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kenphobia · 1 year

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PASILYO!

"Panalangin ko'y ikaw."

summary. moving into a new town is nerve-wracking, especially when your new neighbors are quite the eye candy. ( headcanons / 1k wc / read end notes )

contents. human au! welcome home, relationship dynamic is ambiguous and up for interpretations, general fluff, somewhat implied angst

WALLY DARLING!

✦ The surname 'Darling' was not unfamiliar to you. In fact, you recognized it being one of the many famous names in the art industry, a family of well-known artists. So when you found out your next door neighbor was no other than Wally Darling, one of the top selling painters, you couldn't put your shock into words.

✦ He truly lived up to his surname, being quite a lovely companion and always assisting you any of your problems. He'd always ask you to be his muse in return for his help or even join him on little trips to Howdy's Place for more art supplies.

✦ If you asked him to teach you how to draw or if you're an artist yourself and need some constructive criticism, he definitely does well in that department. If you're interested in dabbing into some painting too, he's right there beside you and guiding your hands on what to do, regardless of what medium.

✦ He'd even be your muse too! He'll be a bit embarrassed, not used to getting such attention in a way like this, but he does a great job at staying still and posing in a way that's not too difficult but enough to still be interesting.

✦ Coffee shop 'dates' are a must. Wally doesn't do well with coffee, so he orders tea more often that not. If he does get coffee, he always sticks with you so you can stop him from stealing Howdy's apples and running off. Again. He's ... energetic like that.

HOWDY PILLAR!

✦ Howdy was the owner of the bodega and you boss! When you had stepped into his store, you are set leaving with too many bags hanging from your arms and a nearly empty wallet. It doesn't bother much residents since his products are extremely high quality and worth the price.

✦ When I say he has everything, he has everything. There's nothing you won't find in his store, it's practically a mini mall at this point. Sure, he does lack in some areas but you cannot lie that this man has a lot jam-packed in his store.

✦ He's also one of the tallest neighbors you have met throughout your stay, and had lifted your body up more than twice and made you look like nothing more but a bag of grapes in his hands. Doesn't matter what your height is, he has those strong, finely toned muscles from always several boxes stacked atop each other.

✦ Howdy is the most intelligent when it comes to emotions since after all, he has a lot of siblings and most of them are younger than him and/or looks up to him a lot. You need a break? No problem! He'll lead you right to the staff lounge and offer you some tea. A hug? Someone to hold your hand? He is on the way with blankets and pillows, and there is no way stopping him from making a pillow fort. He will also listen to your vents and comfort you or join you in gossiping and shit talking about the more ... rude neighbors.

✦ Babygirl's always been girlypop like that. And oh, his hugs are the best! Absolutely comfortable and not gonna lie, you often feel as if he had four arms wrapped around you all firmly and sweetly. Sometimes, you can see another pair of arms protruding from his back. but you aren't sure if it is true or a work of imagination.

POPPY PARTRIDGE!

✦ Being Howdy's employee, you're bound to come across everyone's mother figure: Poppy! Though, she was a bit anxious and jittery around you at first, she quickly came used to your presence and would beeline straight for your register if you were covering up for one of the cashiers.

✦ She's incredibly sweet, easily flustered and often gifts you her baked goods or knitted accessories and clothing. She often invites you to her baking sessions, even teaching you the basics of baking if you haven't done it before.

✦ Whenever Poppy isn't feeling well, she'd usually go to the obvious person: Wally. After all, they have a close-knit familial relationship and Wally always knows how to calm Poppy's nerves. But when he isn't around, she comes to you. She calms down easily when she has you in her arms, cuddling on the sofa while the TV plays her favourite show.

✦ It's a bit funny when someone as tall as Poppy picks you up like a little ragdoll cat, shoves her face into your hair and sobs. It's even funnier if you're known to be quite grumpy, but you couldn't push Poppy away without Wally coming after you.

✦ If you ever yourself hurt, it's best to not let Poppy know or else she'll start worrying. It's fine if it's just a little scratch, nothing like a quick, thorough wash can fix. But please for the love of god, keep yourself in check and wound-free for both of your sake. Neither of you would not risk getting white hair in your 20's.

RANDOM HEADCANONS!

✦ All neighbors are somewhere around 25 and above, with Howdy being the youngest, and both Barnaby and Wally as the oldest.

✦ Wally graduated with a Bachelor's degree in Fine arts and Poppy managed to snag a BS degree in Nursing, but Howdy's an undergrad and wasn't able to finish college because of having to focus providing for his family more than his studies.

✦ Poppy used to work in a clinic before completely ditching it the moment she sees the slight of blood. She was willing to endure the grim crimson liquid during her college years, but she'd drink a whole spoon of vanilla extract than see blood again.

✦ Wally had a blue period once, but most of the paintings from that time is locked away in his basement. Only a few of them hung in some art galleries and Barnaby's house.

✦ Howdy spends his lunch break at the community center. He also avoids packing himself an apple because Wally once grabbed it with his teeth and ran off.

notes. this is just part 1!!! im prepping myself for that human au! welcome home x tma because i want to make expand more on their characters!! the story is basically self-indulgent and completely fanon. once the actual welcome home storyline is out, i may or may not rewrite it (again)

also dont mind me inserting the Filipino vibes into my writings. this isn't just half of it. i could make an entire human au! welcome home but all of them are filipinos, but i barely know my country and its people 😔

Anyways!! requests are always open, read my pinned post b4 interacting and have a good day (人*´∀｀)｡*ﾟ+

#writing log!#welcome home x reader #welcome home #wally darling x reader #howdy pillar x reader #poppy partridge x reader

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historia-vitae-magistras · 11 months

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Part Three: Ghosts

Part One: Here. Part Two: Here. Part Three: You are here. Part Four: Here

Author's note: Inspired by the 1950s short story "The Man Who Came Early" by Poul Anderson. Red Sail Hall is what I decided to call Arthur's house. The referring to Alfred as 'Yan' comes from @oumaheroes! It's one of the only remaining parts of the Cumbrian Celtic language. And we're leaning hard into fantasy now. TW for gothic imagery, I guess?

Red Sail Hall

21st Century

“Oi, what tea am I supposed to make?" Rhys asked and listened, waiting for Arthur bustling about through the doorway to answer. The pantry with the extra board that dropped down as a counter from the cabinet currently held more than a dozen new tins, boxes and sets. Honestly, the man had a problem. “There’s another dozen in here since I last stopped by!"

He lifted a foot, felt a gentle pressure on his calf and glanced down to see the massive house tiger Arthur and Matthew insisted on calling a library cat. It was rubbing against his leg affectionately. It was just as well. There’d be no getting hair off his trousers anyway.

“Go get that blighter of yours,” He said, gently prodding the cat towards where Arthur would be.

Then the cat squealed; there was a crash. Flicking the kettle off, he shot through the doorway. Arthur was in the pose of a mariner on rough seas, ready to spring into movement in any direction depending on the chop of the vessel. Two broken bowls were on the floor, and the soup was slopped everywhere. He looked like he’d been in his grave for a week, all colour lost, bloodless lips moving silently, eyes fixed. There was no wound, no blood. Finally, he glanced up. A moment later, he collapsed against his brother, suddenly sympathetic.

There before them, semi-opaque right through the kitchen table heaped with spring seedlings and mail like a marble pillar, was their mother. Her red hair braided away from her face, her golden brooches clasping her blue and fur mantel over the greens and browns of her clothes. The empty scabbard of the sword he held in trust dangling from the belt at her hip. As they had buried her, she appeared at the altar at the mouth of her burial barrow and now here, in the kitchen.

“Mam?” he asked.

“My sons.” Her translucent green eyes danced in the slant of sunlight, and she looked so happy. Arthur had lost millennia in moments, his eyes rounder in his face than they’d been in centuries as he took unsteady steps forward.

“Mother?” His voice was so uncertain.

“Hello, little one.”

On the rare occasion where Arthur accompanied them to the barrows on Samhain, he’d had weeks to prepare himself and usually had one of his children in his arms. This was a shield against his guilt, against the boy he’d once been. Her mouth opened, and her words were as wind.

“Yan has passed between worlds he should not have."

And then she was gone, and all was as it had been, save the broken bowls on the floor.

“Mum?” Arthur was still transfixed.

Arthur's phone suddenly rang, breaking the spell that had enveloped them. Arthur remained transfixed momentarily, his gaze fixed on where their mother had floated, before slowly reaching for his phone.

“Did that–” Rhys could barely hear him over the ringing.

“I’ll put the kettle on.”

“Rhys–”

“I’m putting the bloody kettle on.”

“Fine.” He glared, slid his thumb to take the call and collapsed in a chair, putting his phone on speaker.

"Something's wrong," Matthew's voice echoed, tinny and hysterical. “Something’s wrong.”

He dumped water into the kettle, hands trembling, guts suddenly water as he heard the distress. Arthur dragged a hand down his face.

“What’s happened to your brother?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know. But I can’t feel him. I just woke up and I can’t sense him. He’s supposed to be up on the ISS, but I can still sense him when he's up there, but I can’t... Dad, I can’t feel him.”

Rhys glanced at the clock. Ah, it’d be the very early morning there.

“Matthew, breathe.” Arthur said like he wasn’t this close to hyperventilating.

“I’m breathing!” Matthew snapped. “I’m breathing, I’m about to puke, and then I’m getting the first flight to D.C. and finding my fucking brother. You'd better meet me, or Arlington is going to need a fucking expansion.”

#hws england #hws america #hws wales #hws brittania #hws mama brittania #hws canada #my writing || cacoethes scribendi #arthur || stone set in the silver sea #Rhys || my word for heaven was not yours #matthew || my country is winter #the dangeld axe to grind: the viking age time travel au

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demonslayedher · 6 months

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Aoi slayer au! I want to see how it'll look like in your art style. No need to look too much into it if you don't want to, (if you can, could you maybe add some of your hcs? sorry I'm getting kinda needy I've never been there when the ask box was open 😅😂😂)

I love your tumble account very much! I hope you have a great day, say hi to your research for me.

(Thank you for saying hi to my research, too! I passed that along, but my research is glaring at me. Typical.)

I have drawn Slayer!Aoi before, actually! She could use a Water Breath action pose, though.

I have worked a lot of my Slayer!Aoi headcanons into fics, actually. Most prominently, this one-shot about Aoi having to take up the sword again for a night while everyone else is busy with Pillar Training. In that one, I provided some background for Aoi having received a haori Kanae picked out for her, a white silk one with a blue "kagome" (basket-weaving) pattern on the inner lining. It's a traditional pattern that hasn't been used by any other cast members, and it's a protective motif. (This fic include a non-action drawing of her.)

In another fic (a short-ish multi-chapter fic trying to figure out how Shinobu's deceased Tsugukos fit into canon), I wrote the scene when Shinobu bids Aoi good luck at the Final Selection, and gives her the haori telling her that Kanae picked it out for her and Shinobu had held onto it all this time.

In those ones I tried to keep it closely tied to whatever we know of Aoi as a canon Water Breath user, and I've organized all my thoughts of Aoi's canonical past here. One detail I particularly liked figuring out was that Aoi might not had even seen a demon until the Final Selection, since it was common for young girls to be sent away to domestic service to earn money for their families, so she might not had seen the demon who killed her family while she was away.

As an extra headcanon, I'll bet she's the type to forget her Breath when she gets scared.

Before we found out her Water Breath details in the second fanbook, though, I wrote a long-ish canon divergent fic which had her re-enter the service as an Insect Breath user, and since she was Flower Pillar Kanao's Tsuguko in that fic, she got a bit more action as an active slayer.

#my dumb art #well #not that dumb #also #my fics #kanzaki aoi

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whump-card · 10 days

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Murmur of Ground: Chapter 1

SURPRISE! New series! Let me know what you think!

4592 words

CW: violence, slavery, past noncon mention, noncon monsterfucking

Masterlist, Next

~~~

The Labyrinth was not simply a maze.

The Labyrinth was an undead city, the buildings fungal, moving, growing, shifting, occupied by scavengers and other foul creatures. Rats the size of small dogs scurried down the porticoes and halls, climbing over marble drums of fallen columns. Harpies nested in the friezes, unphased by the violence depicted in the facades, preferring to inflict the violence themselves, territorial as they were. Caryatids, columns in the shape of gowned women, stared faceless and threatening down upon the concrete and stone walks, paced by restless ghosts. Archways lead to atriums full of silent, dry fountains and lifeless gardens. The occasional Propylaea, grand multi-tiered entrances decked out with stairs and pillars and wall carvings lead to sharp drops into nothingness, as if any temple, any holy place had been surgically dissected out. Nooks and crannies abounded, little chambers that tricked you into thinking you were safe there.

The most haunting aspect was the familiarity. The buildings and interiors took on tauntingly comprehendable shapes, just often enough to make you look twice, make you want to cry I’ve been here before, I’ve been here before – not lost, not home, but some happy distant memory of visitation, I took a picture here, trusted a stranger with my camera and posed. It had the flavor of a moment only remembered though a lens, or a description by someone else. You were five. Do you remember when Daddy had a beard? Look at the picture!

It’s not like you could find the same place twice to check. The Labyrinth grew and in equal measure died, creating a constantly shifting environment. Stay in one place, and it would whirl around you while you slept, never revealing its movements to mortal eyes. Travel, and you’d never find your way back, halls rearranging themselves as soon was they left your sight.

Yani ran.

He stumbled down stone steps, darted around pillars, dodged swooping birds with bronze beaks. It was dim in the Labyrinth, but not dark. There were no lights, no torches, braziers, or anachronistic spotlights. Instead the stone and concrete itself seemed to shed some illumination, glowing just enough for human eyes to see the way, to see the rotten splendor the Labyrinth had to offer.

Yani stood out to the denizens of the Labyrinth like a sore thumb. He was dressed all in white, as a proper sacrifice should be: drawstring trousers and a boxy button down, all linen and ill-fitting. The clothes had come out of a box at the temple – the temple provides, you see. At least his shoes fit, simple cotton slippers that they were. He had been clean when he was first thrown down the shaft, heavily sedated and bathed against his will by the priests. Dressed like a doll. Discarded as easily as one. Now he was sweaty with fear and exertion, and the creatures had his scent.

He did not know how long he had been in the Labyrinth, only that he was hungry and exhausted. The Harpies and bronze-beaked ibis birds dogged him relentlessly, driving him from one brief shelter to the next. A deep hopelessness had set into his heart, sending it racing along at a haphazard pace.

He really was here to die.

His breath seemed dangerously loud, in the quiet of the Labyrinth. The Labyrinth was not silent; low eerie rumbles could be heard in the distance, evidence if the movement of masses of stone and concrete. Nearer, harpies could be heard arguing. Their harsh voices sounded like the cawing of ravens until you tuned in, became practiced at picking out the words. But nearby, currently, it was all quiet, disturbed only by Yani’s hurried footsteps and haggard breath. He had evaded the bird-like monsters – for now.

He ducked into an alcove, home to a dry wall-fountain, and huddled under the basin to catch his breath. His brown, calloused hands shook as he wrapped them around his knees, curling to a ball. His dark hair, usually neatly pulled back in a half-tail, fell loose and lank with sweat around his face. Now that he wasn’t running, his thoughts settled into their new, self-flagellating pattern: Could have. Would have. Should have.

Yani was an indentured servant of the Mylonas family. Or rather, he had been, until the patriarch, Leon, decided to sacrifice him to the Labyrinth. Yani had always thought of himself as a good worker – every order followed, no matter what, regardless of his own thoughts or feelings – but now he wasn’t so sure. Perhaps if he’d worked harder, been more amenable, done… more of what Leon wanted.

There were certain nights, when the Lady of the house went to visit her father. Leon didn’t like to be alone.

Yani shuddered at the memory, but at the same time chased it; examining it. What had he done wrong? What could he have done better?

Had he been too lost in the relief of being loved to submit himself as fully as he should have to his master?

The harpies were back, flitting to and from column capitals and archway crowns. Yani knew he should run, he just needed a moment, a few seconds to collect himself, then he would run, he just needed…

The harpies spotted him. A call went up, and the flock made a cacophony of whoops and jeers. They surrounded Yani, landing on the smooth stone floor in a semicircle around his nook. They had the faces of women, sure, but their eyes were cold, reptilian, inhuman. Their heads bobbed and twitched as they examined him, shouting overlapping, indiscernible threats in their shrill voices. They flapped their wings in a show of dominance, like fighting cockerels, shedding mangy feathers and blowing back their stringy hair.

“Dinner! Dinner!”

“White clothes, white clothes, no one wanted you anymore!”

“Come with us, boy, we’ll save you from the Minotaur!”

Yani cowered, frozen, until one darted forward and seized his ankle with a claw. Yani shrieked, any semblance of dignity long lost as he kicked out with his legs, grabbing desperately at the empty basin of the water fountain, holding on as the creature tried to drag him out. He landed one kick to the harpy’s sharp breastbone, and she screamed at him and only dug her claws into his ankle tighter, drawing blood. A second harpy dove at him, hooking her claws into his shirt, and that seemed to break the floodgates. The entire flock fell upon him, dragging him out of the alcove and clawing at him, buffeting him with their wings. Yani screamed and sobbed, feeling every talon as they ripped into his flesh. Words abandoned him – not that the harpies would listen if he pleaded. For far too long his world was feathers and airlessness and scratching pains, then the harpies started in with their teeth, blunt human teeth, biting at where they’d loosened and bloodied his flesh.

Then, a sound cut through everything: a deep, rumbling bellow. Yani, his eyes screwed shut, felt the weight of the harpies lift away from his body. Their cries turned from triumphant to fearful, and faded away into the distance. Yani curled up into a shuddering ball, his sobbing breaths soon the only noise he could hear.

Then, footsteps.

He heard the soft pad of bare calloused feet, moving towards him. He cracked his eyelids open, saw only blood, and so rubbed his knuckles in his eyes. The portico came into focus, and with it, a figure.

A horned figure.

Yani blinked, staring in awe up at the Minotaur.

~~~

The Minotaur stood tall, at least a foot taller than Yani, not even counting the horns. It was pale, its skin almost translucent from years underground. That didn’t make it any less threatening; its human body was broad, muscular, and hairy, and its bull head sat unnaturally on top, brown-furred and dark-eyed. Its horns pointed upwards, proud ivory. It wore only a loincloth, in the traditional style the priests wore when the went down to the river, leaving its body in nearly full view. The occasional scar marred its skin, marking it white like a chalk tally. A tail hung behind it, languidly swishing.

Yani stared up at it, frozen in shock. This was the true king of the Labyrinth, not King Minos miles above them. This was who the sacrifices were truly meant for, not the harpies, not the rats, not the ghosts.

Who he was meant for.

Yani turned his face to the ground, shutting his eyes, praying that it would be over quickly. Would the Minotaur strangle him? Snap his neck? He flinched, involuntary, when he felt its large hands upon him. Digging under his shoulder, threading under his knees.

Picking him up.

Yani hadn’t been carried since he was very small, and his parents were still around; the sensation of firm but soft arms supporting him, bearing him up, sent electric shudders through his body. The Minotaur cradled Yani against its chest, and began to walk.

“Wait,” Yani croaked, and the Minotaur froze in place.

“Where are you taking me?”

No answer. Yani stared up at the underside of the Minotaur’s head, not sure what he was expecting. After a good twenty seconds, the Minotaur resumed walking.

Yani was still petrified, still convinced that he was doomed. Surely the Minotaur was taking him somewhere to be killed – some dark mirror of the temple on the surface, perhaps, some clandestine altar to the old gods.

Yani’s wounds stung against the cool air of the Labyrinth, some clotting, some still oozing. The blood was smeared on the Minotaur’s chest now, its arms, growing dry and sticky. Yani didn’t want to see it. He closed his eyes, resting his head against the Minotaur’s shoulder, and could almost imagine he was being rescued.

After some time, he had the sense that they had moved from the long hallways and open spaces of the Labyrinth into someplace smaller. Someplace warm. He opened his eyes, and saw something he thought he’d never see again: a home.

The floor was covered with fragrant reed mats. A great fireplace dominated one wall, paired with a nook full of firewood. A settee faced it, draped with a fur blanket. The opposite wall had a high bed with countless pillows, and more fur blankets. In the center of the room was a finely carved wooden table and chairs, all graceful lines and fauna reliefs. An open door on the back wall provided a glimpse of a bathroom, beautifully tiled in blues and whites. A closed door suggested storage. The other walls had arched nooks that suggested windows, but they were bricked up. Instead of a vista they were decorated with hanging tapestries depicting figures and gardens.

The whole space had an energy completely separate from that of the Labyrinth; the very air felt different. It felt stable. Solid. Alive, rather than undead. Homey.

The Minotaur laid Yani down on the bed. He refused to relax, sitting up, wrapping his arms around his knees. The tearing claws of the harpies had not spared his clothes, and while he wasn’t indecent he certainly felt exposed now that he wore tattered bloody rags. He watched the Minotaur with wide eyes as it moved around the room – its home, it had to be. It stoked the fire, then went into the bathroom. Yani heard the telltale squeak of a water pump, and the rushing splatter of liquid into a basin. Then the Minotaur returned, approaching Yani. The blood Yani had smeared on its chest and arms was gone, washed away. That didn’t make it less intimidating. Yani flinched at every step it took, and it seemed to see this, and stopped just short of arm’s reach of Yani. Instead of picking him up again, it offered a hand, its tail still.

Yani felt as if he might be dreaming – perhaps the harpies had truly mauled him, and he was dying, and this was his brain’s attempt at making his death kinder.

He took the Minotaur’s hand. What else was he to do? He rose onto shaking legs, and let the creature lead him into the bathroom, its hand large and warm around his.

It was even grander than the small glimpse through the door had promised; there was a bench with a toilet, a counter with a basin, and a massive tub inset into a raised platform, quickly filling with water from a pump. All of it was tiled with hand-painted ceramics, patterns of flowers and geometry. Overhead were soft white electric lights.

Fit for a prince, Yani realized. It was all fit for a prince.

The room was so dazzling Yani didn’t realize the Minotaur was reaching to unbutton the remains of his shirt until he had already started. Yani jerked back with a yelp.

“Back off!”

The Minotaur took two steps back.

Yani stared at it, panting. The bathroom was large, but so was the Minotaur – and it now stood between Yani and the door, dominating the space.

“I’d like some privacy,” Yani said, his voice wavering. The Minotaur didn’t budge.

“Fine.” Yani grit his teeth, and tried to continue unbuttoning his shirt – but his hands were too tremulous, and as he looked down and tried to focus he found himself swaying on his feet.

“Help?” he admitted, and the Minotaur was there, unfastening the buttons with deft hands and easing the shirt off. Yani hissed and gasped as it peeled away from spots where his dried blood had glued it to his wounds. The Minotaur cast the shirt aside and crouched, untying the drawstring of Yani’s shredded trousers. Yani opened his mouth to stammer out a protest but they had already fallen, leaving him naked. The Minotaur, at least, seemed unphased; it stood and offered a hand to help Yani into the bath.

Yani stood there, dazed and blinking. A prince. The Minotaur was a prince. The Minotaur was a prince and here it was, defying every horror story about itself, helping a lowly servant – less than a servant, a sacrifice. Someone the Minotaur had every right to kill.

Yani took its hand, and stepped into the tub.

The water was warm, warm enough to be comfortable but not hot enough to irritate his wounds. Yani sank in, running his hands over his body, taking stock as the blood washed away. There was barely a single area larger than a few square inches that was left unscratched. He dipped his head below the water, feeling his face with his fingertips, working away the dried blood. He had a long, shallow slice across his forehead.

He surfaced and wiped the water out of his eyes. The Minotaur crouched next to the bath, watching him. Its eyes were so strangely human. Yani looked away. It was obvious by now that the Minotaur could not speak; any questions Yani had, like why are you helping me and why haven’t you killed me would go unanswered. He didn’t bother asking.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Minotaur shifting up to sit on the edge of the bath. It leaned forward, and Yani shrank back. What did it want? At first, Yani’s anxiety seemed unfounded; the Minotaur reached over him to shut off the water, plunging the bathroom into near silence. But then it lowered its hand, and Yani’s breath caught as it settled onto his chest, massaging slow circles. His heart pounded hard enough that surely the Minotaur could feel it through his ribcage. The hand slipped lower, dipping below the water to caress Yani’s stomach, sending through him a chill of fear.

That’s what it wanted.

“Stop,” Yani choked out, expecting nothing, expecting to be overruled – but the Minotaur stopped, immediately. It withdrew its hand, and sat back.

“Leave,” whispered Yani, and the Minotaur obeyed. It stood, and exited, closing the door in its way out. Yani stared after it in disbelief. There was no way it was that easy. No way.

He knew the Minotaur would get what it wanted, sooner or later.

~~~

A bar of soap discovered on a little shelf allowed Yani to clean himself properly. After he got out of the bath he found a cabinet full of towels, and while he hated to stain one with his blood he had no other choice. The Minotaur had also left a set of clothes, and a roll of bandages, scissors, and medical tape, along with a container of store-brand healing ointment that looked absurdly out of place there in the Labyrinth with its red and white plastic tub. Once he’d towel-dried Yani applied the ointment liberally, and taped bandages over the worst cuts and bites left by the harpies. His hands shook with exhaustion, but he did the best he could.

Deciding he was finished, he shook out the clothes to have a look at them. They were made of a dark brown cotton, deliciously soft. The color proved some forethought on the Minotaur’s part – if Yani got blood on them it would hardly be noticeable. One piece was a pair of shorts, pleated and flowy; the other was a short-sleeved v-neck top. The outfit was far more revealing than anything Yani would have chosen to wear, but it was better than the bloody rags he’d arrived in. He dressed slowly, and braced himself to exit the bathroom and face the Minotaur.

Upon opening the bathroom door Yani was hit with a wave of delicious smells. Warm bread. Spices. Freshly chopped greens. His eyes were drawn to the table in the middle of the room, where a simple but abundant feast for two was laid out. Bread, moussaka, salad, wine. Yani’s empty stomach clenched and his mouth watered – but between him and the food stood the Minotaur. It no longer wore only a loincloth, but had donned a velour loungewear set from some designer brand Yani recognized the logo of but couldn’t place the name.

Princely, crossed Yani’s mind. Despite having the head of a beast, and apparently the lust of one, the Minotaur had a certain grace, clothed and standing there with one hand in its pocket. It half turned, sweeping the other arm out, inviting Yani to the table.

Yani’s exhausted, frightened, starving mind considered this for a moment. The Minotaur had rescued him. Made unsuitable advances. Respected his request for it to stop. Could kill him at any time. Was offering him food and shelter…

Yani stumbled over to the table and collapsed into a chair. He couldn’t think, not now. Survival was all that mattered. He would accept the hospitality of the Minotaur, and simply pray that its advances would not be repeated.

The Minotaur sat next to him at the table, and they ate together in silence. Yani’s hands shook as he served himself, and he did his best not to devour the food like an animal. The Minotaur had surprisingly good table manners, using its utensils as one should; but presently, when they were both close to finishing their plates, it rested a hand on Yani’s thigh under the table. Yani’s heart began to pound, his eyes fixed on the remains of his food. At first he just twitched his leg away, but the Minotaur’s hand remained firm, fingers pressing into Yani’s flesh.

“I don’t like that,” Yani tried, quietly, meekly, afraid of the repercussions. The Minotaur slid its hand further up Yani’s thigh, fingers brushing under his shorts. “Stop touching me,” Yani said, even softer, but at those words the Minotaur instantly pulled away. Yani blinked, risking a quick glance up at it. It just sat there, watching him, its food forgotten.

It struck Yani then how lonely the Minotaur must be. If his own experience was anything to go by, most sacrifices to the Labyrinth were likely killed by the harpies. Who knew how long it had been since the Minotaur had been in the presence of a human? It was also a prince, and aiding lowly Yani out of the kindness of its heart.

“I truly appreciate your hospitality,” Yani said slowly, carefully, “But please, give me some space.”

The Minotaur stood, knocking back its chair, and quickly stepped away from Yani, putting a couple yards between them.

“Oh, wait!” Yani exclaimed in surprise, and the Minotaur froze, “That’s not what I meant. Please, come back, sit.”

The Minotaur promptly obeyed; it returned to the table, sitting down.

Something itched at the back of Yani’s mind. Something wasn’t right here.

“…Stand up,” he breathed.

The Minotaur stood.

“…Sit.”

It sat.

“Stand up and turn in a circle.”

The Minotaur obeyed.

“Jump.”

The Minotaur obeyed.

A deep horror washed over Yani. Something compelled the Minotaur to obey his commands, to the letter. Some horrible curse had stripped away the Minotaur’s autonomy, and handed it to Yani. For a moment Yani couldn’t fathom how dehumanizing that must feel – until he realized, he could.

Yani had been an indentured servant his whole life. From as soon as he could understand them, orders given by his masters were to be obeyed, to the letter, no matter how trivial or ridiculous – on pain of punishment. A rap across the knuckles, all the way up to flogging.

Yani had never had control over his life. He didn’t even have control over his death – that, too, was chosen for him.

Yani didn’t want that kind of control over another being. He couldn’t do that to a thinking, feeling creature – and clearly, the Minotaur was.

“I’m sorry!” Yani leapt to his feet, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know – I’ll never do it again, you don’t ever have to do what I say, please, I’m so sorry,” he pressed his hands to his face, on the brink of tears, “I swear, I’ll never order you to do anything, I promise, I swear.”

The Minotaur stared at him for a long moment, its eyes unreadable. Then it approached, slowly, cautiously, drawing close to Yani. Yani didn’t move, just held his hands to his face, near-petrified. The Minotaur slid its hands over Yani’s hips, teasing under the waistband of his shorts. Yani’s breath caught.

I can’t say stop.

“I don’t… want that,” he whimpered instead. The Minotaur ignored him, pulling him close, breathing hot on his ear, his neck. Its hands edged downwards, tugging the shorts around the curve of Yani’s rear. Yani’s hands flew down and grabbed the Minotaur’s wrists.

“Please,” was all he could think to say. He didn’t want this, of course he didn’t want this, but how else could he say no without overpowering the Minotaur’s will?

Yani was by no means a weakling, but the Minotaur was even stronger; it easily broke out of Yani’s grasp and seized his wrists in turn, twisting them behind his back and gathering them into one large hand. Yani yelped and squirmed, but he was helpless against the strength of the Minotaur. The creature pinned Yani to its chest, its free hand plunging down into Yani’s shorts to grope his ass.

Yani cried out, flinching away from the touch and unintentionally pressing himself against the growing hardness in the Minotaur’s sweatpants. One word and it would all stop – but he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not when his words had the power to override the Minotaur’s autonomy.

“Please,” he sobbed, tears finally escaping him – he was so tired, so exhausted, and every inch of him hurt – “I don’t want this!”

The Minotaur didn’t let go. Instead it pressed its muzzle into the crook of Yani’s neck, its hot breath snuffling, blowing away Yani’s hair and taking in his scent. Then it licked Yani, its tongue sliding out and drawing a long line up Yani’s neck behind his ear. Yani yelped and cringed at the sensation – unlike a human tongue, a bull’s tongue is sandpaper-rough. Yani squirmed as hard as he could, and that seemed to annoy the Minotaur. It snorted, spun Yani around, and threw him onto the bed.

As soon as his stomach made contact with the plush blankets Yani was scrambling away, crawling across the bed. The Minotaur snatched an ankle and yanked him back easily, and Yani gasped in pain as the furs and blankets dragged across his many scrapes and scratches. The Minotaur had Yani bent over the side of the bed now, his bare feet brushing the floor, searching for purchase. It pinned him in place with a heavy hand on the center of his back, its other hand divesting Yani of his shorts.

“Wai-mm!” Yani almost forced a stop, but he caught himself, biting his bit hard. He refused to impose his will over the Minotaur’s, even now.

It wasn’t worth it.

He pressed his face into the covers, letting his tears soak in.

Leon had told him he’d missed his calling as a whore.

When the Minotaur’s finger, warm and wet with spit, probed him, he knew how to relax. How to take it.

See how good you take it? You ought to live in my bed.

Yani was lost in a haze of fear and memories. His heart pounded in his throat as he choked on his tears. His hands clenched fistfuls of blanket. His feet gave up reaching for the floor, going slack as one finger inside him turned into two. He groaned at the pain and sensation, the fingers inside him reaching, groping, spreading. They left far too soon – he wasn’t ready, he wasn’t ready at all as the Minotaur’s hands gripped his hips, lifting and spreading him.

What followed was brutal. Yani cried openly, sobbing and moaning while the Minotaur fucked him. The Minotaur remained, as it had been, silent. Only its breath became somewhat louder, harsh and ragged with lust. Yani’s body was jolted with each painful thrust and he clung to the bed for dear life, for any sort of anchor.

The only mercy was that it didn’t last long. The Minotaur spilled its heat inside Yani and remained there for a minute, panting. Then it withdrew, releasing Yani, who slid off the bed and crumpled to the floor. He was as silent as the Minotaur, now – all cried out. He pressed his scratched forehead to the reed mats, the coolness emanating from the floor soothing the painful heat of his face. He heard the Minotaur’s heavy footsteps retreating to the bathroom, and water running before the door closed between them. Yani melted even further down then, curling up on his side on the floor.

Was this his fate, then? To be the Minotaur’s plaything?

Others had made decisions for Yani his whole life. Had he died and gone to the Underworld, only to be punished with the same plight? Was there no way out?

Something lit up in the back of Yani’s head. A way out. He felt around for his shorts and rose on his wobbling legs, putting them on. Then he looked up: at the exit.

There was door the Minotaur had carried him through on their arrival. It had been there the whole time. Yani had always been distracted by the food, or the Minotaur, but the door was there. Yani stumbled to it, placed his hands upon the filigreed knob.

He froze.

The Labyrinth would kill him. The harpies and ibis would shred him, the ghosts would suck out his soul, the rats would gnaw his bones.

He screwed his eyes shut.

At least with the Minotaur, he was alive. The Minotaur wanted him alive.

The Minotaur wants me.

Isn’t that enough, to be alive and wanted?

~~~

Masterlist, Next

Everything taglist (I think? let me know if I've got it wrong, and whether you'd like to continue to be tagged in this): @angst-after-dark, @flowersarefreetherapy, @sunshiline-writes

#whump #whump fic #whump writing #murmur of ground #cw violence #cw slavery #cw noncon #monsterfucking #no beta reader this one's coming out HOT #nsfwhump

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jellazticious · 7 months

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JELL YOU CANT JUST DROP THIS RANDOM LORE ON THE FLOOR AND RUN AWAY!! TELL US MORE PLEASE IM BEGGING YOU

If this is about the Peppino clone theory then alright, buckle up cheesebags

First of all it's a theory and a headcanon, not lore, I don't want anyone acting like what I'm saying is canon 😭

BUT ANYWHO

I just thought it's weird that Peppino supposedly has never seen the tower in his life before or he has but he gets no association with it BUT he is plastered all over the posters, graffiti, boxes, etc in the background like he was part of the team. There's even like toys and robots designed after his scrumptious physique.

Next there's his malleability. I know this is a cartoon world with cartoon logic but alllll I'm saying is why doesn't Gus have that same whackiness? It's all mostly Brick doing the comedy. The most we have to Gus deforming his body was during the double jump where he turns into a ball. Peppino on the other hand? Turned to cheese, turned to a pizza, turned to a puppet, able to handle being in the front of a rocket, his body contorts during exaggeration of poses, way faster on foot than a rat etc.

He is just as cartoon character as the residents of the tower compared to the human levels of the outsiders like Gus and Stick. I mean yes, Gus can have exaggerated body parts but he is never as exaggerated as Peppino is

Next reason, the WAR level and the very confusing and retconned implication of what Peppino did. Some say it was canon that he was an actual veteran, some say he was technically not a soldier but a pizza delivery guy for the soldiers, and some say he accidentally wound up in the crossfires. Other than the war setting, the level, for zero reason or explanation, transitioned to a laboratory with clones of Peppino and the big ass tube in the bg has Pillar John in it. Cloning is not new to the tower but by god are they SHIT AT IT

Also here's a little intermission because I just LOOOOOVE this one tube in the bg so much

it's so stupid, he looks like he wanna die and he isn't even born yet, that's how you know you're getting a Peppino variant njsngjksrkj

but anwyay back to topic

I'm pretty sure we all think that the WAR level is the tower's last attempt at getting rid of Peppino by making a horrendous cheap move with making him relive his trauma. I love that take so much man, to think that the tower is this desperate because Peppino is SO CLOSE to destroying it that it didn't even have Pizza Time but a constantly ticking timer.

It makes sense with the war part of the level. That is clearly a traumatic event but then it turned to a lab which gets confusing.

I kinda stitched the two together and made them two different memories. The first one came from the original person the clones are based off and the other is Peppino's. I like to think that Faker and Peppino are opposites lol. Peppino has the perfectly structured body but not the mental stability while Faker is smart as hell despite being animalistic with a constantly shambling body. They're sorta the best ones to come out of the lab. but yeah, sorry for putting that tangent there. It's so to give a little context with how Peppino remembers stuff.

His brain is done fucked up that he cannot tell which memories are from him or from Bruno. It's like when you're dreaming and you already have stock knowledge in the dream's universe and it just hurts your brain when you try to pinpoint when exactly you got that information. He'd say some shit about his childhood and full believes he was the kid in the memory, and to Peppino he'd admit that all his memories are hella fuzzy for some reason but he just shrugs it off with "I'm just getting old". Also he kinda gets dreams about the lab and shrugs it off as some weird ass nightmare about the restaurant debt lmao.

(btw, Faker is well aware about Bruno's memories and know how to distinguish it from his own. I really love interpreting him as the alpha of all clones, it's so fun)

But yeah those are my reasons why I formulated and headcanoned Peppino as a clone.

All else that you need to know about this is that Peppino escapes, spends time in the real world, forgets his origins because brains are weird and it does this thing where it forgets traumatic events, and runs the restaurant (instinctual thing???), and seeing that Peppino is thriving on his own, Pizzahead thought how funny it would be to bring his ass back to the tower. Pizzahead is Pizzahead, his choices are whack asf

but all in all, I have always interpreted clone Peppino in all my silly little doodles gbjsbgksrbkj but like no one's gonna ask about it so I never made a peep nor a sound. But now you know lmao, which would raise questions that I'm more than happy to indulge

#Pizza Tower #Peppino Spaghetti #jella answers

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crockpotfullofworms · 10 days

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Lalapril Day 15: Star

Gooseberry sits in silence at the very edge of the Pillars. Her feet dangle over the edge but she does not fear the drop beneath her. A frigid wind sends shivers down her spine and yet, she cannot bring herself to get up and go inside.

Not yet.

She hears footsteps on the stone behind her and as she turns her head towards the noise, Haurchefant appears in her line of sight and begins to lower himself down next to her. He doesn’t ask her what she is doing out here in the dead of night and for that she is thankful. Instead, he comments on the beauty of the stars and they speak quietly of inconsequential things.

It warms her, to know that he is there, that he will sit with her until whatever drove her out into the cold and the dark has passed. Her heart has been a heavy burden as of late.

But Goose is thankful, in that moment, for the cold and for him and for the stars above, shining brightly down on them.

—————

As I started doing the posing for these shots a much longer sequence was playing in my head, but I told myself that four was the limit for this prompt until I could dedicate more time to the idea. I will definitely be revisiting it in the future [:

I want to add dialogue to each shot to give it a more natural flow. I found a good dialogue box generator that should work for that purpose!!

#losing haurchefant was a blow to goose #like i'm sure it was to most wols #another bright spot in her world just vanished in the space between two breaths #i want to do more posing from when they actually got to spend time together #some of the good memories #lalapril #lalapril 2024 #ffxiv lalafell #haurchefaunt #gpose #ffxiv #wol: gooseberry tart #haurchefant greystone

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ampleappleamble · 16 days

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pillars of eternity ask! 3, 11, 12 for axa and/or vaargys <3

3. what are your watcher's likes and dislikes (like the ones poe2 companions have)?

using the actual companion relationship likes/dislikes from the game (with help from the pillars fandom wiki):

i think Axa would favor Autonomous, Anti-religious, Impassioned, Pro-animancy, Dutiful, Progressive, and Worldly dispositions, and she would disfavor Animal cruelty, Piety, Skulduggery, Pride, and Racism.

as for Vaargys, he'd favor Lighthearted, Worldly, Piety, Skulduggery, and Resourcefulness, while he'd disfavor Dutiful, Stewardship, Traditionalism, and Anti-religious.

using my own personal characterization:

Axa likes people who are passionate, honest, open-minded, intelligent, well-read, well-traveled, progressive... and she has a soft spot for the downtrodden. she dislikes people who are dishonest, manipulative, arrogant, greedy, thieving, merciless, and prejudiced.

Vaargys likes people who are clever, funny, interesting, generous, patient, adventurous, and inquisitive. he dislikes people who are willfully ignorant, stubborn, predictable, stuffy, unnecessarily aggressive and/or cruel, incurious, and aloof.

11. who are your watcher's least favorite companions?

Axa: Maia. Axa doesn't like being tricked, manipulated, or lied to, and Rauatai's best sharpshooter attempts all three on top of having what Axa feels is a grating personality (she's got that "overly familiar playful rudeness" that really rubs Axa the wrong way). plus, Axa doesn't support the Rauataian navy in general or what they're doing in the Deadfire in particular, and she also doesn't care much for birds (funny, considering her fondness for Pallegina and her own avian godlike brother, Tico). incidentally, Axa considers Maia's brother Kana a dear friend. she also doesn't care much for Xoti (religious zealot, picks unnecessary fights with her bff Pallegina). i'd say she doesn't like Durance either, but he was never really a companion because the first and only time they met he insulted her grievously enough that she and her party saw fit to beat his ass and set his beard on fire. trust me, he deserved it.

Vaargys: Pallegina. too serious, too certain of her convictions regarding what he feels is an impermanent and imperfect kith institution, too disparaging of the gods he credits with saving his life and making it worth living. he convinced her to make her own trade agreement with the anamenfath in PoE1 and subsequently got her exiled, and when they meet again in Deadfire he tells her he never really thought much about her after they'd parted, earning him a very scathing and vulgar rant from her in Vailian, which he thinks is probably the most significant (and entertaining) thing she's ever done. he also has a love/hate thing going with Aloth because while Vaargys finds him fascinating and admires his intellect, he also resents the wizard's prigishness and steadfast refusal to think outside the box and cut loose. he likes Iselmyr alright though 🍻

12. what does your watcher think about the gods?

Axa: before the Big Reveal, she regarded the gods as forces of nature, little different from the weather, although admittedly a tornado is a little harder to placate than a god. her mother is very religious, primarily venerating Hylea (as befitting an avian godlike's mother, although back when she was a slave in Readceras she was known to whisper prayers to Skaen). despite being a chanter and a linguist, Axa always preferred Wael over Hylea, partially out of spite against her overbearingly pious mother (an artisan who would guilt Axa's brother into plucking himself bald so she could use his feathers in totems and amulets for wealthy clients), partially out of sympathy for her brother (who she had to watch get pushed around all his life by their mother, priests, teachers, opportunists posing as friends, etc.), and partially out of fealty to her father (a Waelite and cartographer who vanished while out on a job when Axa was 12). after the Big Reveal, she regards the gods as abominations of nature forced on an unwitting, unwilling world by a bunch of arrogant, paternalistic egotists, and the biggest extant obstacles to true freedom and autonomy for all kith. still, she tries to understand and even empathize with them– because she doesn't know what a computer program is, she can only describe the gods as being similar to sapient books or scripts written untold centuries ago, unable to say or do anything not already scribed in their pages, no matter how incomprehensibly outdated their content may be compared to the world of today. while pitiable, this is also unforgivably foolish and dangerous in an ever-evolving world.

Vaargys: before the Big Reveal, he regarded the gods as (probably) aspects of the soul of Eora, and Wael as the greatest of these aspects. a Glamfellen from the White That Wends, Vaargys was the product of his clan's priest of Rymrgand and the priest's young acolyte, a union that was unspeakably taboo and utterly forbidden. even after his acolyte died in childbirth, the priest vehemently denied siring the babe and refused to take responsibility for his upbringing. effectively orphaned, Vaargys was begrudgingly passed from hearth to hearth until he could walk on his own, whereupon he quietly slipped in wherever he could until he was inevitably turned out again. understandably, he grew up with a heavy disdain for Rymrgand, the god who apparently demanded he never be conceived in the first place, who deprived him of a mother and commanded his father to abandon him. he would often wander off into the snow alone, sometimes suffering debilitating injuries or terrible hunger, but somehow, no matter how bad things got for him, he would always survive. he didn't know why he'd been born or why he was still alive, and in the end that question is what triggered his first glimpse of the Hundred Visions. Wael touched his mind and rescued him from his life of loneliness and despair by supplanting the oppressive certainty of Rymrgand's end with a sweetly whispered, "but maybe...?" after the Big Reveal, his opinion of the gods didn't change much. upon learning the gods were created by kith, his first thought was probably along the lines of, "wow! how'd the gods manage to convince them to do that??" Vaargys knows that one question answered only leads to ten new questions asked, and the revelation of the gods' true nature was interpreted by him as less of a betrayal by the Engwithans against all kith and more of a sneak peek into the grand design of the universe, the will of the soul of Eora herself.

#pillars of eternity #watcher axa #watcher vaargys #sorry this took me literally all day to answer lmao #thanks for ask ♡

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teneguine · 9 months

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"Happy birthday, Owain!" Grima said, slipping out from behind a pillar to stop Owain in his tracks. Her bright and warm smile was difficult to keep on her face but she did her very best. She had her arms kept behind her back as well. "Here. I've got a gift for you. Close your eyes and hold out your hands."

Regardless of his response Grima leaves a gift in his hands. Inside the box is a book of poetry. Though the book seems almost impossibly old, the pages fragile and frayed but there were clear attempts to preserve it.

"I found this during my travels before arriving at the academy. They're poems that seem to be from a fabled lost city. What do you think?" Grima watched him closely, an interested look in her eye. The truth was that book was from Grima's own personal collection. She had little problem giving it away if it helped earn trust. Perhaps Owain could decipher the ancient language inside. If nothing, it gave him something to do.

//via birthday asks; still accepting!

"Hark! The arrival of the famed tactician rouses my mystic blood! It surges forth like a frigid geyser, spraying evil with my heroic powers!"

In other words, he's excited.

Or at least, that's the story he'll be going with. He strikes a pose for the Fell Dragon--both arms laid across his chest in opposite directions, hands splayed open, and back arched for dramatic effect--but deep down, he's wary. He wonders if she ever got to use her gift. That faulty pen and magic ink were sure to inconvenience her, and depending on just how much she used them, he could have put a significant dent in her schemes.

So he assumes, in secret, that she is seeking revenge.

"For me?" he continues, nodding along and closing his eyes as instructed, "You know how to honor your heroes well! With this great boon, nigh an army may stop me in my quest!"

But when she motions to hand him the book, he peeks. Just a crack, his eyes peer open. The slits are hardly distinguishable from actually having shut his eyelids, but they make a world of difference in terms of what he can see. Dark takes note of the tome--how it isn't laced with spikes or poison, how it's just... Ordinary. It's strange.

When Grima explains it, he tries to act surprised.

"Oh? A... Lost city, eh? That's, uh, riveting..." He turns the cover first, inspecting for any signs of a sigil or magic snare designed to lop off his arm. But either his magical perception is lacking, or there is no real danger, for Dark cannot sense anything. Stranger. A fist covers a cough as he turns it back around, before that spare hand moves to rifle through the pages.

"Huh. I can't quite read it. Though I believe I've seen the text before..." Ancient Valmese? Or maybe the first rulers of Regna Ferox. His face contorts in confusion, unable to pinpoint which historical period it all belongs to. Owain turns page after page, looking for something of interest (Maybe a diagram? Maybe a secret note containing the Fell Dragon's plans?) but he finds only words. Such is the content of a poetry novel, after all.

"Ah... AHEM! Making heads or tails of this cryptic writing is the bread and butter of an eldritch scholar such as myself. Rest assured, Robin," he speaks that name with a bit of venom, "I shall have the code cracked in a fraction of a second. There is nothing my enigmatic mind cannot solve!"

It slams shut and enters the protection of his underarm. As Dark turns to be on with his day, he shoots Grima one last look, waving her off as though they were friends again, "You have my thanks for this holy gift! I shan't forget it."

#IC #ASKBOX #FELLINCANCATION #//at some point i may follow this up with a drabble where owain is like.#//mortified #//at GRIMA's ability to write poetry more creative and “”“epic”“” than his #//but thank you for this audrey

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redeyeflyguy · 3 months

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Wonderful Top 7's!!! Top 7 Dragon Ball FighterZ Ultimate Attacks (a.k.a. I try to describe a bunch of super cool anime fighting game moves using terminology that you may or may not understand even in this sentence alone because I think it is absolutely worth it!)

#7: Cooler's Atomic Supernova: I wanted to include at least one Ultimate that was cool more for mechanical reasons rather than aesthetic and Frieza's super shredded brother gives me just what I want. Not to say that the act of gut punching an opponent, slamming them to the ground and then dropping a sun on them isn’t rad. However, what makes Atomic Supernova unique is how it is activated i.e. it is used to reverse an opponent’s strike. You use it, they punch you, and they are punished for their folly...and it feels goooood when it lands. Not so much when they don’t take the bait.

#6: Android 17's Super Electric Strike: Compared to the other supers on this list, A17's is a basic big projectile. Nothing special especially as Dragon Ball is concerned but make said projectile a giant, swirling green lighting buzzsaw of death and it would tick off most of my boxes. The posing and motion before the strike is launched is just the icing on the cake. That and I have Android 17 bias.

#5: Yamcha's Ultimate Wolf Fang Fist: I am going to throw my chips to the lowest ranked of Dragonball's three eternal jobbers because he definitely deserves it. The initial rush is just Yamcha's normal Wolf Fang Fist given some varied camera angles but that last hit with the confident pose, the wolf howl, the dual palm strike, it's just...mmmm. Love it! It might be the best the desert bandit has ever looked (along with the rest of his appearance in this game.)

#4: Ultra Instinct Goku's Silver Dragon Flash: From one end of the power scale to the other. UI Goku's animations really sell how untouchable DB's main hero is in this form and that also applies to his most damaging combination. Blazing forward bathed in silver fire, moving so fast the only thing visible are lashing whips of light and then unleashing the biggest beam in the game point blank. I may prefer the Top 3 but this ultimate certainly makes a compelling case otherwise.

#3: Hit's I Keep Improving: What's faster than light? Skipping the travel time altogether. For his ultimate attack, this master hitman rushes forward before rapidly pelting his target with punches that erupt into purple pillars of plasma. He then lands the final blow before looking away as time returns to normal and his target feels every last painful strike at once. All that including the stained glass effect of Hit's powers and a spectacular shot where the camera rotates around the carnage as he attacks most certainly makes this super move a...hit. I'd see myself out but I have two more entries. Also, I live here.

#2: Kefla's Gigantic Burst: A little creativity can go a long way in a series where most big attacks consist of generic laser blasts. Case in point: Kefla. Her most powerful technique completely covers the field in red energy beams, turning those same red energy beams into giant red energy whips before forming them together into the coolest laser beam in the series: a double swirling cherry red, lime green plasma blast of pure unadulterated hype. Plus, its activation means it can punish any errant attack an enemy throws out. Yep, this one’s a winner! #1: Gogeta Blue's Meteor Explosion & Ultimate Kamehameha: On one hand, Gogeta Blue's Ultimate attack is ripped straight from Dragon Ball's most recent movie which might be seen as lazy or an obvious marketing ploy. On the other hand, the fact they were able to get the visuals so close to a high budget anime movie is extremely impressive. On a third hand, kicking your opponent into the air, unleashing a massive blue satellite laser from the heavens and capping it off with a move that more than deserves the name "Ultimate Kamehameha" is just plain awe-inspiring. By virtue of having one more hand than the average Level 3 super, Gogeta takes the gold.

#wonderful #dragon ball fighterz #dragon ball #fighting games #arc system works #ultimate attacks #top 7 #cooler #android 17 #yamcha #ultra instinct #goku #hit #kefla #gogeta #super sayian blue #anime #manga

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karltface · 4 months

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It's time!

December Box is bringin' a spirit of some sort. Odds are it ain't the holiday kind, but we'll see what I can squeeze out of it.

For instance, the festive colors on those Kong Hong bugs. The red is more of a pink, but it's a fresh sculpt for me. The roaches are always fun, as is the gator jiggler. That styracosaurus deserves special mention for his striking color scheme.

Okay, I thought I had all the "Power Belts" sculpts, and BAM, they throw a spider at me. That's cool. Either skeleton is a robe away from playing the Ghost of Christmas Future in a small-town production.

The meat of this one, really, is The Faces. Breaking their previous record of two, I'm particularly enamored with what's either Smeagol or an early hominid on the right there. Tiki Heads pose an issue, as my twin pillars have already hit the top of the shelf. Time to start the next level! The Kin-knockoff-man figures are fun as always: Kinnikuman himself, and one-shot movie villain The Black King. I guess it's down to Gokey here. I guess he could be the donkey in a ridiculous nativity scene?

Pranks, folded in with Arts because they would've looked lonely by themselves: a Shoe Squeaker that has far better applications- a doorstop, a toilet seat, the back of a drawer- and another Finger. The hologram Troll sticker is so 90s it hurts, but in a good way. Another Monster is joined by a bicolored Cousin Itt, but the 3/4 rubber skeleton skull is honestly super cool in black resin. Incidentally, this is the box that officially filled The Rack.

About a third of the slots. Congratulations, Zac! 30 Internet Points for you!

#vintage toys #mystery box #80s toys #70s toys #greasycreeps

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novirp13 · 2 years

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have you ever seen demon slayer hinokami chronicles? If so if full demon tanjiro was a playable character, what would his moveset be? And if you don't know how this game works let me tell somethings

Slayers (including nezuko) work in pairs and if you press the L1 button you could then as an assist to attack the other player, if your getting combod and if you press L1 your secondary character pulls you out of it. And if you hold L1 you can swap characters

Demons such as rui,Akaza and Full demon form nezuko are solo characters and they don't have assists, however they get two extra abilites with the L1 button, they can still jump out of combos. And when they boost/surge they can generate health

Oh, I know that game. The gameplay of it was so gorgeous that my friends cannot stop buzzing about it 🤣

Hmm, my Demon Tanjiro will surely have the eight tail form as one of his attack. Using his tails like how Daki use her sash. Idk how to implement his teleportation into his attack tho, cuz I feel like it'll be super unfair

And his victory pose is, definitely him eating a lot of food lolol 😂😂😂

...you know. It'll be also funny if he had an attack where he throw a lot of food, then ended with him throwing the box itself toward the enemy. I did write that scene in the pillar meeting arc, after all 🤣

#kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #reverse role au

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wvbaandtheboys · 1 year

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Breaking Point

[Celeste belongs to @nesssblog here’s a cool cameo] Dollie walked down the hallway, somewhat hunched over and at a slow pace. She cradled her injured stomach with a hand, having the other compress against her swollen cheek. Her wounds stung upon pressure from her gloves, but she didn’t care. She wanted to hide them as much as she could. Her legs felt like crumbling pillars underneath her thin frame, shaking as she continued on. She thought she had escaped the mind-numbing anxiety that the blinding lights of the ring and camera flashes of the audience gave her, but it stayed fresh in her mind as she had to pass by more exposing lights. When she was a child, and still had so-called “parents”, she adored being in the spotlight. She remembered posing in various annoyingly puffy dresses in front of a dark backdrop, staring into the lens of a large industrial camera with various expressions, her face always stretched in any direction possible. And every time, after the bright flash momentarily blinded her, she’d loosen up, wipe her eyes and massage her cheeks. Always hoping she’d never have to retake them too much in one day. There were few times in her life where she wasn’t in front of cameras or lights. Movie sets, modeling, fashion runways, beauty pageants… She rarely got a break from those either. It was always her mother running her mouth and boasting about how she had the most adorable, photogenic daughter in the world, bombarding her with compliments and obnoxious praises. And it was always her mother that would practically shove her into the limelight. Every single time. If she was smiling brightly, or a snotty mess because her hair clips or dress were practically squeezing her. It didn’t stop even when her mother died. There was always more clout to get, and money to reap. Her anonymous (even to her) father transferred over Dollie and all her belongings to the largest celebrity unit worldwide: Hollywood. It was a dream come true to her, back then; to be living amongst and even breathing the same air as some of the biggest stars known to stardom. And she was going to become one of them. She just knew it, deep down. What a joke. If she knew that she was going to experience her own personal hell for those next few years, she would have screeched profanities at her father in that phone call they had the night before her flight, instead of being so thrilled and thankful. ..As if that would have changed anything. She was just a little doll, and they were the bastards that got to play with her. The idea now of being in any type of situation where people could look at her, touch her, belittle her. It was horrible. The thought of being bathed in light like before, allowing all of her to be put on display for audiences. Letting them capture pictures of her bloody, bruised body to be immortalized in news tabloids and personal fan collections forever… It made her feel humiliated. And as if it were just to spite her, these lights in particular made her feel even more revealed under their stark coloured beams. “Hey.” Her somber reminiscing was suddenly interrupted by a stern voice. She froze in place, realizing that she had completely forgotten to watch where she was going. She looked down to see a woman dressed in a turquoise boxing brassiere and trunks, white fluffy cotton bejeweled with icy crystals lining the strap of her trunks and the sleeves of her top. Around her neck was a collar, with a diamond shaped gem on her chest. The woman’s hair was a dirty blonde, with the ends fading into a sort of crimson-ish color. Two curls of hair poked straight up from her bangs, making them almost look like horns. She looked irritatedly at Dollie, her nose scrunched up as she glared. Did she bump into her or something while not paying attention? Dollie stared at her for a while. Part of her wanted to apologize, but a bigger part of her just wanted to get out of this woman’s gaze without saying a word. Besides, the way the boxer was eyeing her made her feel like an apology wouldn’t be accepted. “Watch where you’re going, fool.” …Well, that certainly proved her point. Mildly insulted but just wanting to get away, Dollie stepped around her and began to walk away. “.....You must be the new boxer I heard about. ..A dying star.” Dollie paused upon hearing that. Was that meant to be brutally honest, or offensive? Either way, she felt her offense grow. But, she wasn’t going to say a word about it. Who cared about how she felt anyways? She turned her head to look at her, and it finally clicked that this woman wasn’t just a random boxer: this was the infamous Celeste. She had heard quite a bit about her, and unfortunately none of what was gossiped was positive in the slightest. “...Undskyld mig?” (Excuse me?) Her tone sounded indifferent out loud, but internally a small part of Dollie still inhibited the pride she had for being a celebrity in the first place, which is what the young girl she once was thought. And for this “Celeste” to come up to her while she frankly was already having an awful day, and say that in such a condescending way was getting under her skin more than it should have. “..Dollie Darling. Your name is… or should I say, used to be worldwide, didn’t it.” Oh, come on. Was she trying to pick a fight? Dollie couldn’t help but internally scowl at her. Who exactly did Celeste think she was? She wasn’t the child who had to spend her entire childhood being shoved in front of paparazzi to the point that she cried into her pillow some nights in pain because of poorly designed outfits and bright cameras. She wasn’t the poor teenage girl that had to spend even more years of her life being pinched and prodded at by womens’ slender fingers, once again being put on display for them to watch and critique. And she certainly wasn’t the young adult woman who was forced to join a bullshit boxing association when she clearly wasn’t fit for the sport and had to suffer through multiple humiliating battles just because most of her fame had slipped from her fingers as she got older. Celeste didn’t seem to care that her words came off as offensive. Her nose somehow scrunched so much it was like it was going to flatten against her face. Her head tilted a bit as she squinted. “...I can see why your fame died off. Just… look at you. You look ridiculous.” Dollie physically reacted to the remark, jerking semi-violently as if it set her off. “...Hmph. You’re a grown woman and yet you dress like a child.” Something in Dollie promptly snapped. In a heartbeat, she was towering over Celeste. Her expression was void of any distinct emotion, but her eyes were wide and intense. “Is that really your attempt at trying to intimidate me…? Hah. I’ve seen better from people two sizes smaller than you.” Dollie didn’t want to dedicate energy to confronting Celeste. But that damned part of her that took pride in her fame just kept nipping at her. Shut up… Just shut up. “Honestly, you didn’t look much better as a little girl. I don’t understand why your parents thought it was a good idea to put you in front of a camera in the first place. Your dresses looked tacky and your face always looked too.. Ugh. Unnatural. Hideous.” Shut up. “You’re just not an attractive woman. Hiding behind all that makeup just makes you look more ridiculous than you already are. How do you even go in the ring looking like… that? You must not care about that, much less about your thin weight. You look like a walking skeleton.” Shut UP. Celeste’s eyes went cold, as did her expression. Dollie saw nothing behind those eyes. “You’re going to get killed one of these days. And not even your status will make anyone care about your idiotic self. You’re nothing but an immature, stupid child in a woman’s body.” “Maybe more people would care if you-” SHUT UP. Dollie’s eyes went wide as saucers, and she reeled back her arm. Celeste’s words were abruptly cut off by a sharp punch to the jaw. Before she could angrily yell out in surprise, Dollie’s knee impacted onto her stomach, and a moment later, both women were on the ground. Despite her thin frame, her weight was substantial enough to keep Celeste on the ground with some effort. What followed was a very violent beatdown; all rationality and hesitation left in those few moments Dollie was being insulted, and she began to attack Celeste. Celeste was only able to make enraged screams and growls as her skin quickly was painted a hideous purple. Bruises spread across her face just as fast, before a well-placed punch to the bridge of her nose sent a splatter of blood to stain her lips and teeth. Dollie was screaming and growling at the top of her lungs as she continued to beat her, the two essentially sounding like two cats engaging in a fight. Simple, dry punches turned to blows that audibly made squelching noises as Celeste’s swollen lip began to dribble with saliva, her bruises becoming soft and oozing more blood. Finally, the commotion drew one of the boxers out to the scene. Dollie had gotten herself so enveloped in her violent act, that she failed to hear the sounds of frantic footsteps running up behind her. “DOLLIE! DOLLIE STOP IT-!” Hands roughly grabbed her shoulders, attempting to pry her off of Celeste. Dollie growled at whoever it was without looking behind her, throwing her body into them to try and knock them loose. They then grabbed one of her arms, yanking her backwards with all the force they could muster before then taking her other arm. A pair of arms hinged themselves around the area between her upper arm and forearms, causing her to be restrained. It was at this point that Dollie began to giggle loudly whilst still fuming, feeling gratification from looking at Celeste’s horribly bloodied face. Breathing heavily as sweat trickled down her pale face, her legs limped as she felt her anger begin to die down. And the realization of what exactly she had just done hit her. Hard, and fast. “D-Dollie gyal… w-what did you do..?” It was Bob’s voice. She felt his beard brush against her shoulder as he looked at the unmoving, crumpled Celeste. Dollie said nothing. She too was fully intaking the sight. She shakily looked at her gloves, both were covered in a disgusting mix of spit and blood. Her wide eyes looked back to the still woman once more. “...I… Is she…?” “...N-No. She’s okay. S-She’s gotta be. She’s a tough gyal…” Bob tried to sound convincing. It faded quickly when he realized that her chest wasn’t rising. She wasn’t breathing. Dollie heard white noise. She didn’t mean to take it this far.

#dollie darling #bob charlie #celeste #natalya morozov #Punch Out!!#Super Punch Out #Punch Out OC #well celeste literally fucked around and found out

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