So, Isn't This Terrifying?

Analysis of Laios’ succubus and theories on what it means - deep dive on Laios’ desires in human connections

Laios’ succubus is a very odd incident. I have some particular interpretations of why it was Marcille.

We know that succubus shows what one desires, stated in canon as “an alluring form”; mostly yes in a romantic or sexual sense, as seen with Chilchuck’s succubus being entirely set on looks and seduction, meanwhile Marcille’s does have a focus on chivalrous noble demeanor as well, showing romantic behavior and personality. BUT with Izutsumi we also see that the liaison doesn’t have to be romantic or sexual at all, either, in Izutsumi’s case it’s a familial bond she craves. So perhaps we can say that the succubus exploits a desire based on connection, in whichever form that takes.

But Laios’ case is more complex, it has layers. The thing is, even if Laios wanted to have someone able to turn him into a monster—which it didn’t even have to be, could straight up have just been a monster with such powers—, it didn’t have to be someone he knew. You could say the succubus wanted to disarm Laios’ suspicions with someone he knew and that was nearby, but the succubus seem very direct in every other case, simply appearing with someone’s greatest appearance even though both Marcille and Chilchuck were fully on guard AND the succubi knew that. No, his succubus being someone he knew was important. It being Marcille was important.

Strap in everyone, if you don’t know me hi I’m Fumi and I made this 2k words long analysis/ramble bc I am autistic and unhinged just like the character in question. In this I offer both platonic and romantic reasonings and I do go rather in depth of Laios’ psychology and relationships to dissect what ever could this damn cryptic event MEAN. Spoilers for the succubus chapters obviously and also the last few arcs of the series so… Spoilers for the series as a whole!!

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One of my biggest nitpicks in fiction concerns the feeding of babies. Mothers dying during/shortly after childbirth or the baby being separated form the mother shortly after birth is pretty common in fiction. It is/was also common enough in real life, which is why I think a lot of writers/readers don't think too hard about this. however. Historically, the only reason the vast majority of babies survived being separated from their mother was because there was at least one other woman around to breastfeed them. Before modern formula, yes, people did use other substitutes, but they were rarely, if ever, nutritionally sufficient.

Newborns can't eat adult food. They can't really survive on animal milk. If your story takes place in a world before/without formula, a baby separated from its mother is going to either be nursed by someone else, or starve.

It doesn't have to be a huge plot point, but idk at least don't explicitly describe the situation as excluding the possibility of a wetnurse. "The father or the great grandmother or the neighbor man or the older sibling took and raised the baby completely alone in a cave for a year." Nope. That baby is dead I'm sorry. "The baby was kidnapped shortly after birth by a wizard and hidden away in a secret tower" um quick question was the wizard lactating? "The mother refused to see or touch her child after birth so the baby was left to the care of the ailing grandfather" the grandfather who made the necessary arrangements with women in the neighborhood, right? right? OR THAT GREAT OFFENDER "A newborn baby was left on the doorstep and they brought it in and took care of it no issues" What Are You Going to Feed That Baby. Hello?

Like. It's not impossible, but arrangements are going to have to be made. There are some logistics.

CHECK OUT MY DRAWING PLEAAASE :)

Cooking With Tumblr: "Why Are We Here? Just to Suffer?" Edition

Tumblr, I come to you as a woman on the verge of fulfilling her destiny. Thanks to a viral poll by @relientk, the newest meme on Tumblr is vanilla extract, specifically the act of using too much of it. Pure vanilla extract is, of course, expensive and also strong in small amounts. Who among us has that much vanilla extract on hand and is foolish enough to attempt this?

Me.

For personal reasons, I have a lot of vanilla extract in my apartment. It was here before the meme, and it will be here after. I had all the ingredients for the horrible poll cake except for milk, so I went out and bought some milk. It is three in the morning and very cold outside. Why am I doing this now instead of waiting for the poll to finish? Two reasons: the first being how fickle the internet in burning through memes, and the second being that five days gives my better judgement enough time to convince me not to do this.

Will God stop my sinful hands before the cake makes it into the oven? Let's find out!

Random, but a really handy way to make things seem creepy or wrong in horror is to make them incongruously neat or clean:

In the middle of a horrific battlefield, you find one corpse laid aside neatly, straightened and arranged, its arms crossed neatly across its chest

As you walk through the garden, you gradually realise that the oddness you’ve been noticing about the trees is that they are all perfectly symmetrical

As you move through the abandoned house, you realise that suddenly that there’s no dust in this room, no dirt or cobwebs

You hear hideous noises coming from behind a locked door, screams and pleas, and visceral sounds of violence. When you manage to break down the door, there is no one there, and the room is perfectly spotless

In the middle of a horrific battlefield, a hollow full of churned mud and blood, you find five corpses cleanly dismembered, each set of limbs or parts neatly laid out in their own little row

You witness a murder, a brutal, grisly killing that carpets the area in blood. When you return in a blind panic with the authorities, the scene is completely clean, and no amount of examination can find even a drop of blood

You run through the night and the woods with a comrade, pulling each other through leaves and twigs and mud as you scramble desperately towards freedom. When you finally emerge from the forest, in the grey light of dawn, you turn to your companion in relief, and notice that their clothes are somehow perfectly clean

You hand a glass of water to your suspect, talking casually the whole while, and watch with satisfaction as they take it in their bare hand and take a drink. There’ll be a decent set of prints to run from that later. Except there isn’t. There are no prints at all. As if nothing ever touched the glass

You browse idly through your host’s catalogue, and stop, and pay much more attention, when you realise that several items on a dry list of acquisitions are ones you’ve seen before, and it slowly dawns on you that each neat little object and number in this neat little book are things that belong (belonged?) to people you know

Neatness, particularly incongruous neatness, neatness where you expect violence or imperfection or abandonment, or neatness that you belatedly realise was hiding violence, or neatness that is imposed over violence, is incredibly scary. Because neatness is not a natural thing. Neatness requires some active force to have come through and made it so. Neatness implies that the world around you is being arranged, maybe to hide things, to disguise things, to make you doubt your senses, or else simply according to something else’s desires. Neatness is active and artificial. Neatness puts things, maybe even people, into neat little boxes according to something else’s ideals, and that’s terrifying as well. Being objectified. Being asked to fit categories that you’re not sure you can fit, and wondering what will happen to the bits of you that don’t.

Neatness, essentially, says that something else is here. Neatness where there should be chaos says that either something came and changed things, or that what you’re seeing now or what you saw then is not real. Neatness alongside violence says that something came through here for whom violence did not mean the same thing as it does to you.

Neatness, in the right context, in the right place, can be very, very scary

And fun

My take on the bathtub fic. . .

“kill them with kindness” WRONG. pk starstorm 💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟✨✨✨✨🌟🌟🌟🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐💫💫💫💫💫🌟⭐️⭐️💫💫💫💫⭐️⭐️🌙🌙🪐🪐☄️☄️☄️🌙🌙🌙⭐️⭐️🌟

Character, book, and author names under the cut

Neil Josten- All for the Game by Nora Sakavic

Gideon Nav- The Locked Tomb by Tamsyn Muir

Mr. Saturn

どせいさん

you found out today that a phrase you have used before was coined by an abusive man. this felt like getting your teeth taken out. it made you sick and sad and tired, but not surprised.

bad people tell you to be careful when you talk badly of bad men, that it could "ruin" a life. you had your life ruined by a bad man, not that it ever matters to them. your real life having real consequences is not valued as highly as the potential of his future.

this has always been a frustrating little mathematics problem for you. you've missed school and had to call out sick at work and had panic attacks that lasted for weeks. it stole sleep and food and friends from you. you cried in public, fucked your relationships up. and the whole time: your present has never mattered so much as the great what if! of his future. like - one life (your life) is already ruined, should we really ruin two?

so you live with the consequences and he doesn't, and that's just like, something you need therapy for. you once discussed this with one of your friends over coffee. she chewed the wooden stirrer, looked off into the distance. "once i became a victim, everything that happens to me afterward is automatically less interesting in the eyes of the general public. it is always about him. he changed my identity. to survivor. to statistic. meanwhile this whole time - i am a person."

you learned in college that three out of five of your favorite artists and authors were actually abusive assholes. these days, you are no longer surprised. oh, is that what was happening behind closed doors? of course it was, he was a "genius," and she was just a girl. you are talking about him in art history, so obviously his career was absolutely ruined, for eternity. that's what happens, right? they strike your name from the record and refuse to remember you? nobody really knows her name, but hey. that's what you get for being close to celebrity.

you got into an argument about it, which was a bad argument, because it made you cry. he said what, you want us to just ignore all the things this man did because he made a few women uncomfortable? and you'd balled your fists up and choked on it. later, in bed, you agonized over the response you'd been trying to articulate but never found the right moment to deploy: you are ignoring what any person could do if they weren't being fucking abused. maybe her talents far exceeded his and she was just never allowed to fucking use them. maybe we only see genius in white men because they purposefully fucking squash and silence any other people with talent.

but you'd cried about it instead of saying that, because you are the cost. you are the talent and potential that he took. you used to be brave and smart and clever and unafraid. like a lich, he stole years of your life.

quiet on set made you sad and sick and tired, but not surprised. unfortunately, one of the things he said was true: an entire network of people allowed it to continue. this is not news to you, because you have seen entire networks of people make the same fucking excuses when the same thing or-worse happened to you. and your particular story isn't even in hollywood. it was just a guy. it was still difficult getting people to stand up for you.

you and your friend wait in line for your coffee. like a standup joke, one man turns to the other and says "can't wait for every bitch to come crawling out of the woodwork complaining about harassment. it's another metoo." and you think - oh, that's the network. your boss tucks her hair back and whispers that while your skirt is cute, you're giving the boys the wrong idea. that's the network. when you'd told your "friend" about what happened, she'd said oh you must have misunderstood, that would never happen. and that's the network.

you woke up this morning panting, because years later you still have panic attacks. oh, it's not a network, actually, it's a web. and you, little moth: are you still surprised you're caught in it?