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all-things-ghostly · 3 months

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The Beast of the Blood Moon

Werebat! Alistair Crump x GN Reader

Warning! This fic probably isn’t going to be for everyone! Aside from the end, it’s a little dark - CW for somewhat graphic transformation (starts with the first ~~~ below the cut and ends at the second), Alistair having a bad time, animal death and consumption, blood, small reader injury.

~~~

Okay I was originally not gonna post this and just keep it to myself because I thought it was too niche but then I remembered what kinda people Alistair fans are and went through with it anyway LMAO

I apologize if it drags on or feels like a mouthful. I had used this as an opportunity to practice description-heavy fics instead of relying on dialogue so I don’t have as much experience with this. Please be nice to me lmao I’ve been kinda beating myself up during the writing process-

With Alistair’s death came an array of changes. In many ways, he hardly resembled the person he was when he was alive. His form had gone from decently built to thin and skeletal, grey skin pulled tightly over it without much muscle mass left. It was difficult for him to move how he used to, especially without the support of his cane, which is why he was almost always floating and rarely walking. The structure of his face was completely different - everything was all sunken, uncanny, and corpse-like. There was so much he could point out that he didn’t like about his new body, but we’d be here for too long.

Needless to say, he looked like a monster. He felt like a monster.

And after a while, he actually started to become one.

Alistair thought that death would be the end of it all, but he couldn’t be further from the truth. Throughout his first few years of ghosthood, Alistair only continued changing. The first thing he noticed was his teeth - they had initially begun to straighten themselves out a bit, which made Alistair happy, but that was only so that they could get bigger. Much bigger. And sharper. This had especially impacted his canines, which had grown long and pointed, so much that they barely even fit in his mouth anymore.

Then came the rapid claw growth. Whenever Alistair cut his nails, he would wake up the next morning to find them the exact same length they were before. He couldn’t do anything to stop it. Eventually, he just gave up and let them do their own thing, at which point they stopped growing at a certain length and instead became reinforced into strong, durable, sharp claws. To be honest, Alistair quite liked them. It was one of the few new changes he actually didn’t mind that much.

The worst thing, however, were the blood moons.

Full moons nourished Alistair. They gave him strength and power beyond imagination. Lunar eclipses, on the other hand, slowly became his downfall. The first one he experienced after his death made him feel nauseous with a slight toothache, and that was about the worst of it. But with each consecutive blood moon, the symptoms got worse. He got brain fog. White fur started growing on his chest and limbs. His cloak would painfully fuse to his back. Luckily it all went away in the morning, but the experiences left Alistair dreading the next blood moon.

The 13th eclipse was the peak of it all.

That was the night the spirit truly lost himself. The night he transformed into something far more horrific than he could have ever imagined. It absolutely terrified Alistair to have no control over his body like that.

Every time he transformed into that… thing, Alistair only started hating himself more. For years and years he tried to deal with it, but nothing could ever tame the beast within him.

Then, a century later… a new mortal moved in.

~~~ You glance outside the window and check on the position of the moon. It’s almost midnight, when the effect will fully set in. Behind you Alistair clutches his heart and leans against the wall. He looks to be in pain.

Alistair has never told you exactly what happens to him on lunar eclipses. He’s mentioned it to you before, especially in recent times as the eclipse drew closer, but he would always hide the exact details. It’s something he’s always been self conscious about and refuses to elaborate on. All you know is that whatever happens to the ghost is supposedly very dangerous, for you and for others.

You’re lost in quiet contemplation as you stare out the window, feeling sorrow for poor Alistair, when suddenly a loud crash and thud behind you tears you away from your thoughts. Turning around frightfully, you notice that Alistair has collapsed and is leaning propped up against the wall. His hat is crooked and he’s panting heavily like he’s in severe distress. You rush away from the window, getting down on the floor so you can be eye level to him.

“What’s going on? Are you alright?” You ask, putting a hand on his shoulder. The texture of his cloak beneath your hand catches your attention. Looking at it, you notice that it’s begun to change shape and feels more… organic than usual.

“Y/n, please, I told you that you need to leave,” Alistair pleads with you between grunts of pain. “I won’t be myself. I won’t remember who you are. There’s no way for me to guarantee that you will be safe, that I won’t hurt you. You cannot stay here, please.”

In a sudden and startling turn of events, Alistair cries out, gripping his head with his claws. Something is happening to him that makes you immediately pull your hand away from his shoulder and scurry back…

His cloak…

It’s starting to move on its own.

The way it moves reminds you of something from a horror movie, like bones snapping into impossible, grotesque positions. Accompanying the rigid movements of the cape is a sickening cracking noise that makes your stomach turn. Throughout it all, Alistair starts to scream, as the fabric is quite literally welding itself into his body and becoming a part of him.

“I said leave, Y/n!” He shouts once more, falling onto his hands and knees. Alistair’s form trembles violently, and with yet another cry, what was once his cape fully transforms into a massive set of bat wings with an impressive wingspan. The wings spread out wide in an intimidating spectacle while Alistair continues to struggle.

Hurried footsteps pound down the eastern hallway, and in comes one of the mansion’s ghostly servants, attracted by the noise. She takes a second to assess the situation and notices Alistair convulsing on the floor. Her face falls. Then she notices you.

“Oh! Er— come here, dear,” she urges, nervously scurrying over to you and gently grabbing your wrist. Her eyes are filled with deep fear and concern. “Let’s go. I know a safe place you can hide for the night.”

She tries guiding you away, but you resist. All you care about right now is Alistair. The poor man appears to be suffering immensely at the hands of his transformation. Right now, he’s currently attempting to push himself up off the ground, but he’s too weak and just falls over again with a little whine.

“Alistair…” you mumble.

Sensing your sympathy, the servant’s eyes soften into a gentle expression. “I know you’re worried about him, but he will be alright in the morning. Now come on, right this way, right this way…”

She starts to softly pull on your arm, leaving you no choice but to follow her and leave Alistair behind. The last thing you see is him keeling over before you get dragged out of the room and brought into one of the guest rooms down the hall.

Now, Alistair is left all alone in the foyer of the mansion. Aside from his wails, the house is completely silent, since all of the other inhabitants have hidden away for the night. There was no one to help him as he went through the next stage of the awful transformation. Unfortunately for him, the wings were only the beginning. He barely even got a minute of relief before he felt that dreadfully familiar burning sensation deep inside of his body.

Snap.

Bones began to break and expand at unnatural rates in order for his form to change. His spine grew longer and more jagged, making his frame tall and imposing. The bones in his legs snapped and reformed to become digitigrade like that of a wild beast. Additionally, Alistair’s arms and bony hands became larger in order to support a nasty set of vicious claws that could effortlessly tear into prey. Even his very skull began to warp and change into something more animalistic. It was awful. Alistair’s throat was starting to hurt from all the yelling and after a while the only sounds he could make were strained, guttural cries.

Not to mention the way his flesh had to grow to match his new skeletal structure. Though he maintained his lean shape, his arms and legs became more muscular, as well as his back muscles that helped propel those massive wings of his. Alistair could hardly describe what it felt like, but the way that his cells had to rapidly mutate beyond human capability was insufferable. Mostly, it felt like a hellish burning. But there was also a strange, stinging-aching feeling associated with his insides stretching out and body changing shape. For the last step in the body mutation, a pair of large bat ears sprouted from his head, and he gained the last few kinds of animalistic features he needed: paw pads on the bottoms of his feet, a proper bat muzzle, and even larger fangs, to name a few.

Finally, it was over. The hard part, anyway. His fur still needed to grow in but that was painless.

Alistair, completely exhausted, laid curled up on his side, trembling and whimpering pitifully. He struggled to catch his breath after everything that just happened and panted like a wounded animal. Scattered all around him were the remnants of his clothes that had burst at the seams during his transformation. Suddenly he was glad everybody left the room, otherwise they’d have… quite the view.

While he rested, his beautiful fur coat started to grow out, starting at his limbs and torso and continuing to spread from there. The fur was longest on his chest and crotch area (which worked in his favor, considering he had no clothes on that would otherwise cover things up) and it was surprisingly soft. It was almost funny how soft he was considering how the rest of him just seemed so monstrous.

For the first couple of minutes, Alistair did nothing but lay still and breathe. He was still very spent and needed a minute to adjust to his new form as a werebat. But it wouldn’t last for long. Because he knew that very shortly, the hunger would set in. Hunger so insatiable that he would do anything to feel warm blood and flesh beneath his fangs.

Just at that moment, his bat nose twitched when he caught the scent of something far in the distance. He sniffed the air a few times to get a better feel for it… some sort of large prey in the woods behind the mansion. His maw started foaming immediately, he just couldn’t help it… whatever was out there should surely be enough to sustain him for the night.

Alistair, with newfound vigor, starts to push himself up off the ground. At first, he feels very unsteady since he’s not adjusted to his body yet, but animal instinct quickly takes over and he rises to his feet. Standing at just over 7 feet tall, Alistair’s werebat form is an absolute menace. His animalistic mind has now been completely consumed by bloodthirstiness and the idea of his next meal. Assuming an aggressive position, Alistair puffs his chest out, spreads his wings, and flares his claws, just before releasing a screeching cry so shrill that it echoes throughout every hall of the mansion, shaking the very foundation it rests upon.

Immediately after he calls out, Alistair rears his head and charges at the mansion’s front door. It shatters effortlessly against his mighty form, and with that the giant bat escapes the mansion unharmed, flying into the night in search of his prey.

~~~

“Come on, come on…”

The beam of light coming from your flashlight sputters and flickers from what you assume is low battery, or perhaps old age. You give it a good few hard smacks. Now is hardly the time for it to malfunction.

The spirits of the mansion had kept you sequestered away in one of the guest rooms for about an hour, trying to defend you from Alistair. And, while you appreciated their concern, you were worried about him. From the room you were in you could hear his pained, miserable screams.

Which meant that you also heard the sound of him destroying the front door and fleeing.

Since all of the other spirits were hiding away in their own separate places, it was rather easy for you to sneak out unnoticed. All you took with you was a flashlight and a small dagger, just in case. Not that you could ever use it on Alistair. It just made you feel a little safer wandering into a dark, wooded area knowing that you had a weapon with you.

The flashlight beam finally stabled itself out after the last hit. You point it out into the tangled woods behind the mansion and try to find any evidence of Alistair. Considering he flew, it’s not like you could go off of animal tracks or anything, so it was proving to be a little difficult. But you were determined to find him.

Finally, you start to take some hesitant steps into the forest. The trees had grown long and twisted, some of them even being over a century old, which blocked out the moonlight and made it even more difficult to see. All you really had going for you lighting-wise was some crappy flashlight that was likely crusted over with battery acid. The forest also had that typical Louisiana humidity to it, even at night. You had to shoo off more mosquitos than you would have liked.

You walk for quite a bit of time, shining your flashlight over the ground and trees, before you find anything. The first sign you noticed were deer tracks on the dark soil. Not necessary anything related to bats, but you instinctively feel like you should follow them anyways. They seem to go on for a far, far distance, all in one direction, as if the creature was running from something…

Suddenly, you start to feel a bit paranoid.

You even began having second thoughts about turning back. Still, though, all you could think about was Alistair. He was somewhere all alone out here, stuck in a monstrous body he couldn’t control. Something could happen to him; what if he got shot?

You have to pull through, for him. So against everything telling you not to, you keep trekking through the woods.

At one point in the trail, there was a moment where the tracks suddenly stopped. Instead, there was a spot where dirt, leaves, and soil seemed to be scattered and kicked around, forming a large messy crater in the ground. Usually, you would’ve thought nothing of it, but for some reason it felt deeply off-putting.

After staring at it for a moment, you hesitantly decide to keep walking forwards. But it doesn’t get any better. Now, there is a large, long streak in the ground, as if something had been dragged through the dirt. You shine your flashlight over it, and notice something even worse splattered through the foliage…

Blood.

The sound of shifting leaves in front of you makes you jump out of your skin. You don’t dare look up.

The beam of your flashlight starts to waver from the way your hands begin to shake. More odd noises come from just a few yards away… snarfing, growling, noisy chewing. You already know what it is but you don’t want to look, you don’t want to look, you can’t look at it don’t look at it don’t look it at it—

Your flashlight sputters. Then flickers.

Then dies.

Oh, of course.

The flashing light seems to attract the attention of the beast in front of you. Without your only light source, it’s so dark that you can barely make out the silhouettes… and a pair of glowing yellow eyes bearing right into you.

Very, very slowly, you try to step away. The creature continues to stare unblinkingly at you as you move, keeping a large, clawed paw on the half-eaten deer carcass in front of it. Even as it lowers its head back down to take another huge bite, its eyes never leave you. You don’t know what to do. You can’t move.

You stand there very still for the next good few minutes. In that time the beast has managed to reduce the cervidae to nothing but a pile of bones. When it finishes eating and licks its maw, you hope that it will lose interest in you and walk away. But of course not. Instead, it stands up to its full height and starts creeping right over to you, the slits of its pupils so slim that you can hardly even see them.

For a moment, it steps into the moonlight, allowing you to see it clearly.

It’s Alistair, alright.

Looks like you found him after all.

Even as a werebat, something about its appearance makes you immediately recognize it to be him. Perhaps it’s the somewhat messy white fur that covers his body, fading into a grey color in a gradient manner towards his forearms and shins. Or it could be those giant dark grey wings that remind you so much of his cloak. His face, ears, hands and feet were a slightly lighter shade of grey than the wings, reminding you of his usual sickly skin tone… but most importantly, it might be those eyes of his. Those soul-piercing yellow eyes that could make the blood of even the bravest being run cold. You would recognize them anywhere.

You do your best to stay still as he approaches you. It might sound stupid, but you feel like running would only trigger him more. Alistair comes up to you, his massive figure towering over your shaking body, and you feel like this could be the end.

He leans down and gets so close to you that you can see the individual blood stains on his fur. But surprisingly, he doesn’t attack right away. Instead, his snout buries into your hair, and then your neck, sniffing around… he seems curious about you. Eventually he pulls back and grabs your wrist.

“Um, okay,” you stammer, scared absolutely shitless but following him as he drags you off to a small cave just nearby. It looks to almost be like… his den? The inside is decorated with various bones and skulls, as well as beautiful vines along the walls and some baskets full of fruit or other little snacks. Alistair pulls you over to a large pile of animal pelts towards the back of the cave and sets you down gently. Perhaps it’s his nest?

You’re feeling very confused. Especially when he plops down next to you and starts sniffing at your neck again and clothes again. Alistair’s face scrunches in confusion, as if he’s trying to place something, when suddenly he pauses and looks right into your eyes, his slit pupils dilating into a more gentle expression of recognition.

He remembers you.

It’s like a switch is flipped. Alistair’s large, strong arms pick you up and place you right into his lap, where he continues to examine you. Even if his brain is too fogged over to remember what you look like, he seems to recognize you by your scent alone. Which is honestly just really adorable.

He then carefully lifts you up so that you’re eye level and starts to rub his soft head along your face and neck. It reminds you of a cat rubbing itself along your legs to mark its scent on you, which is essentially the same thing he’s doing. It’s fascinating to see how differently he shows his affection in a more animalistic form - he may have a more feral, primitive mind now, but he still has his ways of showing that he loves you. After he deems you sufficiently marked, Alistair buries his soft little muzzle into the crook of your neck again…

…and then bites.

No, not like a cute little nibble or anything. He sinks his fangs right in and breaks the skin, just at the spot between your neck and shoulder. Considering how he showed no signs of hostility beforehand, you’re completely taken by surprise. In fact, you don’t even register the pain at first because you’re so shocked.

He holds his fangs there for about 10 seconds and then slowly lets go. Left just next to your shoulder is a massive, bleeding bite from his fangs. Your eyes are still widened in complete shock, but Alistair seems unphased. He was just acting on natural instinct.

See, the bite wasn’t meant to hurt you. He had actually carefully adjusted the force of it to where it would break the skin and engrave deeply but not cause any permanent damage to the nerves or flesh. Instead, he made it just deep enough to create a permanent scar on a visible area of your body. He was giving you a mating bite - a mark on you that would show everyone, both human and beast, that you were his.

Alistair’s long tongue gently laps at the wound to clean it. His saliva seems to be numbing it for you, lessening some of the stinging pain left behind (and, as a bonus, he gets a little snack out of the blood). The werebat seems to know that his fangs hurt and is now acting very tenderly towards you to make up for it. His tongue works diligently until the bite mark naturally clots and is ready to be properly treated later.

Once he’s finished, Alistair makes a low growling noise and leans back onto his nest with you on top of him. His large arms wrap tightly around your body and hold you so close that your face gets smothered in his long chest fur. Breathing him in, you notice that he has somewhat of a woodsy musk smell to him. It’s honestly quite pleasant. He starts to purr, a deep, rumbling purr that you can feel the vibrations of as you rest on top of his fluffy underbelly.

“Oh, well… I guess you’re actually a little bit cute,” you mumble at him, freeing an arm so you can scratch him underneath his ear. Alistair’s purring gets louder, and his eyes start to close in pure contentment. It’s… really, really adorable. Normally, Alistair would get pissed off if you tried babying him like this. But right now? Just like any other creature, he could never deny some good scritches.

The cute little (or rather, not so little) monster nudges up against you like he wants more. Who are you to deny him? You take both hands and start rubbing his soft face, even giving him a little kiss on the nose, which makes his big bat ears twitch. Now, under your touch, he’s no more intimidating than a lap dog.

Alistair especially loves it when you start to pet and scratch his fluffy belly. His purrs become so loud and deep that it reminds you of a dinosaur. His large bat body stretches out to expose himself as best as he can to you for more rubs, his leg kicking joyously when he receives them. He just feels so… relaxed.

He wasn’t used to that. Feeling relaxed. Not only in werebat form, but as regular old Alistair Crump, too. Normally he was much too shut in and reserved to let someone get close to him, nevertheless touch him. And as a werebat, Alistair was constantly under the stress of trying to control his violence and rampages. He has never once been able to just settle down and let someone pet him like this.

Perhaps that just means that you’re someone he feels safe around.

After a while, you notice him starting to yawn. The large bat looks very sleepy, having been relaxed by your gentle, comforting touch. Alistair makes another little purring sound and pulls you close once more. His warm tongue starts to sweetly lick at your lips, almost like he’s giving you his own little version of kisses to thank you for all of the affection you gave him.

Finally, he settles down and wraps his arms and wings against you, cuddling you as if you were his own little stuffed animal. You notice that as he drifts off to sleep, his eyes are gentle and dilated. It’s a sign of how calm he is. The calmest and tamest the beast has ever been.

Maybe, all this time, he only needed a gentle and understanding mate.

And who better to fit the part than you?

#alistair crump #hatbox ghost #haunted mansion #haunted mansion 2023 #my writing #alistair crump x reader #werebat #monster x human #monster x reader #the haunted mansion #hatbox ghost x reader

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kockatriceking · 1 month

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whole buncha sketches of Llwelyn Winters, my Fallout OC. he's not any of the protagonists, he's just your average friendly travelling trader who sells delicious food and other scraps. a regular guy, apart from his albinism

...well, he can transform into a Deathclaw. that's probably not so average, actually.

Llwelyn's parents weren't vault dwellers- born and bred Wastelanders, his father was a trader while his mother was a hired gun. They stumbled across Vault 298 when on their travels, seeking refuge from deathclaw attacks.

There they met Dr Rald. The Dr was the last of the Vault Dwellers of 298, but not through luck- no, he engineered their deaths. He had experimented on each and every one of them, mutating them beyond viability, in a quest to create the ultimate survivalist. Somehow he convinced Llwelyn's parents of his noble goals, and his mother agreed to be experimented on.

It would be her demise.

Llwelyn tore his way from her womb when he first transformed. The young Deathclaw then turned on his father, and would've killed the Doctor if he hadn't sealed the medical chamber's doors against him. But was Dr Rald rightly horrified at his actions? No. He was simply in awe that at last his creation had worked- he had created a perfect survivalist, the perfect predator- a Deathclaw that could disguise itself as a human. He continued to experiment on Llwelyn, the child growing up under an influx of chems, radiation, and bioengineering. Making him faster, stronger, tougher, giving him the regenerative abilities of a lizard, the heat-sensing ability of a snake, and of course the all powerful strength of a Deathclaw. There were drawbacks, of course. Llwelyn's snow-white skin being one of them. His albinism makes him not only highly distinctive, but affects his vision poorly and leaves him vulnerable to bright lights. The other setback was the pain of transformation- staying in the human form hurts, aching bone-deep pain that's unaffected by chems. He's immune to them all by now anyway.

Unfortunately, the Doctor was not a particularly pleasant parent, and his own personality is what caused his demise. He frequently forced Llwelyn to fight and kill other Wasteland creatures, from radroaches to dogs to fellow deathclaws. Eventually he began bringing in raiders. Traders. People. All to "test" Llwelyn's strength, his loyalty, his weaknesses.

He finally decided on Llwelyn's 13th birthday that he was old enough to truly test his mettle in the Wastelands. Believing Llwelyn sufficiently broken, and would never leave his father figure, he arrogantly didn't use any kind of preventative measure to stop the youth from leaving.

The moment Llwelyn stepped outside he was gone.

The Doctor hunted him. Of course he did. Posters and bounties for the snow-white deathclaw still can be found in the settlements around Vault 298. It was described as a legendary beast, a powerful monster nigh unkillable with its rapid regeneration and quick thinking mind. He wanted it caught alive- but would pay handsomely for its corpse. He also offered a bounty for his wayward runaway son, a simpleton who just didn't understand the dangers of the Wasteland. Many money-hungry glory hunters sought the albino deathclaw. None ever made it back. The hunters slowly dwindled even as the money grew. Nobody wanted to fight something so horrific as that. The Doctor grew desperate. Too old to hunt Llwelyn himself, without the aid of Wastelanders he had no chance.

Until someone finally answered the bounty call.

Llwelyn himself.

Now 20, the boy's time in the Wastes had changed him. He'd met a kind lone wanderer who'd also escaped a vault and who offered him company in the empty lands. The kind stranger taught him everything about the Wastes, taking on the boy as a wayward son. They'd parted ways with much sadness but also many happy memories, and now Llwelyn returned alone to finish his own personal quest.

He killed Doctor Rald.

Free at last from the good doctor's influence.

The rumours of the white deathclaw never stopped, despite it never being seen. It's said it was the one that tore apart Dr Rald, the man offering its bounty, as some kind of retribution.

Whatever the story, it's something the lonely trader isn't interested in telling. He's just come to the Commonwealth and is far more interested in selling his wares to the people of Diamond City than silly stories about scary monsters. No, it's not odd that he sleeps outside of the protective walls of Diamond City, in nothing but a simple tent. Plenty of people survive sleeping rough. Raiders and radscorpions and super-mutants and ghouls aren't that common. No, he's never seen nor heard any Deathclaws about. They don't commonly reside near Diamond City anyway. It's probably just rumours and imagination. Yes, he's heard about the band of raiders found ripped to shreds nearby. Probably just super-mutants and their hounds. Nothing to worry about. Incidentally, would you like to buy his new stock of guns? Still smokin' hot!

#fallout #fallout 4 #long post #fallout oc #deathclaw #oc: llwelyn #deathclaw oc #'you cant make an oc whose a shapeshifting deathclaw thats too op!1!'#he cries when someones mean to him hes not exactly the king of the commonwealtg #yes hes op but he doesnt have the personality to act on that really #he hates fighting #he only fights when he has to- like when a band of raiders jump his ass #he has terrible claustrophobia btw its why he wont sleep inside diamond citys walls it freaks him out #also he likes to spend at least 1 hour a day in his true shape because ouchy ouch his bones :(#the glasses are prescription!! the man cant see!!#my art

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rachelkruglyak · 6 months

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Vampire Diaries, Blood Brothers (S1, E20): Panel Presentation

Stefan Feeds On His Dad's Blood (Flashback) - The Vampire Diaries 1x20 Scene

Episode’s Connection to Reading:

In her article “Growing up in Magical Time: Representations of Female Growth and Development in ABC’s Once Upon a Time”, one of the episodes from Once Upon a Time that Katherine Whitehurst focuses is“The Stable Boy” (season 1, episode 18) and “The Queen is Dead” (season 2, episode 15). This episode uses flashbacks to highlight the character development of the Evil Queen. In “The Stable Boy” we see how Regina went from being a compassionate young woman to the path that ultimately resulted in her being the Evil Queen. Whitehurst argues that “Regina’s inability to cope with loss and put the needs of others above her own separates her from Snow White and the “good” characteristics Snow White embodies” (Whitehurst, 10). In the Vampire Diaries episode “Blood Brothers”, the viewer sees through Stefan’s vampire origin story, which paints Stefan as the original bad brother. He becomes a vampire after accidentally killing his father and tasting the blood. He then forces Damon to become a vampire as well. This contrasts with his sympathetic representation in the present-day storyline, where he is feeling guilty for drinking Amber’s blood. Whitehurst writes, “In juxtaposing Regina’s history with her villainy in the serial storyline, the program expands her story and complicates her character, creating a sympathetic and emotionally complex figure who is both victim and villain” (Whitehurst, 10). In showing Stefan’s backstory, the audience comes to view him as both victim and villain, too.

Statement:

How does the series' form and content inform the relationship of female physical and emotional growth and development?

Over the course of The Vampire Diaries, Bonnie and Caroline are examples of female characters that undergo growth and development. In the first episode, Bonnie says that her grandmother told her that she was a witch. Bonnie doesn’t believe it at first, and doesn't know how to use her magical powers, but by the sixth episode, she understands that she does have power. Her grandmother teaches her how to use her powers, similar to Snow White’s story. When her grandmother dies, Bonnie must practice and continue her education on her own. As the show progresses, Bonnie becomes more and more powerful and is constantly using her power to save the day. In the final episode of the series, Bonnie saves the entire town by moving a huge hellfire away from the town and sending it back to hell where it originated.

Caroline starts off as a preppy barbie who is incredibly shallow. After turning into a vampire at the beginning of season 2, she will no longer age for the rest of the series, an example of a mismatch between a character’s chronological and physical age. She eventually becomes a much more developed character, and becomes increasingly loyal. She becomes a strong team player, keeping morale up and helping others, a major shift from the self-absorbed character that she was at the beginning. She even mystically becomes the surrogate for another character’s twin babies, and as a loyal friend, she carries the babies to term and becomes the first vampire to give birth.

In what ways does the series use cinematic timing to chronicle character transformations?

The series uses a series of flashbacks to provide context and to show how much characters’ lives have changed. These flashbacks provide more information on Stefan and Damon in the past, and help to tie together the past and the present. In season 7, there are a few episodes that begin with a flash forward to three years in the future which show how things have changed. There is one episode in season 3 in which they are trying to solve murders and there is a flashback to 1912 that reminds Damon of what had happened decades earlier. The flashback helps Damon and Stefan realize that there was a confession, which ultimately helps them to solve the current murder.

How are the primary characters' ages and development coded by the characters around them?

At the beginning of the series, the majority of the main characters are juniors in high school, and everyone else’s ages are based on that. These characters are supposed to be youthful and oblivious to the presence of vampires in their town, unlike their parents who know exactly what’s happening. The only exception to this is Elena and Jeremy’s aunt Jenna, who is younger than the rest of the guardians and is seen as less put together than them. Jeremy, who’s only a year younger than Elena and her classmates, is seen as incredibly immature, which is evidenced when Vicki doesn’t want to let everyone know that she and Jeremy slept together because she’s older than him. Damon is several years older than Stefan is. Matt is the most mature as he has to get a job so he can pay bills. His mom is immature compared to him, which is evident when she makes out with his best friend.

As the show progresses, these high school students who are the main characters go to college and become exposed to the supernatural element of the town. Exposure to the vampires and other supernatural creatures forces them to mature as they must navigate dangerous situations to survive.

Vampires don’t age physically. But as they become older chronologically, they become more experienced and their powers get stronger. As a result, other characters perceive vampires based on their actual age not the age they appear. This results in a dichotomy between their appearance and the way in which other characters perceive them. For instance, Katherine is 500 years old and the other characters are afraid of her and her powers. The Originals, a group of vampires who are all 1000 years old, are considered particularly fearsome. Klaus is the most feared of all vampires and is described as “the oldest vampire in the history of time.”

In what ways does the series reflect narratives of youth represent narratives’ adult functionality or dysfunctionality?

Katherine was shown as a human The show has a few flashback scenes that show the lives of certain vampires when they were human, before they became vampires. The show shows Katherine as always putting her own needs first. Katherine met Klaus and was friends with him. She learns that he needs her blood for a ritual that will reactivate his werewolf side. To do this, he would need to drink all of her blood. Katherine tries to escape and a vampire named Trevor tries to help her. He tells her to go to a specific place and they’ll take care of you. The family wants to give her back to Klaus, but she’s hurt and Rose heals her with Rose’s blood because vampire blood heals. Katherine kills herself because if you die with vampire blood in your body, you transition. Klaus needs her to be human. By turning herself into a vampire, she thwarts Klaus, who needs her to be human, but puts Trevor and Rose in danger. Trevor and Rose must run from Klaus for years after this. As a vampire, Katherine continues to use others for her own needs. At one point, she puts her soul into Elena’s body to avoid dying.

How does the series use the fantasy genre as an area for framing virtue and villainy?

The Vampire Diaries uses the fantasy genre for framing virtue and villainy by having the humans represent virtue and innocence and the vampires, werewolves, hybrids, travelers, and Heretics be the villains. The vampires have a switch in their brain that allows them to turn off their “humanity.” This is when they are at their deadliest. They also require blood to survive and are not above killing humans to get it, even when their humanity is on. Throughout the seasons, additional types of nonhuman creatures are introduced and they are consistently portrayed as villains. Hybrids that represent a mixture of two types of villainous creatures are even more dangerous. The show is a good example of “othering” as it portrays creatures other than humans as evil and malicious. The many different types of nonhuman characters have the capacity to murder humans.

Critical Thinking Questions

What is the impact on the viewer when actors are clearly not the age of the character they are playing?

What emotional impact can be achieved by telling stories in a non chronological way and how can this be even more impactful than telling the story chronologically?

Whitehurst writes about “framing the ideal female as self-sacrificial and benevolent,” are female characters presented in stories as valuable only to the extent that they put others’ needs before their own?

Is it easy to “other” creatures that are not human such as vampires and werewolves? Do you perceive instances in which, as Whitehurst implies, women are “othered” because they have normal human emotions.

#oxyspeculativetv #@theuncannyprofessoro

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maledollmaker · 1 year

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The Abadondoned Lab

The Abandoned Lab

Based on a dream I had. Images from Dream AI app.

Two men entered an abandoned science lab with overgrown weeds and plants growing everywhere. There was no electricity, so there was no light, and it was dark. Some sunbeams did peak in from boarded up windows. Without the plant life, the lab would be white and shiny. Underneath the plants, there was robotic equipment and rusty old computers. One of the men was taller than the other, he was very handsome and looked like the actor Marc Blucas. His name was Nathan Sanders. He had light brown hair and grey-green colored eyes. He has a five o’clock shadow on his face. Both men were wearing army fatigues. The shorter man had rugged good looks and looked like Linden Ashby. He had green eyes, silver, and brown hair. He has English, Scottish, and Scandinavian ancestry. His name was Aaron Sanders, Nathan’s father. Nathan was like a perfect soldier. Aaron was a rugged outdoors man and had a chip on his shoulder.

Aaron looked around and then sucked his teeth. “Well, this is a shit hole,” Aaron said with his hands on his hips. Nathan asked, “This is the place right?” Aaron nodded. Aaron walked to a console and took out a machete from his backpack and started chopping vines on top of the console. Nathan ripped them off his bare hands. They eventually got the vines off the console. Nathan took out a reserve generator out of his backpack and plugged it into the console. A roar came out of the machines and lights flickered. A hum rang and the console lit up. Suddenly they heard glass break. Wood panels from the window broke up and various men in dark outfits ruptured out of the windows. They almost looked like Ninjas, but their outfits had Velcro, leather, and modern straps. They unsheathed their swords and came out towards Nathan. Nathan grabbed one of the swords with his bare hands and kicked one of the men down with full force. The black dressed man was knocked out on the floor. Nathan punched another man coming towards him.

Two men came towards Aaron, and he fought them. A man tried kicking Aaron in the stomach and Aaron grabbed the leg and pushed it forward. Aaron got his rifle and shot the man down. The second man punched Aaron on the shoulder, but Aaron recovered and punched the man in the face. The man recovered and they continued fighting. The two men grabbed Nathan by the arms and tried to hold him over a wall, but he quickly overcame them. Nathan flipped them over on their backs. He stepped on one man’s stomach and the other man got up and tried to hit Nathan. Nathan punched him down without turning around. Eventually they were able to take down the men, most of the men were dead, injured or knocked out. “Let’s get back to business,” Aaron said. Aaron and Nathan uncovered a large metal chair. The metal chair was hooked up to the console Aaron exposed before the men arrived.

Nathan sat on the chair and Aaron gathered cables. He had one cable input and put it near the back of Nathan’s neck. Suddenly a USB port appeared on his skin. Aaron inserted the cable into the port. Nathan winced. Aaron got another cable and inserted into Nathan’s wrist and another on above his right ear. USB ports appeared on those spots. Aaron asked, “You ready?” “Yeah,” Nathan said taking a deep breath. Aaron pressed the buttons of the console and Nathan’s facial expression changed. He stared into nowhere and his face looked neutral. It was as if Nathan ceased to be and was just an object. In fact, Nathan was not technically Aaron’s biological son but his invention, a human-like android. He had a more human acting mode and a robotic mode. Aaron pressed some buttons and Nathan responded by saying, “Operational Mode.” “K, let’s find that secret info,” Aaron said. The chair started humming and started transforming. It became a table and Nathan’s body moved in position of the table and laid there. Robotic cables came out of the console and removed Nathan’s army shirt revealing his buff pecs, muscled biceps and shiny six pack abs. Robotic cables removed his camouflage pants to reveal green briefs, large thighs and chiseled calves. The robotic cables took off his boots to reveal his perfect barefeet.

“Access info,” Aaron said. “Accessing,” Nathan said. Aaron kept pressing buttons Suddenly, Aaron heard footsteps. “We have company,” Aaron said. Nathan did not respond. In the room, an African American man in a navy three-piece suit entered. He had a clean shaved head and seemed slick. “Thank you for finding the info I needed.” Aaron asked, “What makes you think I am going to give it to you?” “Oh, you will,” the man said. More men came up behind Aaron and quickly took hold of him. Aaron tried escaping but they could not. The man smirked and made a movement with his head. The men then took Aaron away, leaving the man alone with Nathan. The man got close to the console and pressed some buttons. He smiled at the handsome unresponsive Nathan. The man tickled Nathan’s bare feet. “Let’s have some fun.” The man pressed buttons and inserted a flash drive into the console. Nathan said in a robotic way, “Pleasure Mode Unlocked.” Lex pressed some buttons, and the table was transformed and went up, having Nathan stand up. The table inserted itself with the wall and merged with the wall. Nathan was strapped to the wall.

Lex pressed buttons and the robotic cables removed the other cables off Nathan. The straps electronically came off Nathan. The man caressed Nathan’s hair and touched his thighs. Nathan stared blankly ahead. The mysterious man fondled Nathan’s pecs. He twerked his right nipple. Lex then put his lips on Nathan’s pec and started to suck it. “I always wanted to do it that since Aaron first built you, now you’re mine,” the man said. “Yes, Lex,” Nathan said. “Call me Master,” Lex said. “Yes, Master,” Nathan said. “Assume the position,” Lex said. Nathan nodded without emotion. The muscled nude man wearing only green briefs removed the briefs and they fell to his ankles. Lex stared at his firm glutes. Nathan got on his knees on the floor and put his open palms on the floor. Lex smirked and took out his **** from his pants. He didn’t have to lube up and __ the bot in the ass. Nathan quickly started massaging Lex’s ___ and Lex didn’t have to work. He felt extreme pleasure and loved the thrusting. Eventually Lex came all over Nathan’s perfect plastic butt. Later Lex said he had the info he needed and now he had an obedient bot.

#asfr #male asfr #sex robot #android #male robot

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asleep-in-the-keep-sideblog · 7 months

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Asleep In The Keep: A DP x BNHA fic

Summary: What face haunts you in the mirror?

Word count: 1883

Chapter 16: A Mask Of My Own Face

16/?

Danny jumped back, not expecting it to work. He laughed at his reflection, at his human face. He could go back home, back to his old life! He wasn’t dead, he didn’t die, nothing had to change. He could go back to Amity Park and to Sam and Tucker and continue high school. He could have a life where he laughed with his family while continuing to ignore Phantom. He could eat (he missed food already), sleep, and die! There was freedom in death, true death. He could grow old and he wouldn’t have to mourn his friends, already the idea of him outlasting them was too much (he didn’t wish ghosthood on anyone).

Things could go back to the way they were, how they should be.

He reached his gloved hand up to touch his face, his human face. Despite being in his human form, he didn’t feel any different. He still felt static and far off. He crept slowly towards the mirror, as if his own reflection was an animal that would be scared off. Scared and unsure eyes looked back at him. Was this really him?

His eyes, while mostly blue, had specks of green in them, like dried paint at the bottom of a color pallet. He was paler now too, he was always pale as a human, but now he could faintly see the green veins running below the surface. His hair was different as well. A white streak standing out on a black background. He looked like he was paying homage to his dad’s old band.

This didn’t look right.

This didn’t feel right.

He grabbed his cheek and slowly, like a band aid being ripped off, pulled at his skin. It stretched like rubber. Everything froze, and ice traveled up the walls. He was still a ghost. He was still dead.

Danny quickly realized he was still wearing the hazmat suit. With shaking hands, he pulled off one of his gloves. For the first time since waking up, Danny saw his naked hands. They were blue like the rest of him, but his nails were sharper now, and thick. How many more times did he have to be reminded he was no longer human? With each passing day, he found something new that he had lost. Until he understood, something whispered in his head.

He ignored the voice and continued his task. His face was humanly pale, but his hands were blue. When did he stop being human, and start being a ghost? He traced along his Lichtenberg scars. They were now a neon green from the ectoplasm that flowed beneath. He pulled up his sleeve and only found the same. It was clear what he had to do, but he didn’t want to do it. Softly, he grabbed the zipper to the hazmat suit.

Even back in Amity, his Phantom body was different than his own; he was taller, more masculine and his chest was flatter. Complex emotions woke up inside him everytime he tried to lift his shirt. It was the body that he wanted and longed to have. It felt natural to him, like there was no time before; but at the same time, it left him bitter. It taunted him. It said it was something only achievable through death, and so there was no hope in life. He had avoided it every time Sam or Tucker bandaged him up, and later he learned to ignore it in the mirror when it was just him. Eventually as he got more scars, he used that as an excuse.

He envied how his Phantom body looked, and he hated that he did. He felt guilty everytime as Phantom when he would stop and stare at the side of his chest. Why did Phantom get to have that body while Fenton got nothing? It wasn’t fair, it felt like he was robbed. That was ridiculous of course, how could he even be jealous of himself? Now it was all there was left. It was him and he was it, he had to accept it one way or another. Maybe with his human side gone, there will be no more envy (just regret). He clutched his other hand to his chest. No breath came in, no breath came out.

He finally pulled down the zipper. The material opened to reveal a peak of his collarbones, the rest hidden under an orange tank top (it was blue before the accident). He moved the straps around to see the skin underneath. There were a few scrapes and scars along his collar, long since faded since Danny last got them. More foreign feelings licked his guts. His body had become unrecognizable and was no longer his. He needed to understand this, but his body rejected every reminder. The scars were now pale and soft, as if time had sanded them down.

This wasn’t what he was looking for. Just before his shoulders started, was a mesh of pale skin being overtaken by blue. It looked like if somebody put his human head onto his ghostly body. He grazed it with his fingers; it was smooth, no bumps or grooves to mark the change.

Curiosity overcame him and stripped the rest of the top part off the suit. He stopped at the belt, and his sleeves fell past his waist. He looked like his mom whenever she was overheating during a project. He grabbed the bottom of his tank top, still apprehensive to expose his bare chest. He closed his eyes to help steal his nerves, and blindly pulled at the fabric. It got stuck in the belt and he had to yang harder to get it all out. Slowly he opened his eyes to the mirror.

He took a reactive breath in at the overall sight. His eyes went straight for his chest. It looked the same as before, only with more scars covering its surface. The guilt from before jumped up into his throat but he swallowed it down. He didn’t steal it from anyone, and Fenton was gone. Maybe he could learn to love it again.

There were many other scars that were a crisscrossing mess. Most of the little ones were almost gone, too shallow to leave much impact. There was one scar that Danny had just gotten a few weeks prior that was now barely thicker than a spaghetti noodle. How long was he in the Ghost Zone for? The larger scars from the more intense fights remained, seemingly unaffected by his time away. Most were painful reminders of the lessons he learned, and he had no negative feelings towards them so didn't mind that they remained. There were two, however, that he wished could be washed away.

The first one, and most distressing to Danny, had started to fade like the others, but it laid boldly on his chest like a declaration. Carved into his skin by a scalpel in a dark basement, was a crude Y. Its form was shaky, the stitches and care he got for it being done by trembling 14 year old hands.

It happened a few months after the accident. Danny was still naïve and inexperienced, he thought that his parent’s threats towards Phantom were empty; that if he proved to them he was good and helped them catch the ghosts, they would change their mind. They proved him wrong. He stuck around too long taunting them, and while he was laughing at his own jokes, his mom was firing up her ecto-bazooka. He didn’t know what happened after that, only coming too on the floor of his bedroom, panicked voices over him. It was Tucker that stitched him up, having been taught by his mom, but that didn’t mean he was any good. His hands kept shaking as he cried over him, and Sam frantically searched for any ghost thing that could help in the background. Danny survived of course, but couldn’t stand to be around anyone for a few days, his mind going back to that night… He’s glad he can no longer remember it.

His parents of course, were none the wiser, instead just bemoaning the loss of their research specimen. Danny swore then to never tell his parents about Phantom. They didn’t deserve to know anything more about him (or maybe he just wanted to protect them).

A snowflake fell on Danny’s cheek, snapping him out of it. It no longer mattered what they did. They weren’t here and he was okay. Questions echoed in his head about home, did he even want to go back? His core ached at the thought. He did. No matter how many scars it caused or how little he left behind, he wanted to go back. But maybe…maybe he could wait a little bit? Just to settle into his new skin, then he’ll go back. Not like he had much of a choice right now, he had no idea how to get back.

He raised a blue finger and grazed the scar. It didn’t hurt or sting, it just felt numb. It was smooth too, its edges no longer angry and raised. It would fade in time like the others, a symptom of forgetting his human life and the pain along with it. All ghosts forget their human lives after a while, usually when what they’re searching for can no longer be obtained. They either fade away or become something new. He knew the Ghost Writer was someone before, but after he spent so much time alone in his lair, he forgot his own name. Danny wonders what memories fade first, the good or the bad? Maybe that would help him make the decision (to stay or to go)? Danny felt strangely blasé about it.

He ran his finger down until he reached the bottom of his vivisection scar. The tail was eaten by a larger scar that started just before his ribs, the flesh still raw and tender. It was giant and round, almost like an eye. It sucked him in as he stared at it. He had only seen it as a hole before, back when it was still empty and spilling ectoplasm. He remembered how it felt when Pariah Dark ran him through.

He felt sick looking at it. He moved his palm down over his stomach where the scar resided. It was filled in but there was a dent where the flesh hadn’t fully settled in, like a single spoon full taken out of a new ice cream tub. The scar wasn’t perfectly circular, the outline of it being messy and jagged. Danny traced along the outside of it, taking in its shape. It looked like the sun.

Danny took a step back from the mirror to get a full view of himself. It was still snowing around him, and they floated around his head like a halo. This in combination with the moonlight casting upon him and his glowing body made him look otherworldly. If he wasn’t looking at himself, he would think it was some kind of fae disguising itself as a human, something metaphysical and unreal. The gnarly scars on his body shattered the illusion. He was something real, something you can touch, something you can hurt.

He was an ugly ethereal thing.

#danny phantom #dp #danny fenton #dp cross #dp crossover #dp fic #dp x bnha #boku no hero academia #mha #bnha #dp x bnha fanfic #dp x mha fanfic

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pandemi-writes · 2 years

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Danny Phantom / Owl House Crossover Concept!

Okay so I don’t have a plot for this, just a concept and a couple scenes, and I don’t want to start another wip when i don’t even have a plot... so anyone can take this, verbatim even, I give full permission.

So first thing’s first: This idea is set in The Owl House universe, with witches and magic, not ghosts (so also no Plasmius or Dani). So if you’re unfamiliar with TOH then i guess you can just skip this post.

Spoiler Warnings for TOH season 2 finale: King’s Tide

Buckle up, it got kinda long

Scene: It’s post-King’s Tide, so the Hexsquad is in the human realm... for at least a few days, no longer than a week for upcoming reasons.

The kids are outside in a fairly open area near the woods (?) but no one is around. They hear the sound of a car getting louder very quickly. They turn to see the GAV (would have to re-name the Ghost Assault Vehicle) screech to a halt near them. Jack and Maddie get out with their bazookas, followed by a frantic-looking Danny, trying to tell them to think this through.

They pull out some sort of hand-held devise that beeps when it’s turned towards the kids. Jack probably yells “WITCH!” before firing at them. Someone creates a magic shield, but the shot was for a smoke-bomb thing, and it starts pouring out this red smoke. Amity, Gus, and Willow drop to their knees, very much weakened, Hunter is weakened but less so, probably leaning heavily but not down, and Luz is not affected (but Glyph magic doesn’t work in the human realm so she isn’t able to do much).

Danny jumps in front of them before they can make another shot and tells his parents to stop. He looks a bit shaky. His parents call him back over but he refuses. Maddie, frustrated, calls out “Daniel Fenton-Wittebane, you get back here or else!” And he refuses again, so in an act of severe child-endangerment, she aims at the witches behind him. In that moment, white rings form around him and move up and down and transform him (no clothing change, just the white hair and green eyes if you want... the only required thing is the pointy ears) into a WITCH! Gasp!

The parents as well as the group behind him falter for a moment (Jack and Maddie could do a whole “What have you done with our son, witch?!” and a “I AM your son!” thing), so Danny grabs the downed group with Luz and Hunter and are able to start running away.

Danny makes a big circle with a free hand a little ways in front of the group as they’re running and yells to the group “Everyone hold your breath!” They run through the circle and turn invisible! They quickly loose Jack and Maddie because of the literary restraints of trying to hold your breath after/while running...

Background/Lore: A while after the two Wittebane brothers disappear into the realm of demons and witches, the remaining Wittebanes find a baby (Caleb’s and Unnamed-Lover’s baby!) (PLOT HOLE: idk how the child got to the human realm, or how the Wittebanes knew they were Caleb’s, etc, etc, etc... that’s for any author who wants to pick this up to decide, even if that decision is to simply not address it), and eventually leave Connecticut.

The child and their descendants are “cursed” (probably by the same witches and demons that lured the good brothers into their evil realm and killed them). They are a little susceptible to the affects of the Witchbane flower (read: Blood Blossoms) (term coined by the Wittebanes), and they have a weird tumor growing on their hearts. They continue the practice of Witch Hunting, even as the times move forward.

Maddie Wittebane eventually meets Jack Fenton (a descendant of (in)famous Witch Hunter John Fentonightingale) and they fall in love talking about their hatred for witches. Maddie used to have a brighter orange hair like Jazz’s, until she got her tumor removed (first one in her line to survive, thanks medical science!). Her weakness to Witchbane disappeared and her hair dulled to a more natural orange. Of course, she kept the tumor for study purposes.

Enter (yo) young Danny Fenton-Wittebane at just 14, he was poking around in his parent’s lab and accidentally turned something on near/under the tumor that Jack/Maddie had carelessly left out, and it exploded on Danny, activating his dormant Bile Sac! (the tumor was a witch’s bile sac, in case anyone didn’t figure that out) He’s a Witch! OH NO! But through panic and determination, he’s able to will the witch away (he unknowingly casts a Transmogrification spell on himself that turns him less witchy enough to pass the sensors his parents made and to cast a reverse-transmogrification spell).

Eventually he gets curious and when he’s alone, he transforms and practices magic.

Danny’s Powers: I’m thinking his powers would be pure -- uncorrupted by any structure or tradition -- Wild Magic. I think his powers would mirror Luz’s Glyph spells, each having a base of Light, Plant, Ice, or Fire. Absolutely no idea about any of the Isles’ magic tracts. He’d be able to do spells that no other witch has thought possible, but also would have no idea how to do some basic spells from the Isles. One of his favorites is Flight! He would take a levitation spell and just kinda supercharge it.

Sam and Tucker: 3 options for Danny’s friends: 1, they just don’t exist. 2, they were his friends back in not-Connecticut (idk what state, it varies). 3, they’re in Connecticut and Danny could stay with Camila and the gang (dang sorry Camila), and Danny could meet them at school.

If they exist, Tucker could stay the same, he’s perfect the way he is. SAM on the other hand is absolutely a Witchy-Goth. If you find the right online spaces, you can find people who have found Glyph magic, and do their own glyphs and combos! (The problem is... they all think that if the paper disintegrates, the curse/blessing worked, because the paper magically disintegrated!) When Luz finds this, she’s able to actually know what those combos would do if they actually worked, and finds new combos, and is inspired to make more for when they return to the demon realm.

Other Notes: If Danny gets to the demon realm, he could adopt a little green dog palisman named Cujo.

I don’t have any plot so anyone can take this and run with it, change anything you want, take everything verbatim, go wild (magic)!

I FORGOT! So when the portal opened up to spit the kids out, the Fenton-Wittebane household got a ping on their new Magic Detector! So they packed up and drove to Connecticut, so that’s why it took a few days to get there.

#Danny Phantom #The Owl House #Crossover #Fic Concept

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fistsoflightning · 2 years

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still anything i can do

ffxivwrite2022 08: tepid (make-up day entry) adj. marked by an absence of enthusiasm or conviction.

thancred & zaya. bad end(ish) continuation to this 2021 fill. 1824 wc. general lightwarden body horror cw, mostly for the last third.

Feo Ul leads them through the palace halls like he and Ryne are sightseeing, pointing out stained glass windows the pixies have changed to show leafmen instead of knights and little glowing mushrooms growing in corners courtesy of the Nu Mou each time Ryne’s eyes catch on a stray crystal or feather swept into a shadow. Every turn, a new sight, the palace dressed lavishly in brilliant oranges and spring greens and sky blues to hide the Light festering within; each grand sweep of their arm redirects Ryne’s anxious fidgeting into awe and reveals to Thancred another sign of what happened as Feo Ul fought to seal Norvrandt’s last Lightwarden away. Scorch marks on the walls behind their wings, the suggestion of hands clawing at the doorframes hidden behind vines.

He owes them a thousand times over—for taking initiative and spiriting Zaya away when he hesitated, for locking them away while the rest of them chased after Emet-Selch, and especially for what he and Ryne are about to try.

(If they even survive it—)

Eventually the King leads them to a halt in front of a grand set of doors, held shut by flowering ivory branches and violet vines, all their flowers a soft, glowing blue. The doors themselves are cracked, standing by virtue of fae magicks, and the air here is lukewarm when the rest of the palace is warm from the midday sun; Ryne steps forward and reaches toward a flower, flinching away the instant her fingers brush against a petal.

“They’re corrupted,” she whispers, unbearably loud in the silence of the palace. Feo Ul hovers closer to the floor as Ryne turns, hands nervously clasped around each other. “Are these vines binding them?”

Feo Ul smiles, the sad curve of their lips ill-fitting for one of their kind. “Though they knew what was happening, my poor beloved sapling was not so keen on being locked away,” they say, turning the palm of their hand towards Ryne until the scratches and bites lining their arm are apparent. “I was worried that, had I left them to roam freely, they would chew and claw their way through the palace walls, and so with a heavy heart I bound them in the room with the best view of the sky.”

Thancred catches himself before he begins to imagine it, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from slipping into what-ifs, but Ryne does not have the same fortitude; she gasps, then immediately clasps her hands over her mouth when a mournful trill echoes out from the cracks in the door, skin turning white from how hard she presses her fingers into it.

When the sound stops, and Ryne lowers her hands from her mouth, her voice comes out somber, horrified. “They don’t deserve to be trapped in there,” Ryne mumbles, tears gathering in her eyes when she turns to him; he reaches for her shoulder and gently pulls her closer. “If only I—I could have…”

“‘Tis not your fault, I promise. I know you did everything you could to help them,” Thancred says, for lack of better words, and runs his hand down her hair in what he hopes is a soothing motion. He looks up to Feo Ul, still towering over him and Ryne as they sit on the ground. “Will you allow us in?”

The King hesitates, eyes narrowing as they appraise him. “Your kind cannot float nor fly as I can,” they say carefully. “My precious flower is quite sensitive to sound, as they are now. Mere footsteps may be enough to reignite their frenzy.”

Thancred’s brow furrows, remembering the ruins Zaya had made of their Pendants room, blinded by pain. He can’t imagine it’s grown much better with time, or with their transformation, especially if Feo Ul feared that Zaya would tear down all of Lyhe Ghiah to escape with only their teeth and claws.

He looks down at Ryne; she’s still sniffling, but no longer looks as if she might begin sobbing if he were to step away.

“I’ll go in, and you stay here with Feo Ul, alright?”

Ryne whips her head up immediately with a determined gaze. “I—I have the Blessing of Light,” she says, voice still unsteady as she wipes the tears from her face. Her newfound bravery make him proud and nauseous all at once. “And I can push the Light back, too, so it should be—”

“None of that will matter if Zaya snaps again.”

Ryne flinches, averting her eyes to stare at the palace tile; a low rumble emanates through the door. Thancred bites his cheek until he tastes iron, realizing what he’s done.

“I’m sorry for raising my voice,” Thancred says, his tongue heavy. He kneels down to look Ryne in the eyes, even as she looks between her feet, and gently squeezes her shoulder. “I know you want to help, but I have more practice walking quietly, and if I draw their ire I can handle it until Feo Ul rebinds them.”

Please let me do this for you, he doesn’t say. I can’t lose you too.

Hesitantly, Ryne looks back up at him, her lips pressed into a thin line and her hands gripped tight in the skirt of her dress. “Okay,” she says, “but you have to come back. You have to.”

Thancred gives her his most reassuring smile, though he fears the dark circles beneath his eyes don’t quite inspire confidence. “Promise. We can get coffee biscuits when we return to the Crystarium.”

Ryne sniffles, nods quickly twice, and pulls the small pouches out from her dress pockets to hand over to him; their contents clink and clatter as he grips them. If Ryne and Y’shtola are right, then these are the key to freeing Zaya from their suffering, and to banishing the last bit of everlasting light from Norvrandt for good.

If they aren’t…

Thancred shakes his head, pocketing the sachets. “I’m ready,” he says to Feo Ul, standing back up and straightening out his coat. Ryne steps back and reaches for their hand, watching him like he might simply dissipate into thin air.

Feo Ul nods, and rises, regal and proud as they raise their scepter to the door. “Then I shall unbar your way,” they say. “Yet know this: the doors must be closed behind you.”

Thancred’s brow knits in concern. “How will I return?”

They sigh exaggeratedly. “Silly mortal. Your kind is so forgetful, but surely you remember how I was—and still am!—a brilliant branch for all my saplings. ‘Tis simple to do the same for you.”

In a smooth motion, Feo Ul taps their scepter against one of the largest branches; in response, the vines untangle and the branches recede enough for the doors to swing open a crack. The light coming from inside is far brighter than evening sunlight, Thancred notes.

“Simply return to these doors, call my name, and answer my question when I appear. Then shall I throw wide the doors, to take a page from our [friend of crystal] and his books.”

Thancred, despite himself, groans in exasperations. “Great. Pixie riddles.”

Still, he couldn’t deny it was a clever failsafe, if not an ominous one. No point in letting him out if he’d gone in and been turned. He stepped through the small gap between the doors, and turned back once he was through to look at Ryne, at how her knuckles had gone white where they were grasping Feo Ul’s fingers.

“I’ll be back soon,” he promises, and then the doors swing shut once more with a thud.

As soon as they do, a low warble echoes from behind him, questioning, a rustle of something soft following it. Thancred takes a moment to adjust his footing—the floor is uneven, covered in vines and small crystals—and braces himself before he turns.

Thancred still flinches when he sees them, a small noise of surprise escaping his mouth.

Zaya’s six wings rustle at the noise, immobile in the web of vines Feo Ul has woven to trap them in and larger than Thancred himself. Storge, according to Urianger, had taken a elemental-like form, and Zaya’s own seems to have followed suit; they are little more than their head and the upper third or so of their torso, with their arms shattered off at the elbow. The rest is the crystals entangled in the vines that string across the room and around the pillars, sometimes coming together to form a detached forearm that doesn’t fit with the ruins of Zaya’s original ones. A golden, four-pointed star is tangled in the hollow of where Zaya’s ribcage should be, pulsing with light in the facsimile of a heartbeat.

He steps further into the room, gritting his teeth when he hears something crack underfoot. Feo Ul’s magic must have influenced their form—Zaya’s flesh has become a kaleidoscope of color, vibrant beneath the white and gold shell of their skin. With each step he takes the air grows a little colder, a little thinner, up until he is standing before Zaya and his breath is making visible clouds in the air.

A songbird trapped in a diremite’s web, he thinks when they makes another noise that, if Thancred were looking away, he might have mistaken for a birdcall.

“It’s good to see you again,” he says despite better judgment, swallowing past the lump in his throat to keep his voice low and kind. Their left horn is missing entirely, and the right hardly looks any better, the blue crystal in it gifted to them by Minfilia bleaching white. “Is it me, or have you grown taller?”

Zaya blinks at him, face void of their habitual smile, as if he is only talking to a statue with their face. Thancred inhales, letting the frigid air clear his mind.

“Found something for you while I was away,” he says.

Several bunches of vines around the room snap. Thancred tenses, reaching for his gunblade to fend off whatever’s coming towards him, but the crystals never touch him; instead, they gather together before Zaya until they reform into the remainders of their arms, hands cupped together and stretched towards him.

Thancred reaches out, gently tracing the palm of the right hand with his fingers, where their skin colder than ice. No scrapes or scars remain, besides the gilded cracks where the separate crystals come together—not even the one from Lahabrea’s Crystal of Darkness.

These are not their hands, but it will do.

He carefully reaches into his pockets for the sachets and pours them out, one by one, until all the auracite they’d collected after defeating Emet-Selch is piled in Zaya’s grasp. Gently, Thancred coaxes their stiff fingers to curl over the top of it.

Thancred looks up to meet Zaya’s many golden eyes, still staring at him. Through him, almost.

“Go on,” he whispers. “Feast.”

Beneath his freezing palms, the crystalline hands crush the pile into dust

#ffxiv #ffxivwrite2022 #thancred waters #thancred x wol #c: zaya qestir #sort of. yknow #|| go not gently [lightwarden au]#elie's ffxivwrite2022 #tales from the blue #also something i will potentially come back to later skgksd #title from radwimps - is there still anything that love can do #elie writes

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hypnolurker · 9 months

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ORIGINAL IMAGE FOUND HERE

“Alright Elliot that’s enough I think you’ve had enough fun with those magic powers of yours. I believe you, you can definitely do magic. I’m sorry I was such a skeptic, just…make my breasts normal size again would you? These are so much bigger than I’m used to, I don’t like the way they…jiggle so much. I look like a slut.” Monica begged.

Elliot and Monica were at the same prestigious college in the same class. She always wondered how Elliot seemed to do no work and yet get perfect grades so she decided to ask him about it. At first when Elliot told her about his powers she didn’t believe it. Who would? The ability to change reality? Ridiculous. Then he started changing her to prove it. He dissolved her top and bra into nothing so that he had a clear view of her bare chest. As Monica tried to cover herself up but as she grabbed her breasts they began to swell up in her hands. She felt them inflate until they were twice their previous size and gasped out loud. What the hell? How has he done that?

As she squeezed her new breasts in bewilderment she felt them tingle in response as they had also become rather sensitive. They were real. They were hanging right in front of her. Proof that he could alter her body however he wanted. She turned to him and begged him to stop. She realised how powerful he really was now and she was in danger of being completely transformed.

“Oh Monica, I’m just getting started. Your tits didn’t just suddenly grow. They’ve always been that big. Ever since that growth spurt in school when the boys started to notice you and you would let them feel you up in the toilets in exchange for doing your homework. Remember? That’s where your dream of being a hooker started.” Elliot stated matter-of-factly.

Monica’s head felt fuzzy for a second. That wasn’t true. That never happened. He just changed her tits now. Or…wait. She did remember that. The way the boys were so eager to fondle her was so hot. Not doing her homework was just a perk, she really enjoyed getting her tits squeezed and groped. Her schoolwork fell behind because she never did her own work and eventually she realised that selling her body was easier and she could always drop out of school and make quick money on the streets.

All the memories were there. Why did she feel so freaked out though? It was true, she was a hooker now so why was it that she felt so weird about it? Her tits were always this size. Wow she felt like a ditz.

“Ok Elliot, you’re right but I don’t get it…weren’t you supposed to change me to prove you had powers? Even a dumb hooker like me isn’t gullible enough to believe what you’re claiming” Monica responded, now with no memory whatsoever of her previous life that had been carelessly erased by Elliot.

“Ok how about this then. I’ve always been more into black girls so I think I’ll change your race next.” He proposed confidently.

Monica laughed at the stupid idea but then she felt heat throughout the entire surface of her body. She collapsed to the ground and looked down at her body to see her pale white skin slowly darken as a deep brown tone grew rapidly as it spread and dominated her skin.

She didn’t know what was going on but her whole body responded to the transformation with arousal. Everywhere on her was tingling pleasantly and her head was buzzing as she was going into heat. She caressed her morphing skin and it sent shivers along her spine. Grazing her breasts was amazing and she couldn’t help but moan. Her hand slid down to her underwear as she knew her pussy would feel even better.

The change continued to wash over her and she felt her body adjusting slightly. Hips widening, butt rounding out and lips puffing up as her skin was taken over by the new shade. A beautiful cocoa brown complexion, with even her nipples and drippy pussy turning darker to fit her new race.

“Elliot this…this is so wrong!” Monica moaned as her new extra sensitive pussy was demanding her attention more than ever.

“What are you talking about Monique? You’ve always been curvaceous and black. Just how I like it. That’s why I’m your pimp, remember?” Elliot asked with his sinister grin.

Monique was confused. Something about what he said felt so wrong. Everything felt wrong. Her name wasn’t Monique. Her name was…was…her name…why couldn’t she remember anything but Monique? She was almost certain he had changed it. That he had changed her too in some way. With those powers…she just had to remember…her name…her name…

Her name was Monique. She did remember. She remembered when she was working that corner in the city where all the white boys would approach her and when one guy didn’t want to pay, Elliot happened to be passing by and heard the trouble and came to set him straight. That’s when she knew he should be her pimp. Well, she confirmed it later that night at the motel when he made her cum her brains out. That was exactly how she remembered it.

“Well, sure. You’re my pimp, but what about those powers you said you had? Are you gonna show me or what?” Monique asked impatiently.

“Alright, I admit I don’t have any powers. It was a joke. Now weren’t you supposed to be working on your oral technique? You know I can’t have my girl’s cocksucking skills sloppy. Get to work, hoe!” Elliot ordered.

Monique remembered, she was getting a bit sloppy at servicing dicks with her mouth. She crawled over to Elliot and popped his stiff dick out of his pants. Looking up at him submissively she wrapped her plump cock pillows around his head and slowly slid her throat down until she was deepthroating his massive shaft. He grabbed her by the head and pushed her down further, telling her she needed to keep practicing her deepthroat as he held her head in place and roughly fucked her face.

Monique wondered what it would be like if Elliot really did have powers as his balls her slapping against her chin and his throbbing thick cock stretched her whore throat. It was hard to imagine her life being any different.

#story #mindbrokensluts #not mine #Reconstruction

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fatehbaz · 10 months

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[T]he advent of British imperialism in Myanmar. Elephants in their thousands were conscripted into the timber industry. [...] [An] episode in the history of the ecological impact of imperialism [...]. Accumulation in colonial Myanmar took several different forms, but there were two that had the greatest impact on the country's elephant populations. One was the extractive teak industry [...]. The other was the rice industry [...].

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During the late nineteenth century and into the early twentieth century, Myanmar became one of the world's biggest exporters of hardwoods. Teak was particularly desirable for its use in the production of ships, railway sleepers and luxury furniture. The rapid development of the timber industry was a vital motor in the expansion of capitalist and colonial relations in this often neglected corner of the Raj. Teak traders financed from Britain were vocal in lobbying Westminster and the Government of India to colonise the landlocked rump of territory [...]. Following the eventual annexation of upper Myanmar in 1885, they continued to inveigle the local government into interceding on their behalf in the borderlands with Siam [...]. Extractive logging operations [...] came into conflict with the shifting subsistence farming of some indigenous Karen communities. [...] Vital to the industry were elephants. [...] [T]he British regime asserted that elephants were the property of the state. [...] Moreover, elephants in the colony were not readily amenable to being controlled; officials were alarmed by herds of hundreds of elephants periodically wreaking destruction on freshly cleared agricultural lands, particularly as rice cultivation accelerated in the 1880s.

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The booming rice industry developed alongside the growth of the teak industry and had direct effects on elephant populations.

Like teak extraction, rice cultivation in Myanmar was of transnational importance. The rich alluvial soil provided fertile ground for the Ayeyarwady delta to undergo a dramatic transformation to become the largest rice-producing region in the world, having a ripple effect across the global cereal market.

The white rice exported from Myanmar fed colonised labouring peoples (and some non-human animals) engaged in commodity production across the Empire, most notably in neighbouring Bengal. The delta was crucial to an interdependent network of food security established through and underpinning British imperialism.

The changes on the delta itself were profound, both socially and ecologically. [...] [F]rom the 1850s what was still predominantly a mangrove-forested backwater at the margins of political power became a febrile hive of activity. Sparsely populated, isolated hamlets, hemmed in by the thick jungles and thickets of dense grass in the tidal delta, became enmeshed in an extensive tapestry of paddy fields, their populations growing fivefold to become thriving commercial hubs, connected by a busy riverine transport network to the bustling imperial port cities of Akyab (now Sittwe), Mawlamyine and Yangon. [...]

Thick forest needed to be felled, the undergrowth burnt, and the remaining dense network of roots dug out [...]. This work was underpinned by heavy borrowing, mostly from local Burmese and overseas Indian sources, and misfortune could lead to them defaulting on their loan and losing their land to their creditor. [...]

The ecological transformation was rapid, and from an elephant's perspective at least, profound. Focusing in on one of the fastest-growing deltaic areas between 1880 and 1920, around the townships of Thôngwa and Myaungmya, the impact is pronounced. Correspondence in 1886 identified 230 elephants living in the local forests. They would frequently raid freshly cultivated paddy fields, destroying crops [...]. However, just thirty years later, the local settlement report recorded that there were no longer any elephants left in the area. [...] [T]he rapid deforestation of the area to make way for paddy is likely to have been what displaced the local elephant populations. [...]

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[T]he government explored the prospect of organising official kheddahs [...] to solve two problems at once: to eliminate the problem of these rapacious elephants’ raids while meeting growing demands for elephant labour. [...]

At the same time, elephants became more important, indeed indispensable, for commercial teak extraction. In the analysis of former employees turned historians of the Bombay Burmah Trading Corporation, the largest teak firm operating in Myanmar, the acquisition of large herds of working elephants was pivotal in enabling imperial companies to dominate logging. [...]

The kheddah is a large stockade into which elephants are corralled after being chased down by humans [...]. [T]he Government of India was moved to sanction the establishment of kheddah operations in the colony in 1902, although the move was quickly exposed as an expensive, ill-fated folly. The scheme resulted in an appalling mortality rate, with roughly half the over 500 elephants captured in its first four years of operation dying of disease, neglect and trauma-induced breakdowns. To make matters worse, the superintendent, Ian Hew Warrender Dalrymple-Clark, was exposed in a dramatic court case as having adopted an alter ego, Mr Green, for the purposes of faking the deaths of elephants through forged paperwork, and selling them directly to timber firms, leaving the state out of pocket. The British regime, never entirely successful in realising its claim to Myanmar's elephants, left the capture of elephants mostly to colonised peoples through a licensing scheme.

These arrangements enabled the large timber firms, such as the Bombay Burmah Trading Corporation, to establish considerable herds of captive elephants [...]. By 1914 the Corporation had amassed a herd of 1,753 elephants. [...] Estimates for the overall number of timber elephants employed by the 1940s vary, but a figure of around 7,000, or 10,000 including calves, would seem plausible. [...]

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Elephants in Myanmar were caught between two modes of accumulation. The timber industry demanded their labour [...]. Meanwhile, the expansion of the rice industry was enabled [...] by cultivating more and more land. The resulting deforestation meant significant habitat loss and fragmentation for elephant populations. [...] Nevertheless, the history of elephants contains multitudes. Creatures, such as dung beetles and frogs, who rarely make it into archival collections in their own right, were intertwined and implicated in the lives of Myanmar's forest-dwelling giants. The transformations in elephant demographics and behaviour wrought by their mobilisation for teak production, the destruction of much of their habitats, [...] cascaded.

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All text above by: Jonathan Saha. “Accumulations and Cascades: Burmese Elephants and the Ecological Impact of British Imperialism.” Transactions of the Royal Historical Society, 32, pp. 177-197. 2022. [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks added by me.]

#ecology #abolition #imperial #colonial #landscape

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theblackdragon-studios · 2 years

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Taking a look at the animal crossing pic to see a list of characters, which you did well on, may I hear more about Pendara, BD, Megaera, and Azure please?

Alright:

Pendara/BD (They’re the same dragon)

She is the protagonist of the story. She started out seemingly a normal human but the events that lead to her transformation to the white and black dragon form change her whole understanding of reality. She eventually is found by a dragon from the Hidden Kingdom and they travel there together where she meets her friends (the ones in the asks so far).

Over time while there she learns to be a dragon and starts to think she finally understands who and what she is…only to be shown again this is wrong when she meets Nox, a mysterious but charming semi-aquatic dragon who teaches her the secrets of her true nature as a Spirit Dragon. This leads to her developing her nickname, Black Dragon or BD, which she uses when assuming this form. (And yes, other dragons find it amusing in the making fun of it way…but she mainly goes by BD for it in Spirit form)

Personality-wise, Pendara is shy and introverted, but when she feels comfortable around someone she is more talkative and full of questions or information. However she can also be too analytical and overthink things, and when betrayed she has a hard time giving that person another chance.

Megaera

Megaera is older than she looks. She is an ancient dragon and one of those that gave dragons the reputation they have as gold-hoarding, kingdom conquering monsters that were popular when I was young.

Megaera actually was once the most infamous dragon in the world, but her arrogance cost her in an encounter with a powerful witch. This resulted in Megaera being captured and imprisoned by the witch, bound by metal cuffs and chains that blocked her power. However, eventually Arkelm the Golden rescued her and they escaped together. However, Megaera still had one cuff on her left foreleg and she was set on revenge against the witch.

Arkelm warned her against it, but she ignored him and attacked the fortress. She destroyed it and killed the witch inside, but was unable to find a way to remove the cuff around her wrist. She didn’t let it stop her and tried to continue to grow her reputation as the most feared and respected (through fear and awe) creature on the planet.

Eventually she meets her match again, though, as she learns the cuff blocking her power also hurts her when she goes past the invisible line. Arkelm rescued her again, then nursed her back to health. Afterward, he gave her an offer he had given before…this time she took it. They traveled together for many years after that until they came to the Hidden Kingdom. There Megaera was united with her father who went by the title and name of King Blackthorn.

Now Megaera is acknowledged as the heir to the throne, but after her history she feels she is unworthy of it and hopes her father remains king for centuries more.

Personality-wise Megaera is boastful and outspoken, but not unkind in the present. In the past she was cruel and unpleasant, but now her old ways come out mostly in her temper and when she loses patience with her friends (Calixthzan especially). In other words she is prickly but past her shell she is loyal and cares for her friends. She also holds a deep respect for Arkelm after their years together as traveling companions. When Pendara arrived, Megaera was one of those less trusting of her as well.

Design information: Megaera and Blackthorn have a unique quality to their scales. The parts that are colored are only that way in light. The stronger or brighter the light source, the more vivid the colors. In darkness the body is completely black, save for the gold claws and teeth.

Azure

Azure…I haven’t developed much. He’s a Snake dragon in the Python family, which means he has snake-like tendencies such as sun bathing and swallowing his meals whole. He spends a lot of his time laying around soaking up sun, possibly because like most snakes he cannot regulate his own body temperature and needs to sun bathe to digest. If this is true or not, I haven’t decided.

Personality-wise, Azure is laid back and doesn’t care for conflict much. He seems to be closest to Frjord of the main group as well, since they tend to hang out a lot due to Frjord’s unusual liking for heat and sun despite being a colder climate dragon.

#blackdragon answers #dragon #dragons #headworld #fursona #persona #sona #Pendara #blackdragon #bd #OC #OCs #Megaera #Azure #blackdragon art #ask response #equaltaleau

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sterling-writes · 1 year

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@darknightfrombeyond

Well, if you insist 😏

(not like I wasn't bursting at the seams to talk about this anyway hehehe)

This became a lot longer than I anticipated, so...

TL;DR - Bo is blind now!

So! Over my vacation, I had the honor of staying with my best friend and RP partner (@creativeheartgemini / @sparrowjaywrites) which meant we got to catch up on some long-needed RP!

Which meant we got to develop a loooot of character and story stuff 😈

So for starters, they have an OC named Rowan, who is Bo's older half-brother. One of his features is that he is half-blind due to a magical accident when he was a kid. He was born with the same purple eyes as Bo, but his blind eye is silver.

However, we never truly went into detail about that accident. (We may have once, but it wasn't memorable...)

And in this timeline, one of the story elements is that Bo has emotionally-triggered magical outbursts that started when he was very young. I think we may have implied that his grandfather, Dromeus, was the one that instigated that as a tactic to convince Bo's dad to let him train Bo one-on-one, but I can't recall.

As I've mentioned before, Bo is a very... emotional person, and can even be mean at times if he's in a bad mood. Which doesn't mix well with the magical outbursts. Especially when you remember the fact that he has necrotic magic.

Eventually, one of those outbursts took place when Rowan was present, and it resulted in Rowan going blind in one eye. (I actually can't recall the context of why Bo lashed out, unfortunately. Maybe Kat will see this and chime in.)

Fast forward a good few years- Bo's a young adult by that point, I think. Or at least in his later teenage years. And something happens to Rowan that results in him dying. (Again, I can't for the life of me think of the context. Kat please bonk me on the head.)

Bo, of course, being a necromancer, uses his magic to bring him back to life. However, the resurrection triggers Rowan's magic, which bursts out...

...and blinds Bo in one eye.

So Bo has one purple eye and one ghostly-white clouded-over eye.

However, Rowan's magic is different than Bo's, and the magical damage continues to grow within Bo, spreading the blindness into his other eye.

Over the following few weeks, he slowly loses his remaining sight as his purple eye clouds over to match the other.

Xander (Bo and Rowan's father) tries to save his sight, but he finds out that if he tries to remove the magic that's blinding him, it would kill Bo.

So Bo is now entirely blind.

Normally with big changes like this, we treat them as temporary and usually find a way to fix them, or we leave it behind when we start a new timeline.

But after I went home, I kept thinking about it, and honestly?... I kind of like that for his story!

So, for now, that's Bo's permanent status! He's blind, and I'm having a great time thinking about all the different details and stories that come with that.

For example, Bo has a cane now, and I thought it would be super cool if it can also transform into his necromancer scythe 😍

And then I also thought it would be awesome if he trained his cat, Merlin, to be a sort of service animal (or service familiar, if you will) in that he can fetch small things for Bo, or run over and meow next to something he's trying to find.

One idea I'm kicking around is that someone, maybe Xander or Ollie, finds a way to restore Bo's eyes to their original purple color, even though he's still blind. And then maybe whenever he reaps or resurrects someone, they turn white for a few weeks before going back to purple. But I'm not entirely sure about it yet.

Those are the beans! They hath been spilt!

#long post #hehehe #i need to update his oc intro tbh #i hope you enjoyed haha #darknightfrombeyond #creativeheartgemini #sparrowjaywrites #also you can see how this would affect... ahem. spicy stuff going forward.

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henry-fox-biggest-stan · 1 year

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Snippet of my fic

“He can pinpoint moments throughout his life when he thought to himself, “See, this means I can’t possibly be into guys.” /// “that had to mean he was straight, right?” /// “Straight people, he thinks, probably don’t spend this much time convincing themselves they’re straight.

There’s another reason he never cared to examine things beyond the basic benchmark of being attracted to women. He’s been in the public eye since his mom became the favored 2016 nominee, the White House Trio the administration’s door to the teen and twenty- something demographic almost as long. All three of them—himself, June, and Nora—have their roles.” (Page 111-112)

I wanna hug him so bad.

More of Alex being really into denial.

He convinced himself he was straight through the years. Because he did not want to be queer.

Alex grew up in the south, probably religious, and even if he didn’t grew up religious, he grew up surrounded by religion. I mean, I think it’s canon than Oscar is religious. And not only he spent his childhood convincing himself than he was straight, but he continued to do it even as an adult (or almost an adult). When Alex started to appear more on the public eye, he wanted to keep a part —however small— or normalcy. For example, the key on his chain. It’s a reminder, a small piece of his old life, a reminder of how normalcy felt like. Alex hung it around his neck to be reminded of that, of where he came from, to not let himself forget it, to not let himself forget how Texas felt like, how Mexico felt like, how a normal life felt like. How he used to be.

This is more personal opinion than something than was maybe intended, but I feel like maybe Alex was scared than he would change into a completely different person over time. Than maybe fame and money and titles would change him, so he held into his old key, a reminder to himself to remember his roots, to not let himself be changed no matter what.

His old life, that was normalcy. Sure, his parents divorced, and his parents eventually were in Congress, but they also lived on a family house, with not a lot of money, where June and him grew up with their parents cooking and on their room on each side of the hall, and just being normal kids (in the way than Henry and Bea were never really allowed to be, for example). It was normal, it was the way most people in the US grew up, and were growing up, and will grow up. Alex grew up in the same way the people who voted for his mother, for him, grew up. That was a connection Alex had with them. He saw them, he understood them.

Lots of politicians grew up rich, they couldn’t truly understand the struggles of someone who grew up/who’s poor, but Alex can. Because he grew up poor. He grew up with his mother, daughter of a single mother, and his father, son of inmigrants. Sure, they had money, otherwise they would not have been able to study and get the positions required to get into Congress (I know nothing regarding politics, so let’s imagine I’m right), but still, they were not rich. Alex had a relatively normal childhood.

“What does this have to do with his bisexuality?” Patience.

To me, Alex’s bisexuality is a complex topic, specifically how he figured it out. I hate when people joke about how “oblivious” Alex is. Sure, some jokes are okay, but when people start acting like he’s dumb it really gets on my nerves. I love Alex, I mean, it’s maybe because he’s one of the first hispanic queer character than I really liked, and I’m hispanic too. Honestly I don’t know, I don’t kin him, I kin Henry, but Alex still is a really personal character to me.

So, moving on. We have Alex gaslighting himself into believing he’s straight since young, because even if he grew up with democrat parents, he still grew up on the south. Some things stick with you. Trust me, I grew up on a republican small town. We understand why baby Alex made himself believe he was straight, but what about older Alex?

Returning to what I said about Alex’s childhood being normalcy, Alex wants to keep this normalcy.

“There’s another reason he never cared to examine things beyond the basic benchmark of being attracted to women. He’s been in the public eye since his mom became the favored 2016 nominee, the White House Trio the administration’s door to the teen and twenty- something demographic almost as long. All three of them—himself, June, and Nora—have their roles.” Alex was attracted to women, that was accepted, that was okay, that was normal. Because Alex had that attraction to women than instantly categorized as “normal”, he never really tried to look deeper into his sexuality, because all he needed to know was than he was attracted to women. Alex got shoved into the public eye, his mom became the president, Alex moved into the White House and became a worldwide famous figure. Everything changed. Alex wanted to keep a little bit of normalcy in his life, he needed to keep it, otherwise he probably would have lost his sense of personal identity. Here comes his key, reminding him of who he was. But also, his sexuality. He liked women, that was normal, why need to look deeper when all he needed was to like women? With everything on his life changing, he wanted to keep a bit of normalcy, even if it was just his attraction to women. I mean, his life taking a big turn, losing most of his privacy, and on top of that, a sexuality crisis? That could not be healthy for anyone. So Alex tried to not focus on that.

“What about older Alex?” Well, older Alex (21 year old Alex) was not new to the public like 17 year old Alex was, but he still wanted to keep a bit of normalcy (that’s why he still kept the key on his chain around his neck). So he continued believing he was straight. Now, he kind of needed it even more. As a kid, if he turned to not be straight, it was okay. No one had to know. Now, Alex was worldwide famous, everyone would know.

“All three of them—himself, June, and Nora—have their roles.” All three of them had their roles. It was all planned, their public personas all created, Alex was not going to flip it all upside down. If he was queer, it would be a secret he had to keep, and Alex would have to hide himself even more. And if it was not a secret and he told everyone, it would make lots of his mom’s supporters change their opinion. Alex could not afford to be queer. Like, letting aside Alex not wanting to be queer, Alex just couldn’t be queer. No matter if he was okay with the idea or not. He couldn’t afford that. Just like Henry couldn’t be, Alex couldn’t be either. Except Henry was forced to hide himself forever by other people, while Alex’s struggle with his identity kind of came from himself. Ellen would probably help him come out, but Alex didn’t want to cause such revolt. Alex is a people pleaser, and even if he wasn’t, he didn’t exactly felt like making his mom lose audience and causing headlines all around the world.

This also reminds me of “The whole point of him is that his appeal is as universal as possible” and “This is the damage you cause, Alex, it all seems to say, right there in hard facts and figures. This is who you hurt”.

#rwrb #red white and royal blue #casey mcquiston #firstprince #henry fox mountchristen windsor #alex claremont diaz #red white & royal blue

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