#cw dead animal imagery

[astro-axolotl]

Experiment with a circular canvas. Birds are still hard to draw and yet so so satisfying.

#dead animal #cw animal harm #cw animal death #animal death #tw animal harm #tw animal murder #bird art #bluebird #blue bird #folktale #folklore #folk horror #botanical art #bird #birds #krita art #digital artwork #digital aritst #digital illustration #angel imagery

[moibakadesu]

Haruka’s victim of his “murder” was he himself (The suicide theory)

This is a theory that I had since t1 there have been even more points for me to work with (I just never had time/peace of mind to do so), so let’s get into it, shall we?

First of all, as should be obvious from the title, there is a cw for suicide and also one for child abuse and neglect, as well as dead animals because we can’t talk about Haruka without going into these topics.

So what we are going to talk about today is:

Haruka’s victim of his “murder” was he himself

You might wonder now: But how is he walking around in Milgram then? We are looking at a magical song prison that bends the fabric of reality, I don’t think being a sort of purgatory is that much out of the question. I am not one to think that ALL of our current prisoners are dead, but for some it seems like an option. Note Yuno asking so pointedly in her t2 VD “Am I really still alive?” which seemed like a big hint. And also (MILGRAM NOVEL 2 SPOILER) in the second novel there is a part where literally falls the statement of “of course there are people who are already dead, it would be more strange if we wouldn’t have these”. As well as there being a suicide case.

And even if we would not go into that direction, we would still have the option of a failed suicide attempt which resulted in a temporary stopped heart = on paper you can be declared dead. With Milgram’s very loose definition of “being responsible for the loss of a human life” this seems very much like it could qualify as well.

So what gave me the idea that this could be the case for Haruka? The first thing that made my interest perk up was this screen here from Undercover:

In these shots with the silhouettes from the prisoners we presumably have a location where their murder happened or is heavily connected to it. And in some cases we even have the victims present in the shots.

What differentiates the prisoners from their victims is that all prisoner silhouettes have this gray hatching on them while their victims are a solid black color (it’s a bit unclear with Kazui, because he and Hinako are pretty small in his scene).

So with that in mind what falls to attention in Haruka’s shot? Yes, he is a solid black.

And that sprung the idea of: what if Haruka is the victim?

Well, he is, in more sense than one, but we are only concentrating on his “murder” for now.

Let’s now go through his first MV Weakness with this in mind, because it is already ripe with a lot of possible suicidal imagery. We won’t go over his first VD, because … well, there are simply no real hints in that one yet.

Weakness analysis

Right away at 0:08 we start with a scene transition of Haruka sinking into water. As you are probably all aware water is a big recurring theme with him, it draws itself through his MVs as well as being present in image material and merchandise related to him. Prior to ending up in Milgram he was also living in the city Niigata, which is literally called “the city of water”. So we can assume that it is of pretty big significance to his character.

The overall imagery of drowning and suffocating also appears repeatedly with him, so my assumptions of how he might have taken his life are either by, well, drowning or by hanging himself (due to imagery we will later get to in AKAA).

At 0:41 we have Haruka pushing his younger self into a “scribble-puddle”, leading us to another transition of Haruka once again sinking into the watery depths.

I think this is both a representation of Haruka’s loathing and jealousy of his younger self which still was somewhat loved by his mother until his disabilities became too noticeable to be ignored as well as an actual stand-in for killing yourself.

At this point let’s talk a little bit about the little girl that is assumed to be Haruka’s victim, shall we?

Well, in a broad sense we can say: yes, she is his victim. But the twist is this, recently I saw a theory that made a big amount of sense to me, especially taken in account with the suicide theory. Basically, I think the little girl never existed in reality. She was just a figment of Haruka's imagination, a sort of “Imaginary friend”, his idealized version of what “Haruka” should have been. We know from his t2 interrogation questions that his mother always wanted a girl instead of a boy, going so far as to picking the name beforehand and not changing it even after she knew she was expecting a boy.

I could even imagine that his mother might have tried to raise him as a girl up to a certain age, her terrible overall parenting surely gives me the impression that she would do something that twisted.

So Haruka’s delusion of “his perfect loveable self” might have intermingled with himself taking his life. Because something that always threw me off was that in the end of AKAA when we get the split second of him strangling the girl it is clearly a grown up Haruka putting his hands on her neck. But in Weakness they are around the same age apparently. Why is this? Well, of course the “perfect little girl his mother wanted” would stay a little girl forever in his mind.

So he is fully convinced that he killed that girl, in his mind she was real after all.

This might be completely off the mark, but even if it is, I still could imagine Haruka taking his life after having committed the murder of the girl. Going over his second VD again personally I am leaning more towards the option that the girl was his little sister, with how much attention he puts on it having been a murder out of jealousy.

But the lyrics going along with him pushing the girl in Weakness could also allude to the possibility of that “imaginary girl” theory.

And right here at 1:20 down in the water we go again, directly after the scene above.

And at 2:05 we are at the well known stone smashing scene. The action in the screen is not the main point in this case though, here we have the first appearance of the lyrics of:

Haruka usually doesn’t consider the abuse received by his mother as bad, any attention received from her is good attention in his eyes, so he wouldn’t see himself as a victim for that, right?

So what could it imply?

Maybe becoming your own victim?

Because a lot more importantly, these lyrics make another reappearance right away. When?

When Haruka strangles his younger self. (Right after another “falling in water” scene at that.)

And at the end we literally have Haruka kneeling over his dead self, admitting that “it was me”.

It is also important to note that this is the only instance in the MV where he is not waking up in his bed again.

So that is all already plenty to go from, isn’t it? But don’t worry, there will be plenty more. (Or do worry, my heart cries daily for poor Haruka.)

To go chronologically let us look at his second VD:

Metamorphosis of the Weak

This will be quick, we only have to take a look at the very end here where Haruka comes up with his suicide threat. It’s his first instinct after threatening to kill Es and becoming aware again that he can’t do that. He is making that statement with astounding ease, almost as if … he went through with it before. He knows he is capable of doing it, so he is certain and confident of himself.

On that note, I am like 99,9% certain that he won’t be successful with whatever attempt he might be starting, there will be an intervention or a reason why it’s not possible of some sort. It will most likely go against Milgram’s purpose of judging these prisoners, so it won’t be allowed that somebody escapes proper judgment by putting an end to themselves. (MILGRAM NOVEL 2 SPOILERS: Jackalope in the novel also makes a point of this, saying that the prisoners there are disposable only after they have been judged.)

But I wrote a whole post about all the reason I am certain they won't kill him off in the middle of the trials, if you want feel free to read up on that as well!

So without further ado let us go to Haruka’s second MV:

All knowing and all Agony analysis

We start at 0:12 with Haruka in his solitary confinement, the room getting flooded with water.

Here we are again with the theme of him getting submerged in water.

And the next scene of him submerged in water right here at 0:35 in the mirror (btw. I love the direction of this MV, the blurred writing appearing in the mirror like it is getting drifted ashore by the water being one of the parts of this).

Now here at 1:29 we have a very interesting scene.

Sadly AKAA is riddled with a very spotty translation of the lyrics that doesn’t convey the meaning a lot of times or even leaves out some things.

This part here is the perfect example, the more fitting translation here would be: “if with the push of one button I could be reborn”

The translation exchanges the reborn with reset which doesn’t really carry the same meaning in this context, being reborn is something that you get after dying. I don’t think this is a coincidence at all. Also important detail here is that we have the frames with the butterfly specimens on the wall. The butterfly is a symbol of death and rebirth as well. This goes well with the name of Haruka’s second VD, because “metamorphosis” is the term for the transformation that a butterfly undergoes in the cocoon.

And here another important part that gets lost in translation:

In Japanese it would more correctly translate to “I don't want to die, I don’t want to die”.

Because, yes, I do think that Haruka committed suicide. Do I think that he did it because he wanted to die? No, that was not the main objective for him. In my opinion it was either, like before mentioned, to be reborn so that he can be a more loveable self in the next life or it was the last final desperate cry for attention from his mother after even killing the target of his jealousy didn't give the desired results.

It probably also ties in with his situation in Milgram, he does not want to die, to get wiped out, but his death is once again the only means to an end that he can see in this situation, in this case forcing an innocent vote for Muu with his life as the bargaining chip. (And well, we all know how well that gamble turned out for him ...)

And then at 2:09 we have the scene of Haruka standing on the chair.

You know what people often stand on chairs for? Hanging themselves. Doesn’t help that the barred up window in the back sort of alludes to the rope of a noose the way one of the bars is placed directly behind of him.

And here once more, with the infamous “dreaMu” line.

As I mentioned before, I suspect his pre-Milgram suicide was by drowning, but these images could very well allude to his threat spoken in the prison to secure Muu’s innocent vote. I personally wonder how Haruka could even be aware of this option to take his own life, because I can hardly imagine him having knowledge about this with his “sheltered” lifestyle, but who knows. 

Good luck attempting that in the prison though, as far as I am aware there are no fixtures there that would allow for it, and we are talking about a person that can’t even tie his own shoes, let alone tie a noose that would hold up his whole body weight.

Here we also have another very bad translation choice, and I’m not talking about the “dreaMu”. No, the problem is that they just didn’t include the whole second part of that line which would be “and spread my wings wide”, perfectly going along with Haruka spreading his arms like wings.

As if to take flight. This could be calling back to the butterfly symbolism as well as jumping, “taking flight”, from the chair …

And at 3:00 we reach another part of the MV where Haruka gets submerged in fluid. But this time it’s not water.

We have seen this fluid before in the MV, notably when the preserved animals started “melting”.

Preservation is the important word here, because this fluid is most likely formaldehyde (or formalin), used to preserve dead bodies. Fun fact, this is technically not the first time we see it, it might be present in Weakness as well.

This bottle here right at the beginning looks a lot like bottles that get used to store it. It is also a clear fluid before it comes into contact with what gets preserved.

As to why Haruka has knowledge about this sort of thing is, that I could imagine that his mother had to do with animal specimen preservation, either as a hobby or for work, so he is familiar with the function of it. On that note, he might even have started killing animals to bring his mother more bodies for her hobby/work and to be praised for it.

So we are closing the MV with Haruka sitting and swaying in his “formaldehyde tank”, the very substance in which dead things are preserved, repeating the lines of wanting to be reborn to be the favorite next time, in his next life basically.

(Oh my sweet boy, you don’t have to try so hard, you are already my favorite.)

And this is it, my theory that Haruka is literally a dead boy walking in this prison.

My heart bleeds for him, because for him it’s absolutely impossible to get any sort of happy end at the finale of Milgram and I think he would have deserved the world. Just a family that would have supported and understood him properly, a way more normal life, how his biggest wish is.

#milgram #haruka sakurai #sakurai haruka #milgram theory #Moi rambles on for hours #I am rotating Haruka in my head daily

[leggerefiore]

if you are interested: animatronic submas; in an abandoned railway-themed amusement park; considered cursed or inhabited by evil spirits; with a series of still unsolved murders. Reader - afab? - possibly a former employee the submas were madly obsessed with; returned to visit it for halloween. if you want to make it really macabre ... maybe with Reader transplanted into the body of an animatronic that the submas have been preparing especially for her for years? if you don't want, that's ok too

Return of evil robot men and some of my horror writing lmao

‼️‼️‼️

cw: basically yandere, horror, reader dies, she/her reader, robot au

‼️‼️‼️

It had been around two years since you had worked at the theme park.

Your job had begun at the near-end of the park's life, having been dealing with bleeding money from seemingly endless lawsuits which made park repairs harder, which led to more lawsuits. It was not a bad job when you considered it. You had been a ride attendant for a subway themed area which featured animatronic conductors who spoke and took care of the riders. You just took the pay and made sure they met the ride criteria. Occasionally, you would shift to clean the area you monitored or filled in for another ride. The conductors, two identical bots, often followed you around wherever you went. You assumed it was to watch you for management to be assured you were doing your job.

They were a bit creepy then. In their best quality, their silver eyes shined through the darkness, which sparked imagery of light catching an animal's eyes. They lacked an ability to properly express, so one was permanently stuck with a grin and the other with a frown. You shivered at their uncanny effect upon your mind. The job was nice, but the robots were creepy. Perhaps the scenery was also aiding in how ominous the bots appeared. Everything was just past date with a hint of mould, rot, or rust to leave you with a knowledge of age. The office area appeared more familiar to grandparent's home rather than a modern administrative area.

When the place closed, and you were let go, you were still sad to see it go, however. It may have been antiquated, but there was a certain charm to it all. As you packed up your stuff to leave for the last time in the break room, you heard the sound of robotic joints working to move as the twin conductor bots entered. The smiling one, Emmet, and the frowning one, Ingo, gazed at you with empty eyes. Their frozen expressions sent a chill down your spine.

“Oh, yes, I suppose you both deserve a goodbye, huh?” you tried to lighten the mood for yourself. The bots continued to keep eye contact with you without a word. A nervous laugh escaped your throat. Ingo took a careful step toward you.

“… Is the park truly closing?” his generated voice almost sounded human.

“Yep,” you told him, “Today's my last day, so this is likely the last time we'll ever see each other again.” For a moment, you swore Emmet's frozen face fell into a frown. Nothing truly had happened, though. You were simply panicked.

“I see…” he gave something akin to a sigh despite his lack of breathing capabilities, “May we walk you out? We are co-workers, are we not?”

“Ah, no need for that!” you shook your head, “I'm going to miss my ride if I don't go now. Sorry, bye!”

Why had you been so afraid? You knew they were simply just following their programming.

~

You now stood outside the decrepit park, with the chilled winds blowing your coat in its path. Leaves swirled around you. The nature around seemed as dead as the park. Halloween had arrived, and you felt inspired to visit your old place of employment for a thrill. It had become a popular spot for teenagers who wanted to engage in urban exploration to pop into. Many rumours came from the location now. Stories about missing people never returning after venturing in, ghosts of people who apparently died on the attractions appearing to those who trespass, and two robots who attempted to kill anyone who entered the park without proper authorisation.

The last part stung a bit. You figured they would leave the twin bots behind, but it hurt to have it confirmed. They may have made you uncomfortable, but repurposing them was honestly the best thing to do. Shaking your head at the concern for man-made products, you crawled through the open window with ease. Glass cracked under your feet as you stood in the old office again. You expected a mess, but it seemed orderly. Almost like someone had been taking proper care of it. The desk and its chair were pushed together. The desktop, while absolutely unusable, sat as you remembered it as the owner had it. Some graffiti was on the wall, while others had apparently been attempted to be scrubbed away.

Not really scary, just unsettling.

Your walk began from the office into the central courtyard area. It had been previously alight with neon lights and streetlamps, but now found itself in a seemingly endless darkness. You shuddered at the sight. It was never this dark even after close when it was still open. Clicking on your flashlight, you took in the state of the greenery. Ivy grew wildly over anything and everything it could, weeds popped up between any gap in the concrete, and leaves were left to rot on the ground in a never-ending cycle. Broken glass laid about from where it had been smashed for whatever variety of reasons. It was eerie and depressing to see the park like this.

Wandering around, you attempted to visit all the locations that had been places you worked at previously or enjoyed. The break room was empty, yet the fridge was still running. Its low hum breaking the endless silence of the park for but a moment. You stepped closer to it and swung the door open to reveal what the appliance held. A perfectly normal chocolate cake sat inside. You almost giggled at the icing heart drawn on it and the 'I love you' scrawled inside. Who had done this? What a weird bit to commit to. Looking around, you tried to spy a camera anywhere. None were to be seen, however. Maybe it was for a prank that had yet to be initiated yet. Either way, you shut the fridge.

Next, you visited the fun house area. It was always fun to get lost in there and claim you were helping a lost child. You wandered around the mirror maze in wonder. It turned out it was much harder in the dark. You hated the reflection of your flashlight in the mirrors. Occasionally, it would shine back as what almost appeared to be like eyes peering in. It was irrational. When you managed to get out, you hated to admit how dizzy you felt.

Afterwards you visited your favourite food stand, the teacup ride, and then where the Ferris wheel had been. You felt pretty thoroughly creeped out from everything, but knew there was one last place remaining in the park for you to visit before you left.

You felt a chill as you entered the underground area of the subway attraction. Mildew and stagnant air burned your nostrils as you entered the location. It was not as bad as much of the other places, admittedly. Perhaps no one wanted to enter, but there had been barely any vandalism upon it. The train sat parked at the platform. You giggled as you stepped inside.

Then the door slid shut behind you and the lights flickered on. A few did not work or suffered from dimness, but most shined bright white light directly onto your sensitive eyes. Shocked and horrified, you sat down on the plastic seat in an attempt to steady yourself. Someone had to be here and turned this on. Who? You suddenly felt scared for your life. The PA system clicked on and gave staticky feedback for a moment before a familiar voice spoke over it. “Current route to station three estimated to take around five minutes to arrive,” Ingo's voice was a bit weakened and less clear from lack of maintenance, “Welcome back, dearest. We missed you.”

“What?” you said out loud. His first sentence was his normal dialogue for the train, but the second one made no sense. Your fear spiked even higher as the train moved steadily along to the next station. It would bring you back to the centre of the park and closer to an employee tunnel that held a few storerooms. You readied yourself for whatever waited ahead and made plans to make a run for it if you could. The train slowed down for a stop at the station as you saw them both waiting for you. Their clothes were tattered and shoddily patched. Ominous metallic eyes luminesced as the doors slid open with a screech that hurt your ear.

You carefully stepped out and gazed at the twin bots carefully. Emmet's grin remained bright despite the year, but Ingo's frown was caught in an awkward shape and gave the illusion of a smile. They held out opposite arms and welcome you in unison, “Welcome back!” You gave them a strange look. Maybe… Maybe, they just missed you. It must have been lonely for them here. The bots did contain highly intelligent AI. Some would even say they were sentient.

“Ah, you scared me,” you tried to be slightly honest, “… It's nice to see you both again.” Emmet let out a giggle and took long strides over to you. His arms wrapped around you and pressed your body to his frigid form. Barely any heat came from him due to the cooling needed to keep his systems running. Ingo moved after him.

“Heehee, we have been waiting,” the smiling bot whispered, “We loved you. We knew you would return. You love us, right?” Suddenly, you remembered the situation you were in and tensed up. What did he mean? Ingo had stated it before. Love? Could they even process such a thing? Maybe it was a sense of dedication and worry about you as a co-worker that had been twisted from lack of care to their processes. You tried to escape Emmet's hold.

“Why are you afraid?” Ingo's voice called out, “… Emmet and I have been so lonely… We would do no harm to you. You are not like the other intruders.” You froze. Everything they said made your anxiety get to levels that left your mind reeling and demanding you escape the park. Emmet's embrace only tightened.

“We have a gift,” the bot cooed, “Brother and I worked verrrrry hard on it!”

“Ah, Emmet, it's supposed to be a surprise, you know,” Ingo scolded him and pressed a hand to your shoulder.

Your position was shifted to be wedged in between them as they guided you into the employee tunnel. The sickening air was thick and dusty as they took you deeper and deeper into the pitch-black tunnels. Your flashlight was forced from you and left near the train. Their eyes were the only lights that broke the horrifying darkness. Double metal doors were forced open to reveal a dimly lit room. Inside was a replica of your body in an android form. Worst of all was how it opened.

What were they going to do. Ingo moved away to shut the doors, while Emmet remained glued to your side.

“Tada!” he beamed at you, “Do you like it? We're going to make you like us.” There was no holding back the scream that escaped your lips and the tears that fell from your eyes. No! This was a bad joke! It had to be. These bots were incapable of this. It was simply illogical.

You should not have come here.

This rancid place should have simply remained a location within your memories.

“… Brother, she's afraid,” Emmet's smile fell as he turned to Ingo.

“A perfectly normal reaction, Emmet,” Ingo explained, “Dearest… Please don't be afraid. We will be happy together; we have loved you since we first saw you. When you helped with our ride or messed around… You spoke to us like people.”

You swallowed. It hurt. Thoughts rushed in and out of your mind at horrible speeds. How? Why? People were kind to them before you. Why you? You had not done anything wrong. Both began to lead you to your horrifying replica and soon-to-be tomb if you did not escape. Their grips were too strong, completely inhuman strength from their body. You did not want this! Why would they not listen to you?

“Please,” you cried, “Stop! I don't want this! I don't love you!”

The grip on your arms became like a boa's constriction. Blood flow was narrowly possible, and your fingertips tingled from the loss. Emmet began to giggle while Ingo sighed.

“I understand you're afraid,” Ingo's voice was soft, “Changes like this always are, but we cannot bear separation any longer.”

You were forced into the horrifying contraption.

Then…

It closed.

A single shriek echoed out and dribbled into pure silence.

~

~

~

~

A lighter ending:

You sighed at the bots as they stared at you with pleading eyes. Well… It was your last day working here.

“Fine,” you gave into Ingo's request, “You can walk me out.” Both seemed relieved about it. They each walked at your sides as you headed to the park exit. The sun had already set, and the park had closed for the day. Not its last, but its soon-to-be one. Not much was said, as the bots often proved bad conversers. Well, occasionally Ingo gave you a good one, but getting Emmet to talk was a miracle in and of itself. Soon you arrived at the gates, where you caught the owner heading out himself. He gazed at you and the bots for a moment in distant curiosity.

“Say… You know, I have no idea what to do with those two,” he explained, “Would you like them? I'm sure you've seen, they have a variety of functions and uses.” You pondered his words for a moment. Was he being serious? It was a tempting offer, honestly. No matter how creepy they were, you supposed company was company.  The twin bots stared at you with eyes that held desperation in them.

“If you're being genuine, then yeah,” you nodded, “I'd take them.”

“Go ahead, then,” he motioned to the exit, “I hope you enjoy them. They're pretty outdated, honestly.”

You shrugged.

Free robots were free robots.

#ingo x reader #emmet x reader #yandere pokemon x reader #yandere x reader #ingo/reader #emmet/reader #yandere #yanstuff #robot au

[bitmoji-smut]

ok so heres what ive gathered from joining tumblr

1. cute cats

2. super cool pictures and moodboards

3. not better than twitter

4. not better than twitter

5. not better than twitter

7. the most outlandish, alien buttfuck takes i have ever seen. WHY DO YOU LIKE INCEST GET HELP

8. aw minecraft

9. glorifying eating disorders??? babe you are not a delicate flower princess youre sick and your farts smell like battery acid go to therapy

10. omg that animal crossing picture is so adorable

In conclusion I am going to use this blog as my deranged diary and as a way to bully degenerates. So I’m most likely cool with anyone that doesnt involve themselves in incest, pedophilia, zoophilia, glorifying EDs, transphobia, homophobia, racism, sexism, romanticizing disorders/disabilities, or you know anything that makes you insufferable.

Furries are cool. So are neopronouns and xenogenders. Cringe culture is dead.

Also I doubt I will put TWs or CWs on most of my posts unless theyre extremely graphic in description or in the imagery (not that im really into doing that) I am not the bigger person. I’m just here to fuck shit up so if you are sensitive please put yourself first and block me <3

#twitter #new to tumblr #proship #tw proshitter #proshitters dni #anor3x14 #proannna #skinnysp0 #fatsp0 #lgbtq #pro choice #neopronouns #xenogenders #furry #zoophile #minor attracted people #tumblr diary #terfblr

[changelingsandothernonsense]

Wips on a Thursday

I have no wives to give you @thequeenofthewinter, @mareenavee, @paraparadigm But I do have JOSH Thursday!

And yes, most weeks are Josh weeks but I did also draw Sydari, I'll post that too. But guess what you also get a snippet from Sleepers Awake.

I hear you guys don't mind my horror adventure into the corprus cure.

Art First

Guns for Josh! Straight Outta Blacklight kids!

Hey this is getting posted with an ask but I need to draw like 4 more things first!

Ok Writing under the cut. CW Horror imagery, graphic descriptions, body horror. This is corprus and Morrowind related. You know the drill...

“SPEAK TO US!”

Blind, lost, they fumble. He fumbles, writhes. The star is gone. The cavern glows red, lost, wandering, face to the dirt. The drum beats, the heart beats, his heart stops and there is nothing.

“Again,” A man’s voice, old but firm, “do it again Uupse.”

He felt his muscles contract, relax, contract, the pain searing through his chest, as his body slams against stone. His muscles are fire, everything moves of its own accord, and he can’t will himself to stop. Again and again, an eternity. He writhes in one spot, scraping, twisting. His arm numb, his shoulder out of socket. He is aware and not, his body moves of its own accord. Snapping striking, scraping. He can’t breathe. He screams out, the sound little more than a rasping exhale as his body continues to slam against the stone. His head hits the hard, cold surface that he lay upon. Again and again and again. Over and over. Then suddenly it stops and he relaxes. Everything is wet. He burns, and his heart lurches in his chest. Fire throughout his body, a torch, immolation. It stops and he is suddenly unbearably cold. His heart stops.

“Again Uupse.”

A crack, a burning in his chest, it spreads from the centre outwards, his head turns, jaw clenches, and again he writhes, something in his chest snaps. Everything is muffled, it's too much. There are voices in the ether, distant, the language unrecognisable as he once again loses consciousness.

***

“Go to him, beneath Red Mountain, kneel before him, and he will show you mercy."

He speaks the words from his own lips, drawn tightly against his teeth. Dry. His skin is stretched across his bones, the joints split, oozing, and he crawls before himself upon his knees. They ooze a black substance as they scrape along the ground. He reaches his mirror’s feet, his forehead touches the ash before him. His reflection met him at his level. He lifted his chin up, traced his lip, and forced him to look at him, his face hollow, reforming, falling in, and reforming. His eyes dead, the crimson dulled. Clouded. The same images over and over. Teldryn spoke.

“What are you? Where is this place?” His voice was alien, not his own, ashen, rough. Unrecognisable.

His reflection smiled, it was menacing, lips stretched, uncanny. His eyes are dead.

 “Go to him, kneel before him, as you do me, and he will show you mercy.”

Teldryn tried to speak again, a long, bony finger pressed against his lips, silencing him before a could verbalise.

"What are you doing?” A laugh, “You have no idea, do you? Poor animal. You struggle and fight. You resist!”

“YOU UNDERSTAND NOTHING!”

The words did not come from either of them. Deep, rasping, hollow. It screeches from the darkness. He watches himself stiffen as the creatures approach. A mess of ash, malformed, elephantine proboscises emerging from their faces. Pits for eyes, ornate yet tattered robes. They hum, they writhe. One takes his reflection by the ear and tosses him to the side. His naked, emaciated form breaks against the rocky walls of the cavern. He watches himself twitch, thrash before he stills. The thing that stands before him offers its hand, skeletal, the ash and its skin mingled, he could not tell where one ended and the other began.

He did not want to take it.

He felt a shock in his chest, and he shuddered. Again. Another. He seizes. He awakens. The thing offers him its hand again.

And he refuses.

A second shock, stronger, it burns at his very being. His every nerve set aflame. His head hits the ground, grazes the stone. He is forced to his feet, a dead, decrepit arm hooks either side of him. He is forced forward. His body taught, unable to move of his own accord.

He drags his feet all the same.

#wip whenever #my wips #my art #my writing #Poor Josh #danger!josh #corprus disease #morrowind #teldryn sero #skyrim #sydari aralen #divayth fyr #tel fyr #Corprusarium #ash blight #ash zombies #ascended sleepers #He's looking at himself and he can't understand

[dallonwrites]

2582 words today besties i'm back on track👍 it's funny to me to compare that number to the 533 i wrote yesterday but truly the only reason i wrote that much today because i realised 1.6k was not the vibe yesterday so i didn't force myself and risk burnout!

since i didn't share anything yesterday here's a scattering of random, unconnected no context lines that i think are neat (cw for dead animal imagery and blood/injury. this is an apocalypse forest au LOL)

Because it is still warm outside which means the nights and the morning is quick and the sunsets are long, exhaling drags, but tonight the sky is already a dark cyan and there is already the hint of coolness in the air; they can’t feel it as much anymore, the weightlessness of a summer evening.

When she looks at her hands, the drying blood, she remembers the sound of tearing flesh, of an entry wound rupturing, of ripping her brother’s missed arrow out of a man’s stomach.

They have to pay close attention to the ground — especially in the slow, dull and darkening sunset — to watch out for stones that, upon closer look, decay into dead and dried fish.

She wanted to fish so the violence of her hands could be used for something natural, something part of a cycle, to not think of a stranger’s collapsing guts. Dorothy does not like to kill, but she knows it is what she’s good at.

There are certain patches they know to look out for, like the two trees the stretch out across each other, making X's with their branches, or the pine tree with their names carved into the bark, the patch of hawthorn trees that signal they are close to home. All of these are like little earthly constellations and in a way the forest is like a starlit night to them; they do not need to map out each individual piece, each pine or oak or alder or holly bush but they know which ones will guide them home, that they know to find in the silky moonlight.

#the fish one is autofiction btw i literally modelled the setting off my own favourite lake #and you had to be so careful walking the shoreline in summer (in colder months it is submerged) because there would just be dead fish #there are more i wanted to share but i think i will do a silly actual update post #so i can explain the plot and stuff #there's a moment where felix is laughing under a bridge bc the guy they killed asked if he believed in angels #why are they under a bridge? well the visions #ANYWAY i think i can actually make an intro for this now i know how to explain what's going on better #had....discovery writing revelations #nano 2023

[newbornwhumperfly]

thirst is all i know...

@ailesswhumptober - day one - drugging | sick | poisoned 

look...it's been a thousand years but i was deeply inspired to write again from these beautiful whumptober prompts, so...here is some poor vampire girl enduring some Suffering 🥺🥺🥺

taglist - @much-ado-about-whumping, @whumping-every-day

title is inspired by benjamin alire sáenz - “you are thirst and thirst is all i know.”

CW: dehumanization, religious abuse, religious imagery, emeto, animal death, gore, disordered eating allusions, starvation, racism, creepy comfort

~

“Sit up, creature. I have something for you.”

Ardiñipén shuddered as the voice of the priest rang out, even the murmur echoing loudly in the quiet church. The flagstones beneath her are cold, no roaring fire in this space facing the pews, before the dreaded altar. She shudders again to remember that these stones would scorch her like a stovetop skillet should her limbs stretch beyond the edges of her refuge - the little square of holy cloth she’s been privileged to lay on when…Father performs his sacraments. 

Knowing better than to lift her eyes to the man’s face, Ardiñipén only watches the stark white hem of his vestments sweep closer to her as she pulls herself up off her side into a kneel. She’s always supposed to kneel when she’s…up here. In the dark room below the church, she can lay however she wishes. Up here, no matter how many hours she is kept above in the place of merciless light, she must always kneel. Even sleeping, she kneels; head on hands, prostrate, bowed at the waist to sleep with her cheek pressed against the floor.

Repentance. 

A low, hoarse whine wheezes from her lips as she drags her body quickly to its knees, the welts on her back coming alive again with a searing throb when she bows her body forward. It is nothing to what she would get for not moving eagerly enough…for showing stubbornness. She flinches at her own whimper and flinches again when the priest’s hand, whiter than his robes, drops into her vision. 

But, rather than catching the sting of hot flesh and cold rings across the cheek, the tips of Father’s fingers hook under her chin. Her body jerks when Father touches her and she hates that she can’t tell if she’s pulling away or slinking like a dog beneath his hand. 

Keep still. 

Don’t make it worse.

You are still here. 

It takes a scant second for her nose to catch what her eyes glimpse in the priest’s other hand and when it does, Ardiñipén’s stomach lurches. 

He is holding an animal. Freshly dead, pierced through the heart, it smells like metal, like rát- red, hot, sticky, her belly twists, gums itch and throb. Her pointed teeth are gone, gone, taken, but the stubs of growth, tiny bone nubs barely able to poke through her itching gums now jut free and it aches. 

She doesn’t even know a trail of spit drools from the corner of her mouth until the priest makes a sharp noise through his nose and pulls away. 

Ardiñipén whimpers, freezing up, but there is no blow. Instead, the dead thing is dropped before her. It is…a little, what is it, rat. Small, black animal. She can smell the wound and a trail of her hunger drips off her chin to the floor. She doesn’t even mind, all she can think about is the flesh, about the gush, the sharp flood of zhuvel still burning across her tongue. 

Her mouth opens, a whine of air that twists into a sound. 

It sounds like ni hačarav tut- 

“What have I taught you about speaking in the Lord’s tongue?”

She flinches, no longer needs to blink but blinks heavy, eyes hot, dry, raised in pleading and she cannot see the priest’s face through the water that rises in her and she’s so, so, so hungry, please, she hasn’t had a bowl in days. 

“S-So…rry, Fa-ther. Do…not…know?”

Her hands tremble, gripping her own bare knees so tight that the edges of her nails dig and dig into her skin. She’s trying. Wants to be good. She wants to eat. 

She knows not to say she wants anything. 

Ardiñipén’s mouth is wet as her eyes, belly throbbing like it’s own bruise when she rasps. “I..be…g-good, Fa-ther. Am good.” 

Quiet. And then…a soft sigh. 

“You have permission to eat, creature. If that is what you truly want to do, I will not keep you from eating. This is your choice.”

The fear is quick, a passing shudder, but the hunger is much stronger. When the man says eat, the thread keeping her frozen is snapped and she gathers the animal up in her hands.

And she eats.

Fur, soft, black. 

Muscle, skin, bite, tear, fangs too small to pierce deep.

Face buried, whole body in mouth to get a bite, tear, grip, rip, drink.

Rát.

Blood.

Rat. 

Still warm, wet, sticky, suck, suck, suck. 

Ardiñipén’s head is hazy as she, dimly, sees herself in her own mind, hunched over naked, red dripping down her chest, her neck, face painted with what she drinks, until she wrings the body like a rag, drinking those drops onto her tongue.

Wet falls from her eyes, crying, as the fist of her belly loosens around its fullness. It is only a little blood but it’s enough. It’s something. Not a watery bowl of balo blood. This is food. 

There is something…almost sugar-sweet on the undercurrent of the taste, something that drags the fog of her mind heavier and heavier, and, as she slumps to her side on the floor, the sleep of eating washing over as the cooling little body stays clutched tight in her hand, she smiles up at the priest through eyes that cannot see how his face looks and she cries and is so grateful. 

~

Ardiñipén wakes up sick. 

Retching onto the stones, she wakes with burning bile in her mouth, spilling out like fire, and her stomach hurts. It hurts, it hurts, the grip of hunger was not anything, nothing, not to this. Her hands clutch, dig into her belly, and there’s a yák inside her stomach, hot, hot, stabbing. 

Help. Help. Help. 

The sick wells and wells, she can’t breathe around the flood, the gagging spasms, heat bursting across her spine as her retching splits the welts. Ardiñipén curls in on herself, coils, sobbing,  twists on the floor as she burns inside, wails as another twist wrenches through her body that makes her gag, gag, get it out, and she spits, spits, get it out. 

Her body tries and tries to purge, her muscles wrench against her bones, her skin trying to pull away from her limbs, her heart, her stomach, her guts, all throw themselves against ribs that will not break, against a body that will not faint, trying to vomit the fire out of her, like a dancer, like the flame-eaters, and she can’t get away from her own body. 

She does not hear the approach of footsteps over her own rasping, the rattle of chains around her thrashing ankles, but she spasms with a choked scream at the hand on her head, her arms curling, knees tucking up, to cover her belly where the fire is worse.. 

No more pain. Not now, now right now, please not now.

No more pain comes. Instead, she feels her head lifted, her aching neck pillowed in a hand known by the coldness of its rings, now cool, blessed, against the sticky-heat-sickness of her skin. Ardiñipén whines, twitching, bled dry of even being able to curl up when Father pulls her close. She couldn’t pull away even if she had the strength. 

“F-Father- help-” 

“There, now.” Father whispers, fingers colder than stone cooling her brow, brushing back the hair sticking to her face. His fingers smell sweet as the blood of the rat, soft as the fur of the animal. “You see what comes when you get what you want, child? How sick your body is making you when you feed? I know it hurts, child, I don’t want to hurt you.”

The rat made me sick. 

My body made me sick. 

He made me sick. 

I don’t care. I’m sick. Help me. 

A dry, scraping retch lurches her closer, a sob jerking her body into Father’s arms. His arms are soft and cool and hold her body still, anchored in her helpless shuddering. 

“Hurt-” She sobs and the right word for that falls easy as bile off her lips. “Hu-hurts…h-help…”

“I will help you, child. Let your Lord’s love feed you that none may know hunger or thirst.” Father murmurs and his hands are heavy on her back, the rings searing under the weight of his touch. “Do not be afraid, child - I will save you from your hunger.”

~

it’s truly been so long since i have written and i am trying to just put something out there without agonizing over perfectionism - i so, so appreciate y’all’s support of my blog despite it being a barren field for so long <333

(glossary of romani* words & phrases: ni hačarav tut - “I don’t understand”, rát - “blood”, balo - “pig”, zhuvel - “life”, yák - “fire”)

*my two main sources are glosbe.com and alsglobal.net & i acknowledge these sources are a little shoddy, so i deeply welcome corrections or input on my use of this language!

#am nervous to put this out but!!! perfection is the enemy and I'm genuinely excited about this religious trauma piece 😈🥺💖 #ardinipen #father packet #there's a vampire in the church #ailesswhumptober2023 #ailesswhumptoberday1 #my writing #whump #whumpee #whumper #vampire whump #crying #starvation #allusions to disordered eating #xenophobia #racism #gore #blood #animal death #imprisonment #chained #religious imagery #religious abuse #creepy comfort #nudity #begging #emeto tw

[lilliths-httyd-blog]

Fear of the Dark

RttE Fanfiction | Viggo Grimborn

CW: Spiders, Dead Animals, Canibalism, Eye horror

Fic under the cut

Viggo had developed a fear of the dark.

He'd never been afraid of such trivial things before, not even as a child. He'd never been plagued by monsters under his bed or creatures rapping at the shutters. He didn't have any irrational phobias or any particular anxieties. He had to admit, he did have an intense adversion to a few larger varieties of spiders, but honestly, was that not unjustifiable? And that was about it. Until now at least.

Viggo struggled to get to sleep. That was nothing new. He'd always had insomnia, ever since he was young. But recently, due to an ongoing war with a particular dragon rider, he'd been overworking himself as well, and doing such had left him utterly exhausted. He could barely stay awake, but he just couldn't get to sleep. He was clocking perhaps three hours a night at best. It was torturous.

This lethargy had affected his psyche rather horribly. As of late, whenever he closed his eyes, hs minds eye began to play tricks on him. Visions would suddenly flash into existence in his mind, and they were always gruesome, unsettling and distressing visions, visions that startled him so much that he'd physically jumped a few times upon being exposed to them. Once he'd seen a dirty, feral old man staring at him, and he'd immediately known that the figure was sizing him up, preparing to kill him and feed on his remains. Another time he'd seen a horse as black as night towering above him, dead and rotting, about to topple onto his body. There was the time he'd seen a great, hairy spider crawling out from underneath someone's eyelid, resembling mangled eyelashes. These visions were pervasive as anything, and he saw them just about every time he closed his eyes for more than a few moments. Sleep became utterly impossible.

Then things got even worse. The further lack of sleep brought about by these visions had only caused more visions to appear, and now they were appearing when his eyes were wide open. All it took was a bit of darkness and suddenly Viggo's mind was engulfed by terrible imagery. He'd taken to sleeping with a night light, leaving a lantern burning by his bedding, but the shadows the light created were just as horrible. No matter what he did, the visions just didn't go away.

Viggo finally cracked when the line between reality, visions and nightmares began to blur. Was he awake? Was he dreaming? Was he having visions? Was he having nightmares? He couldn't tell anymore. He needed outside intervention. He'd gone to the first person he'd thought of: Ryker. And... Ryker was willing to help him, though Odin knew why. Viggo had never expected that from him, but he appreciated it nonetheless. Though, what exactly Ryker had done to ease him back to normal, he couldn't remember. Memory of those weeks was blurry. It took some time before Viggo was able to get to sleep, and each time he'd drifted off he'd been startled awake by nightmares again, but the visions soon began to take their leave, little by little. He'd slept on and off for a few days, trying to regain some lost energy, and as he slept, nightmares became dreams and visions became nonexistent. It was like they'd never existed in the first place.

Viggo was still afraid of the dark, though. That was something that all the sleep in the world couldn't fix.

#viggo grimborn #httyd #race to the edge #httyd fanfiction #ryker grimborn

[basementcreation]

1 2 and 21 for your personal fav oc

OURURFHGHHH THANK YOU…. (STARTS FLAILING AROUND LIKE A REALLY EXCITED WORM)

my personal favourite oc is a (previously lobotomy corp oc but now in my own universe) character named Rostya ( ´ ▽ ` )b (this got kind of long, so most of it is under the cut)

does your oc have any motifs?

(cw for imagery of death/rot) yeah!! sorry, this section will be a little long, i have a lot of thoughts about themes and stuff. possibly a little generic but it's fine hehe.

most commonly, i relate him to crows/dead birds. i like the imagery of a dead bird swarming with maggots for him - it relates to his feelings of emptiness. his main struggles are depression and lack of control of his life; basically, things keep getting worse for him and he's almost given up. like, y'know, a dead animal being consumed by rot. also, crows are typically associated with death - something his character arc is related to (i mean. he does die at the end of it. so). could also relate to independence (he pushes away other people) and freedom (is struggling to free himself from his mental health struggles and the pressure/manipulation of his mother, even if he isn't in contact with her anymore).

the second thing i've related to him (although, this one is a bit new, so it's not too well thought out just yet) are apples! they're commonly used to represent temptation and sin (eg death note, the bible (yes i thought of death note first, what of it)) but i like it as a metaphor for life. this sort of stems from a scene i thought up with him and his (future partner, but at the time) enemy, who threatens rostya by crushing an apple in his hand. apples are hard on the outside but are pretty easy to cut up with a knife - the fact he crushes it with his bare hand shows the power he has over rostya's life. i'd love to go on more about this, but i think i need to mull this theme over some more first.

ALSO okok i can't believe i nearly forgot about this but. black ink. goop. nothing much to say about this one he's just a goopy guy. actually, no, disregard that, i have thoughts. so there's two versions of the universe he's from, and he has a (spoilers) madoka magica witch transformation moment in both of them. both of these times his other form is made up of black ink. it's basically just a metaphor for his despair. like, depression can feel like it's totally consuming you and dragging you down, right? that's his whole thing.

okay i promise pinky style that this is the last one but. masks. he's constantly masking his real thoughts and feelings. maybe a little heavy-handed, but it fits (he even has a dark shadow, like a mask, cast across his face when i draw him. look at the art below to see). he also wears a mask in both of his transformations - it's sort of similar to a theatre one, look at it below.

fuck i feel like gambling is also a motif for him. my brain is sort of short circuiting now because of all the writing (i know it's not that much. i am tired) but just. trust me. there's stuff there. and sorry for breaking my pinky promise. i'll repent.

2. describe your character's voice. do they have a voice claim?

this one's a little trickier - i generally don't have voice claims for my ocs, and just come up with them in my head, so i'll also talk a bit about the way he speaks. he has a fairly deep voice, probably about average for a guy. he's russian, but moved to england at a young age, so i don't think his accent is very prominent. he doesn't really speak unless spoken to, and tends to use shorter sentences. he can also be very snappy, mostly when people are trying to be nice to him (⍪_⍪) for context - he's a quiet person, but will put up a front of hostility when people try and get too close, which is. kind of anything past small talk for him (vulnerability scares him because of his past). although, after a while, he does calm down a bit with his antagonism.

21. hobbies your OC enjoys?

he really loves music! before he pawned them off, he would collect records. he enjoys singing a lot (in an au he's an opera singer) and secretly wishes he could make a career out of it - which, he totally could. he's a great singer. in the past he played the violin, and he still has some love for it, but as an adult he has too many bad feelings associated with it.

he also LOVES trains. he would love to save up enough money to collect miniature model trains, but can't manage it. at some point he and his coworkers have to go on a luxury train to investigate something and the whole time he is freaking out about it.

thanks so much for the ask!!! rostya is so fun to talk about. as a bonus, here's some art of him!!

the hair strand across the face is essential!

rostya ponytown... think i might remake this soon.

mock cover for the chapter where he dies! <3 this isn't what his transformation looks like, but the mask is the one he has.

one of my first drawings of him... his design has changed a little. and my art has changed a lot

this isn't rostya. i forgot why i drew this

#oc ask game #ocs

[the-bjd-community-confess]

CW: discussion of transphobia, police brutality, politics

Uhhh, just a question, to the people who're all sour about the JKR vs Nazi-SMD/RD shit, bc "Oh so you care abt hating Nazi, but not abt Trans ppl". You do realise that Nazi's weren't exactly friends of Trans people either? Bc some people really have a wording issue, and seem like they're upset that people are... anti-Nazi. You don't have to pit these two issues against each other ya know? Like, we're really having ppl be called bigots bc they are vocally against Nazis now, if they don't also call JKR a cunt. I think that's called whataboutism.

JKR is a shitty and embarrassing human being, like fuck, have you seen the absolute cringe-fest of a new book she wrote? lol, bitch be writing very own "my life as a victim"-real life fanfic sobstory. But she's also just kinda fucking irrelevant to most people, and besides the meme potential, she's kinda dead fish in a flowing river. Nasty, disgusting and vile, but the dead fish doesn't do much, she's a c***, but she isn't making laws, or running outside shooting trans people in the streets either.

The UK Government would still be fucking transphobic if she didn't exist, bc they're a bunch of conservative miserable traditionalist fucks who's entire life is a fucking parody based on former glory and kissing each others ass. The problem is the politicians there mainly. Like when some politician b*** genuinely used that "Die TERF" Lilly with a gun meme from that Zombie Idol anime, to proclaim what a huge victim TERF's are. Like little b***** crying to their mommy, while making more transphobic laws, and portraying women as men's incubators.

Ppl have more issues with Nazi's and Police brutality bc those are active threats, who are out and about killing people, taking their rights away, murdering innocent people, and getting away with it, which INCLUDES trans people. If you have someone who supports police brutality, or hails Nazi imagery, they want you actively dead. They are out there supporting that's happening, they support concentration camps, they support imprisonment, torture, and taking away rights. Which is still happening, especially in China with the Police brutality and CCP. Idk, just smth to think abt, bc you're putting a shitty washed transphobic up author (Not even her pissy political part and system), on the same level with an entire tyrannical Political force that caused the death of 10 millions, lgbT!! included btw, and another tyrannical Political force who've killed millions, and are currently still actively killing hundreds if not thousands innocents a day, also lgbT!! included, with the latter not having any sign of stopping in sight. That's why ppl hate on Danazi Ch00 and RD, bc they're supporting and encouraging the latter. 

~Anonymous

#BJD #ABJD #BJD Confessions #Community Confessions

[sam-glade]

Sam! It is Worldbuilding Wednesday!

I'm already lucky enough to know a bit about healing in the Sunblessed Realm, but is healing only done with magic there? What's the state of healthcare for those without access to a friendly local Crystal?

Tiss💜 Thank you for the question!

You tapped into the main reason why I wouldn't want to live in my setting.

Crystals, the Gifted people who can heal others, aren't actually that common. There's a good chance there's one a few of villages over, or in the nearest Army outpost, which may require a full day of travelling to get to. Good luck getting to them in an emergency, so yes, there's a lot of reliance on standard medicine.

As for the state of medicine, the short answer is: terrible!

Long answer:

CW: mention of dead bodies and surgery.

In real life, a lot of progress in medicine relied on autopsies - being able to cut open dead bodies. Of which in setting we have none. People die, go 'poof', and leave only their ashes behind.

But! Thankfully people don't like that, so they try to make up for it by advancing pharmacology. In Days of Dusk, chemists are working hard on synthesising various drugs.

I'd say they recognise the need for antiseptics (so e.g. iodine is in setting), and in general keeping a clean environment at a physician's workstation. I'm also leaning towards saying that all sorts of hormone therapy are being developed by trial and error sooner than could be expected. They rely on drawing desperate comparisons to how animals work, since animals can be killed and eaten (so they leave a corpse behind).

On the other hand, surgery is limited to: oh, there's a hole in you? Let's stitch you back up and hope we reconnect all the tubes correctly. A respected surgeon won't agree to cutting a person open to treat e.g. a hernia. But hey, not all surgeons are respected. And some people are desperate.

Outside of cities, people rely primarily on herbalists and folk medicine - less effective and cheaper, but it's the best they can get. So yes, I'm afraid it's pretty dire. It also has a big effect on the difference in lifespan between urban and rural areas.

Fortunately, by The Truth Teller times, all forms of medical imagery have probably overtaken real world, and they make up for the lack of bodies to dissect.

#medicine #worldbuilding #worldbuilding wednesday #ask and i shall answer

[moibakadesu]

EDIT: After I was done and posted this a few more things came to mind, also thanks to my Twitter mood making me think even more about it so as of 30th April there is more in here, waha.

Hiii, it’s me again, and behold, the other day shortly before I went to sleep a new Haruka theory came to me that strikes me as quite galaxy brained, so get ready for:

Haruka and Mirai (the little girl) were meant to be twins

cw for suicide, animal death and things like infant death

So what exactly do I mean by this? Well, that Mirai either died in the womb or during birth. It is not all that uncommon that in a pregnancy with twins not both of them survive, for various reasons. One of these reasons can also be: strangulation by the umbilical cord. 

Isn’t that a “nice” coincidence with the whole strangulation theme around Haruka going on. A twitter mutual of mine even pointed out that this might even be a link to the necklace, sort of like a constant reminder to himself about this.

We would also have another link between the 01&02 prisoner pair, if both cases would in a way revolve around an unborn child.

It would also get rid of some of the contradictions we have with the whole narrative. We see Mirai both at the same age as Haruka, but in AKAA we see her clearly younger than Haruka. So what if that is basically just her “ghost” haunting him? A sort of prenatal survivor's guilt going on?

With how badly his mothers tends to treat him overall she might as well have said things to him like “It is your fault she suffocated” (imprinting that whole picture of strangulation in him deeply) or “I wish it would have been you who died and not her”.

This puts some scenes in AKAA into a very interesting light. My twitter moot that I mentioned earlier once compared the imagery of Haruka stuck in the room surrounded by the dead animals with a ritual that is called "kodoku". It's a sorcery from japanese folklore in which insects (and in some versions also other animals like snakes etc) are put into a jar or confined space with the goal of killing each other until only one survivor is left. The goal of this sorcery is to create a curse that causes misfortune and bad luck. Now what does Haruka always say he causes people, hmmm. And what if this confined space was the womb? I already linked the last scene in AKAA where he is swaying in the fluid with what seems like a wish to return to the mother's womb, the goal to be reborn. So maybe all of this is connected in a way.

Maybe it even is a hint that every time we see Mirai in the MVs Haruka is in some way connected to her, be it holding her hand or with his hands around her throat. Does it point to how they were basically connected in the mother’s womb? Or how she is still haunting Haruka as a constant presence. Probably even more so as the expectations of his mother what he should have been and couldn’t be. I know a lot of people link this to Haruka being transfem, I kinda see it as the opposite actually, him getting this wish of his mother forced on himself, this thought that he might be better and more worthy of love from her if he would be a girl, this is completely for his mother’s sake, not for himself. 

And of course the death of Mirai would not at all have been his fault.

But he would still absolutely blame himself for that, having taken that away from his mother that she wished for so much more than having him.

So I still think that is of course what got him into Milgram. As a big defender of the suicide theory I fully believe that this lead up to Haruka taking his own life, his Milgram “murder” proper.

Another contradiction is the interrogation answer where he answers that his family consists of him and his parents. Well, this could mean he just didn’t include the deceased person. Or that she never properly existed in the first place, never was an actual part of the family. It always struck me as weird that we don’t have more … presence of Mirai in any way, seeing her with his mother, any sort of mention. If she really played such a big role in the Sakurai family life that Haruka had a reason to be jealous of her, why do we not see anything about this?

It feels like I am really on to something here, but as much as this would clear up some contradictions it also adds some … Haruka’s infamous “I can kill anything smaller and weaker than me, you know?” is such a hard statement, but Haruka’s perception of the world is rather special, so it might as well be that we can’t even take this all literally? Maybe it was “real murder” in his mind, even though it didn’t involve a physical present person.

What also got pointed out to me was, that his 3rd anniversary artwork is a very fetal posture, fitting this whole theme as well.

#the lyrics of “the things that aren't here and the uneeded things is it still living somewhere?” #I feel they are also very relevant to this theory #as in “is my dead twin still living in me in a sense?” #milgram #milgram theory #sakurai haruka #haruka sakurai #moi rambles

[k7tt1]

𝗠𝗢𝗕𝗜𝗟𝗘 𝗙𝗥𝗜𝗘𝗡𝗗𝗟𝗬 𝗥𝗨𝗟𝗘𝗦 !

DISCLAIMER : HELLUVA BOSS IS AN ADULT CARTOON THAT DEALS WITH SERIOUS & DISTURBING TOPICS THAT TAKES PLACE IN HELL. THIS BLOG IS RATED M [ AKA ] DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT! THE TOPICS PORTRAYED IN THIS BLOG ARE PURELY FOR FICTIONAL PURPOSES. THIS BLOG & THE MUNDANE ARE VERY MUCH PRO-FICTION. CURATE YOUR OWN EXPERIENCE & BLOCK AT YOUR DISCRETION. THESE MAY BE PRESENT IN-CHARACTER: NONCON, DUBCON, SEXISM, MISOGYNY, BIGOTRY, NON-PARENTAL INCEST, HOMOPHOBIA, TRANSPHOBIA, VERBAL ABUSE,  VIOLENCE, GORE, CLASSISM, RACISM, SLAVERY, LEGAL AGE GAPS & MORE. UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES,  HOWEVER,  WILL BESTIALITY OR PAEDOPHILIA EVER BE ROLEPLAYED IN THIS SPACE. IF THIS TYPE OF CONTENT IS PRESENT IN YOUR MUSES' HISTORY, PLEASE TAG IT.

THIS BLOG IS IN NO WAY AFFILIATED WITH VIVIANNE MEDRANO OR SPINDLEHORSE. I CLAIM NO OWNERSHIP OF ANY OF THE CHARACTERS I PORTRAY HERE OR ON ANY OTHER BLOG. THE INFORMATION USED ON THIS BLOG & ITS SUBSEQUENT PAGES, IS BASED ON VARIOUS SOURCES PRODUCED BY THE HELLAVERSE WIKIS, THE COMICS, CONCEPT ART, INTERVIEWS ETC! INFORMATION EXPRESSED ON THIS BLOG IS NOT OFFICIAL UNLESS OTHERWISE SPECIFIED.

DO NOT INTERACT IF ARE UNDER 21 YEARS OF AGE, BELIEVE IN POLICING FICTIONAL CONTENT, PRO-CALLOUT, SMUT-ONLY BLOGS, SHOTA / LOLI BLOGS, SHAME OTHERS FOR THEIR SEXUAL PREFERENCES, NON-RP BLOGS. I DO NOT CARE IF YOU SHIP LOONA WITH BLITZO, BLITZO WITH WOMEN, VAGGIE WITH MEN, DISLIKE BLITZO / STOLAS, WRITE ALASTOR AS ANYTHING ELSE OTHER THAN ASEXUAL, ETC. I ABSOLUTELY REFUSE TO ENTERTAIN DISCOURSE, POLICE CONTENT & INTERACTING WITH THOSE WHO ACTIVELY ATTEMPT TO GATEKEEP WHAT OTHERS DO ON THEIR BLOG.

ABOUT THE WRITER : I GO BY KRAEHE, CHELL OR COOKIE. I AM 28 YEARS OF AGE & I RUN ON PACIFIC STANDARD TIME. THIS IS A ROLEPLAY / WRITING ACCOUNT, WHICH MEANS ALL WRITINGS IN THIS BLOG ARE INDEPENDENT & WRITTEN BY ME IN COLLABORATION WITH OTHER ROLEPLAYERS. I MAKE NO PROFIT OF ANY OF THE CONTENT IN MY BLOG.

BLOGS CREDITS : PSD COLORING, DIVIDERS, DASH ICONS, PROMO GRAPHIC, PINNED GRAPHIC & RP ICONS ARE ALL MADE BY HYRULESHOP. ARTWORK THAT IS REPOSTED HERE IS ALWAYS CREDITED & LINKED TO EITHER THE ARTIST’S PROFILE OR THE ACTUAL WORK ITSELF ON THEIR PROFILE. NONE OF THE DECORATIVE OR ARTISTIC MATERIALS USED ON THIS BLOG IS MINE UNLESS SPECIFIED

I AM EXTREMELY SELECTIVE & PREFER TO INTERACT WITH HELLAVERSE BLOGS. I AM SELECTIVE OF OCS. PLEASE TAG IMAGERY OF #TRYPOPHOBIA, & BOTH WRITTEN DEPICTIONS & IMAGERY OF #ANIMAL ABUSE & #ANIMAL CRUELTY. DUPLICATES MAY BE BLOCKED AS I SUFFER FROM SEVERE DUPLICATE ANXIETY, IT’S NEVER PERSONAL.

MY PORTRAYAL OF KITTY IS BASED ON THE SOURCE MATERIAL & BORROWS LORE FROM HELLUVA BOSS. THIS CHARACTER FACES VARYING DEGREES OF TRAUMA, PHYSICIAL & SEXUAL ABUSE, LIMA SYNDROME, AMONG OTHER TRAUMAS WHICH WILL BE TOUCHED UPON IN THE BLOG’S CONTENT BOTH IN-CHARACTER & OTHERWISE. KITTY’S PORTRAYAL IS SUBJECT TO CHANGE DEPENDING ON CANON. SHE HAS STRONG TIES WITH VALENTINO & AS SUCH, MENTIONS OR DEPICTIONS OF HER CURRENT ABUSE, THE AFTERMATHS OF SAID ABUSE & LONG TERM EFFECTS WILL BE PRESENT.

SHIPPING & ROMANCE OF ANY KIND IS BASED ENTIRELY ON CHEMISTRY & COMMUNICATION. DON’T BE AFRAID ASK ME STRAIGHT UP, HOWEVER, AS ROMANCE IS MY KRYPTONITE. PLOTTING IS PART OF THE FUN. OTHER TYPES OF RELATIONSHIPS ARE TO BE EXPLORED AS WELL. I WILL WRITE SUGGESTIVE CONTENT IF THE SITUATION CALLS FOR IT.

I DON’T DO EXCLUSIVES I DO, HOWEVER, INVEST HEAVILY IN MAINS & AFFILIATES, RESPECTIVELY. BEING MY MAIN OR AFFILIATE MEANS YOU GET PRIORITY IN OUR INTERACTIONS, I SEND YOU MORE INBOX ROLEPLAY PERTAINING TO OUR SPECIFIC PLOTTING & BEING ADDED TO MY LISTS.

TRIGGERS ARE TAGGED SIMPLY, LIKE SO : ‘CW INSERT TRIGGER HERE’ — DUE TO TUMBLR’S STRICT POLICIES, NOT SAFE FOR WORK CONTENT IS TAGGED AS ‘CW NSFT’. DUE TO PERSONAL COMFORT, I WILL NOT, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES, WRITE OUT SMUT WITH THOSE UNDER 25 YEARS OF AGE. SUGGESTIVE CONTENT IS GENERALLY ACCEPTABLE, BUT EVEN THEN I WILL BE EXTREMELY SELECTIVE.

PLOTTING IS GREATLY PREFERRED ON DISCORD, HOWEVER I ACKNOWLEDGE THAT THESE DAYS TUMBLR IMS ARE USED MORE OFTEN: BECAUSE OF THIS, I’M WILLING TO PLOT OVER IMS OR EVEN THE INBOX, JUST PLEASE BE PATIENT AS I’M A LOT SLOWER WITH THOSE METHODS. MUTUALS MAY HIT ME UP AT ANY TIME!

THIS IS NOT A SPOILER FREE BLOG! I DO MY BEST TO TAG BUT IN GENERAL, SPOILERS ARE NOT TAGGED. LEAKS, HOWEVER, IF THEY ARE EVER MENTIONED WILL BE TAGGED.

PLEASE NOTIFY ME IF YOU WANT TO TURN ASKS INTO THREADS! WHEN I RESPOND TO ASKS, I TAKE IT MORE AS A WRITING EXERCISE; I DON’T WRITE WITH THE ASSUMPTION MY PARTNER WILL RESPOND.

#⠀﹙ ➛ 𝐊𝟕𝐓𝐓𝐈.𝐄𝐗𝐄 ﹚⠀:⠀ㅤmoderator 🎀 me tome un selfie，

[thotbugatti]

The Audra Diaries

Hi. So recently, I had a silly and goofy idea. Before I even talk about it, let me hit you with a recommendation. If you haven’t already, watch Jenny Nicholson’s video about the Vampire Diaries. I was watching/listening to that video today for the umpteenth time despite never actually watching the show myself, and I figured I should go ahead and watch it for the first time. I don’t want to just watch it though because that’s lame, that’s boring. Instead, I’m going to sit down and review every single episode of the show. So here’s the plan: I’m going to share the bullet point notes that I take while watching the episode, then afterward I’m going to write an actual review for the episode. That’s it. (The notes themself are often out of context comments, which is something that I personally enjoy looking at because I think that kind of thing is funny). Anyway, I hope you enjoy it. :3

Season 1 Episode 1

• why was he just standing in the road and why did he land on his back so perfectly

•so if vampires turn people by biting them, why did it kill that guy

•the thing that CW shows do where they have to make every plot element super obvious through exposition is amazing

•I PREDICTED OBAMA!

• “I predict that we’ll get into a fatal car crash just like your parents huh *nudge*”

• TRANNY MESS??? HELLO????

• why is Jeremy just watching them make out walk away bro

• you’re STONED

• chill myself? What is that, stoner talk?

• give him a break damn your parents are dead girl

• she said hubba hubba

• hawt-e. staring (@) u

• CAW!

• why does the gravestone only have the death date and no birth dates

• she’s going to fist fight the crow

• why are you in a graveyard FREAK?! is he not allowed to be there why are YOU here

• there is a bloody gash in your leg and somehow you don’t feel a thing

• he stole her diary he’s a pervert

• “when’s the last time you hooked up with a puppy?”

• “you keep a journal too omg fuck me now pls”

• Matt looks like an anemic Heath Ledger

• running up that hill instrumental? Ope nope just a cover

• “cute becomes dumb in an instant” what teacher is talking like this to their students

• WHAT TEACHER HER PARENTS ARE DEAD BRO

• why does he have a confederate flag on his desk

• I’M DRUNKKKK 😭

• his smolder is so dreamy

• so if Jeremy didn’t show up would that guy have just r*ped her???

• fog monster FOG MONSTER

• so she was almost r*ped then she was murdered. If I didn’t know any better I’d say that TY killed her

• she’s not into you bro

• OMG my brother is drunk at the party where everyone is drunk what the FUCK

• omg secret brother

• the crow is my fav character

• Damon looks kinda like Glinner if Glinner looked normal

• so is Vicki alive or dead cause they took her away in the ambulance covered

• can vampires teleport in this universe what’s up

• I love the way that people drink beer in movies and tv. It’s always so animated

• she basically told him to get over the death of their parents. CHILL, it’s been 5 months, you’re not over it either

• Vicki: “vampire…” Matt: 😯

• mid 2000s shows all using Fray songs is so on the nose

Review: I actually kind of liked this pilot. I think it’s compelling enough on its own and establishes most of the characters well (with the exception of Jeremy). It’s certainly not without its, uh, dicey moments. Tranny mess? The confederate imagery? From what I can tell, there is 1 (one) black character in the show. Also, the way they transition between scenes can be a little jarring, but that’s not even exclusive to this show. It’s a very CW thing. I think the actor they got for Stefan is a pretty rock solid choice as well. The mysterious, hot boy vampire that serves as their answer to Edward Cullen, that doesn’t sound insanely awkward when he speaks. I’ve had my reservations about this show for a while now, but after the pilot, I’m at least a little interested to see how it goes, and that’s how a pilot should be.

(I’m also posting these on substack if you’re interested in that: https://open.substack.com/pub/thotbugatti/p/the-vampire-diaries?r=302je1&utm_medium=ios&utm_campaign=post :) )

#vampire diaries #review #show review #trans

[larkandkatydid]

If I really liked drive your plow over the bones of the dead and the haunting of hill house what would you recommend I read? I prefer books written by women and I like your book recs. Thank you!

So, I think I've recommended a lot of these before, but creepy and vaguely (eco-)feminist is my fave sub-sub-genre:

Under the Pendulum Sun by Jeanette Ng. A great reinterpretation of the victorian gothic that's set up for a sequel. I also just think Jeanette Ng is a uniquely strong writer and someone to watch in the future.

Pika/White is for Witching by Helen Oyeyemi (different UK/US titles). This reminds me a lot of both The Haunting of Hill House and Sarah Waters' Little Stranger but in a late 1980s context.

American Ghosts and Old World Wonders by Angela Carter. So this is out of print and was only published in the UK (I believe?) but you can get used copies of it online pretty cheaply. This is Angela Carter's collection of short stories about America. It includes John Ford's 'Tis Pity She's a Whore, which is one of my absolute favorite short stories of all time and blew my mind when I first read it.

Year of the Witching - Alexis Henderson. This book is kind of silly in that it is like a CW version of The Crucible...but I enjoyed it immensely and I also think that the "haunted forest" set piece has some of the best spooky woods imagery you could ask for.

The Sexual Politics of Meat- Carol J Adams. This book is controversial because many people point out that some of it's core arguments are "silly" and "lack evidence". But I thinking reading the book as if you need to agree with every single connection and every single aspect of it's feminist argument is less fun than just seeing it as full of interesting ideas. Also, while there may be some overstating in general about how consistently (and in what way) women are compared to animals/nature and sexual violence connecting to the domination of nature is true across our culture....it's very true within the horror genre.

[psalloacappella]

SSM21 Day 3. Nighttime

Pairing: SasuSaku Prompt: Nighttime Title:  this city’s burning, it’s not my burden Tags:  AU - War; Combat Medic Sakura; Soldier Sasuke; CW: War Imagery and Injury In these dim and flickering emergency lights, he says,

"Marry me."

Ao3 | twt | full series link | @ssskmonth

Nighttime can be many things:  Sunset sinking under the horizon line. A signal to gather the flock and circle them up, press the love in tight to keep out everything else. Dinner and drinks, books and cards, friends and trysts.

Sakura remembers these average evenings while she shivers, a bag of click-clacking bones, every tendon pulled tight, murmuring silent thanks to the tetchy-tuned radio and the sound of an explosive shell missing her tent.

Here, a stone’s throw from the combat zone, the terrifying, strident buzz of planes wind up as the sun goes down.

Day belongs to cleaning and wailing, turning over dog tags, and fitful sleep. Night belongs to the enemy. Night belongs to war.

Men from the front line haul him in, bringing with them the barbed, pinched tang of iron and smoke. Earth clinging to worn boots; faces smeared with blood. Uzumaki (best friend of her lover and now hers too, these three young draftees intertwined as ivy, organically-grown trauma) mouths words she can’t hear. Not against the new whistling of a shell sparing her frail medic tent yet again. Not against her heartbeat, currently slamming out a rhythm underneath her ribcage that threatens to burst through.

Accepts his hand on her shoulder, pats it with her own. Scored with antiseptic, rough to touch. Now they file out, dipping their heads with respect. Each set of eyes catches her for a moment then slips over, frictionless, torn from one tragedy to the next. They’ll bring more casualties in time, like a promise.

When they’re gone, it escapes. The low moan of a wounded animal, and it’s coming from her. She quells it, dipping two fingers into the hollow of his neck to seek a pulse. Taps against her skin, weak but alive. Places her head on his chest, seeing what she can hear, and her hand moves to his forehead.

“Sasuke,” she says sharply, patting his cheek. Lifts an eyelid, taps him a little harder than she should. Some stoic medic she is — each name recorded from tags hanging on the dead reminds her of her weakness. “Sasuke! Move your fingers if you can hear me.”

The immediate flutter of his hand brings her more relief than she’d like to allow. She wants to embrace him right here, but there’s a nagging in her gut, something not quite right.

He opens his eyes, stares into the pitch of the tent and beyond. Unfocused.

Sasuke’s torn up hand, mercifully with all digits intact, comes up to touch her hair. But not the way it should:  It meanders, clutches at her arm, walks along her shoulder to find it as if he —

“Sakura,” he croaks, succumbs to coughs. They hurt and he writhes from the recoil. Yanks her close by the hair, straining to speak around the blood and grit in his throat. “I can’t—”

Covering his hand with her own, she gropes for her penlight and finally shines it into his dark eyes,

(and beautiful, they were, for a time; she’d seen them up close on the floor of her flimsy tent, charcoal and smoldering but loving, comforting like the low-burning idle of a hearth)

“No,” she hisses. Watches the way his pupils stay resolutely wide and blank. “No, no no —”

And with a cry, she sweeps her arm across the small metal table, scattering the pathetic few tools she has left to the dirt.

Taking his face in her hands, she leans over him, whispering against his cheek: “Breathing?”

“Ribs hurt,” he growls.

“You can feel your legs?”

He nods in her grip, staring into nothing.

Choking back that noise again, piteous and fragile, she presses her forehead against his, tasting the salt of her own tears.

“Just tell me.”

“Concussion-induced blindness. As to how long—”

“It doesn’t matter,” he says simply.

She withdraws and whirls around, wishing she had something to break.

“I’ll mow them down.”

The strangled way she says this leaves him silent. “Sakura—”

“No,” she interrupts, “I will. I stitch up my friends, send their tags home in coffins, hunker in the tent waiting to be blown apart. And all I get to do is cower here, night after night, wondering if when I’m finally hit I'll be terrified — or relieved.”

The radio crackles, and the stay-in-place! order moves through her as the lingering smog of decay. Her anger sparks, her words spit:

“I want a gun in my hands.”

“I’ll be shipped out.” Sasuke’s voice is steady, assuaging. “Come home with me.”

Sakura snorts, turning around to see him still lying there, pensive. Calm in the face of, or perhaps shellshocked by, this new tragedy.

“And just how would I do that?”

As if the possibility occurred to him in this single moment, in these dim and flickering emergency lights, he says,

“Marry me."

A casual tone, a moment of total absurdity as mortars continue to fall.

“You’re ridiculous.” Voice cracking in a delicate way, as fine china. “And concussed. Literally.”

He pauses, concedes the point in the haughty silence in a way only he can.

“Watch over me, then. Tonight, at least.”

She sighs, but doesn’t pause to consider it much at all, pulling up a chair and muttering. At least this vigil is for the living, not the dead.

Lacing her calloused fingers through his, they hang on tightly

(and the sky and all the shells are falling and they’re clutching close and she whispers I do, I do,)

— enduring such ancient fear rattling them to the bone, counting the minutes until dawn burns away this endless night.

#SSM21 #sasusaku #psalloacappella:SSM21