearly black.

Cohort red-and-whites being stained black with blood, like a certain high-collared BOE uniform... could be another little clue to Judith’s "heart” for the Emperor (and for Marta, and pretty much everything else she knew) being lost and her realigning--though not willingly, at least at first--with the other side.

Cam and Pal’s simulacrums are plainly executed (ch. 21), they have their “faces obliterated” each by a single gunshot, and it’s as if they just stood there and let it happen. In the bubble, “Harrow had never seen Sextus or Hect except from afar.” These simulacrums totally avoid having their features revealed to Harrow. I’m willing to bet their faces being obscured and then exploded is one of the clues we get to their eyes being swapped around the next time we see them in the epilogue and in ATN.

Regarding the twins: They are essentially non-extant in the bubble. Ianthe never appears because she’s still kicking and, in her own words, “doesn’t live alternate histories” (GtN ch. 15).

Coronabeth’s simulacrum scene (ch. 37) is SO vivid and cryptic. It fascinates me because it definitely is, in part, trying to tell us something poignant about the initiation of Corona’s “worse twin” arc in ATN.

[Corona] was turned away from Harrow, and her riot of hair—half-caught in a fillet, half-escaping—was soaking wet, a dark and crinkling amber in the rain. She was not fighting or arguing. She was still as a statue, and ready and waiting as a dog.

Sounds like the fake ghost preparing for that major shift in allegiance. Silas is the one to ‘dismiss’ her, with his “may the blood of your blood suffer,” which perhaps is a really Templar-y way of saying ‘now go wreck ianthe’s SHIT.’ When Harrow accuses him of sending Corona to her death, Silas asks “Death?”--as if he sees that what’s really just happened, at least metaphorically, is (re)Birth.

[Harrow] thought she saw, absurdly, a sudden gush of watery blood, as though the fog itself had been knifed; but it was gone almost as soon as she had seen it.

Sounds a bit like amniotic fluid/water breaking? Coronabeth doesn’t ever seem to hit the ocean (bodies of water=necromancy and that’s not her deal), she instead just kinda poofs, and Silas says she would have ended up “on her feet.” Coronabeth is ditching her family ties and is out for blood, and I think her charisma, willpower, and sheer desire for revenge will move her a long way in the ranks of Eden--probably even to the point of echoing Commander Wake’s ambitions and actions. I could delve into that damn portrait mirroring Ianthe’s obsession w/ Cyrus’ paintings on the Mithraeum... but that is a whole other post!

So all of these are fairly baseline observations and I think there’s a LOT more to be expounded on, if y’all wanna reply/reblog/DM with additions I would freaking love that, every time I open a page of this book I find something I missed before and it’s such a delight. Thanks for reading if you got this far!!

#the locked tomb trilogy #gideon the ninth #harrow the ninth #htn spoilers #shoutout to kallistoi and rusty-k for bouncing ideas around w me

[kryptsune]

World Building Wednesday! ~Felldritch

🌼I got a request to do a WBW for Felldritch and since there have been updates to the overall world and lore I wanted to make sure this was all in a nice little package! If you have questions and want to learn more let me know the ask box is always open!  So let's get started! Oh and here is a link to the fic! FELLDRITCH

Felldritch

Classification: HorrorFELL

Cult  Alternate “Nicknames”:

Red: Saw Boss: Corvus

Gaster: Sephtis

Asriel: Saber Toriel: Ameria

Asgore: Kirnon

Undyne: Ryx Alphys: Vesh Muffet: Carmilla Grillby: Noire MTT: Faust

Doggo: Croix

Riverperson: Bastet (Tet)

Main Plot Synop: Felldritch takes place after a pacifist run by Frisk. The story briefly goes as follows. Frisk ends up in the Underworld (Underground) and befriends the monsters and wants to set them free. It is basically a way watered down version of WTU in essence. Once reaching the end of her journey the monsters refuse to let her be that final soul. They would rather wait and figure out something else but with her Determination she promises to return to them and set them free. At this point in time she is around 18-19. Asriel sacrifices himself to that end to see her leave through the barrier only for the humans to capture the poor girl after she leaves. They conclude that she is not mentally stable due to her insistence that monsters are real and throw her into an asylum/sanitarium to be “treated”. Nearly 5+ years later and she manages to escape finding herself once again in the Underworld only it is far different from what she remembers. At this point, she is questioning whether anything is real or not. After being “treated” for so long she doesn’t quite know which reality is the true one. As Red (aka Saw) points out:

The Brothers: 

Red: The younger brother of the two. His attachment to Frisk stems into more of a relationship though he blames himself for loosing her all those years ago. This psychological state causes him to throw himself into the problem that is befalling their world. At first nothing seems to combat this intrusive forest and horrifying beasts but he learns to utilize his magic in a different way. Prior to this he is what one would think of a a Red type but after meeting Frisk he promises to not only change his heart but also the hearts of others. Instead of destructive magical ability he follows in his brothers footsteps and takes up healing practice. 

In the world he is known as the merchant, the one that tends to give out healing items in exchange for coin but the bulk of his business relies on talismans or charms to ward off the evil plaguing their home. As far as they all know these magically infused charms are powerful and have incredible protective capabilities. He runs a wagon that travels around the entire Underworld.

In the current timeline he more sympathetic and empathetic. The concept of Kill or be Killed is no longer a factor. This is mainly about survival and for the most part the other monsters are aware that working together is their best option though their heightened paranoia (validly founded btw) makes it difficult sometimes. His personality is lighthearted on the surface, making jokes, and being a good guy. In a way he reminds me of Jester who tries not to dwell on what is going on but is fully aware of the situation. Red wears a blindfold in public to keep up appearances but he has no vision or eye light problems.

Boss: After Frisk’s departure from the Underworld, Boss, takes her words to heart. Unlike the majority of Fell Pap characterization he is very soft. When he feels his brother no longer needs his guidance he begins to feel purposeless until he learns that like his brother he has the magical ability for healing. As Red is the charm merchant of the two, Boss is the apothecary. His design harkens to plague doctors back in the 17th century. He grows all his own herbs and spices but he is particularly fond of tea. He also wears a blindfold just like Red but unlike Red he does in fact have damage to his left eye socket where the teal color of his eye lights no longer inhabits. 

The two combined help their fellow monsters as much as they can but in a world of uncertainty how are you supposed to know who to trust? 

Frisk’s Mental Demons: The psychological toll on Frisk is great as she has been told constantly that she made up her time in the Underworld in order to shut herself away into a fantasy world. A world where she had a family… where she is loved and wanted. This happens frequently as the “Doctors” continuously try to refute her experiences or sensations medically.  Every time she goes to sleep in the Underworld she ends up back at the Asylum tied down kicking and screaming. 

She only wakes up again when she is sedated. Rinse and repeat. The question is… is it real? Or rather which is real. The doctors go on to state that her dark state of mind twisted her original concept behind her “family” making them this eldritch styled horror. He also goes onto explain that the reason she is so drawn and close to Red is that it is her “flirting with death”. That she is accepting that outcome because if she continues to resist treatment she will die and the moment she trusts him in her “fantasy” that will be the end. These kinds of situations happen a lot.

There are also instances when the lines between real and fiction are blurred as Frisk's behavior consists apparently of defensive aggression, auditory, visual, and olfactory hallucination, acute paranoia, anxiety, and PTSD. One such example of this is her apparent psychiatrist, Dr. Cyrus Reycroft, who happens to have an uncanny resemblance to her skeletal friend if he was human. 

The Beasts: Felldritch plays off Eldritch horror aka the fear of the unknown. As Frisk reunites with Red she is subjected to a rather concerning conversation in which he explains the situation they are in. He mentions having crossed into an upside down broken and colorless world which drew both himself and his older brother into. It is implied that the two stepped into a dimensional space that was able to then afflict those within their own dimension. Over time the inhabitants begin to go missing and great otherworldly hellish beasts begin appearing. The inhabitants come to the conclusion that these creatures can not afflict you with their corruption if you can not see, hear, or speak in their presence. This mindset has some rather gruesome implications as inhabitants become irrationally desperate mutilating themselves to adhere to the new "See no evil, Speak no evil, Hear no evil”.

The Occult World: The cult as I keep referring to it as is a group of powerful monsters. After the deposition of the King the other monsters begin to become influenced by outside sources. They begin to believe that any fallen humans are the angels of death and because of this they will kill humans on sight, of course, they want to live in denial of their horrible deeds because monster souls are supposed to be made up of love and kindness. Unlike the cult that wishes to break the barrier, the rest want to stay hidden from the beasts above believing that the humans are to blame for all that has happened.

The senses play a huge roll in this idea as the beasts are rumored to be able to use souls like puppets, as in spys, if they are corrupted. It essentially becomes like a hive mind with the main entity being able to see, hear, and speak through those it comes in contact with. It’s no secret that Red is in fact infected by this entity in some form as this is a quote from the fic:

A set of antlers snagged the velvety cape as he worked the metalwork to release its hold on the material around his throat.

Bony fingers tugged on the bunched up fabric and pulled it back, revealing a charcoal grey sweater underneath. It was soft to the touch but just hidden beneath the wool she caught a glimpse of off white colored bone. There were bits and pieces that had been chipped off, knicks, and cuts. Even before they had met Red had some scars especially around his collarbone but that was not what caused her to gasp. His hood remained over his head as if using it to shield his expression from her view, “See?” He flinched when her fingers traced some of the scars.

She didn’t want to appear like she was fearful of what she was witnessing but her fingers quivered, pulling them back toward herself. A soft whimper of a voice left her, “R...Red…” There intertwined with the magically composed vertebrae of his spine were branches. The same deep blackish red wood that plagued this entire forest. It wove itself through the bone engulfing portions of his ribs, twisting it into chilling patterns. If it was allowed to continue its infestation it would crack his ribcage open in a bloodless gaping fissure. She could just make out that gentle white and crimson glow shrouded by the wood. Was that his soul? There was no other explanation.

It looked like the branches were trying to worm their way toward that glowing heart, pierce it, and absorb it into its oily black, almost pulsating bark. That was only one singular aspect of horror that she was now subjected to. Her eyes followed the trail that crept through the bone following the knots and twists that crept up and underneath where his skull attached to his spine.

The grip that he kept on her hand only tightened while the other shifted to pull the hood off his skull. Her eyes widened, reddish-brown irises wavering within a sea of white. A hand rose to land on her mouth, now agape in a silent gasp. She could see the same strange bark that comprised his antlers exited straight out of his skull. There were fractures that radiated from above the temporal portion of his cranium in concentric circles. The same kind of patterning one would see from blunt force trauma. Only this had pushed out the bone externally rather than internally. His sockets no longer contained those ever dulling carmine eye lights as her own eyes traced the hairline cracks along his head. She could not imagine the kind of pain a transformation like that would have caused him. There were places where the bone had tried to heal and suture itself back together, forming around the bark.

Angel of Salvation (a.k.a. The Eldritch Horror)- What the cult has been working toward is summoning their “savior” with the help of the human souls they are bound to. It gives them extra abilities and power. Each within the ranks is bound to a human soul. Their leader ??? wants to use this power to summon an “angel.” It turns out that is actually an unholy amalgamated eldritch beast/god out for blood instead. Humanity will perish and the monsters will take control of the surface once more. That is the reality. (The cult including Red is told otherwise).

#undertale #sans #underfell #papyrus #Felldritch #undertale au #underfell au #kits multiverse #friskys multiverse #concepts #my au #psychological horror #eldritch horror #eldritch #Saw #Corvus #cult aesthetic #Worldbuilding Wednesday AU edition