#hunting trophies and corpses

[mummer]

barry got away with all of it buried with full honours martyred forever because that is what america has always done it has honoured its murderers it has raised them and dropped them onto foreign soil it has fed them with weaponry it has blinded them to the guts on the floor it has loved them and painted their image on its walls and its screens in brilliant dolbyvision. every square inch of this world is a shrine to violence

#slay. #barry spoilers #barry #shot. barry with 3 ak 47s strapped to his back in the plushie aisle of target. Reverse. Sally's room unicorn posters peeling for #hunting trophies and corpses #THE LAST SHOT BEING. BARRY. WHO HAS A LITERAL MIND PALACE FILLED WITH THE SOULS OF THOSE HE HAS KILLED #IS BURIED WITH FULL MILITARY HONOURS. STELLAR. ONE MILLION OUT OF TEN PERFECT SATIRE I LOVE YOU FUCK.

[angorwhosebabyisthis]

need to post some stuff about twovanick with tiger sphinx!ivan and faun!maggie, because i love them. 'another world another time' for these two i am desperate

edit: have some tags because as usual i express myself much more succinctly in them lmao

#lorien legacies #ivanick shu-ra #maggie hoyle #twovanick #LL tag #AUs #fairytale twovanick AU #gigantic melanistic tiger sphinx supposed to hunt down white deer faun for his adopted father. who may or may not be a human who owns him #she lives in woods that are enchanted to protect her by getting people who enter it lost #the ones who mean no harm are turned around and end up back at the exit #the ones who do mean harm are swallowed up by the woods and not seen again by the world outside #their bodies and bones become part of the forest now #a man sends his favorite--his hunter; his weapon; his trophy who he calls a son--into the woods with an artifact #that's supposed to break through the enchantment; a prize taken from the corpse of another girl he had murdered for her magic #he knows it's a risk; but he trusts that it's enough and he wants his favorite to have the glory #......and it /half/ works #he can go deeper into the forest without being turned around; he can track her down; the artifact might even lead him right to her #and he could kill her if he found her #but he can't /go back/ #the moment he turns around the woods will have him #the only way he can escape is if she chooses to tell the woods to let him go #and she can't do that if she's dead #and is also. y'know. unlikely to if she thinks he's going to come back with reinforcements and kill her #especially when it turns out the faoladh; the great wolf; who's watched over her all her life has gone missing #but also she can't bring herself to just like. kill him in cold blood. or let him starve to death here. so she just kind of keeps him in a #certain area and unhappily tries to figure out what to do with him; and also they slowly get to know each other and talk about their lives #and are like oh all this is really fcked up innit #anyway hi i love them and need to write fic #shipping #dyn: not much one for fantasies

[sprout-fics]

do you think werewolf!könig would like to be praised? wolves are wolves and dogs are dogs but I feel like there would be moments with his mate/lover where she strokes his hair right or gives him a kiss on the cheek after doing something for her that would have him trying to beg for a little more. maybe he doesn't know how and pushes against her hands for more, asks what else he is good at for her. or maybe he can't help it and the first time she says "good boy" (for whatever reason, even to a literal dog and not him 😏) he can't help but crave that attention from her

Oh but see König is a very good boy

Here's him and Rotty in their new home

The first snow of that winter is a frigid, delicate thing.

It took time on your travels with König to find a shelter worthy of home. The villages in the valleys below were no longer an option, not with the mystery of a hulking wolf skulking the tree line, and König's startling, hooded face scaring your neighbors. Nor was there time amidst the coming season to construct a cottage to dwell in. In the end, the two of you had scoured the mountain ranges, and had eventually settled upon a long, deep cave in which to make your den.

It had taken time to furnish it, and you had spent many a night curled into the warm, dense fur of your mate to ward off the cold. König was happy to curl around you with his massive frame, nuzzle your face with his snout when it was time to awake. 

Now, your new home is plush with furs of the trophies he has claimed for you, lining the floors and draped across the walls. A bed with feathers lies in the very depths of the cave, and in the cold of winter you happily spend many hours bundled upon it. A fire blazes bright, and filters up through cracks in the ceiling. It dances in hazy shadows across the interior of your home. It’s rudimentary, not yet entirely full, but for now, it is home. It is yours.

You stand at the entrance, a cloak draped about your shoulders, toeing the edge of the frost that threatens to creep inside. Soft white flakes float down from above, and you extend a hand to watch as they melt in your palm. A dusting covers the trees at the edge of your clearing, soon to be thick with white as the snow falls in earnest. 

There’s a rustle from them, and you watch as a massive figure emerges from the pine grove, on all fours and dragging along the recently slayed corpse of a deer. You blink in surprise, not expecting such a large catch from the wolf you call your mate. He hauls it to your feet, gently places it down so you can see the clean, killing bite he has marked it with. 

It’s only then that he shifts back, sighing with release and immediately shivering at the cold. You laugh, drape the blanket from your shoulders around his bare form. König smiles, dips to kiss you with a greeting. 

“Hello, Rotty.”

You smile against his lips, pull back to regard his kill. “Good hunting?”

He straightens a little at that, pleased at the trophy he has brought you. It tugs something warm, amused inside your belly- his wolfish instincts endlessly endearing as they compel him to provide for you, keep you safe, offer you gifts to needlessly appease you. It summons a bemused sort of smile to your features, and you stretch up on your toes to ruffle a hand through his long, messy hair. 

“Good boy.” You tell him jokingly, and watch in surprise at the way his eyes suddenly widen, his eyebrows knit as he nuzzles into your hand. His eyes are soft, almost pleading, cupping your hand to his face in a warm, firm touch.

Oh. Interesting.

“Oh?” You ask teasingly. “Are you my good boy, Konig?”

“Rotty…” He whines at your teasing, and you only laugh, allowing him to drag you close so he presses his nose into your neck against your mating bite. 

“Oh but you’re a very good boy.” You tell him again, reaching up to pet at his hair again, as if scratching between the ears of a dog. 

He makes a little pleading noise at that, an effort to tell you to stop, but it only further fuels your delight. You try to wiggle from his arms to catch sight of his reddening cheeks, but he huffs a little growl into your neck, displeased.

“König.” You laugh, trying to push at him to no avail. “König.”

He stills then, stiffens imperceptibly, and it’s the only warning you get before you’re suddenly being hoisted into his arms.

“König!” You yelp amidst your giggling as he strides into your den, bare as the day he was born. The warmth of the fire beckons you as he pushes past the covering of the entrance, dumping you on your feather mattress and caging you in with long, strong limbs. 

His eyes are golden.

Yet they’re playful, heavy, suggestive in a way where you know exactly what he’s thinking. You return the sprawl of his lips, raise a hand up to drag him downwards. 

“I can be very good, Rotty.” He husks, one hand crawling up your skirt. You spread your legs to allow him, laugh once more in warm affection and delight as he takes you in the way of a tempered, wild thing.

#fic: rotes madchen #drabbles #Konig x reader #werewolf konig

[dailyadventureprompts]

Dungeon: The Bleakfather’s Throne

The world is heavy here, cold knaws at the bones of your companions making every step forward a struggle and the desolate wind sounds like a lamentation. Coming over the rise you see it, the regal corpse that rivals the surrounding mountains for imposing grandeur, the source of this dread season that seeks to smother all good things beneath its sorrow. 

Not all archfey are tricksters or stag-crowned gentry. Like the realm they inhabit, they embody stories, emotions, and the strongest aspects of nature.  The Bleakfather is an aspect of winter at it’s most cruel and deadly, as well as the sorrow that saps the will to go on living, all too common in those long, dark months. For ages untold he has sat his mountain-hewn throne, mummified by the cold winds of his domain as the depths of his misery chokes every spark of life from the land. 

So titanic in size, the bleakfather’s throne is itself a fortress inhabited by ice giants who claim decent from the archfey and raid in his name. They fear their father’s stirring from his glacial malaise, and so listen for his voice on the wind and scour the surrounding lands for any note of happiness that would defy the tyrant’s sorrowful reign. 

Adventure Hooks: 

With his eyes on becoming Jarl of the Bleakfather’s Children, an upstart Jotunn by the name of Talfjarn has assembled a warband and is going raiding in the realm of mortals, hunting the coast on longships the size of wargalleys with an enchanted storm at their back. Though he’s willing to crack towns open in the hopes of gathering pillage and slaves, he’s heard tell of a dragon slumbering somewhere up river that he wishes to test his mettle against. 

The giants have constructed a great temple in the vault of their father’s sword hand, where the trophies of great battles are heaped and the haunted wind howls between his pillar like fingers. Here there shamans divine the Bleakfather’s will, and listen for disturbances that might dare wake him.  Unluckily for our heroes, a celebration they attended ended up getting rowdy enough that its echoes were heard all the way in the feywild..and now a squad of towering winter warriors will be showing up to crash the party and put an end to their good times.   

There is power in mythology. It’s said in years beyond counting that the Bleakfather destroyed the ancient dwarven kingdom in order to steal a relic of great beauty upon which the dwarven lords and ladies swore their oath. Seeking to reunite the warring clans, a would-be hero has set her sights on breaking into the archfey’s vaults and taking back the relic.  It’s only after the party aid her in this daring task that they realize that her advisor had a very different end in mind: Waking the Bleakfather and letting him rampage through the material plane in a jealous rage, to better clear the way for a new order with the advisor at its head. 

#winter #wintertide #festival #seaside #giant #feywild #mountain dungeon #mountain #dwarf #villain giant #treasure hunt #villain #congrats friends this year's holiday special big bad is my seasonal depression

[theunvanquishedzims]

Okay, I'm making mummies the new monster du jour

We all know the story: daring adventurer and nerdy historian discover hidden treasure in a tomb, and just need to survive the undead and their curses long enough to douse themselves in holy water or whatever to sally off into the sunset with their bags of gold and live happily ever after.

What about the mummy's side?

You're dead. You've been dead for millennia, had your organs removed and rites read, been embalmed and dressed and laid to rest amid vast and well-appointed rooms chock-full of wealth. You strode into the afterlife like the king that you are, and have been reigning ever since. The river flows with milk and honey, eternal virgins attend your every physical desire, and your generosity knows no bounds as you shower endless wealth upon your adoring people.

And then...it stops. The river dries up, sour milk rotting in rivulets across the sticky bedrock. The maidens have vanished one by one, carried off by callous, disrespectful hands. The gold that once towered in piles around your palace disappeared much more quickly, not a single coin or ingot left. And your people turn on you. Not in anger, but in fear, hands clawing you, gaping mouths screaming soundlessly, bodies flattening and fading like living murals.

Anubis snatches you out of the waking nightmare, to something much worse: judgement. What? You have been judged already! Your heart weighed against a feather, the wisdom and love you so carefully curated in life keeping it light enough to guarantee your safe passage into an eternal paradise.

Except not so eternal, it seems. Robbers, he tells you. You cannot believe it. Even the bravest, most brazen, most despicably faithless dogs would not disturb your rest. Raid your tomb, yes, take your finery, yes, strip your body of its ornaments and peel the gold off the sarcophagus, perhaps, but not you. Your body in its wrappings, your organs in their jars, should be left alone. They could dump your empty bones on the floor of the pyramid and walk away with every material possession your people saw fit to entomb you with, but nothing of consequence would be taken from you in the afterlife.

They have not just taken your possessions, says Anubis. They have taken you.

Taken the sarcophagus? Surely they would remove your body to lighten the load--

They have taken you, he says.

Removed me to some lesser grave, to set up some new king in a glorious pyramid he himself could not afford to build? Tacky, and rude, but it has been done before--

They have taken you, he stresses again.

...have I fallen so far out of favor with my people, with Egypt herself, that they would strip me of my title and my rest?

Your god crouches, and looks you gently in the eyes, and says again, They have taken you.

And then he adds: You have ten days to return.

And you awake on a boat, a horrific thing of metal and smoke, surrounded by treasures packed in wooden crates and straw, admired by an endless parade of foreigners who ooh and ahh over your dead body and do not, cannot understand what they are costing you, making you their macabre trophy of the dullest hunt you can imagine.

You will teach them what a real hunt is.

(The rest of the movie is a timed horror-thriller as the hero, trapped in his own desiccated corpse, shambles around London trying to find his heart and return to Egypt, while attacked on all sides by monster hunters and grave robbers who don't understand that they're the bad guys. It is an epic struggle to stay the course and not fall into a vengeful frenzy, to keep his heart pure enough to pass the feather again, to FIND his heart in the first place.)

#the mummy #new mummy #You Woke the Mummy: An Imperialist Horror #maybe the real friends were the monsters we made along the way #Anubis does not have a jackal head he just wears one to parties #the virgins are totally into it the king is very cute and flirty okay #they stayed chaste their whole lives to score some royal D in the afterlife let them have this

[ladystoneboobs]

[Bran, to Theon:]“But you’re Father’s ward.” [Theon, to Bran:]“And now you and your brother are my wards. [...] You’ll tell them how you’ve yielded Winterfell to me, and command them to serve and obey their new lord as they did the old.” -Bran VI, aCoK “He[Ramsay] is a great hunter,” said Wyman Manderly, “and women are his favorite prey. He strips them naked and sets them loose in the woods. They have a half day’s start before he sets out after them with hounds and horns. From time to time some wench escapes and lives to tell the tale. Most are less fortunate. When Ramsay catches them he rapes them, flays them, feeds their corpses to his dogs, and brings their skins back to the Dreadfort as trophies. If they have given him good sport, he slits their throats before he skins them. Elsewise, t’other way around.” -Davos IV, aDwD [Roose, to Theon, about Ramsay's mother:]"[...]I was hunting a fox along the Weeping Water when I chanced upon a mill and saw a young woman washing clothes in the stream. The old miller had gotten himself a new young wife, a girl not half his age. She was a tall, willowy creature, very healthy-looking. Long legs and small firm breasts, like two ripe plums. Pretty, in a common sort of way. The moment that I set eyes on her I wanted her. Such was my due. [...] This miller’s marriage had been performed without my leave or knowledge. The man had cheated me. So I had him hanged, and claimed my rights beneath the tree where he was swaying. If truth be told, the wench was hardly worth the rope. The fox escaped as well, and on our way back to the Dreadfort my favorite courser came up lame, so all in all it was a dismal day." -Reek(/Theon) III, aDwD

something something the way theon tries to rectify his childhood trauma by taking his captor's place as lord of wf and taking ned's younger sons as his "wards"/hostages, while ramsay repeatedly reenacts different versions of his own conception by hunting and raping peasant women. except theon fails in his role reversal when (unlike him in his own captivity at wf) bran and rickon escape custody. and ramsay enhances roose's "dismal day" by killing all the women he catches to prevent any more bolton bastards and further punishing those of them who fail to give him "good sport" (which his mother apparently did not give roose) while those who do satisfy him are "honored" with a quick death (and a canine namesake). and then the consequences of theon's failure to replace his captor/cold noerthern father figure include losing wf to house bolton and becoming the new "reek"/another of ramsay's dogs. (meaning he made himself ramsay's prey but gave him "good sport" in the experience)

ramsay starts out as deceptive dark trickster figure/evil adviser/devil on theon's shoulder in clash but he's also a dark mirror of theon, and a more successful one at that, not just better suited to villainy but more able to get away with his crimes. neither will ever be truly accepted by their fathers but ramsay is made heir once he's the only son while theon is rejected as such despite his better birth. ramsay profits from the alleged kinslaying of his actual brother by blood, while theon is more openly condemned (and seen as still not punished enough) for (falsely) killing stark boys who were never his actual kin. it's almost as if ramsay is an evil force who came into being to find theon and was drawn to him upon his return to the north. we first learn of the bastard of bolton's existence after theon returns to pyke and learns of his father's invasion plans, then his last hunt with the original reek just shortly precedes the ironborn attacks, all so that he's captured and waiting in wf right in time for theon's real plan to go into action, and we don't actually meet (disguised) ramsay in-person through dialogue with rodrik cassell or any other northerner but only when theon arrives as the new lord to free him from the dungeon. as the first reek may have corrupted ramsay, ramsay-as-reek corrupts theon. reek belongs to ramsay and ramsay belongs to reek.

#valyrianscrolls #asoiaf meta #asoiaf #theon greyjoy #ramsay snow #happy theon thursday! #(c)lsb

[kettlemouse13]

Smitten

Will Graham x Reader

In the midst of finding a motive for the latest murder, Will’s friend has a eureka moment, prompting an unexpected yet very welcomed reaction from the man.

This is inspired by a tiktok I saw of two dogs—I won’t specify as it’ll spoil what I’ve written—and thought I’d make it into a fluffy moment.

Warning: The following contains hunts to mental illness and graphic topics such as murder, gore and body horror.

Reader’s discretion is advised.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Stress was high.

And the scene before the trio was less than savoury.

Strung up by hooks, a corpse hung, arms held up via stakes that were plunged deep into the carcass’ ribcage. Within their outstretched palms, laid their heart.

The mere sight, let alone smell twisted your stomach and made you queasy. You gazed at it anxiously from over your fist, fingernails brushing over your lips as a way to cope, the sensation grounding. Your other hand fiddling with your keys.

“Do you have an idea for a possible motive?”

Hannibal’s voice rang through your brain fog, bringing you back down to reality. At the psychiatrist’s question, your head turned to Will’s direction, a careful yet curious expression on your face.

“I think…” He paused, brows furrowing and eyes narrowed in concentration. But he never finished his sentence, a blockade keeping him from accessing his own thoughts. His hands balled into fists at his side, no doubt from overstimulation whilst he chewed his lip in frustration.

Your eyes returned to the corpse, this time, calculation filling your mind space. Perhaps you could make it easier for Will, find a motive so he could rest his wired nerves.

“Will, you need to think hard about this-”

“I’m trying, okay?” Will’s voice was sharp, quickly cutting off any opportunity for Hannibal to pressure him further.

Sympathy flexed your face, forming into a short wince on his behalf, leaning over to gently place a comforting hand on his bicep as your eyes trailed over any visible detail on the lifeless face infront of you—

Their eyes are missing…

Your head tilts at this revelation, taking a small step forward fingers turning the metal keys over in your hands. The Chesapeake Ripper did take trophies, but this time, the eyes being missing seemed linked to the display. Almost as if trying to convey blindness…

That’s it.

“I-I think I have an idea…” Your voice, though quiet, echoed in the quiet room, catching the attention of the two men beside you.

Hannibal’s expression showed slight amounts of interest whilst the almost pained scowl on Will face softened, both of them silently inviting you to continue.

“The corpse, they’re holding their own heart, possibly conveying the idea of attraction or passion, but their eyes are missing. I think that one small detail could hint to blindness. As usual, this is directed towards Will, so I think this is a message to say that you–” You turn fully to Will to speak with him specifically, “–Are blind to his attraction.”

Hannibal’s brows twitched upward, expressing his impress.

A small smile slowly turned Wills lips, now connecting your inference to the evidence and how plausible it was.

A sense of pride and accomplishment filled your heart, a bashful smirk stretching your cheeks. But it fell ever so slightly out of curiosity as you watched Will step other.

He placed a gentle pat on your shoulder before reaching over slightly to press his lips to your cheek.

You couldn’t blink, refused to. You simply couldn’t miss a single second of that moment. The moment his slightly chapped lips made contact with the soft flesh of your cheek, euphoria flooded your body. You became oblivious to the world around you as your body felt as light as a feather.

You flinched as the sudden clank of metal tore you from your moment of bliss, looking down to realize that you dropped your keys. Your eyes flickered between Will’s slightly amused look and your fallen keys before you bent down to grab them.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Reblogs are appreciated <3

#will graham x reader #will graham #hannibal #hannibal nbc #hannibal lecter #x reader #reader insert #gn reader #gender neutral reader #fluff #will graham fluff #will graham x reader fluff

[talesfromlissom]

hello everything is fine? If requests are still open, I would like to know if you can do the reaction of the Decepticons (Megatron, Tarn, Overlord and Soundwave) with a Cybertronian s/o who is a cannibal and uses a fucinheira? Is she a powerful and insane warrior? If you don't want to write, ignore it, thank you.

Fandom: Transformers (IDW?)

TW: Violence, Implied Gore, Cannablism

Rules | Ask Box | Kofi

A/N: I don’t normally do IDW requests (haven't read it all, and I also assumed that's the universe you wanted), however I recognize these characters enough that I did the request anyways because my inbox has been the sahara desert for the past couple of months Anyways I loved this request, so thank you. And yes, everything is good. 

MEGATRON

 » He puts a leash on you, sorry. 

 » Your relationship is absolutely terrifying, a lord and his loyal guard dog that eats people

 » When he first discovered your cannabalistic tendencies, he was shocked at first. He mainly just cops it up as a habit not yet broken from your upbringing. He had to do various unsavory things to survive being a low caste member, so why were you any different? 

 » relationship wise your dynamic is pretty much what is said above. You parades you around like a trophy, and sometimes even feeds you the severed limbs/organs of his prisoners. You don't mind as long as your fed apparently.

 » A long time ago, (for shits and giggles) he had said that he would use you as an execution method. Mainly for individuals that betrayed him and Megatron didn’t feel like hunting them down himself. When he saw how enthusiastic you were he made it a thing. 

 » Nothing pleases him more than letting you out of the muzzle to go ‘hunt’ and seeing you bring back a limb, organ, or seeing your intake covered in energon. It does something to him. 

 » May or may not have a predator/prey kink now 

TARN 

 » Probably the one to give you the muzzle in the first place.  

 »  You’re definitely a member of DJD by the way, I’d imagine he’d name you after the capital of his home city.

 » You and him met when he was going after yet another Decepticon traitor. He had expected to find yet another snivling coward, or a fighter. 

 » What he found was a half eaten corpse with you hovering over it. You looked wild, disheveled, but there was a sense of intelligence in your optics despite how much bloodshed you caused. 

 » And you caused alot. 

 » (Similar to Megatron) If on the rare occasion that the DJD’s current target gets away he send you on the hunt. He always orders you to bring them back alive, but he never says if they have to come back with all their limbs in tact. 

 » He prefers to kill them himself, and alternates between letting Tesarus grind them into bits or letting you eat them alive. 

 » He once had Tesarus grind a deserter into paste, and then Tarn served it to you as some fucked up smoothie. 

 » He still laughs about it to this day btw 

OVERLORD 

  » Was most likely frightened of you at first. You were strong, probably insane because you flat out ate people without a care in the world. However, that wasn’t what frightened him. 

 » You were smart. Every kill you made was calculated and precise. It was always people that the others wouldn’t notice missing. You memorized their schedule, the type of energon they had, the amount of exercise they got. 

 » Your prey was carefully, hand selected. You had certain types of people that you went after to consume, and people you avoided like the plague. 

  » At first he didn’t notice that various prisoners were going missing. He didn’t care, they couldn’t escape even if they tried. He didn’t really mind if the other Decepticons had dragged some loud mouthed Autobot out of their cells to give them a piece of their mind to be honest. 

 » And then he found a half eaten Autobot hanging from the ceiling, and that scared the hell out of him. He knew about your tendencies to devour your fellow Cybertronian, he just never thought he’d witness the aftermath. 

 » Afterwards you two come with a sort of unspoken agreement. You’re clearly settling for half cooked chow and he isn’t sure how long you’ll be satisfied with that. 

 » He keeps a close eye on you, and has a ‘list’ of your ‘most liked’ traits in a prey. Their energon type, the functionality of their frame, that sort of thing. If they happened to win enough fights, instead of Overlord giving his usual, ‘kill me or kill yourself’ dilemma, he rearranges it to ‘kill you or kill yourself’. 

 » You look completely unassuming to most, and you use that your advantage. 

 » Overlord loves seeing the look on people’s face when you don’t go for the kill, but instead open your mouth. The moment they see what’s inside they start screaming. 

 » He’ll never get tired of those noises. 

#//my writing #//requests #overlord x reader #megatron x reader #tarn x reader #woah first request #I haven't done anything on here in so long what else do i put

[prey-4-me]

Could you please do an Older Yautja x Reader the reader is helping him/hunting or something and gets hurt. Him being protective etc. If not that's okay too! I wasn't sure if you still wanted requests or not💖

Thx for requesting! I hope you like it ♥️

Older Yautja x reader, no smut, some fluff

Yautja Translations

Kv’var - hunt

***

Nat’ka’pu took the ship out of hyperdrive. The planet hung in orbit in front of you suddenly. Turning to you, he grumbled softly, “Here we are. Let’s get on the surface. What biome do you want to land in?”

You considered. “Above the equator, but still warm. Maybe some plains or forests?” You were thinking about Earth lately and wanted something vaguely familiar.

“Homesick?” He asked, turning back to the flight controls.

“Naw,” you denied. Maybe you were a little. It had been awhile since you’d even been in your home solar system, let alone Earth.

He seemed to understand your feelings anyway, “We can plan a trip there. I always enjoy hunting the poachers while they hunt in… what continent is it? Africa?” ”Yeah,” you mumbled, happy at his choice of prey but still unwilling to admit you were homesick.

“It will be a nice trip. Now, let’s get this kv’var going.” He took you down through the cloud cover swiftly. It broke into a view of the ocean, which spread out below you like a large, blue blanket. He skimmed the water, having fun piloting.

“Acting a bit young for your age, hmm?” You teased.

“Never too old to have fun,” he commented, taking the ship up a bit. A land mass was quickly approaching. It broke out of the water like a golden mountain, greenish trees dotting it like sloppy polka dots.

“Here we are,” he took you over a few large hills and landed in a low spot. “This is where I stayed last time. Very nice spots to hunt in several directions from here.” He stood, “Let’s get your ooman camping gear. Since you insist on sleeping outside the ship…” ”It’ll be fun!” You insisted, throwing yourself into his powerful arms. He grumbled happily, wrapping them around you gently. “If you say so,” he teased. He lowered his head to lightly scratch at the top of your head with his mandibles. It was a sign of affection you enjoyed dearly. You smiled and closed your eyes momentarily.

He pulled away, “Come. Time for these things later. I want to get camp set up before nightfall. The nights here are very dark; there are few stars visible through all the cloudcover on this planet.”

You followed him to the cargo bay, where you had carefully packed all your gear. You were excited to use it alongside Nat’ka’pu. Usually you used all Yautja gear, but this time you were going ‘low tech.’ It would be a nice reminder of home, as well as just something a bit different to do.

Sighing happily, you got to work unpacking. Nat’ka’pu dutifully assisted you, careful with your ooman items so as to not damage them. His strength and the fragility of ooman objects always startled him.

Grinning to yourself, you grabbed your backpack. This was going to be great.

***

Snap! The sound reverberated through the space as you fell. You seemed to fall forever, in slow motion. But all too soon you hit the rocky ground. The way you landed, you knew you were in trouble. Winded, you laid there evaluating. Something was definitely wrong with your left leg. It hurt terribly. But your guts also hurt. Was it just from being jostled from the impact or where you internally bleeding? Fuck.

You reached for your comm. It was gone. Fuck. It would take Nat’ka’pu awhile to notice you were in trouble; you had split up to take down a bear-like creature he called Mnumu. It would make a fine addition to your trophies. But not if you were dead. You looked around. You had fallen into a small opening in the ground. Turned out it was a sort of cave, albeit a small one.

You knew you had to help yourself. It would take Nat’ka’pu valuable time to notice you were missing and then to search for you. You didn’t want him to find a corpse.

Hoisting yourself up slowly, you moved as fast as you could. It was a snails pace, but it was better than nothing. You stood. Looking around, slightly stooped to hold your stomach, you hoped for an escape route. After a moment of pained investigation, you thought one wall looked scalable. For an uninjured human. You sighed; you’d just have to try it anyway. Time to go for it. You grit your teeth and hobbled to the wall. Gripping stone in each shaking hand, you gathered the courage to climb.

***

You heaved your damaged leg over the top of the ledge. Finally. You had made it, after an excruciating climb. It had been painful to climb, but also terrifying. You didn’t want to fall again.

You again searched for your comm. Maybe you had dropped it before falling into the hole?

Nothing.

You gave up. You had to move on. Your guts were still hurting. Maybe even more so than initially. But you could only struggle along so fast. Your left leg was definitely broken. You hobbled along, using low hanging branches to support yourself. You headed toward camp very slowly. The light was already fading. You weren’t sure how active the fauna was at night on this planet, and you definitely weren’t prepared to find out alone. You had to make it back before dusk was over.

You struggled for maybe an hour. The distance was reasonably short, but you were badly injured and not even sure if you could make it all the way. You became afraid as the light died and the darkness closed in around you. Nat’ka’pu was right; it was horrifically dark at night here. You stumbled along, walking into trees and tripping over uneven ground. Finally you took your last fall. You couldn’t get up; you were simply in too much pain and too weak from covering the short distance you had made it. Trying to hold back outright terror, you reasoned that Nat’ka’pu now knew you were in trouble. He was looking for you. He was a well experienced tracker, being the Elder in his clan. He’d find you. You somewhat relaxed.

A twig snapped. You waited. Nat’ka’pu?

Only insect chatter.

You waited some more. Then you heard heavy footfalls coming your way. Nat’ka’pu was light of foot. What was this?

Whatever it was circled you slowly, small twigs snapping here and there. It seemed to not mind that you could track its movement. It probably sensed your injury.

A low growl sounded. More circling. You drew your knife. It was the only thing you had to defend yourself with, aside from your bare hands. An extended growl sounded from very close behind you. You whimpered, scrambling to turn to face it. By the time you had, you had heard it circle around to be behind you again. Fear clutched your heart like a crushing hand.

You turned your head, straining to see anything. But it was dark and quiet and terrifyingly calm.

It charged you. You heard it coming like a freight train. It roared.

Wait, that was a familiar roar. A scuffled ensued in the dark. You heard Nat’ka’pu’s aggressive clicks and roars as he and the Thing tore at each other. You heard a tree branch crack. Screaming, yelping, then silence. Terrible silence. You called out into the dark.

“It’s okay.” The sound was right in your ear. Startled, you yelled and fell backwards. You laid there weakly as Nat’ka’pu crooned to you, “It’s okay, small one. I’m here. The Mnumu is not a threat anymore. Now, let me see.” You heard him clicking through the different visions in his helmet. Finally he growled and clicked softly. Gentle hands reached out and scooped you up.

“We’re not far from the ship. We’ll be there in no time.” You felt him stand and turn and begin walking rapidly.

“Am I… am I okay?” You asked weakly, feeling dizzy.

“…yes.” He didn’t elaborate. You knew you were in trouble. You felt him hug you to himself slightly more tight than before.

Suddenly a great screaming echoed through the forest. It was followed by several other distinct cries. A group of Mnumu?

Great crashing sounds came from behind. They gained on you at a frightening speed. Nat’ka’pu set you down on something bushy and soft. “Stay awake. I need to deal with these.” You heard his laser cannon activate. He turned to face them and let out a bone shaking roar. An explosion went off. In the brief light, you saw Nat’ku’pu grappling with two huge Mnumu. Then all was dark again. Only the gnashing of teeth and sounds of battle let you know what was going on.

Something screamed in pain. Something else roared in anger. Nat’ka’pu uttered a ferocious growl. Then all was breaking tree limbs and grunting. Something heavy fell in the forest. All was suddenly shockingly still. You heard whimpering. Then quiet. All was horribly quiet.

“My heart, are you okay?” Nat’ka’pu sounded strange.

“Yes,” you called out, arms outstretched. You were rewarded with warm clicks and a strong embrace. “Come, little one. We need to go.” You had started to feel cold. You knew you needed to go now.

You felt something warm drip on you as Nat’ka’pu ran through the forest, carrying you in a protective embrace. “Nat’ka,” you called him by your nickname for him, “are you bleeding?”

“A little,” he confessed, still with a strange tone to his voice.  You wondered how bad it was for him. Cold suddenly grabbed your body like a wet blanket. You whimpered for Nat’ka. He growled to you, “Stay awake. My little warrior. You are going to be fine.” You believed him, and kept your eyes open as long as you could. But, they were so heavy…

***

“Up, up. Up.” You were being shaken.

You realized you had slipped into dangerous unconsciousness. Whimpering softly, you reached towards Nat’ka’s voice.

Large hands grabbed yours. “Here, I’m here, little warrior. You’re so brave. Now, stay awake for me.”

Pain spiked up your left leg all the way up your spine. Sniffling, you tried to ask what was going on. “Are we on the ship? Are we safe? Did you—“ you babbled.

Nat’ka’pu grumbled softly as his hands worked over your leg. “Your bone is protruding. It will be okay, but this is gonna hurt.” ”What will?” Crunch! You screamed in pain as Nat’ka responded, “That. Now your bone is back in alignment in your body.” He squirted sterile liquid all over your leg. It burned. You wriggled in utter agony, your guts still hurting badly. You realized you had to tell Nat’ka.

“My stomach is hurting. I think I hurt it in the fall too.” ”Fall? What happened?” He continued to work calmly. 

“Uh, I uh slipped and fell into a ravine.”

He grumbled, “Ooomans so heavy footed.”’

Finally you realized the strange tone in Nat’ka’s voice. He was in pain. “Are you wounded?” You tried to sit up to evaluate him. You groaned, too weak and shaky to even lift your head up.

“Yes. It’s not too bad though. Just a bite on my shoulder.” He carefully palpated your stomach until you yelled out. “Right there! It hurts right there,” you panted.

“Okay. Let’s get you in the medscanner. Your leg is repaired for the moment. But this pain could be serious.” He gently scooped you up again. You closed your eyes, guts churning and feeling shaken and battered. As he carried you, your heavy eyelids closed again.

*** ”I’m fine; really,” you assured your friend. She clicked dubiously. “You’re on one leg and your organs are bruised. I dunno if I’d classify that as ‘okay,’ really.” ”Well. I’m alive. And walking. Nat’ka’pu took good care of me.”

A snarl sounded from behind you. You and your friend both turned to face Skemte. He clicked his mandibles derisively. “I see Nat’kapu almost lost his pet. So frail, this soft meat.” He shoved you. Your buddy had to grab you to keep you from falling over. Just as you both were complaining, you heard a furious roar the likes of which you had never heard before. Who was that? You swiveled your neck sharply to just in time see Nat’ka midair. He was targeting Skemte, your erstwhile bully. You snapped your head around to watch the impact as the Elder Yautja pummeled the younger. There was no mercy.

Skemte shrieked and whined, “I didn’t see you there! I didn’t mean anything by it!” Nat’ka’pu stopped, but boxed Skemte’s ears as he growled, “Any attack against them is a one against me, understand?” Skemte nodded, barely able to stand after the beating. Nat’ka let him go and focused his attention on you. “Are you okay?” ”Yeah,” you grumbled, embarrassed you were so impaired at the moment.

He gently grabbed you. “Let’s go; I want to talk to you…” You both thanked your friend for their help. Turning, you felt Na’ta’pu wrap a powerful arm around your slighter form.

***

“So, what do you want to discuss?” You asked, once you had reached your shared quarters. ”Oh, nothing, I just wanted to bring you back here so you could rest. I need to watch over you better right now; I can’t believe I let Skemte blindside you like that.” He growled, eyes dark.

“I’m okay,” you reassured. He gently put his forehead to yours. “But you could definitely be better. So, lie down and take a nap. I can see you’re tired. I’ll be here the whole time, watching you.”

Smiling, you laid down slowly, your body complaining. Once comfortable, Nat’ka’pu tucked you in. Sitting next to you, he ran a hand lightly over your head. Purring a lullaby, he soothed you to sleep.

#predator x human #predator x reader #yautja x human #yautja x you #yautja x reader #predator x you #yautja thirst #yautja boyfriend #predator fanfiction

[quadrantadvisor]

The Owl House takes place on a corpse. That's clear from the beginning. The people we meet, the fantastical things we see, every part of it is life that comes from death, and it's beautiful. Luz says that, the first time she's far enough away to see the bones. It's beautiful. The Titan was so full of life and magic that what he left behind could be passed on and made anew, and the people who sprung from that, who rely on it, understand that and are grateful. Everything they have is built on the bones of a god.

But what grows from the bones of children? Nothing. Nothing at all.

The Titan hunters killed children. They said they were monsters, but they were children. Children who played games and laughed and from their first conscious moments wanted to be loved and belong. And they hunted them to extinction, and kept their pristine skulls as trophies. An entire room full of them, of tiny skulls that could've become something wonderful and terrible and life-giving but never had the chance. They wear them, as a badge of honor. Look what I've done, look what I destroyed.

Philip Wittebane had been making grimwalkers for hundreds of years, sure, but even knowing that, there's so many of them. How many could've reached 20? There's piles of them, of bones and identical masks, scattered at the bottom of a pit, and god, were they dead, when he threw them down there? It's clear that he doesn't care, that the only thing that matters is disposing of them once they wear out their usefulness, moving on to the new model. Children tossed aside, left to rot and decay, and when we see them the bones are all clean.

#i just watched all 11 episodes of season 2B in one sitting and I'm #having some feelings #the owl house #toh #toh spoilers #just in case #this is why I don't watch shows lol like this shit gave me heart palpitations #how am i even going to survive season 3? the answer is i won't #anyways everytime philip fucking wittebane is on screen i am screaming and crying and throwing up #if i saw him in real life i would strangle him to death with my bare hands. it would be ON SIGHT #he's too real is the problem like the harm he's caused and the way that he talks and the way hunter reacts to him #he gives me the same sick feeling as real life self righteous liars #and you know that this is a person who will never change and never listen and never admit they were wrong #and that the harm they've done will never matter to them because to them they can deny anything and justify anything #ANYWAYS. #idk if anybody'll see this post but i needed to exorcise it from my brain #god........... that show sure has a lot of fucking bones #my rambles

[anoonimthepoorchad]

I went to see my teacher the other day, hadn't been to my old school in ages. Since it's the centre of the city, she told me missiles were flying over the school during air raids and sometimes the kids barely had the time to hide in the basement.

On my way home I passed a small trophy weaponry installation, with broken russian tanks and artillery that was beyond repair and couldn't be reused for fighting back in the war. Among those were missiles, similar to those used against us, the civilians, including me. When I hide in the corridor with my family and shake while explosions sound from different directions, I can't imagine clearly what is exactly the danger in the air. I kinda envision a meteor or a burning essence of death staring at my home with hunger and bloodlust. But it's a piece of metal with a huge pack of dynamite covered in various wires. It's thick as a human and slightly taller than me, around 2 meters long I think (I'm 170cm).

A piece of ugly death, the kind everyone in the world is afraid to meet, just out here, dormant, quiet, dead. And then you go away from it, following the usual routes on the streets, because there is so much to do to survive, but the metal piece of death is still there, it's everywhere, and even when you go to sleep it looks straight at your body like at a corpse. It follows your future and you feel it when the sirens start screaming, or when your phone is bursting with worried messages and air raid updates. You can even feel it in everyday life, when you start questioning whether the money you spent on holiday sweets or cheap junk food could have saved you in the future, or saved someone's life on the frontline. And you know you don't do enough but who's there to blame for it if not you. Now you're hunted by two enemies: russians and your own sins, and they never stop following you.

Of course, you live to see another day after dangerous nights, and you keep doing what you can to help. But similar to kinzhal missiles, that are called kinzhals or daggers because they stick into targets and then explode inside of the buildings, russians have already wounded you by endagering your life, home, future, family, everything. Then you feel the dagger inside your mind explode, poisoning every second of "peaceful" life. I've survived the first wave but with each day I can feel the glass and shrapnel poking around my skull, making me behave irrationally or depressively, driving me to believe there is no future for me. I know we'll win, there is no other way, but personally I'm plagued by the damage caused to my psyche. Like everyone else here, in some way or another, we're hurt from the war and we're not safe at all, still fighting for our survival and for the hope of a better future.

I guess the only way I can conclude this post is to ask for help from people reading it. Spread the news about Ukraine, read more about current events from Ukrainians, even on this hellsite. Beware of russian propaganda, don't forget that russians are responsible for this hell. Learn and read and grow to put a stop to this illness of imperialism in your hearts at least. May we all see a better future as result of our fight.

#ukraine #war in ukraine #stand with ukraine #russia #russia is a terrorist state #fuck russia #russian war crimes #war blog

[homicidal-slvt]

"The Gentle Giant & The Mermaid"

-

MDNI

-

König x GN!Reader

Mermaid|Y/N

-

Warnings: Fluff, Violence

-

Never trust humans.

That was a rule instilled into you from a young age, too many humans simply wanted to hunt your kind.

Taking innocent lives and treating their corpses like trophies.

Though no matter how careful- you were bound to some day make a mistake. Like so many others.

-

"There it is!!! Right there!!!"

Yells ripped through the night, you tried to dive back below the surface only to feel something tangled around your body.

Helpless screams did you no good, how you ended up in this scenario was blurry to begin with, a painful haze.

Hands grasping at your body and their skin felt so awful, it made you crawl with hate that these foul creatures dare touch you.

Thrashing desperately you finally broke free, though not before an unknown object was sank deep into your tail, blood billowing into the water around you as you swam away.

-

You laid in the sun leaned against a rock, the forest was peaceful along the shore near the creek. Nobody ever came out here so it was the perfect place.

There was some form of a harpoon lodged into your tail, hooked deep into your flesh. No matter how hard you tried you couldn't get it out.

Is this how you died? Like some sort of sad fish with a hook trapped in it's mouth?

Suddenly you were alarmed by heavy boot steps heading towards you, head snapping up and scooting closer to the waters edge- there he stood.

The biggest fucking man you have ever seen in your life.

His eyes met yours from behind his snipers hood, he looked absolutely dumbfounded as well at the sight of you- a mermaid?

An injured mermaid?

Your body tensed up naturally not trusting him, staring at him as though he was some horrid predator.

His gaze softened slightly as he studied your form, questioning how anyone could do that to you. He didn't know you but- he was aware of the tales of those who hunted mermaids for sport. He was certain this was the case for you as well.

"It's alright- I won't hurt you. I can help."

His offer sounded genuine and you didn't fail to pick up on that strong accent, you still didn't trust him but- what other choice did you have?

Either accept his help or lay here and accept your fate.

Slowly you nodded and he moved closer to you, squatting down he touched you in such a careful way. He slipped off his gloves to handle your wound.

His skin didn't feel the same- this touch wasn't the same. It didn't disgust you or make you feel hate- it was comforting.... Warm.

He's never handled a mermaid before so he was surprised by how smooth your scales were- he kind of expected them to be slimy like a fish.

The way they glinted and shined in the light was mesmerizing, his deep brown eyes never left them or your wound.

"This is going to hurt- a lot."

You took a deep breath and carefully he removed the harpoon, cautious to not cause any more damage to you.

It did hurt- so bad you thought you might pass out. Tears rolling down your cheeks as you choked out soft sobs, he did his best to talk you through it and comfort you.

Bringing out his med kit he tried to clean you up best he could and stitch you up, he wasn't sure if this was the right way to go about it- but he couldn't exactly bring you to a proper medic or something.

"It's okay. It's okay."

Finally it was over- your eyes drifted up to lock with his and you felt your breath hitch slightly.

Such a gentle giant.

"Thank you..."

You choked out softly and he simply nodded, it was difficult to look away from him. You couldn't stand the thought of not seeing him again.

You didn't know why but you were fond of this human- and he seemed fond of you as well.

"Can you come back to visit me?"

"I'll try."

-

{Yes- I HC König has brown eyes.}

-

{@a-small-writer-in-a-big-world @sofasoap }

-

{More Content}

#konig x reader #konig x you #cod konig #konig fluff #konig #könig x reader #könig x you #cod könig #könig fluff #könig #cod mw2 x reader #cod mw2 x you #cod x reader #cod x you #cod mw2 #cod #call of duty mwii #cod mw2 fluff #cod fluff #call of duty fluff #konig call of duty #könig call of duty #cod fantasy au #konig fantasy au #könig fantasy au #call of duty fantasy au #vee's cod works

[kettlemouse]

Smitten

Will Graham x Reader

In the midst of finding a motive for the latest murder, Will's friend has a eureka moment, prompting an unexpected yet very welcomed reaction from the man.

This is inspired by a tiktok I saw of two dogs—I won't specify as it'll spoil what I've written—and thought I'd make it into a fluffy moment.

Warning: The following contains hunts to mental illness and graphic topics such as murder, gore and body horror.

Reader's discretion is advised.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Stress was high.

And the scene before the trio was less than savoury.

Strung up by hooks, a corpse hung, arms held up via stakes that were plunged deep into the carcass' ribcage. Within their outstretched palms, laid their heart.

The mere sight, let alone smell twisted your stomach and made you queasy. You gazed at it anxiously from over your fist, fingernails brushing over your lips as a way to cope, the sensation grounding. Your other hand fiddling with your keys.

"Do you have an idea for a possible motive?"

Hannibal's voice rang through your brain fog, bringing you back down to reality. At the psychiatrist's question, your head turned to Will's direction, a careful yet curious expression on your face.

"I think..." He paused, brows furrowing and eyes narrowed in concentration. But he never finished his sentence, a blockade keeping him from accessing his own thoughts. His hands balled into fists at his side, no doubt from overstimulation whilst he chewed his lip in frustration.

Your eyes returned to the corpse, this time, calculation filling your mind space. Perhaps you could make it easier for Will, find a motive so he could rest his wired nerves.

"Will, you need to think hard about this-"

"I'm trying, okay?" Will's voice was sharp, quickly cutting off any opportunity for Hannibal to pressure him further.

Sympathy flexed your face, forming into a short wince on his behalf, leaning over to gently place a comforting hand on his bicep as your eyes trailed over any visible detail on the lifeless face infront of you—

Their eyes are missing...

Your head tilts at this revelation, taking a small step forward fingers turning the metal keys over in your hands. The Chesapeake Ripper did take trophies, but this time, the eyes being missing seemed linked to the display. Almost as if trying to convey blindness...

That's it.

"I-I think I have an idea..." Your voice, though quiet, echoed in the quiet room, catching the attention of the two men beside you.

Hannibal's expression showed slight amounts of interest whilst the almost pained scowl on Will face softened, both of them silently inviting you to continue.

"The corpse, they're holding their own heart, possibly conveying the idea of attraction or passion, but their eyes are missing. I think that one small detail could hint to blindness. As usual, this is directed towards Will, so I think this is a message to say that you–" You turn fully to Will to speak with him specifically, "–Are blind to his attraction."

Hannibal's brows twitched upward, expressing his impress.

A small smile slowly turned Wills lips, now connecting your inference to the evidence and how plausible it was.

A sense of pride and accomplishment filled your heart, a bashful smirk stretching your cheeks. But it fell ever so slightly out of curiosity as you watched Will step other.

He placed a gentle pat on your shoulder before reaching over slightly to press his lips to your cheek.

You couldn't blink, refused to. You simply couldn't miss a single second of that moment. The moment his slightly chapped lips made contact with the soft flesh of your cheek, euphoria flooded your body. You became oblivious to the world around you as your body felt as light as a feather.

You flinched as the sudden clank of metal tore you from your moment of bliss, looking down to realize that you dropped your keys. Your eyes flickered between Will's slightly amused look and your fallen keys before you bent down to grab them.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Reblogs are appreciated <3

#will graham x reader #will graham #hannibal #hannibal nbc #hannibal lecter #x reader #reader insert #gn reader #gender neutral reader #fluff #will graham fluff #will graham x reader fluff

[tyxaar]

d- desecration of corpses? when was this?? do I want to know

Welllll, firstly he dug up Lizzie's body to sell her spine to Joel in Secret Life ep 7, Although she died in the void so that was probably Jimmy or Mumbo. Also also! We appear to have forgotten the time he hunted down a bunch of hermits as Hotguy and put their heads on spikes as trophies for the king.

Also he like, ate the NHO. I dunno but i think cannibalism is definitely a form of corpse desecration.

#tyx’s ramblings #tyxasks #goodcrimeswithscar #hermitblr #hermitcraft #goodtimeswithscar #gtwscar #gtws

[nebulousfishgills]

Please do share the notes with us 👀

Okay, let me transcribe *exactly* word for word what I wrote down in my journal for you all (Again, bear in mind that my bestie and I have NOT finished the game yet, so this isn't the full list, I will be adding more):

(The whole dialogue exchange between Henry and Brenner when Henry's getting his tattoo touched up and calls Brenner a parasite because *chef's kiss*)

Orange for Lunch??

Freedom in mind void to ability suppression

Windows

Russian Spies?

Losing Control of the hivemind?

Eleven makes him emotional?

Control over the hivemind is fickle?

"Creepy Henry" by the other kids

Mind Flayer bullies him

Using the hivemind to hunt for Eleven

"Obsession is how you love"

Eating dinner away from the rest of the family as a child

Comic books

Eggs?

Flies around like Spider-Man with the vines

Corpses = Trophies

Spiders = Muse

Mind Flayer communicates to Henry with Brenner's voice

"Most human thing about him" is feeling time

"Tied down like your mother" ??

Physically inside brains?

Obsession with the past

Obsession the only way he can connect

Influence only goes as far as the corruption

Ants? Spiders eat ants?

Chapter 2 says November 1983

Mind Flayer wants to devour everything

Will the key

Chapter 3 The Possession of Will Byers

Vecna in communication with Will

Manipulates Will's memories?

"I understand you more than anybody else"

Can possess technology?

Sows seeds of doubt

"You'll finally matter to someone, Will"

Fascinated by environment (nerd)

Mind Flayer absorbs Henry's memories

Studies Henry

Brenner said he'd take the chip out

Stole some of the Flayer's power?

Mind Flayer is a DICK

Keeps escaping Mind Flayer's influence

Rewarded for hurting things

Saw Eleven like a sister - "Alice"

Eleven was the "replacement?"

Mind Flayer deadass pulls out a "rate your emotions" chart

Henry corrupts the Upside Down

We stopped in the middle of the memory nexus loop since the headset was dying and it was getting late, but that's what I've written down so far. I'll update this once we finish the game and then maybe come up with a more comprehensive analysis post.

#as you can tell my train of thought is interesting #the notes don't accurately portray the wide array of thoughts I had but I tried #i'm so excited to finish the game but it likely won't be for a couple days because 'somebody' has shit to do apparently #i'd have written down more visual details but the stream feed was like looking at a damn mosaic picture it was so grainy #also here's where i'm gonna choose to praise jcb's voice work becayse GYAT #sir you did not need to say some of those lines the way you did this shit's gonna get clipped so hard #i'm upset that i got butterflies so much #anyways #fishgills speaks #anonymous asks #stranger things #stranger things vr #st vr #stranger things vr game #st vr spoilers #stranger things vr spoilers #stranger things spoilers #henry creel

[pyode-luar-ke]

Could I request a fic with a reader who collects bones (or does some form of the taxidermy) (Personally I just pins bugs and make stuff out of bones)

I just think it would be a neat idea for a fic.

memento mori | gn!yautja x gn!reader

A/N: happy one-day-belated halloween!! 🎃🎃👻👻 this request had really good timing lol. very on-brand for the season. hope y’all had a good all hallows eve!! 👻🎃👹

i also think it’d be neat if a yautja were to ever come across a human who’s a taxidermist or otherwise has a morbid profession. i can’t remember exactly, but i’m fairly certain that yautja only collect skulls and spines, and just destroy the rest right? idk lolz, it’s my truth then

enjoy!

summary: comparing collections.

word count: 708

content: 18+, gn!reader, gn!yautja, no gendered pronouns, slice of life, established relationship, mention of blood/gore, mention of death

—

They do not understand your affinity for your craft.

All the exoskeletons of insects and beetles, fragile animal bones, bird feathers, butterfly wings... They do not understand why you collect them, why you pin them, why you create dioramas with them, why you hang them on your walls and present them with pride.

It is strange, they think, that you marvel at items both dead and inconsequential. It'd be slightly different if you hunted the creatures you displayed, but you don't. You do not have the honor of the kill. Instead, you forage for the bones, feathers, and exoskeletons— You call yourself a collector.

Sometimes though, you have access to the corpse of some Earthen animal— usually small, often easy prey. With the pelt and an armature, you stuff the animal back into shape, as if you are Paya and grant it a form of second life. They will admit that those creations of yours, the taxidermy, are their favorite.

But they still simply do not understand.

Yautja collect the skulls. Sometimes the spine. They do not concern themselves with the lesser, weaker bones— tibias and fibulas, phalanges, ribs, femurs, ulnar and radius', humeri— not to mention easily breakable parts like feathers or insect wings. Those are unimportant pieces, parts of the body that have no meaning, no purpose to serve for harvesting.

Those parts are easily broken, destroyed, or lost. They get in the way and take up space. Yautja especially find no interest in colorful beetles, degradable feathers, or incredibly fragile insect wings. That would be foolish.

The th’syra is the only part that matters.

And sometimes the spine— But that is besides the point.

Yet they find themselves grateful for your craft. Your profession allows for you to be less... disagreeable with their way of life.

You are no stranger to blood, gore, and entrails— The sticky, oozy wetness of the insides of the body when they are fileted or disemboweled to the outside. Nor are you to the dead, or death itself. It is all as much a staple in your life as it is theirs. Should the Black Hunter visit you, they would even go as far as to presume you wouldn’t be afraid of him either.

When they brought you a th’syra for the first time— a sterling white ooman one— you hadn’t blanched or fainted or had some other too-ooman reaction. Instead, your eyes ignited with wonder and awe, and when they placed it in your strange, soft hands, you kissed its crown and said, “Thank you.”

That was when they knew you were their lifemate.

Yautja hunt. They kill and maim and take trophies and build their honor. The bones they take are sturdy, durable— The th’syra is symbolic of Paya. First and foremost, they are offerings to Her. To win many is to garner Her favor and success for future kv’var.

You collect. You create for aesthetic purposes. Your bones, feathers, and insects are meant to be reminders of what once was, morbid nostalgic memories of animals that have lost their living breath. You give the dead a new purpose. They pose, lifelike, on your walls or are pinned in clear boxes.

It is strange, they think.

They watch as you place a preserved butterfly on their trophy wall. It is pinned perfectly against the bamboo back of the shadow box. The butterfly is wholly intact and undamaged, as if you’ve simply frozen it in time.

It goes in the spot where they’ve designated it to go: Next to their kiande-lou-dte’kalei th’syra. 

So strange, they think.

“Here.” You are smiling, your hand is outstretched to them. They look, and you are holding a small skeletal creation, made from miscellaneous bones and twine. Their mandibles click, and they take the gift from you, their claws scarcely brushing the soft flesh of your palm.

The strange bone gift is easily breakable, fragile, and inconsequential, but to them it has all the meaning in the universe. It is sacred, holy— You breathed new purpose like life into it. 

You smile when they whicker, content. You flash all the teeth in your mouth, and they should feel challenged, but they are not. They are too happy to care.

They want to see more.

—

yautja translations

Cetanu → The Black Hunter, Yautja death god kiande-lou-dte’kalei → Xenomorph queen kv’var → hunt/s ooman / oomani-di → human / human female Paya → Yautja creation goddess th’syra → skull/s

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