#at least its not another DEAD CORPSE CHARACTER

[givemedamage]

of course u make another creature and of course u put glasses on it

[evanpetersmybf]

All he asked for was you

Tate Langdon x female!reader

Summary: Tate loves you too much. He would do anything for you, to keep you by his side, to make you love him forever. He would cross any line to make you his, it doesn't matter how evil it is... But was it really worth it?

Genre: ANGST!! and some smut

Word count: 5,104

Warnings: Obsessive, stalkish and violent behavior, implicit toxic relationship; mentions of weapons, murder, mental health issues, family issues, school shooting; use of Y/N, swearing, cunnilingus, fingering, unprotected p in v. (i hope i'm not missing any...) NOT PROOFREAD !!

A/N: English isn't my first language!! Sorry if I have some mistakes and if Tate's a bit ooc (i tried to keep him in character as much as i could). I wasn't sure (and still not) if this is good but I spent days writing it, so I had to post it.

A small playlist with songs that inspired me for this: monster by meg and dia, pacify her by melanie martinez, all i want is you by rebzyyx, skyfall by adele, psycho by doko, paparazzi by lady gaga, dark red by steve lacy.

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Tate never believed in love, nor was he a romantic one. 

In fact, he despised it. How could he even believe in that feeling when he never felt loved by his own mother? At least that’s what he pretended.

The blond always had the facade of a tough guy, although he couldn’t fool anyone. Constance knew well he was a sensitive boy. Probably the most crybaby ever to exist… And the most unstable one.

Now he was here. His chest going up and down, breathing shallow and fast. His eyes were darting around the room, looking for something or perhaps someone. Some silly tears were rolling down his cheeks while he anxiously fidgeted with a ring on his finger. The clock on the wall continued its tick-tack. The time kept running. His heart kept beating. It was getting late.

He refused to look at the wooden floor. He didn’t want to accept reality. If Tate did that, he would feel like the biggest monster on Earth.

Nevertheless, he couldn’t stay like this.

He had to do something real fast.

Today, 18:40

You were supposed to arrive at 19:00.

But he remained there, next to the corpse of his rival. A bloody ax beside the dead man’s bleeding head.

Whom he thought was his worst enemy, was someone really dear to you.

Well, Tate fervently believed this was something justified. He couldn’t stand that fucking asshole anymore! That scumbag needed to be put back in his place. And Tate only did that. Furthermore, he actually helped him. He took him away from this shitty world. It was a favor.

He had already killed his mother’s boyfriend, so why was he feeling guilty?

Maybe because his victim was special to you. Because his death would hurt you. And Langdon swore to God he would never let anybody or anything hurt you, including himself.

He loved you.

He wanted to be the one to hold your hand forever.

Tate snapped back to the present and frowned. He picked up the weapon, putting it in his backpack. He didn’t even mind cleaning it. Then, he proceeded to knelt right next to the lifeless dude and cleaned the blood surrounding his body; afterwards, he dragged him to the basement and…

19:00

A knock on the door.

You arrived.

“DAMN IT!” 

He left his dead foe lying limp on the cold basement ground and quickly ran upstairs, straight to his room. He also left the backpack there.

Tate spent the last twenty minutes cleaning the mess he made in the living room after he atrociously smashed your friend’s head, forgetting that had poor time to get ready. 

He desperately looked for clean clothes, scrambling the entire closet in search of fresh garments while he cussed at himself, at his mother, at that freaking boy, at the entire world but you.

Finally he found some jeans and a striped shirt. He looked at himself in the mirror after changing and cleaned the tiny drops of blood that stayed on his face and hands. He never realized he left the bloody clothing on the bed.

Another knock.

19:07

Tate opened the door, immediately throwing himself at you and giving you one of the warmest hugs. His demeanor with you was completely different; you were the only creature capable of changing his fucked up mind into something more beautiful, more peaceful. The issue was that it only happened when he was with you, otherwise he would be aggressive and rude as usual.

You got the best of him. 

“Missed you so fuckin’ much, babe…” Voice muffled since his face was buried in the crook of your neck. Tate always did the same thing; clinging onto you like a small koala would.

“Heh, me too, hun!” You spoke with the same soothing voice he adored. Tate giggled and placed a tender kiss on your jawline, then another, and another, and another.

Soon enough, he was peppering kisses all over your neck, making you moan softly. Oh those sounds. He could hear you melting under his touch, his embrace, for the rest of eternity.

He loved making you squirm, making you laugh, making you feel loved.

He was way too sweet.

Only if you knew.

Four weeks before today…

Tate has always had the bad habit of stalking you. Yeah… He wasn’t proud of it. But can you blame him? He’s constantly afraid of you leaving him. He wanted to make sure you never did so… Otherwise he would die. Literally.

Don’t ask how he would die. You already know the answer.

You two were supposed to have a date, albeit you had to cancel your meeting.

And that, of course, made him overthink. It didn’t matter how many times you told him you were going to study; he felt betrayed, as if you were rejecting him. And Tate hated and feared rejection to the bone.

“Pretty please? Please, Y/N! I don’t wanna go home early, mom’s gonna be there and-and–”

“Tate, I can’t skip this. I have like, a test every day next week and I must study. I don’t wanna fail. Please, sweetie. I promise I’ll make it up to ya’, mhm?” 

He rolled his eyes and whined, almost throwing a tantrum. He didn’t try to manipulate you on purpose. It came out naturally. “But I need you, Y/N! Why do you always do the same, huh? Am I not that important? Don’t you love me any longer?”

His childish crying continued for a couple of minutes, until it stopped and the blond agreed a deal with you.

You thought he was calm now, but no. How naive.

You went to the library to study as you said… Without noticing he followed you.

Quietly, he got into that maze of books after you and hid behind some shelves.

Tate noticed you sat on an empty table. Thank God. Oh?

Who. Is. He.

A man Tate didn’t know sat next to you. Really close. Too close for Tate’s liking. He tried to think he was a stranger, that he wasn’t going to talk to you… He was wrong.

He clenched his hands into a ball when he saw that idiot talking to you, and the worst part was that you followed suit. It seemed you two were friends or something.

How DARE YOU talk to another man? No, how dare you talk to another HUMAN BEING!?

Tate was insecure 24/7.

If you weren’t there, Tate was falling apart. It was simple.

No Y/N, no happy Tate. Was it too hard to understand?

Three weeks before today…

It was Friday. Tate was impatiently waiting for you outside the campus, hanging a small bouquet of flowers he picked up.

Once he spotted you coming out from the building, he waved his hand and embraced you tightly once you were in front of him. He gave you the adorable present.

“Tate!”

“How did you do? Did you pass your tests? Don’t tell me, I’m sure you did.” Said, grinning from ear to ear. He was away from you for an entire week. How did he survive? He didn’t know, but he was glad to have you with him again. “Tell me about your life in the last days, baby. Please? I feel like I haven’t seen you in years!”

There he was, the one and only drama queen Tate Langdon.

You talked about the tests, about how the teachers were being a pain in the ass (which clearly triggered in him the intense desire of hurting them because they stressed you), and… About a guy. The same guy from the library, with whom you spent the entire last week studying. He couldn’t stand it. He saw him as a threat to your relationship, especially since he was an old friend that you met many years ago. 

As the days went by, you gave him more reasons to hate that jerk. Why? Well of course because you spent hours at the library doing homework or studying with him. Or even hanging out with him and other people.

In reality, you went out with him to a museum just once, and then skating with other colleagues. Nothing compared to the time you spent with Tate; in a week, you would hang out with him almost daily, and if you were way too busy, he would go to your place and spend the night there. He was so attached to you to the point he had to see you at least once a day. And that’s why he was so jealous of your friend. Tate couldn’t stand the idea of you sharing your life with someone else who wasn’t him or your family… And he also got jealous of them, but he was handling it.

Two weeks before today.

After Tate’s pleas, you decided to introduce your friend to him.

Probably a big mistake.

The date was really awkward; your friend tried being nice, and Tate acted surprisingly kind. Of course it was odd; usually, he despised all of your friends and treated them badly, yet this time was different. You were stunned, however, you tried to ignore it and instead got happy as he finally accepted a random person as your buddy. 

Still and all, he hated that moron. It didn’t matter how much he tried liking your pal, he was jealous of him. He was getting on his nerves. He denied the fact that you had more love for other people that wasn’t him. Tate desired being your only one. Your number one. Your entire world. Because that’s what you were for him. And he was willing to do whatever to keep you with him.

Tate exchanged numbers with him and meticulously plotted a plan to ascertain he would never talk to you ever again. At first, it came out as a simple “I’m gonna scare the shit outta him”, nonetheless, it turned into a darker idea, very likely involving physical violence.

One week before today…

The last few days, Tate won Peter’s trust. Ah yes. That’s your friend's name. You were glad that he finally opened his warm heart and began to meet more people besides you.

You thought he needed a friend, an empathetic person who could support the blond when you weren’t available, that way he would feel less lonely and depressed.

They went to the cinema, to the arcade, even to a music store. Everything was going according to what he planned.

Eventually, he invited Peter to his place to play chess and other board games on a Sunday afternoon, before you arrived and had a date with Tate due to your anniversary. 

Today, 16:00

Peter and Tate were eating pizza and having a great noon, talking about their lives and random stuff, like school and music. They both enjoyed Nirvana, and since Peter played the guitar, he agreed on teaching your boy how to.

If it weren’t for Tate’s twisted mind, they would’ve been best friends.

The guitarist wasn’t a bad guy. He was a great buddy that really appreciated you and the crybaby, but Langdon had something else in mind.

18:00

The men watched a movie. Tate didn’t even know its name; in fact, he didn’t even pay attention to it. Instead, he was focused on his next actions, plotting them carefully.

“Crap, mom’s gonna arrive soon…” Tate mumbled with annoyance, biting his nails and tapping his foot on the floor. He was lying. You were going to arrive, not Constance.

“Damn, bro. Well, I don’t have a problem. I wanna meet her.”

“Huh? No no no, you shouldn’t. That bitch is crazy.”

Peter scoffed, disagreeing with Tate’s rude manner to call his own momma.

“Hey, you shouldn’t talk like that. I bet she loves you!”

That pissed him off. “You don’t know anything, Peter. Your family is different. Your life’s different. You won’t understand!” He yelled, standing up from the couch and now pacing around the room, trying to keep it calm.

“Dude, calm down!

“NO! I fucking won’t!”

The screaming continued for a while. Tate revealed his unstable and crystal self. Even something so insignificant could drive him to the edge, like what happened today. That definitely surprised the other one, who used to think that Tate was a sweet boy. “I dunno why Y/N is dating you.”

“What did you say?” Tate abruptly stopped pacing.

“Y/N. Y/N doesn’t deserve you.”

“WHY WOULD YOU EVEN SAY THAT!?” He pounced on Peter, gripping his neck with one rough hand, applying enough pressure on the sides to stop the blood circulation in his carotids and make him lose consciousness.

Before passing out, Peter, getting pale, managed to croak out: “Because she deserves better…”

Soon enough, he fainted, giving Tate minutes to think about what else to do. 

Your boyfriend wasn’t planning on murdering Peter today. No, he didn’t have time. He also was supposed to meet you.. But this was the perfect excuse! And not only that; he indirectly admitted he was in love with you! Or that’s what Tate interpreted with his delusional point of view.

Peter didn’t feel anything romantic for you, he was just worried Tate might be too unhinged to be your partner.

Thus, he went to his room and grabbed his backpack. Then, went to the garden shed and picked up the ax that belonged to his father, and a bottle of lye.

He had to get the job done quickly, nevertheless, he lost track of time.

18:30

Tate came back to the living room, just to notice that Peter wasn’t there anymore.

“FUCK IT!” Langdon got nervous. What if he escaped? What if he told you that Tate was crazy? He couldn’t allow this, not at all.

Thankfully, or maybe not, Tate found Peter crawling towards the front door, the poor dude still feeling dizzy after being choked.

Tate didn’t have any mercy.

“Where do you think you’re going, lil’ piece of shit!?”

18:38

Tate finally did it. He brutally murdered Peter, smashing his head several times with the ax.

He got rid of that little issue. He took him to somewhere clean.

Once he assured the other man wasn’t breathing, he dropped the weapon on the floor, making a loud metallic thud.

19:10

Tate was pinning you down on the couch, the same couch where your dead friend was sitting just an hour ago.

His hands were traveling all along your body, tracing sweet patterns on your skin.

Eventually, his fingers were clumsily pulling down your panties, not minding to take off your skirt. “Did you bring this for easy access, baby?” Tate chuckled and buried his face between your legs, holding your thighs in place; his lips plastered messy kisses over the warm flesh, biting it and leaving tiny marks after sucking.

Your reaction was alluring to him; he enjoyed listening to your pleas, to your whimpers. If it was for him, he would spend the entire day making you cum over and over again.

He finally got rid of your underwear, tossing it aside. Without further ado, the boy spread your folds with his large digits, and continued to lick your throbbing wet cunt.

“So fucking pretty… So wet for me, huh?”

His tongue lapped your small clit two or three times, then, traced a zigzag and circles on the sensitive nub. While he devoured you, he inserted his middle and ring finger, pumping them in and out of your cute hole, curling them and hitting the right spot to make you feel butterflies.

Tate could feel his arousal growing; his erection being restrained by the tight fabric of his jeans. He was desperate, yeah. But he always put you in the first place, and that included pleasuring you before him.

After a while, he replaced his fingers with his tongue, fucking your pussy with the agile muscle and now rubbing your clit with his thumb, applying pressure that sent electric waves through your body. He stopped using his tongue on you and instead looked at that stunning face of yours. He was delighted with your flushed cheeks, with every single gesture you did, with the way your eyes rolled to the back of your head. He wanted to take a picture of you to remember this moment forever.

His thumb increased the pace, while his free hand lifted up your blouse and tried to undo your bra. He couldn’t. You giggled when he groaned in frustration; he was too horny to think straight and that’s why you helped him to take off the garment.

Tate sighed and after that awkward and funny moment, he kept rubbing your bud, using your own juices and his saliva as a lubricant, intensifying the sensation. His left pinched and pulled your nipple, making you gasp and twitch beneath him, whilst his mouth abused your other one, greedily sucking on it.

“Tate, ‘m gonna cum! I-”

Tate cut you off by kissing you harshly; his tongue invading your warm mouth, exploring it and then nibbling your bottom lip until it bleeded. He licked the tiny drops of blood, savoring the metallic taste of it.

Unable to hold on any longer, you reached your orgasm, coming undone while Tate kept caressing your pussy, decreasing the velocity while you finally calmed down.

He left you panting; your heart beating so fast just like his.

You tried to sit up on the couch, breathing deep for more air, but the blond prevented you from going away.

“Where do you think you’re doing? We’re not done yet, you’re gonna cum again!”

Tate carried you bridal style and went upstairs straight to his bedroom. He threw you on the bed.

Without stopping looking at you, he unbuckled his belt and pulled down his jeans along the boxers; his dick already erect and throbbing, the veins thick and the tip leaking precum.

Using the clear liquid as lube, he stroked his shaft for a while, jerking off to the sight of you. He groaned and whimpered, closing his eyes as his hand pumped himself.

One of your hands went to your breasts, massaging them softly as your right went down between your legs, slowly teasing your womanhood and coating your index finger with your arousal, using it to rub your aching bundle of nerves.

Tate’s dark room was now filled with both of your moans; Tate calling your name several times and you begging him to fuck you.

He couldn’t stand this anymore. He NEEDED to be inside you, to feel your warmth enveloping him. “On all fours. Now.” You immediately obeyed, feeling as eager as him.

“Look at me, mhm?” He positioned behind you and rubbed the tip against your wet folds, teasing you for a bit. Afterwards, he slowly entered his cock inside your slit, moving it slowly at first. His thumb went to your clitoris, toying with it just like minutes before. He picked up the pace and fucked you fast and hard; his cockhead brushing your cervix. Grabbing a fistful of your hair, Tate pulled your head towards him, still with the deep thrusting.  “Fuck, Y/N! You’re so pretty… So fucking precious, so fucking mine!” Moaned against your ear, voice raspy and agitated.

Panting, you stopped looking at him and instead looked to the bed. Why? Who knows, but you did it. And you saw Tate’s dirty clothes. Dirty with blood. A lot of blood.

You froze. Maybe it was red paint? 

“U-uh, Tate?” You muttered, feeling already bewildered by the sight. You tried not to jump into conclusions, although you knew Tate and he has always been… Secretive.. And aggressive, of course. 

After your boyfriend heard your shaky whisper, he stopped moving, even if he wanted to keep going. “Hm?”

“What’s this?” Tate sighed and pulled out from you, not understanding what you meant. 

“What’s what?”

Without saying anything else to him, you grabbed the shirt and touched the weird stain. It was still fresh. You took your fingers to your mouth to taste it; and the metallic tang was too obvious. “Tate, what the fuck is this!?”

You threw it at him. Freaked out, you stood up and picked up your clothes, putting them on again, all meanwhile Tate connected the dots and realized he was probably going to get caught.

“Wait, Y/N! It’s not what it looks like, I swear, damn it!” He yelled and grabbed your arm, not wanting you to leave like this. He had to save his reputation, he couldn’t let you think bad of him even if you had all the right. Because, why the fuck the fabric was soaked in blood?

“Then what is it, Tate? WHY DOES IT HAVE SO MUCH BLOOD!?”

“CALM DOWN, PLEASE!” 

You attempted to get away from his grip, struggling with him until, somehow, you managed to do so. However, you tripped with his dirty shoes and fell, realizing they were also stained with the red liquid. “Tate, what…? Why? What is this?”

“Nothing, I swear!” He didn’t have any excuses. Saying it was paint would’ve been lame. You were too smart and he knew lying wasn’t a good choice.

Feeling overwhelmed with the matter, you went downstairs, walking as fast as you could. Passing through the living room, a very familiar bag caught your eye. It was definitely Peter’s. You decided to grab it and realized it had his phone inside. Something was off.

Tate was standing behind you; fists clenched and heart beating like crazy. He tried to approach you, still thinking about what to do or what to say. 

“Tate… What is this doing here? Peter’s here?” 

“Huh? Yeah… He— He came earlier and had to go soon, he left this accidentally, yup…” You could see him fidgeting with that ring on his finger, again. 

“Bullshit!”

Tate scowled and grabbed your chin, making you look at his dark orbs. “Tell me, Y/N, do you trust me or not, huh? Look me in the eyes and say you don’t!”

The struggle continued for what seemed eternity. You trying to run away from the house and he trying to make you stay. “Please, Y/N, just listen to me!”

“You did something to him, right? I know him, Tate! He would NEVER leave his phone like this! Is this a joke?”

“Why do you care so much about that asshole!? What has he done for you!? Tell me!”

“Oh my, you’re jealous! I knew it! All that crap about being his friend was a lie, right? Tate, you’re being delusional! I can have friends, I can hang out with whoever I want, whether you like it or not!” 

Tate pressed your cheeks between his thumb and the rest of his fingers, squeezing the flesh with his veiny, big hand, pressing it tightly enough to leave the mark of his long digits on it.

“You can’t! You’re mine. Only mine. Since the day you were born you were meant to be mine. Not his, not anybody, just me.”

“Tate… We should end this…” You thought this was the best for both. Being in a relationship with him was draining; always being careful to not hurt him, make him jealous or mad. He was such a sensitive boy that always took everything too personally. He felt everything a little too much.

Since the beginning you knew he was unstable and that he had many issues, but you tried to see beyond his sick mind, you tried to understand him despite being so different.

Tate felt so safe with you. You were the only person who understood him, or at least made attempts to. 

He felt rejected by the entire society, even by his own mother, until he met you and he had a minimum spark of hope that the world didn’t suck that much.

That’s why he clung to you. That’s why you were his everything. He would lose his mind if you leave him.

He felt like dying when he heard you wanted to finish the relationship.

He couldn’t breathe. 

Some tears were now falling to the floor, his eyes puffy and an ugly frown on his face. His mouth twisted as he sobbed loudly, tugging the hem of your shirt while he begged you to stay. He was crying like a newborn, like a baby who had to be apart from his mother for a second.

“No no no no, you can’t do this to me!” He whimpered, his speech cracking as he tried to hold you close whilst you were stepping back. You were slipping through his fingers, you were leaving him.

“Tate, if something happened to Peter, I will never forgive you! Can’t you see you’re hurting me?”

Tate swore he would never hurt you, nor let anyone. But here he was, finally snapping out of it and seeing the cruel truth. 

“You’ve been hurting me the whole time, Tate! I tried to understand you, I really did, I tried to help you, to save you from yourself! But it’s impossible. I’m losing myself here with you, I don’t even know who I am anymore! You don’t want help, do you? ‘Cause it doesn’t matter what I do, you’re never satisfied! You suffocate me!”

All those words were like daggers penetrating his skin, touching his nerves and making him die of pain. You were tearing him apart, just the way he was destroying you.

He finally let go of you, feeling a tornado of emotions. Tate felt depressed, mad, resentful, like he was going crazy. Though, he knew he had to leave if that’s what you wanted. He couldn’t bring himself to break another promise.

Thereby, he confessed his crimes to you. He explained he killed his mom’s partner a few days ago, and that now he had killed your friend. Why? He was jealous, he was scared you’d left him. You did it before you discovered the cruel reality, anyways. That’s why he told you. Because he couldn’t lose anything else.

The situation was utterly disgusting. Tate was sick. He murdered an innocent man and then proceeded to fuck you, as it was the maximum test of love, as if his life meant nothing.

You knew he wasn’t what people often considered “normal”. But this was definitely more than just being a “weirdo”. Tate needed psychiatric help… And being arrested, of course.

“You make me wanna puke, Tate! You’re the evil!”

Without hesitating, you left Tate behind, running as fast as you could from that living hell.

You just wanted to cry, curl up into a ball and wake up from this nightmare. You wished it was merely a bad dream.

Tomorrow morning, you’d go to the police, but for now you needed to sleep.

Monday morning, 11:05

You couldn’t sleep all night. You spent hours thinking about everything, about how this looked like a cruel joke to you. Eventually, you fell asleep at 4AM, and didn’t wake up at what seemed almost midday. 

An intense sound of police sirens woke you from your slumber. Startled by the loud noise, you rubbed your eyes and went to the window, trying to get a glimpse of what was happening outside.

Police cars and SWAT vans were going in a specific direction… Towards Tate’s street. It couldn’t be, right?

Did his mother find the corpse? Or perhaps something else?

You looked at the clock, realizing it was late and you had to go to class. 

08:00

After the most painful night of his life, Tate decided today everything would be over.

He had to cleanse the world… To take people to somewhere else, to some place full of peace away from the piss and the vomit that runs down the streets.

He was doing this not only because of your breakup, but also because of many other reasons. Your split up was the straw that broke the camel and drove him to the edge.

10:40

 After shooting the school, Tate left the place, looking unfazed about what he just did. He was unhinged. 

He peacefully got into his place, went to his room and stayed there for some minutes. 

The blond sat on the edge of the bed, leaving the gun right next to him and stared at nothing. His gaze was empty, but also there were some tears threatening to spill.

His mind was a whirlwind. Some part of him was satisfied, but the other was confused, wondering what was he thinking, what had he done?

What would you think of him now? Were you even there? Did he kill you too and he didn’t even notice?

In the end, he recognized he indeed was the evil you said. Damn it. You were right, again, as ever.

Tate wanted to hear your voice, to comfort him, to hear you saying everything was okay. That he’d be okay. He desired to hear “I love you” from you once more.

11:15

You went downstairs to find your family apparently mourning you.

They thought you were at school when the shooting happened. They believed you were gone, but here you were. 

Eventually, they explained to you what happened.

The first thing that popped into your mind was Tate’s wellbeing, still unaware that he was the culprit. You were afraid something terrible could’ve happened to him, you were regretting your last words to him, but you also had to get him prisoner.

Your heart dropped when they explained to you he was the shooter.

No, it couldn’t be possible. 

It was possible. After all, he had already killed two men.

Even if you despise what he did, some part of you still longed for him, still was in love with his once kind heart.

A terrifying feeling of dread filled your body, making you feel numb, as if none of this was real… 

11:25

After running to Tate’s house and seeing it surrounded by the cops and the SWAT team, everything stopped. Constance’s distressed cries and pleas were heard from outside, followed suit by the sound of bullets. It was over now.

Tate was certainly a troubled individual who dedicated his entire life to searching for something, to feel something, to feel loved.

All he asked for was love, to be loved, to love. All he wanted was you.

But at the same time, your love led him to an never-ending obsession that ultimately broke both of you.

He became your biggest regret.

All he feared, all his nightmares came true. Everything he was so afraid of was him and only himself. 

[agneslovestheinternet-blog]

02:37AM

1.1K Words, Hurt/Comfort, Stiles x Fem!Reader

Sleep is a bliss Mieczysław Stilinski rarely gets to experience. Tonight is no exception, as you hold him tightly through yet another restless night terror.

Warnings/Info: References to Substance Abuse, Insomnia, Night Terrors, Established Relationship, Post-Canon, Aged-Up Character

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For as long as you’ve known Stiles, sleep has always brought a minefield of challenges for him. Before you lived with him, he would sleep over at your apartment often and go through recurring bouts of insomnia that would last for days, sometimes weeks. You can still remember the look he had on his face when you’d wake up for work and find that sleep had evaded him for yet another night.

He would be sat up against the headboard of your bed, more closely resembling a posed corpse than a living man. His eyes were glassy and blank, transfixed on a spot far ahead of him despite being lolled out of focus. The skin underneath his eyes was purple and sunken in and the whites of them were streaked with red marks, making them thoroughly bloodshot. His jaw was clenched and his breathing was slow, the rise and fall of his chest being the only movement rustling his otherwise still frame.

In these periods of sleep-deprived madness, Stiles would try almost anything to get some relief. Melatonin gummies, vigorous exercise, copious amounts of alcohol, various meditation programs, every form of weed he could get his hands on, white noise, overdoses of Nyquil; the list goes on. You remember that time in your life with Stiles as being quietly terrifying, as you watched your boyfriend stumble through his days with the affect of a zombie, downing any sedative he could reach for without incurring felony drug possession charges or a premature death.

And when rest finally came, it would leave Stiles out of commission for a whole day at least. On several occasions you had to contact his boss on his behalf to call him out of work after trying unsuccessfully to wake him from his twelfth consecutive hour of unconsciousness. You never understood the phrase “dead asleep” until you witnessed these prolonged bouts of stupor. You used to sit next to him, your eyes transfixed on the repetitive movement of his lungs inflating and deflating beneath his rib cage, scared that if you looked away for even one moment his breathing might slow to a halt.

This ordeal was made even worse by the fact that Stiles barely remembers those days, leaving you to be the sole witness to his insomniatic descent into lunacy. 

But the sleep deprivation doesn’t hold a candle to the damage the night terrors have done. You’ve never heard anybody scream the way Stiles does when he has one. His voice contorts to an impossibly high pitch as his throat wears itself ragged from its efforts. It crushes you everytime you hear that familiar pitch pierce through the silence of night, as you’ve heartbreakingly become accustomed to the sounds of your lover in agony.

He’s had night terrors that have caused him to shove you clean off the bed with his frantic writhing. He’s also had ones that have caused him to sob uncontrollably for what felt like hours, where you just held his shaking body and couldn’t help but break down with him. 

They’re not just bad dreams, they’re hellscapes, made up of past traumas that are very real and situations that are entirely imagined, leaving Stiles reeling in the inbetween of wake and sleep. In those moments, neither the world ending nor hell opening up and swallowing him whole would be enough to wake him, as he slips deeper and deeper into the torment created by his own mind.

Tonight, the sound of rustling sheets and barely audible whimpers rouse you from your REM cycle gradually, like the subtle rocking of a ship. You blink your groggy eyes slowly and try to find the source of the noise through the heavy grip of fatigue you try valiantly to shake yourself from.

Stiles is laying flat on his back, deep within a restless sleep he can’t seem to awaken from. His hair is flattened and sticking to his pale face that gleams with sweat, illuminated only by your phone on the nightstand that you hastily click on to check the time; 02:37AM. His shaking hands are gripping the bed sheets so hard that his knuckles would appear white if enough light was on for you to see them. Every muscle in his body is tense as taut wire and spasming periodically in short, rigid bursts. He seems entirely unaware of your presence, muttering under his breath in a voice fraught with panic that’s pleading for his life to some unseen force. Your breath hitches as the familiar ache rumbles deep within your chest once you make the realization. 

He’s having a night terror.

You sit up with a start and lean over to pull the cord on your bedside lamp, immediately bathing the room in clear, yellow-tinted light. Stiles’s skin is sallow and moist with sweat, and every inch of his body is trembling uncontrollably. You seat yourself at the head of the bed with your knees bowing out leaving a large space between your legs. With a significant amount of exerted effort needed to overpower his tremors and rigor mortis-like rigidity, you manage to position Stiles’ head on your stomach and frame his torso with both of your legs, keeping him locked in place for the time being.

For the next half hour, you do the only things you know how to do in these situations. You place your hands on either side of his face and draw small circles with your thumbs on his cheeks, run your shaking fingers through his hair, grab one of his hands and bring it to your mouth, peppering it with gentle kisses, wipe the tears from his tightly-closed eyes, and squeeze your legs together around him, all in an effort to get him to feel that you’re there.

You speak to him in a quivering whisper, letting abstract affirmations fall from your lips in the most soothing tone you can muster through your own building anxiety.

“I love you…I’m here for you…They can’t hurt you…I’m right here…You’re so strong…I’m not going anywhere…You’re alright, I promise…I love you, Mieczysław…”

When the dark clouds over Stiles’ mind clears to make way for the light in the room and the warmth of your presence, he breathes a shaky sigh of relief, beyond grateful to be firmly planted in his blissful reality once more. He opens his eyes with a flutter and stares up at you with a fondness so all-encompassing it threatens to shatter him from its sheer intensity.

You curl the name he once thought was too complicated to ever be pronounced correctly, let alone willingly used over his much less intricate nickname, around assurance after assurance, your voice forming its multiple syllables as easily as you form your next breath.

“Mieczysław, I’m here…I’m not going anywhere, Mieczysław, I promise…I love you, Mieczysław,”

<+--------+>

[darknight3904]

All Too Well

Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Summary: You and Joel run into Jackson's biggest threat.

Warnings: Violence, guns, minor character death, racist remakes, ageism (sorta), language mentions of slavery/ slavers.

Word Count: 2.9k

Previous Part / Series Masterlist / Main Masterlist

May 2024

The first thing Joel registers in the morning is how cold he is. He must’ve nodded off while keeping watch. The second is Louis, who is shaking him awake like the world was ending…again. 

“Get up, man!” 

“What’s wrong?” Joel mumbles, his eyelids peeling open to the unwelcome morning light. His back is stiff from leaning against the old porch’s support beams.

“She’s gone!” 

Joel follows Louis’ pointed finger to where the horses had been tied last night. Sure enough, one is missing from its fence post. 

“Fuck.” 

Your trail is easy to follow. The ground is soft from the spring rain and Pepper’s hooves have sunk into the Earth, leaving a clear path to wherever you’ve run off. Joel sighs as his own horse, Turnip trots along. At the very least, he knows you haven’t been taken from the cabin. If raiders had found you all last night, well, you’d all be dead in said cabin. 

“Thought you had it under control.” Brett huffs from Joel’s left 

Despite the comment being meant for Joel, Louis responds. 

“Women are unpredictable. Everyone knows that.”

Joel chooses not to comment. It’s true many women were unpredictable, not you though. Or well, Joel thought you weren’t. He could’ve sworn he had been getting to know you in the past months. Last night had been so perfect, laying next to him, smiling and laughing like everything was normal. 

You and Joel had switched with Louis and Brett sometime around 2 am. Joel had sat down next to you on the rickety front porch, eyes fixed on the treeline in case anything were to come out of it. When the hell had he fallen asleep? You must’ve slipped away sometime after 4 am, surely he had made it at least two hours? 

“Hold up. Look, two o’clock.” Brett points 

Joel’s eyes scan the woods, eventually landing on a motionless blob on the green forest floor. He flicks Turnip’s reins and moves towards the human-shaped thing, praying it’s not your lifeless body. Relief floods his system when he sees it’s not you but a dead infected. 

Louis jumps off his horse with ease, something Joel hasn’t been able to do in twenty years, to examine the corpse. A single bullet hole rests in the face of this Stalker, it’s a perfect shot, and Brett takes the time to point it out. 

“Let’s keep movin’. She’s close, I can feel it.” Joel says, his eyes roaming around, making sure there aren’t any more infected lurking in the bushes. 

They make it about another half mile or so before it happens. There’s a shout and then the crack of a gun. Brett shouts a loud curse as his horse panics. A searing pain rips through Joel’s shoulder, the feel of the bullet is unmistakeable as he reaches for the rifle he has strapped to Turnip’s saddle bag. A whistle sounds and before Joel can warn him, an arrow has made its home between Louis’ eyes. Joel’s hands land on the rifle, ready to pull it free but a deep voice has him stopping as Louis’ body falls from his horse with a thump. 

“Don’t you fucking dare.” 

The cocking of a gun has Joel’s hands freezing. From above of all places is where they lurk. Three men, descend from the trees, dressed in dark green, mud smeared to their faces in an effort to blend in. 

“Get off the horses. Slow.” One of them orders. 

Joel lifts himself from his saddle, his shoulder burning as he does. Warm blood trickles down his skin and gets caught in the soft fabric of his shirt, the same shirt you were resting on last night. 

“We don’t want any trouble,” Joel says as his feet hit the ground, his eyes fixed on his gun that sits in his saddle.

Brett’s eyes are locked on Joel, he looks scared out of his fucking mind. Joel should’ve expected this would happen. He was at most 25 maybe 26. Too fucking young. 

“Let us pass, we’re looking for someone,” Joel says, his eyes fixed on the one who spoke first, he has red shoelaces. 

Brett looks at him, his eyes almost saying “Are you kidding? They just killed Louis, we need revenge!”. Revenge of course was the last thing on Joel’s mind. He needed to find you, fast. Who knows how many more of these tree-climbing fuckers there were. 

“These two look strong.” Red shoelaces says, ignoring Joel’s request. 

One of the other men gets in Joel’s face, his horrible breath nearly kills Joel’s entire sense of smell as he stares at him. 

“This one’s like…sixty fucking years old. He won’t be any good.” 

“Well, I’m not the one who shot that one in the fucking face, am I?” Red laces seethes, looking at the last man, who has his bow slung over his shoulder. 

“Don’t see why it matters, buyers hate the ones that aren’t white anyway.” Louis’ killer shrugs.

“They don’t want grandpas either, you fucking idiot.” Red laces says, shaking his gun at Joel, “How old are you?” 

Joel stays silent. He’s said what he wants. Whatever these men need young bodies for, doesn’t matter to him, he won’t be sticking around to find out. 

“Does it even matter? Let’s take them back, and get the boss's opinion.” The man with the bow says 

Joel’s mind begins to plot a way out of this. He can take at least two of them but the question is if Brett will be able to take out the third. Joel can see he’s shaking a bit, scared now that his friend has been killed. 

“We’re looking for a woman.” Brett’s shaking voice fills his ears 

Joel wants to punch Brett in the face. Why would he tell him that? He should’ve just brought Tommy, this naive fucker was going to get himself killed. Joel’s glare could probably freeze hell over as he tries to telepathically tell Brett to shut the fuck up. 

“A woman?” Red laces smiles, “We got women. Brought a nice looking in earlier, she’s got a nice ass.” 

It’s not you. Joel’s mind swirls as his eyes fixed on the path Pepper’s hooves have left. They lead further into the forest. It can’t be you they’re talking about. There’s the crackle of a radio suddenly, Joel doesn’t catch what’s being said, not that it matters since the one with the bad breath is slamming the handle of his pistol right into Joel’s temple, knocking him unconscious. 

You groan a bit as you stretch out on the ground. Your back protests as you try to rearrange here in this bush. The Walrus’ camp is only a few thousand feet from you. This bush conceals you nicely as you get a good head count on everyone. Counting The Walrus, there are two other armed men. You hadn’t meant to stumble upon their camp, you’d heard it, the laughter of men as you were riding through the trees, hoping for a clue of where Adam had come from. You hadn’t expected to find everything, just sitting here in the woods. 

The two men that work with The Walrus aren’t familiar to you. You wonder if there are any left from your time with him, perhaps Adam had been the last one. One of them listens to the crackle of a walkie-talkie, their patrol must’ve found something. 

You’re not sure where this patrol of theirs is all you know is that they hadn’t seen you, otherwise, you’d probably be sitting in the mud with the four other people they’re holding captive. Two young men, probably around Brett and Louis’ age, and two women are tied to trees. One of the women, her greying hair the only sign of her age occasionally calls out to the younger girl who has a dinosaur t-shirt on. You decide that they are mother and daughter and that they’re going to get out of their ropes first. 

Where the fuck was Joel? You swore he would’ve found you by now, he’d gone on and on about his tracking skills a few weeks ago, why hadn’t he found you yet? Your hands grip your rifle, could you take the three of them by yourself? Certainly not…of course you could pick them off from here. But, you wanted to see The Walrus, you wanted to get up close and watch him die, the same way you had with Adam. You needed it. 

You remain curled up here in your bush, hoping that you’d tied Pepper off well. You’d left here about a mile away, whispering into her mane that you’d be back soon. Hopefully, that wasn’t going to turn into a lie.

The loud whoops and yells of men have you fixing your gaze back on the camp and shock fills your system. Three more men have appeared, no doubt the ones who were on patrol. They drag two unconscious bodies with them, Brett and most importantly, Joel. 

Joel wakes up right as they drop him face-first into the dirt. His tongue tastes the ground below him as someone laughs at his misfortune. His head hurts a bit, nothing serious though, bad breath didn’t hit too hard. His focus was on his shoulder which was still slowly bleeding. It hadn’t hit anything major, Joel was sure of it, otherwise, he would’ve bled out by now. 

Joel pushes himself up, Brett who must’ve been hit harder has been left face down in the mud as their captors stare down at Joel, sneering, whispering their thoughts about him. Their guns remain pointed at him and Joel wracks his brain for ways to take them out without Brett’s help. He really should’ve brought Tommy. 

Joel looks at the other four people who look terrified. A woman and a teen girl are what catches his eye though. They’re clearly related, with similar facial features along with matching scowls as they stare at him. Joel’s been alive a long time though, long enough to see that they’re both terrified despite their best efforts to look at him with disdain. As for the men, Joel can’t quite place their emotions, he knows they’re not related though. All he can manage right now is relief, you’re not here. You must’ve slipped through their patrol somehow, maybe they were lurking in other trees when you passed through.  

“Time to meet the man.” Red Laces says suddenly, his voice giddy with anticipation.

A tent unzips and a man approaches, a long beard adorns his face, and greasy unwashed hair sits atop his head and when he opens his mouth to speak, Joel notices he’s missing two of his front teeth. No doubt about it, this is Adam’s boss.

Joel listens to your quiet voice as you explain who Adam is and what he did to you. Joel nearly gets up four times, ready to rip the man apart limb from limb. You seem so small and fragile, curled in on yourself under the blankets here on his couch as you talk about how you lost your beloved cat. 

“There was another man…missing two teeth who killed Loki and turned him into a fucking bowl of soup. He used to hurt me too, for fun.” 

If there weren’t five guns pointed at his head right now, Joel would be up and ripping the head off his toothless fucker for what he’s done. The thought of leaving you and Ellie behind has him still in the dirt. He eyes this “leader” the other men seem to respect. What was there to respect? The fact that he was a fucking psychopath who fed girls their pets and cut them up for fun?

“Oliver shot the other young one. Says it was an accident.” Red Laces throws his patrol partner under the bus immediately. 

“Fuck you, man. The brown ones don’t sell anyway!” Oliver defends himself behind obvious racism. What a fucking pig.

Joel looks at the leader and his missing teeth, he’s yet to speak, listening to the way his men bicker. 

“And you think someone as old as him will?” Red Laces argues back, pointing at Joel, “He’s got more fucking gray hairs than all of us combined!” 

Joel watches as Brett begins to stir, his eyes pulling open as his hand flies up to his temple where he’d been hit. A small groan escapes his lips as the one with the bad breath pulls him up and into a kneeling position, mimicking Joel’s current stance. 

“Now that we’re all awake…Let’s get some things straight.” 

Laces and Oliver stop their arguing, their boss's voice has them rigid as they shut their mouths for once. The boss turns to Oliver and even though Joel has just met this man, he can tell he’s angry. A deep frown on his face as he practically spits in Oliver’s face as he yells.

“I fucking told you! I wanted them all alive!” 

“I’m sorry!” Oliver cowers, “I didn’t mean to, I was aiming for his arm, I swear!” 

The boss grabs Oliver by the collar, shaking him as spit flies into his face, 

“Shooting them in the fucking arm is damaging the goods!” 

He whips around and gestures down to Joel, “Age doesn’t matter if they’re strong! You’ve cut into my profits…Who shot him?” 

Silence follows as their boss, whose face has gone red with anger demands an answer. Joel deduces that these men must be selling to slavers. He’d heard that in some areas communities used captive people to build their societies, treating the people they bought as literal machines. There was of course the second option as well, there was a flesh market down in Mexico he’d heard about years ago. Some gang that had been big back before the outbreak was now running the border and bought and sold people to be used for other’s pleasures.

Fuck…He couldn’t be sold off to some slaver somewhere. He needed to find you and get back to Jackson. This man and his group needed to die, he’d done too much to you, not to mention they’d clearly been planning to take Jackson for their own personal profits. 

Suddenly the boss is leaning down, a pungent smell of body oder and who knows what else assaults Joel’s senses as he speaks, 

“Who shot you?” 

Joel nods to Red Laces who seems to be nonverbally pleading with him not to rat him out. Of course, Joel doesn’t give two shits if Mr. Laces is punished, why should he? 

Red Laces is given a good right hook by his boss who threatens him, 

“If you shoot another piece of my cargo, I’ll sell you the next time we go down to Kansas, Got it?”  

Joel listens as he gives the same ultimatum to Oliver who begins to grovel and apologize for murdering Louis earlier. He looks at Brett who seems to be about two minutes away from pissing his pants. Joel nods towards the knife that sits tucked into the bottom pocket of the leader's pants. They hadn’t been tied up yet, this was their chance and Joel was going to take it. Brett shakes his head in fear and Joel shoots him a look. 

The leader turns back to Joel, satisfied with his speech to his men, 

“They said you’re looking for a woman.” He motions towards the woman tied to the tree behind him, “That her?” 

Joel remains silent and stares back at this stinking reeking sorry excuse for a human being. Joel could grab the knife if he just took a step closer. There was a pistol tucked into the front of his pants, Joel could easily shoot quicker than this man’s people. They were young, and unseasoned, the oldest, Laces was surely no more than 40. Joel was a better shot than all of them combined. 

“Quiet, huh? Whatta shame.” 

The leader turns on his heel, ready to go back to his tent. He takes a few steps before tossing his order over his shoulder,

“Tie the younger one up. Shoot the old man, he won’t sell.” 

Red Laces pulls his gun out from its holster and points it at Joel’s face. Joel’s thighs tense, it’s now or never. As if it’s in slow motion like some action movie from years ago, he lunges for the gun, ready to hit it out of his would-be killer's hands. 

Before his hands can make contact with the metal of the gun, the sound of a single shot rings out. At first Joel’s sure he’s a goner, that the gun has gone off and there’s a bullet in his head. 

Instead, a warm splatter of blood is raining down on him, and a metallic taste of iron fills his mouth as Red Laces drops to the ground, the top part of his head has been ripped open by one well-placed shot. 

You curse as your foot gets caught in a tangle of weeds. Nearly tripping over your own feet, you burst out of the bush. The one who was standing over him is dead, you’re sure of it. Your legs burn as you sprint towards the camp, rifle slung over your shoulder as you pull your beloved Colt Python from its holster. You cock your gun, you have to get to him. You’re closing the distance now, closing the distance between you and him. 

Between you and Joel. 

Next Part

Justice will be had for Loki the cat.

If you're reading this, please leave me a comment or reblog. It's lonely just getting likes on my fics. I yearn for your opinions and feedback.

Been feeling kinda down recently, I don't really know what it is. Oh well, here's a Joel pic from Pinterest:

Comment to be added to the tag list. This tag list is not chapter by chapter, I carry the tags over to each part.

Tags:

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[rose-morose]

alright everyone it's jiangshi time

that's right I'm back for more Chinese mythology in Jentry Chau vs the Underworld and we're talking about possibly my favourite creature from Chinese mythology, the 僵尸 (jiangshi)

(LONG spoilers under cut as per usual)

our resident JCVTU jiangshi is Ed, named for Edward Cullen the most commercially successful dead guy (except like Dracula probably)

(it's a Twilight reference btw) (I'm guessing only gen alpha missed that one)

when gugu's bestiary claimed that jiangshi are among the least threatening residents of Diyu, it wasn't kidding (not even joking or exaggerating its list of weaknesses is the longest section of its Wikipedia page)

jianshi aren't known to be particularly intelligent and are in fact often portrayed as mindless much like zombies, so I'm guessing the reason it was chosen to be the supernatural sidekick character was because of how little a threat a jiangshi poses to the main character

it is worth noting that traditional jiangshi of ancient depiction are known to be substantially more dangerous than their pop culture counterparts, but that's not Ed

anyways, jiangshi are often likened to the western vampire, they don't drink blood, but they do drain the qi of their victims (like Kit), they are undead creatures, they are often depicted as resting in a coffin or other dark place during the day, and they are sometimes known to be capable of flight (however I've never heard of them being able to "shape shift" in any capacity)

I did look into Ed's shape shifted form, and found that the most likely reason for this form is tied to the jianshi origin, jianshi myths are often attributed to the practice of "corpse driving" which was the transportation of the corpses of workers that died far from home back to their village to be buried with their families, the way that the corpses were transported made them appear to be hopping upright, but their is one specific technique that I believe inspired Ed's other form

I found this technique on Wikipedia, and it comes from an oral account of a two man team of corpse drivers, one man would carry the corpse on his back, both the corpse and the man would be draped in a long cloak, decorated with a Chinese mourning or funeral mask on top (though I've never seen a funeral mask as expressive or ornate as Ed's), the second man would travel ahead with a lantern to warn his companion of obstacles, but this doesn't seem relevant to Ed's design

I think this explains the extra tall incredibly flimsy inflatable arm tube man form being due to the design being based off of a corpse on top of another person with a cloak over them (like 3 kids in a trench coat) as well as the mask on top, I'm not sure what else could have inspired this design

moving on from that little side tangent, the common modern appearance of jiangshi (including Ed) is attributed to Hong Kong's jianshi film and literature phase where they just went crazy over them for awhile and put them everywhere

jiangshi appear to be adult men dressed in the clothing of an official of some kind from the Qing dynasty (though I'm not sure if Ed was created from the body of an adult), with pale greyish or sometimes greenish flesh

I mentioned earlier that the jiangshi are one of my favourite creatures in Chinese mythology, and it is purely because I love this design for their appearance, I just think it looks neat

there is another relevant little detail I found online about jiangshi, and that is that in modern media jiangshi are often combined with the idea of the 饿鬼 (egui), kind of pronounced like uh-gooay (that's not a very good pronunciation guide but it was the best I could think of), which literally translates to "hungry ghost"

in the show Ed is often very hungry and is always trying to get food to eat, and I'm guessing this is a reference to the egui part of modern jiangshi depictions, as I've never known them to consume anything other than qi

something I would also like to touch on is a very well known part of the jiangshi identity that is mostly missing from JCVTU, and that is the fact that jiangshi are often referred to as "Chinese hopping vampires/zombies" and that 僵尸 (jiangshi) literally translates to "stiff corpse"

there are two primary reasons a jiangshi would be stiff, and that is either rigor mortis or a fulu Taoist talisman placed on a jiangshi's head like the one shown above on Ed's forehead

due to their stiffness, jiangshi have been known to only be able to move by hopping around since they are unable to move their legs enough to walk or run

going back to the practice of corpse driving, one way that jiangshi are said to be created is by Taoist priests that reanimate the corpses, and use a bell to control the corpses and have them hop their way home, this was supposedly a way for poorer families, that could not afford standard corpse driving rates, to get their loved ones home for burial at a price they could afford

I am not at all disappointed by the exclusion of this design element which, while not being inherent to the traditional jiangshi design, is very often associated with its identity, I actually think it works better for Ed to be able to move around at will, but at least the first episode references this with the fulu paper talisman that traps Ed

another way jiangshi are believed to be created is by leaving a corpse unburied for too long, Ed says his body was thrown in a river, meaning it was never buried, but a jiangshi created by throwing a body in a river specifically does sound familiar to me, I just can't quite say where from, either way if Jentry had waited any longer, gugu's body was very much at risk of becoming another jiangshi which honestly would have been hilarious

the last thing I want to touch on are the jiangshi's many many weaknesses

one mentioned in the show is dropping rice in front of them, coins also work, but in either case the jiangshi would be forced to take a break for a moment to count the coins or rice on the ground

Ed mentions in the Alamo episode that jiangshi can't see you if you hold your breath, and this is true and very silly to me

there are plenty of strategies in Chinese mythology specifically meant for combating any form of undead like roosters and peach tree wood, and these all apply to the jiangshi as well since they are also undead

while there are plenty of other ways to fight a jiangshi, I'm gonna end here for now because this post is getting really long

I love taking any opportunity I can to talk about Chinese mythology because I love it so much, and Jentry Chau has given me an excuse to gush about pretty much all of it

I'd be surprised if anyone made it this far though, these posts get even longer every time, but I enjoy them regardless

anyways, moral of the story is go watch Jentry Chau vs the Underworld if you haven't already, and don't read the Twilight books or watch the films you have been warned

[the-s1lly-corner]

Reader dying in front of them (crp edition 1/?)

I don't want to be silly anymore. I want to be EVIL! Also I've been on a bit of an angst kick lately so uuuuuuuuuh yeah... i make no promises that the other parts will come directly/quickly after this UHUHUHUH usually i try to group multi part stuff together but atp im kinda just trying to slowly work though my writers block so i have. no idea how posts are going to look for a while

Characters: slender, splendor, masky, hoodie, ticci toby

Notes: reader was gn, scenarios range from vague to specific, not s good time, written in a random burst of energy because eeeerm admin is going through one of his hella sleepy patches, reader is a proxy in masky/hoodie/tobys parts, its up in the air whether or not the reader is in on the whole crp thing w/ slender and splendor

CWs: wounds and death, canon typical violence, mercy killing

SLENDERMAN

youre caught in between him and someone rushing to attack him- usually he would be able to pull you out of the way but for one reason or another he wasnt fast enough. for the first time in... god knows how long... someone caught him off guard

and you have to pay for it. the pain is too much for you, blurring your vision. you just know that in an instant the attacker is dead and torn apart on the ground and slenderman is hovering over your body as your life quickly seeps out onto the forest floor together

he doesnt pick you up or hold you- he knows better than that, the act would likely makes things worse. youre already going to die as is, theres no way he can stop the bleeding fast enough... the most hes going to do is grace his tentacles along your face in an attempt to brush away the blood and tears. youre buried somewhere in the forest, near a patch of flowers

SPLENDORMAN

hes distraught, but he doesnt let that stop him from trying to control the situation and prevent it from getting worse. whether it be someone running around with a weapon or a horrible accident thats left you broken on the ground

he wants to hold you- he wants to save you, but youre falling apart right in front of him and hes powerless to stop it. the only thing he can do is try to comfort you as your life comes to an end. he holds you in his arms; his hands absentmindedly try to apply pressure to your wounds... he tears his hands away when you react with pain. theres so many apologies falling from his mouth that it may outpace your blood loss

more than anything hes going to blame himself. he prides himself on being a good guy, someone who can help and overall be a positive impact for people. he takes the loss.... so hard... he will eventually return to his old self... or at least as close to it as he can get given the tragedy- but for a long time hes going to be wearing a mask

MASKY

youre both chasing down people who have gone too deep into the woods. its the middle of the night, and... its too dark for you to see one of them rushing you from the side. the attack on you only lasts for what feels like a few seconds, but the damage done is enough to leave you heaped on the ground

masky doesnt carry first aid with him, and youre both too far off from any help. but thats not going to stop him crushing the skull of whoever stabbed you- followed by picking you up and taking you (a mix of him carrying you and dragging you) some place where you can rest while he comes up with a plan

it... sounds heartless given that hes still at least partially focused on the other targets running around in the night... but its more of a mechanism for himself to keep his mind forward in the face of your condition. he... leaves you to rest and comes back to your corpse

HOODIE

he wasnt there when you were initially injured, but he finds your slumped over form against a tree somewhere in the woods. your head hung forward against your chest, as if you were unconscious but as he gets closer he finds out youre still awake... but if you were fully aware... there was no real way for him to tell

hes seen enough people with bashed in heads to know that youre not going to last, and that there realistically isnt anything he can do. hes as hard to read as ever, if you can still decipher whats happening around you you cant make out how hes feeling

theres nothing he can do to help you, youre likely to be dead by the time he manages to find a way to treat your wounds. so he does the only thing he can think of. he finishes the job, cutting your suffering short for your own sake. its not a decision he makes lightly

TICCI TOBY

when he finds you being overpowered by one of the people you guys were running down in the forest he is livid- panicked but angry beyond belief. he throws one of his hatchets as hes bolting towards the scene and uses the other to finish the job

hes easily one of the more outwardly emotional and gutted ones, and his own state may make things worse for you. hes trying to coax you to keep your eyes open- please respond to his questions, you dont even have to answer them correctly.. just keep talking so he knows youre still here while he tries to rake his brain for anyway to save you

he begins shaking you- lightly at first, before eventually nearly thrashing you- when you stop talking. youre gone, and hes going to live with that for the rest of his life. he... will always think about what could have happened if he stuck with you or came to your aid faster. your loss leaves him more irritable than before and more likely to lash out

[ur-fav-inactive-writer]

𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐤

Pines family x platonic!reader

WC: 1109

Requested by: @kiyomi-uchiha777

Request: what if Bill because this dude is a psycho kills of sister reader after someone or something that made him angry. And what would be the reaction of the characters. Especially when being protective siblings before now losingey little sister

A/N: holy crap I haven't written anything in AGES, anyway, hope you enjoy this, also this will stray from canon a bit but ill try keep it as accurate as possible x

~*~*~*~*~

Bill held you tightly in-between his fingers, Mabel and Dipper clutched tightly in his others. You writhed and struggled but could not free yourself. You heard the desperate pleas of your great-uncles below you. You and your younger siblings attempted to free yourselves but the harder you tried to escape from Bill's grasp, the tighter he held onto you. Eventually, you and your siblings came to the realisation that you were not going to be freed without Bill freeing you himself. Your heart raced, your thoughts ran wild, your body was shaking intensely. The sound of your breathing picking up was only known to you, the shouts of your uncles drowning it out. Every sound inside your head came to an abrupt halt when the booming voice that belonged to Bill sounded throughout the room.

"I've got the kids~~~"

His voice had a hint of teasing to it, it made you feel nauseous. The look of horror that flashed across your uncles' faces caused hot tears to well up in your eyes.

"I think im gonna kill one of them now, just for the heck of it!"

The last part of that sentence seemed to cause time to stop. No, he couldn't do that, could he? The horrifying realisation hit you, at least one of the Pines' children would be dead in less than a minutes time.

No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No

Surely, he's just bluffing? He's trying to scare us, right? Your head whipped around to look at your dear brother and sister. Their expressions mirrored yours exactly.

None of you could live without one another. Especially the twins, how would Mabel be able to live without her twin brother there to warn and protect her from dangers she was too naïve to spot? How would Dipper live without his twin sister there to remind him to not overwork himself, to live in a better way? No, neither of them could live like that. But, could they live without you?

You squinted your eyes when a blinding, red light flashed throughout the room. The source of it was Bill's eye.

"Eeny. Meenie. Miny."

Symbols flashed each time a word fell from his mouth, each representing you and your siblings. First, a pine tree. Second, a shooting star. Thirdly, an angel. You were given the angel as your symbol since you were seen as the guardian angel of your siblings.

Perhaps that's why he stopped on you.

Symbols were no longer flashing, one stayed. The guardian angel. He was going to kill you. In less than a minute, you would be dead. You had no time to react before Bill snapped his finger and then,

you were dead.

~*~*~*~

Mabel and Dipper were dropped to the floor, along with your lifeless corpse. The sound of Stan and Ford's shouts rang throughout the room. Once they had recovered from the fall, Mabel and Dipper rushed to your body. Your eyes were closed, you looked so peaceful, so perfect. How could you look so perfect in a situation where its so far from perfect? Sobs fell from Mabels lips, throwing herself onto your body. Her big sister, gone forever. Dipper fell to his knees, too shocked to formulate a sentence or even a reaction. His face was blank as his chest rise and fell faster and faster, his breathing picking up rapidly. Screams and cries from Stan and Ford echoed around the room as their cage disappeared. They ran over to you faster than ever, falling to their knees the same way Dipper had.

No. No. No. How could he do such a thing? Why, why her? Why not Ford? Why not Stan? Why (Y/N)? Suddenly, a group of the townsfolk burst through the entrance, Bill too busy laughing at the sorrow he caused to notice such things. Fiddleford held the Quantum Distabiliser and fired it at Bill. Bill's form evaporated as all the weirdness surrounding everybody disappeared with Bill too. Everything was back to normal. Except, (Y/N) was gone.

The Pines' family found themselves in the woods. They ran, ran, and ran until they found your body. You were laying in a meadow, flowers surrounding your corpse, almost poetically. They fell beside your body and stared.

How could they possibly tell your parents their sweet, beloved daughter was just gone? How can they continue on, knowing that you're never going to come back? Knowing that they will never get to spend another moment in your lively presence? All they could do was cry, cry, cry.

~*~*~*~

Weeks had passed and your parents had come to Gravity Falls for your funeral. They saw it fitting you be buried here, where you spent the best summer of your life. The whole town had come in support. They hosted the funeral in that same meadow they found you in. Due to the grief, when they found you, the fact that you loved this meadow and went there almost daily slipped their mind. They found a swing you had crafted yourself on one of your trips here and surrounded it with flowers.

They buried you in that same spot they found you in, the same spot where they found you laying there with such a peaceful expression it almost made everything seem okay again.

After the funeral, the twins would visit that same spot constantly. Mabel would lay next to where you were buried and ramble about all her troubles for hours, knowing you'd be listening. Dipper would sit on the other side and write in his journal. After your passing, he had almost dedicated his journal to you. About how pretty, smart, caring and amazing you were in your life. Once he had finished his first journal about you, he dug up a small hole a few feet above where your coffin laid, and buried it there. To Dipper, he believed that burying it there would almost be like gifting it to you in the afterlife.

~*~*~*~*~

It had been years since your passing, all the Pines' still missed you dearly though. Not a day went by when they didn't think of you and your kind heart. Stan laid in his hospital bed, his health had been declining over those past few months. Mabel and Dipper sat beside him, the same way they did when you had died. He was dying, fast. They cried as they said their goodbyes, knowing he'd be gone soon. He assured them they'd be okay before taking his last breath. He reopened his eyes, looking towards the twins. Why couldn't they see him with his eyes open? Why were they still crying?

As he wondered these things, he saw a pale blue light in the corner, it was you.

"Long time no see Grunkle Stan."

~*~*~*~

A/N: SOBBING RN. also sorry if this isn't that great, i haven't written anything in a while but I still hope you enjoy! xx

[utahimeow]

swan song — satoru gojo

summary — why work so hard when you could just be free?

pairing — satoru gojo x f!reader

warnings — major jjk spoilers, graphic depictions of violence, hurt/comfort, angst, happy endings, reader has a cursed technique (mentioned once), established relationship

word count — 1.3k

author’s note — based on swan song by lana del rey. this is the most self indulgent selfship coded thing i’ve ever written but i needed to give gojo the happy ending he deserved idc if its cheesy or out of character

He’s dead.

Dead.

The strongest. Dead. 

Satoru Gojo is dead.

A flash, then his body becomes two — legs here, torso there. 

He’s not moving. Scarlet splatters the ground, blooms like a lily. 

The air is disgustingly thick, and it hangs like a noose, and it cuts your throat. Nobody is breathing. Everybody knows. 

This time, he’s not getting back up. 

A scream claws its way out of your throat, vicious as it pierces through the air. 

Someone else is stepping up to replace him already, a sorcerer with hair like seafoam. The King of Curses turns towards him, his stolen face twisting into a demonic grin, dripping with victory.

Right now there’s just one thing on your mind. Like instinct, like it’s your destiny. You don’t care about the politics, the consequences, the implications of his death. None of it matters.

You just want to be with Satoru.

Your feet are moving. They almost take off, but a steady grip pulls you back. 

“You should leave.” Shoko’s voice quivers as she speaks. You’ve seen her composure crack so rarely that when you do it feels like your first time witnessing it.

Your face is hot, and it’s wet now. Your eyes sting. You don’t try to stop the tears, or even wipe them.

If you were to look up, you’d find eyes full of sorrow and shock and pity—you’re the grieving widow. His students have lost a teacher, his friends have lost a friend. At least I’m not her, they all think, I haven’t lost the love of my life. 

Without another word, without even so much as one final glance at Satoru’s corpse, you leave. You can’t bear to be there any longer. 

The taxi driver does not question why you’re crying. He pretends he does not hear the way you sniffle and gasp for air. He drives you to your home and drives away when you’ve paid him.

You breathe out. Your shoulders sag with relief. You will yourself to stop crying.

He’s in the living room, a thick arm thrown over his eyes as he half-naps. As soon as he hears you enter however, he springs up, beaming like the sun. 

Satoru laughs a little at your puffy face and your glimmering eyes. He gathers you into a hug, his body hard and imposing and warm, and you cling to him. His heart pumps blood around his body and it’s loud in your ears.

“That was traumatic,” you say, but it gets muffled when you bury your face into his chest. He smells fresh, like the wind on a warm day. He must have showered since he teleported home. 

Satoru’s laughing again. You wish he’d never stop. “You knew it was fake the whole time, how bad could it be?”

“I had to watch you die, Satoru! It was horrible even if it was fake,” you admit, tightening your arms around his waist, where his torso meets his legs. 

He laughs, and it reverberates in his chest and rumbles through your body. You’re angry. You can’t climb inside of his skin and live there and you’re angry about it. His giant hands draw circles all over your back.

“I’m here, baby. I’m all yours now,” he tells you. For the first time, he means it without any exceptions.

…

“What if you faked your death?”

Satoru’s head whips over to look at you, scanning your face to find something that will tell him you’re not serious. But you are serious.

One word, he asks, “why?”

“So we can give up being sorcerers and leave Japan and never come back.”

Satoru grows quiet. There’s a pit in your stomach. He tells you constantly that he’d give you the world, and you believe him, and he loves you more than anything, yet he can’t bring himself to give up on humanity. Without him, the world doesn’t stand a chance. He’s the strongest, after all.

“Is that what you want?” he asks. It’s sincere.

“Yes,” you tell him, swallowing as you consider your next words. “I just got you back from the Prison Realm and now you have to fight Sukuna, who might actually kill you… You just give and give so much to the Jujutsu world and what do they give you back? Shit all. And I’m tired of watching you be wrung dry.” 

He’s silent again. All the years that you’ve known him make it easy for you to know what he’s thinking. More than likely he’s thinking of Yuuji and Megumi and Yuuta. Maybe he wonders what Nanami would tell him to do, or what Geto would say.

It’ll be selfish. He’ll be abandoning everyone at the worst possible moment. He turns your words over and over in his head. Then he thinks of a life with you, a peaceful one, where you’ve left behind your days of sorcery, where he doesn’t have to be some pseudo-god. 

Where he can grow old with you.

Perhaps, he thinks, it’s necessary for him to disappear. It’ll be a struggle without him, but he has faith. They’ll persevere. 

“What are you thinking?” he asks eventually.

“I’ll use cursed energy to create a clone of you. Since my clones can’t use cursed techniques it’ll have to be right when Sukuna is about to kill you. You switch out and teleport out of there.”

For a moment he stares at you, then he chuckles, shifting sideways so he can lay on his back and stare at the ceiling with resolve.

“You’ve been thinking about this,” he says. 

“I have,” you say. “For as long as I’ve loved you.”

…

He thinks you’ve never looked more beautiful. 

He’s convinced of it, actually. Life has filled your cheeks out and erased your dark circles away. Your eyes shine brighter. Fear no longer lives in them, nor does hopelessness.

Your fingers are gentle as you pluck fresh, plump tomatoes off the vine. Satoru’s heart swells because you’ve been so excited to harvest them.

“It’s just a handful for now,” you tell him, letting him peer inside the basket you have on your arm. There are a few bunches of rocket and basil leaves, and a small squash too. 

He reaches in, takes a tomato and pretends to take a bite out of it until you snatch it from his hand and scold him. 

“They just look too good, baby,” he says between laughs. You roll your eyes, but you don’t manage to bite back the smile that grows on your lips.

“Go finish building my chicken coop,” you tease, calling him by his last name, the one he took from you, then brushing past him to head back inside your home.

“I told you it’s almost finished!” he exclaims, trailing behind you as you make your way to the vintage renovated kitchen of your house. 

Satoru settles on a stool at the island at the centre, observing the way you rinse the vegetables in the sink. To him it’s fascinating—well, you’re fascinating. The way your brow scrunches slightly with concentration. He hopes you never run out of vegetables to harvest and wash. He’ll make sure you don’t.

“By the way, what do you think about getting some mini goats?”

“I don’t care as long as you take care of them,” you tell him. “Do you want salad or roasted vegetables for lunch?”

Satoru’s heart races. He’s transported back to 2006 for a moment, when for some reason he wanted to be around you all the time and thought it was weird that he liked it when you teased him. Before he realised.

“Roasted vegetables, please. I love you.”

Satoru doesn’t look much different now. He’s gotten a little more toned, put on some muscle from some of the heavy work he does on the farm. 

And when he smiles, he’s not pretending anymore. 

[deadwooddross]

Was chatting with pals and ended up writing some summaries of my settings...I used to talk about them more, but I tend to change things a lot and got a little shy bc i'm never quite sure what will stay Consistent BUT, their main conceits have all pretty much stayed the same, so, here's some summaries

Otiose: Quiet apocalypse heralded by the four horsemen (huge worms who swim through the air). there wasn't a war or anything, but something bricked the entire satellite and gps system, and everything just kind of fell apart in the modern (future sci-fi, 'designer baby' era) world with it

Ergosphere: FAR sci-fi, humans haven't found ANY sophonts until the Idul find them, uncannily familiar fungus homunculi. The Idul are very divided and one of the cultures core drives is sacrificing materials and people to a particular hungry god. it goes. a little bit bad and a little bit fine.

The Sprawl: There's a tear between the human world and the fae world and great roots are spreading everywhere like kudzu. The elves are Unpleasant motherfuckers. Figuring out how to adapt or dying trying to burn back the incursion ensues

Oddside: Sort of a strange limbo world, I haven't decided if its multiple planets or not, but at least one takes place on a brown dwarf. Humanity is built on a living corpse (not entirely literal but not entirely Not either) and billionaires have plugged themselves into a line of ambrosia not meant for them. Unclear mix of new weird and sci-fi, but mostly follows a baby immortal and someone who kinda wants to die. its got oyster mummies. the sun might be broken, or maybe just old

Archives: Earth got hit by a rock again, humanity moved everyone it could to a partially developed two planet system. One is colonists and one is so shitty but habitable it becomes a prison planet. You can imagine how this goes

Revenants: Death is broken and most people come back in one way or another. sort of low fantasy/early industrial era on a massive continent during an ice age. more of a sandbox, but one with lots of Fighting about how to handle the un/dead most of my characters have a "Home" setting between all of these, but they can appear in any of them because I loooove AUs

[valentine-cafe]

haii!! :DD

can i have an angsty scenario where (anyone you think would match this scenario) they had to kill their partner (reader) to save the world or that reader was a danger or something, them crying as reader's warmth saps away, only to find out that the death of their partner was just for nothing. They didn't actually need to kill reader, leaving them questioning everything they've ever done, holding their partners bodies.

(also can i be 🦈 anon 🥹🥹🥹 thanks!!)

˖⁺. “ pointless sacrifices ” : 

﹙ multi m. characters x gn reader ﹚.𖹭 ݁

. . . various male characters x gn reader !! 🍓 : ﹙ admiral ˖ spy character ˖ serial killer ˖ outlaw ˖ illusionist character ˖ grim reaper ˖ mecenary leader character ﹚

they sacrifice you but it is all in vain. they've lost you all for nothing 

﹙ cws ﹚: death of reader  | wc : 0.6k 

﹙ receipts ﹚: omg this angst thank you so so much for the food. also of course! welcome our newest 🦈 anon

꒰  other treats : guidelines ˖ m.list ˖ characters ˖ our lore  ꒱

﹙ rishen 1311. ﹚. . . !! 🍓 : he should have expected nothing less. the universe has always shown its ugly side of its face to him. what was he to expect when he sacrificed the one good thing that happened - and stayed - for the greater good?

where has the greater good ever gotten him? here he kneels with your cold corpse in his arms. he’s held so many before, yet yours felt like a weight he would never quite shake from his trembling palms.

as he holds you close he recounts the look in your eyes before it all ended. the words you spoke to him. I love you rishen.

you shouldn’t have loved him. not him. he’s not capable of it. worthy of it. heartless is what they call him after all. you should have known better.

the bitterness in his heart tells him that he should have as well. all he can do is stare at your beautiful face. monotone. numb.

꒰ admiral ˖ spy  ˖ assassin character ꒱

 

﹙ alessio 9819. ﹚. . . !! 🍒 : he cannot believe that this is happening again.

another life. at the deal of his hands. a life that he has never wanted to bet, risk or play in any way, shape of form. and here he stood. the aftermath of one of the biggest risks he has ever taken.

now here you lay in his hands. cold. the warmth that you have always blessed him with nowhere to be seen. and for what? for what?

all he can do is keep your head against his chest. bury his face into your hair and cradle you against him. what more can he do when he’s messed up all over again? when he’s the one carrying a heavy weight with nothing but a sore heart and soft begs for your return.

“I messedup. I messed up. I messedupImessedupnonono.”

all he can do is cry into your clothes. reminiscing in the way that you would embrace him. in the way that you would make the world a better place. just as he as always hoped for.

and now the world you love will be no more.

꒰ outlaw ˖ serial killer ˖ illusionist character ꒱

 

﹙xīyáng 9819. ﹚. . . !! 🍓 : he has always prided himself on doing the right thing. even if it came at a cost. even if it didn’t feel right.

none of this felt right. now all of it was in vain. what is the point of any of this anymore? the right, the wrong, the in-between? he has always considered himself grey.

he considers himself nothing with your dead eyes staring back at him. all life and love that he had bathed in now a mere phantom. one that would be etched into his memory.

would it have killed him to indulge his selfishness? to have you here. in his arms. whilst the world shatters around the both of you.

instead he is here. alone. with your cold body against him and whispering his slew of sorries. worthless apologies. as his own voice will too fade into the air. at least he will get to see you again. he hopes you will forgive him.

꒰ grim reaper ˖ mercenary leader ꒱

﹙ taglist. ﹚: | get tagged for specific posts

﹙ tip jar. ﹚: like our work? consider suporting us 𖹭 

[losersimonriley]

the worms crawl in, the worms crawl out

Simon and Johnny die. And then they wake up.

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley/John "Soap" MacTavish

tags: major character death, but they're both ghosts, afterlife, these two are so in love in every version of themselves, actually quite sweet despite how it sounds

word count: 1252

warnings for descriptions of decomposing human bodies

There is nothing left but the two of them.

No missions, no worldly travelling, no deadlines and commitments. No war and no enemy. No bureaucratic nonsense, no rules. Only endless time.

There is no plot to follow anymore.

He's dead. They're both dead.

He's just waiting for Johnny to wake up.

Time is different here—expansive and condensed, depending on which way he looks at it.

Johnny just needs to wake up. Simon has been lying by his side for so long now—or not so long at all. The wildflowers have turned brown and droopy, the willow tree has gone bright orange. It sways in the crisp wind, and grey clouds swirl.

They died in an embrace. Simon's arm is pillowed beneath Johnny's head, Johnny's rotted hand is falling into Simon's rotted cheek. Their faces are turned toward each other, so close, as if they'd been about to kiss right before the reaper took them.

Their bodies have gone past rigor mortis and bloating and purging. The worms crawl in, the worms crawl out. He can look on and chuckle as a maggot falls from his body's open mouth onto the dead grass beneath them. There is a particularly territorial fly situated over Johnny's chest. Anytime another creature comes too close to its treasure, it buzzes them right off. At least he's got free entertainment until Johnny comes to.

He feels so light after all this time.

In another year, green grass and blooming flowers will cover the spot where they lay. The ecosystem will work them into its space in whatever way it sees fit. Simon and Johnny will be long gone away from here.

They'll go find Price and Gaz probably, just as soon as Johnny settles into his new incorporeal form. It was…a lot to process by himself, being the first to wake. He hadn't understood it at first: looking on at his own dead body as if from a third person perspective. Being able to sit up, get up and walk around their perfectly picturesque autumn hillside. No graves, no cremation or burial, no marker.

He doesn't quite remember how they got here. He's hoping Fly Food here next to him has some idea on that part. If not, they'll figure it out from Price and Gaz. He hopes they're back at base, because that's where they'll look first. It'd be just like the two fuckers to send them on a wild good chase around the world, just trying to find them to figure out what happened.

Leaves fall around them.

He hums a tune stuck in his head—one he thinks he's heard Soap sing before.

Leaves pile up, and the temperature drops. Funny how he can still feel the chill in the air. He thinks he might be the chill in the air.

Another blink, another rustle of leaves, and Johnny is sitting up from his body. It's not like how he came up from his own—Simon's awakening was violent, like shooting up from a nightmare, breathless and heart hammering. Johnny blinks awake slow and sweet, stretching his arms like he's just had the best nap of his life. Bastard.

It's a holy experience to see him like this again. Lively. Not decomposed.

Johnny grins at him. "Mornin', beautiful."

"Fuckin' finally."

Like magnets, like it's the most natural thing in the whole of the universe, like they've done it all their lives—their lips meet in warmth.

Johnny holds both hands on his cheeks, preventing Simon from moving, even if he wanted to. Simon holds the back of Johnny's head, short hair of his mohawk threaded between his fingers.

"Been waitin' to do that for forever," Johnny says against his mouth, foreheads resting together.

"Why didn't you, then?"

Soap makes a point to look at the corpses beside them, forever trapped in a lover's embrace. "Uh—reckon, I might have tried."

Simon kisses him again.

If he had to liken it to one thing, it would be falling into the sun. He's dead, but he's burning alive.

Johnny doesn't remember anything. Not actually a big surprise there. Just…he'd been hoping they could just relax and enjoy their afterlife, instead of going on a journey to solve a whole-arse mystery.

The fun thing about being dead is none of the living can see them.

The annoying thing about being dead is all the other dead people can see them.

And there are a lot of fucking dead people on this Earth.

He thought the train was crowded before? He had no idea what crowded truly meant until now; they're squished tighter than sardines in this thing. He's sitting inside another person—at not in the sexy way.

It a Living, and he's fairly sure he's giving her cold chills.

Soap is far too amused by it all, talking to other dead people. Ghosts, Soap has deemed them all. Much to his own unamusement. He's got a feeling this afterlife is going to be as long-suffering as his living-life was. Just in a different, more absolutely perfect way.

What Johnny's gleaned from his conversations so far seems to be that nobody remembers how or why they die. That's something every person has to figure out by themselves. If they want to. No rules, and all.

He'd foolishly thought death might mean a break from lessons learned and deep thoughts. Apparently not.

Some dead fuck accidentally elbows his ribs. Why are there so many ghosts on the line to fucking Hereford? Is there really that much of a hankering for the mediocre fish bar, or are they all simply travelled everywhere else in the world and a Herefordshire autumn is the last place on all of their lists?

Can they even eat? He'll have to have Johnny ask someone before they make arses of themselves in public.

A quick glance around spots his target, his other half, sitting inside a sleeping old man while talking to another old man ghost. The geezer looks all too happy to explain whatever Johnny is animatedly asking about.

Despite the crowd of lifeless fuckers, he's really never felt more alive.

He rather wishes he could've told his living self it would all be okay in the end. Because there is no end. There's Simon and Johnny, and a train, and questions to answer, and an endless amount of time to figure everything out.

Johnny catches his eye from across the aisle, and there's that mad, signature grin. He says something to the man while nodding in Simon's direction before getting up and making his way back over beside him. Then the old man grins at him. A blush creeps its way up his neck onto his cheeks. So that can still happen.

Soap sits inside the other lady next to his own.

"That's Reginold. Reggie," Soap informs.

He quirks an eyebrow. Alright?

"He died in eighteen-forty-three."

"Condolences," he says dryly.

Johnny leans in close. "An' he thinks you're just a braw gentleman."

The blush rises to his ears, and he risks a side-glace at Reggie.

"But I told him ye were taken."

Johnny kisses him there, slowly and deeply, in the middle of the train. With everyone watching.

And it's okay. It doesn't matter who sees. They're already fucking dead. All of them.

He'd like to go back to visit their bodies someday. Maybe they can bring flowers, fix up a marker, so the living world knows they were there.

Johnny and Simon, dead and gone, still here, forevermore.

[gold-rhine]

finally had time to play archon quest, and it was really good! SPOILERS for 5.1.

the obvious standout was the war section, it really surprised me bc i dont remember invasion even in like srs business games like dai, bg3, wotr, etc that had so effectively impacted the fear, tragedy, hectic battlefield, feeling helpless at the scale of it. maybe mass effect 3, but they ruined it in other ways.

usually its like. there are groups of enemies all around the map, the npcs are running around and you save them, yeah there are a lot of corpses, but it doesnt feel that meaningful bc there are corpses around all the time anyway in these kinds of games, and you just move from one group of enemies to another, clearing the map. if there are checks of where you went first to see who survives, it can be even worse bc then you will have players make very specific step by step checklists and find any exploits that detail which is the optimal order of doing things so you save whoever you want, with best loot. so it ends up feeling very detached, bc you sit there with wiki open on another screen, weighing costs and benefits. even if you don't, the usual reload and the set events and *how* players moves around the map give much sense of control, you know you can get best outcome if you wanted and you have your priorities.

but here, first of all, you have an option to choose where to move, but it will move time, so you can't just clear the entire map. and the fact that the "missions" do not have playable characters you already know at stake and instead have npcs you don't know at the beginning ends up working better, at least for me, bc choosing where to go next is not just benefit analysis bc you get best loot or get to save your pookie. instead its a choice between options which are equal to you as a player, so it feels like making personal decision instead of just optimizing in-game strats. and so then when you see the missions you didn't go to turn dead or even go here and everyone is already gone, it just hits different. so the lack of prior information or any worldstate checks ended up working much better, at least for me, to make this an emotional decision instead of rational calculation, and so it affects emotions first.

how they used UI to subvert expectations is also insane, like you see that stat screen of percentages of abyss corruption and so on and you're like oh, i know how it works, its bad now, but i will be clearing the map and it will get better :) and then it keeps getting WORSE and WORSE, instead of doing lil completionist clear of all "!" marks on the map, they go dead, map gets swallowed by the abyss fog, it really feels like chaotic dashing between whatever points left and feeling relief when you see at least *someone* survived at the next one. incredible use of the medium in a way only video games can accomplish to build dread and anxiety.

special shoutout to paimoin's voice actress, i was always saying its not her fault paimon is annoying, its direction, and now she *finally* was given material to work with and she fucking CRUSHED it. like, when we find a baby saurian who is a sole survivor hiding, with corpses of its family all around, and paimon tries to cheer it up and direct it to the safety, her voice is tangibly wavering and filled with tears, but she's trying to keep it together bc she needs to encourage baby saurian, despite knowing we don't have time to stay with him and so we don't now if he'll survive?? insane. brilliant performance. and then when we fly next to the canopy tried, visibly overtaken by abyss, and paimon cries out, a single shuddering cry, half-choked and distressed, instead of going "oh no, it looks like abyss has taken over canopy tribe! thats bad!" like writers usually have her talk. and then when after a pause she quietly says that this war might be too much for paimon, and traveler encourages her and she rallies back, like that lil scene made me like paimon and believe in their friendship more than literal years of her incessant yapping and looking into camera going "we're the bestest friends!"

but also the fact that you can get to know the NPCs you managed to save, and meet them again, they have their own lil storylines, their own optional checks which are not forced on you, but if you do manage to help them , you get to meet them back in safety and it feels so good, gives players enough feeling of agency that your actions DO matter. very good handling of scales, the grand country wide invasion swallowing entire map in despair vs personal, individual level victories. you save whoever you can and every life is equally precious.

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Helloo !! ^^ Its me again ahaha 🙈

Feeling you with the number of RQs ! (': i have a lot of unfinished ones too, and I FEEL SO JORRIVLE FOR SENDING ONE in knowing that💔💔😭😭😭😭😭😭, but this has been in the forefront of my mind 😵‍💫. Please don't feel pressured to respond! 🫣 I won't blame you if you'd rather not to ☺️🙌//

...

Yandere Outlaw, having abducted reader, not at all having had anticipated the strength of their connections.

While reader isn't necessarily strong themselves, they have a strong family, a line of uncles and brothers that are feared across the West for their brutality, their violence, and most notably, their loyalty. This is especially jarring given that reader is the youngest in the family, so of course they would be overprotective over them, as weren't they just the baby of the family, their sweet lil pumpkin?

It's why they are second only to Outlaw himself in terms of criminality, notorious instead, however for how they are willing to kill for blood feud, and to wreak havoc in a bid to avenge anyone that crossed the path of their family member(s).

Now picture this: having heard of reader's abduction, to describe their reaction as fury, rage, even wrath, would all be an understatement. They would be getting together, coordinating a plan, and intending to shoot the damn bastard dead, as scum like him should pay for messing with the wrooong criminals.

Now this brings me to my question: what would Outlaw's reaction be to waking up one day to see not a trace of their darling, their hostage rescued by their cowboy brothers and uncles? (Or something more creative than this,, ^^"" ", i doubt that theyd leave him with lungs and eyes, let alone ALIVE after locating his whereabouts and saving their sweet lil pumpkin, thw baby of the family. My imagination can only take me so far an idk 😓💔)

Would Outlaw go after each individual member of the family down, on a furious witch-hunt in a bid to rescue their darling? After all, Outlaw has been on countless raids riding solo with nothing aside from a horse and his trusty shotgun, became infamous for being the West's deadliest gunslinger, has eliminated the wealthiest businessmen and robbed them of all their money, and made a career out of being a criminal.

Or would he accept defeat? This is clearly not a family to mess with, and it was a miracle that they hadn't put his beheaded head on a stake and set it on fire, condemnimg his corpse. He'd have to be a fool to risk this, wouldn't he? Was reader, his darling, really worth that risk?

Would love to hear your thoughts ! ☺️💞

ALSO SORRU FOE THE REALLY LONG ASKS I FEEL SO BAD BC I GDT CARRIED AWAY JDJSJAJAJASSS 😭😭🙏 PLS FORGIVR ME AAAAAAARRHEHSS

My sweet Anon, we simply must find a name for you ! Your ideas cannot go without an identity to which we can attribute their creation ^^. Thank you so much for sharing your wonderful mind with us <3 !

♡ This occurrence is very in-character for the Outlaw to encounter; albeit never on such an intimate level.

♡ He’s made enemies out of every criminal in the West – namely for resigning them to a life imprisoned while making off with his loot, gifting them a sentence he’d have served himself were he not so adept at the skill of escapism. In the early days when he first started working with other criminals, at least; he’d never make such a mistake now.

♡ You see, the Outlaw is the very definition of work smarter, not harder. So while he may seem as if he’s given up his pursual of you by hanging back, letting you go back to your family and re-integrate with civilised life, he’s tracking you. Watching you. Anticipating your every move.

♡ He’ll find you – eventually – but he won’t swoop in to retrieve you at the first opportunity; he knows that this will simply incur another rescue effort and his imminent execution.

♡ He’ll start to pick off the male authority figures in your family, starting with the weakest (however large and imposing they may be). 

♡ He knows that, without the leader, the pack will scatter, meaning that there will still be some of your family he missed during his executions – members who could still come looking for you upon discovering your kidnapping (again).

♡ Sure, picking off the weakest ones will put the strongest on-edge, but it keeps them packed together – around you – right where he wants them.

♡ The Outlaw knows of the Reader’s family’s reputation. He’s even met them during the occasional heist; opportunists by trade in their willingness to jump upon the corpse of the Outlaw’s victories as soon as his back is turned. But he also knows none are as keen and accurate a marksman as he, and he uses this to his advantage.

♡ While the Outlaw specialises in short-range firearms, he is more than capable with long-distance ones, too. And, once he lures your protectors away from you, he’ll ensure their execution is swift and unforeseen. He’ll perch atop a sturdy tree branch and steady himself, bringing the head of whoever fell for his diversion into the sights of a Whitworth he dusted off and brought from home.

♡ The minute he knows you’re all alone – that your uncles and brothers and cousins are too busy painting the town red with their bodies to stow you away – is when he’ll swoop in, plucking you out of bed and slinging you over his shoulder as he had all those months ago during your first meeting, winding you as he throws you atop his horse and bolting off into the horizon.

♡ So, to put it simply, Anon: yes. To the Outlaw, you are absolutely worth the effort.

Masterlist Yandere AI Masterlist Masterpost

AO3 Wattpad Tumblr Backup Account

[yuu3585]

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚔 ྀི

𝙿𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 - Jason Voorhees! Capitano (Thrain) x Camp counselor! Cyno

𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 - DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, blood, injuries, murder, Cyno has a vagina, smut!, slight predator & prey, slight hair pulling, slight choking, crying, size kink, fingering (Cyno receiving), mating press, breeding?, slight fluff, anything I miss pls inform me

𝙽𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚎’𝚜 - Sir, & love

𝚆𝙲 - 2.2k

𝚊𝚘𝟹 - (♥)

𝙰/𝙽 - mdni (17+), mentioned other characters (their dead - the kids), character x character, Wanderers name is Hatsumi!, Halloween special!, & Happy Halloween!, added in Cap’s real names cause of the Archon quest! Won’t be called Thrain though, not beta read + writer is dyslexic

----

Run or it’ll catch you

It repeats over and over again in Cyno’s head as his body continues to move forward away from the danger of death that looms over him, it’s dark barely even visible to Cyno’s eyes

He huffs and gasps for air as he runs, legs aching as the sounds of the woods echo in his ears, twigs snapping and leaves rustling. It’s getting closer, and soon Cyno will be dead too just like the others. He’ll die a bloody horrible death by this things…? Hands, what will happen to the campers? Did Mika make it back? Have they called the police like he told them to before…

Bam

He hits the ground hard, coughing as the breath is knocked out of him. Cyno struggles to stand, and breathe a struggle to obtain. He tries to stand before wincing out in pain… had he injured himself from the fall? Cyno reaches out for his left boot eyes trying to make something out of the stain on his sock.

Blood

It’s blood

He gasps, what had happened was this the reason he fell?

Snap

He staggers, head turning to the sound, goose bumps covering his dark skin. Where that thing stands, ax in hand covered in blood. He’s…? Tall to say the least, standing taller than Mr. Pierro for sure. They stare at one another a silence hanging over them, that thing moves first heavy boots leaving an imprint on the ground. Cyno tries to stand struggling as the thing gets closer, is he going to die here? Or was this all a bad dream he’d watch up from?

It’s not

He’s pushed back to the ground, a hand wrapped tightly around his neck, this thing’s fingers are surely going to leave bruises on his corpses. The ax it was holding dropped next to Cyno’s head, scaring the counselor even more. He begins to whimper and cry as this thing's fingers wrap more around his neck. Its other hand grabs at his hair pulling it slightly, Cyno cries more unable to feel this thing let go of his neck

Its free hand wraps around the counselor's waist, pulling him up against its chest. Cyno sniffles, confused by this thing's actions towards him wasn’t it going to kill him like the others? The thing groans hand releasing Cyno’s hair, and a small sigh leaves the counselor's lips. What was this thing planning?

It’s quiet as Cyno catches his breath, in its arms. It groans again before moving its other hand to Cyno’s chest, the movement is slow as it stands moving Cyno over its shoulder. Right hand holding onto the counselor's waist while its free hand grabs the ax

Cyno’s breath quickens, as it starts to move deeper into the woods, he starts to lick at his lips, tongue hitting his two lip piercings. The walk is quiet, the two never exchanging words, all that’s heard is that things boots hitting the woods ground. Cyno sighs, questioning just what this thing wants and why it’s here.

His thoughts are interrupted as he is hit in the head with something, he winces looking up slightly… a lamp? The thing groans, setting the ax down before squatting down to the small cabin's floor setting Cyno down. The counselor stares eyes catching onto… a helmet or mask on its head, he winces as the thing grabs at his leg, one of its large hands grabbing at the underside of his knee while the other unties his dirt-covered boot it slides off the boot before tossing it behind its large body

Cyno stares at the things mask, where had he seen it before? It’s way too familiar to be a conscience, he starts to rack his brain for the answer as the thing pulls his sock off revealing a sizable cut on the counselor's ankle, it looks up at the counselor deep in thought. It sighs lowly, setting Cyno’s foot down blood dripping down from the cut

The thing is quiet as it moves away from Cyno, grabbing a first aid kit from a box slightly covered in dyed blood. It moves back grabbing at the counselor's foot again setting it down on its clothed thigh, carefully and gently it starts to wrap up the wound. Causing Cyno to snap back to reality, he stares as the thing gently touches his injured skin

“W-why are you helping me…?” Cyno questions, voice a hazy mess. The thing grumbles finishing up its work before looking up at Cyno slowly, it turns its head to take in the counselor's face. His cheeks had a slight red tint to them… it grumbled hand raising to his cheeks, cupping them gently in its large hand.

The thing's thumb gently creases Cyno’s cheek, trying to comfort and calm his nerves from their little cat-and-mouse game. A shiver runs up Cyno’s spine as he feels the things touches, it’s quite calming but this thing killed his friends. Why should he allow this? It’s not right, not at all…

“N-no…” He mumbles, trying to squirm out of this thing's grasp. It grumbles, other hand grabbing at Cyno’s waist pulling him onto its lap, he squirms more pushing away from the thing more and more. It groans as the counselor tries to move away from it, hands grabbing at his sides to try and keep him still… but it’s futile

Struggling is always futile

The small cabin creaks loudly as this thing slams Cyno into the old wood floor. He yelps breath caught in his throat, coughs leave the counselor as breath slowly enters his lungs again

“P-please… I’ll do anything, just let me go!” Cyno whispers, tears leaving his eyes as they stare up into the black void of this thing’s mask. It groans one of its hands reaches into a pocket, pulling out a long black piece of… Cyno’s choker? “W-wait… how'd you get this??” He questions leaning up on his forearms, eyes staring up at the thing and his choker

It grumbles sitting up slightly, the other hand grabbing the other end of the choker before slowly moving to wrap the black choker around Cyno's neck… it’s an awkward moment between the two, leaving both unable to talk… for the moment

“The mask… it’s Mr. Pierro right?” Cyno mumbles, raising both of his hands to the mask. The thing doesn’t do anything it just sits there, as Cyno’s hands get closer to the mask

Click

The helmet hinges have been unhooked

Panic… the things panics hands grabbing at the mask before it can be removed “H-hey r-relax… I didn’t mean to do that, I was just…” Cyno mumbles hands resting on the things as it holds onto the mask

Cyno’s hands grab at the thing's wrist gently touching them trying to calm down the thing “You're… already it’s just me no one else!” He mumbles, eyes looking into the masks black void

The thing calms, hooking the hinges of the mask back up, hands resting up against its thighs bringing Cyno’s with them, a smile leaves the counselor's lips. Being gentle to it, the thing's larger hand grabs at Cyno’s wrist pulling it closer to it till the thing brings Cyno’s hand down to its pelvis

“O-oh my Lord…” He mumbles, hand shaking as this man holds his hand down against his large and hard bulge, a dark blush creeps up on Cyno’s face realizing what he’s entailing they do

The man groans, pushing Cyno’s hand more onto him, the counselor breathes a small breath as he looks up to the mask “W-why did you kill them… w-why?” Cyno mumbles, voice shaking as he speaks. The man grumbles free hand pointing at Cyno’s chest “M-me w-why… you're Capitano… you're Pierro’s child!” He shouts eyes wide as the man… Capitano shakes his head

They stare at one another again, quite a romantic thing to do. Cyno smiles slightly free hand brushing up against the mask Capitano’s wearing.

“Why did you kill them..? They didn’t do anything wrong, they were dumb stupid teenagers… please answer me”

Cyno mumbles, grabbing at Capitano’s mask slightly. A low breath leaves the man’s lips, he lets go of Cyno’s hand raising it to the counselor's face, caressing it gently. He must not be able to speak! Asking him these questions is worthless he can’t answer them…

Cyno’s eyes trail down to Capitano’s bulge, he shivers thinking of what’s to come “Would you like my assistance with you're problem?” He mumbles, sucking in a low breath

Capitano stops, hand against Cyno’s face moving to his chin, taking a hold of it roughly. Groaning as his free hand grabs at the counselor's waist, fingers digging into Cyno’s skin. Breath hot against Cyno’s neck, he mumbles low as his body is laid back onto the cabin’s floor. Hands wrapping around Capitano’s neck, keeping himself from hitting his head

Capitano’s hands glide down the counselor’s body, hooking onto his shorts pulling them down slowly exposing Cyno’s bare skin. He groans hands grabbing at the underside of his knee pushing them up to his chest, Capitano breathes heavily as Cyno lets out a small whimper.

“P-please be gentle…”

The requ-… the order fills Capitano's ears he groans, one hand grabbing at the underside of Cyno’s knees as the other glides down the back of his thighs causing him to shiver at the touch. Capitano groans again as he slides his thumb against Cyno’s pussy, making him moan at the touch

Capitano slides one of his fingers in, slowly thrusting it in and out. He’s tight, very tight, making it hard for Capitano to even push into him more. Cyno moans lowly, it echoes in the man’s ears… damn was this hard; Capitano grumbles pushing another finger in starting a scissor motion to open Cyno up more. Whimper and cries leave the counselor's pierced lips his back arches as Capitano continues his movements

The movements continue

“P-please… sir, I need you!”

Cyno mumbles, tears streaming down his face. As Capitano pulls yet another orgasm out of his body, fingers dripping with cum. The man groans, finally pulling out a wet loud pop, sounding as he does. Capitano breathes free hand going for his pants zipper

Its sound is overshadowed by Cyno's loud whimpers for more, his hand under the boy's knees tightening as he leans closer chest barely touching up against the counselor's legs pended down against his chest, his hand under Cyno’s knees move to his waist grabbing at it gently but firmly. Capitano groans his cock barely even an inch away from entering Cyno

He grumbles, leaning his chest against Cyno’s legs. The counselor whimpers eyes barely open from the pleasure he feels, Capitano slowly pushes in the tip forcing the folds to stretch out against him. Cyno moans head leaning against Capitano’s shoulder arms still tightly wrapped around his neck

Capitano pushes in more stretching Cyno’s walls more and more till… he’s in, Cyno moans hands grabbing at Capitano’s shoulders tightly “Holy fuck…” he moans, tears streaming and staining his pretty face. Capitano groans, slowly starting to thrust into Cyno more. His hands grab at the counselor's waist, pulling him more and more against his body

Cyno moans more and more as they continue, his legs shake as Capitano’s chest pushes more against them. He gasps for breath as his pussy tightens around Capitano’s cock, he close and so is his body it shakes and shivers more and more as Capitano fucks into him more

“C-close..”

He whimpers, arms losing their grasp on Capitano as he gets closer to the end. The man huffs a few breaths slowing down his pace and drawing out Cyno’s orgasm slowly but surely. The boy shakes, his head leaning back against the cabin’s floor as he cums all over Capitano’s cock, small huffs of breath leaves his body and mind shutting down slowly

Capitano huffs, hands gently grabbing at Cyno’s legs pinned to his chest holding onto them gently as he cums. Covering Cyno’s insides. He’d do it again but now’s not the time, Capitano's hands holding onto Cyno’s sides gently as his fingers slowly caress the boy's skin

It's a quiet moment, as the two breathe slowly and calmly. Cyno takes a few heavy breathes as he slowly closes his eyes lulling himself to sleep from… everything

Capitano wipes a few pieces of hair away from Cyno’s face, tucking them behind his ear… he breathes, slowly removing himself from Cyno, zipping himself up. He grumbles pulling Cyno into his arms, holding onto him gently

“My… love… did… good…”

----

Why…?

Why did Capitano kill those other counselors? Cause they didn't protect the children, letting one almost drown, scaring them with you're predictions, not paying any attention to them

He killed them because they harmed the children, not protect

All campers survived the night, out of the nine counselors only three survived. Cyno survived cause Capitano wanted him too, Ororon and Sethos only survived cause they weren’t even on camp when the killing began

Mona was found in one of the storage cabins with a broken snapped neck, Ajax was brutally beaten to death and found under one of the camp boats, Alhaitham’s was drowned in the camps lake and left to sink, Hatsumi (Wanderer) was strangled to death, Kaveh died to blood loses, and Nilou died on impact when she snapped her neck while being chased by the murder

And Mr. Pierro… found passed out drunk in his truck

Nothing made since, were had he gone? Why didn’t he kill Cyno!? Guess no one will even know…

Maybe it was love?

----

M.list

♡ 𝚈𝚞𝚞𝟹𝟻𝟾𝟻 - 2024

[nomsfaultau]

The different morality systems at play within my own works is always really interesting to me. Cause like, it’s not the action itself, it’s how it’s framed.

Like, I’m just thinking about how despised and villainous MFR Philza is for his everything, but he never physically hurts Techno, unlike how Lambs ”sbi” bruise, bloody, poison, starve, nearly murder Lambs Philza and are still sympathetic. Just like MFR Philza, “sbi” also harm their victim’s loved ones, given MFR Piglin’s kidnapping/torture and Lambs Sbi kidnapping/murder. Lambs “sbi” also kill a lot of people, similar to MFR Phil’s Nether Massacre. And yet, the narrative weight is different, and we’re supposed to root for Lambs “sbi” bonding with Lambs Phil.

MFR Philza’s all encompassing surveillance to protect everyone is treated as a horrific violation of privacy with long lasting psychological consequences. Fault Tubbos’ all encompassing surveillance to protect everyone is treated as common sense. Both are dealing with actual massive threats. Fault’s threat is literally guaranteed to be non lethal in a way MFRs isn’t, even! Or in another direct comparison, both MFR and Fault Philza commit horrible massacres that leave Techno/Tommy (respectively) traumatized and convinced escape is impossible and at least a little catatonic. And both Phils are considered bad because of it, but unlike MFR, Fault Philza can come back from that. It’s considered a mistake that he can apologize for and they can move on from, because in Fault death doesn’t have quite the same weight. Sure it deviates from the pure action schlock of its genre by having some consideration for it, but giant death tolls are still normalized. Hell, Fault Tommy has killed like crazy but he’s poor little meow meow’d about it!

Perhaps it’s the culpability of it? Fault Tommy was heavily coerced into doing lots of murder. MFR Philza had a lot of agency in the Nether massacre, but Fault Philza’s Amnestic massacres are far more dubious given his sanity was being chemically bleached away. Lambs “sbi” don’t have the background context to actually understand typical morality, and so readers treat them far more sympathetically compared to MFR Philza who should have a modern morality system. Or what about Altars Techno, who LITERALLY EATS ORPHANS AND HAS FOR CENTURIES? And yet we just kinda gloss over that, potentially because gods in Altars are controlled and shaped by their worshipers, and so it’s unclear how much agency he had in the sacrifices (or in stopping them; again, was that a choice Altars Techno made? Or did Altars Tommy make that for him by his more innocent worship dictating it?). Or Fault Tommy kidnaps Techno like constantly, because he can’t control summonings, or Weight in Gold Philza is a giant bird so we forgive him for kidnapping Techno because he was only intending to eat him, but when MFR and Lords! Phils do it, it’s suddenly reprehensible?

Could be reader attachment to characters, since again moral weight is warped in fiction so it’s up to if it harms the reader. The MFR Nether massacre hits more than Fault’s Hallway massacre because the reader knows the characters being killed, compared to Fault’s faceless corpses. And then we only knew MFR Blaze and Squidkid like a chapter, compared to Fault Rosalind being there the entire first epoch before being brutally murdered by Tubbo. And she’s not even actually dead, but that’s treated with massive weight compared to multiple characters known a short amount of time, compared to hundreds npcs.

I think a lot of it is the ‘sell’. Like in a fake wrestling match, where the impact of the heel is determined by how much the target is supposedly hurt. Since it’s fiction right, it’s all artifice, we only care so much as the protagonists do. When MFR Techno goes absolutely catatonic for weeks after the Nether massacre, when he spends the entire rest of MFR in its shadow- that more than anything gives those deaths weight. Or within Fault itself, where Fault Philza is despised by Fault Tubbo because they watched him murder a bunch of people, but (like the readers) are far more forgiving of Fault Tommy’s murders because they like him and haven’t really been impacted by them (happen mostly off screen). And hell, for Weight in Gold Techno and Kristin and Phil doing a bunch of terrorism and murder is a bonding activity!

Like. This is why just stating war crimes lists or whatever doesn’t always tell you if the character is considered good or not, because it depends so much on the tone, genre, context, and character reactions. One story’s irredeemable villain is another’s protagonist’s Tuesday, you feel me?

[twstfanblog]

*~Murder Movie Madness~* PT 3

Word Count: 3.9K Pairings: First-year poly minus Ortho and Yuu Warnings: Near-death experiences, dead bodies mildly described, Swearing, Me typing out a country accent

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

Epel tripped over the carcass the second he was within five feet of it, a feat that had him screeching in anger and punching the poor dead creature in frustration. After a quick and light lunch after cleaning, skinning and prepping the deer meat into a large stew pot to come back to they returned to the wilderness to search around the island more. Yuu had gleefully pointed out a small family of deer scampering away into the brush.

“Oh, wow! Look there are deer here. We didn’t see any of them looking around yesterday.” Yuu cupped their hands around their mouth, shouting after the deer, “Apologies! We killed your dad and gonna have him for dinner!”

Ace scoffed, glaring at the back of Yuu’s head before elbowing them in the side, “Don’t involve us. Plus, we didn’t even kill that deer, why are you making it our fault!?”

“Ok, but you agree we prepped that deer for dinner.”

Jack spoke up, Epel on his shoulders to avoid him tripping and falling on every try root, “No, we watched you and Epel skin a deer with a kitchen knife like you were skinwalkers on a time crunch. It was horrifying.”

Epel snorted, gently tugging on the beastman’s ear, “We were. We had ta get that meat into the pot for stew.”

Sebek spoke from the front, eyes laser-focused on the area in front of them with the axe firm in his hands, “It’s warm here, we would have had only an hour at most before the deer’s innards burst and ruined the meat.”

“Don’t be on their side.” Jack sighed, ears trying to fold against his head only for Epel to keep them up straight.

“I just think it was rude that we put its skull on top of the house…” Deuce looked behind them to the house, knowing there was now a skinned buck’s head resting over the front door of the cabin, “It looked cool, but it’s kind of disrespecting the dead, isn’t it?”

Ace scoffed, kicking a rock and jumping onto a downed tree, holding his arms out as he walked down the log, “Deuce, we’re eating its ribs tonight. At least we’re trying to use every part of it-AH, WHOA!”

Everyone watched in horror as Ace tilted into the bush, the redhead disappearing through the leaves as he kept yelling but his voice grew farther and farther.

“ACE!?”

They all rushed forward, poking their heads through the bush to see Ace at the bottom of a hidden hill and rubbing the back of his head at the edge of a ditch. Carefully sliding down the hill, everyone else crowded around Ace. Jack kneeled down to make sure Ace didn’t manage to break the skin on his head.

Yuu looked into the ditch, nose scrunching up as the smell really hit them. Rancid and thick, a part of them wondered if they were about to see another dead deer. Instead, they felt something grip their heart and mind. Their eyes widen at seeing two very human bodies laying face down in the ditch. Looking the corpses over, the other first-years slowly realizing what was in the ditch as well. Yuu felt their eyes roaming the bodies, long starry purple hair with a sun and moon tattoo on the back of their neck. The other body having a ornatly woven colorful bracelet, now soaked with blood and nearly black in areas.

Yuu took in a shuddering breath, taking only half a step away from the ditch before falling to their knees, “O-oh, God. Fuck! Ah! Aaaaah!?”

Sebek had moved to stabilize the human, eyes looking at them in concern, “Yuu!? What's wrong? Why are you reacting like this!?”

“I don’t know!?” They clutched at their chest, panic and anguish seeming to hit them full force for no reason. Only when they feel tears start to run down their cheeks do they yell again, “What the fuck!? I don't know these people!”

“Oh…wait, what if it's your character who's supposed to know them?” Deuce frowned, looking over the edge of the ditch at the poor people. It made his stomach roll, the very idea of something like this happening to people in real life and them never being found. The only comfort he gained was the fact these people weren't real, and that he could look them up online later and see they were safe and alive.

Jack grunted, his ears folded back as he angled his body away from the massacre, “Do you think…they're Arnold and Lucy? They had to of come to the island before us to clean the cabin and the killer got them…”

Yuu wiped at the tears running down their face, sniffling and letting Sebek help them to their feet, “That sucks…they were literally just doing their job and they gotta be gutted for that? This killer hates the working class.”

Ace huffed, shaking his head and giving the ditch one last pitying glance before moving to walk away, “Are you sure I'm comic relief? You've been acting like a clown since you opened your mouth…”

“Oh, shut up-AH!”

Everyone turned back around just in time to see Yuu slipping down the ditch and disappearing over the dirt ledge. Sebek's face was one of pure horror that morphed into a mixture of apology and disgust. The others could only copy his face as Yuu started to scream in what could only be described as ‘enraged disgust’.

The master bath was a hot spot once they all returned to the cabin. Yuu had gracefully allowed Deuce to shower first, not wanting the other first-year to be forced to stand in a mildly bloody box.

Exhaustion of the day started to hit them all one after the other, hiking across the island for a second day in a row leaving them all tired and sore. The stew not helping to keep their eyes opened, everyone full and relaxing around the cabin.

Freshly de-oiled, Deuce hummed and looked into the darkening landscape. It was still light out, and not a sign of the killer just as there wasn't the day before. Thinking things over, it only made him more unsettled. He couldn't hear as well as Jack nor Sebek. But, Jack was guarding the bathroom door while Yuu washed the dirt and blood off of themselves and Sebek was already asleep on the couch.

Nodding his head he taps Ace's shoulder, gaining the sleepy heart soldier's attention, “I'm going to do a quick sweep outside, just to make sure nothing changed while we were gone today.”

In his half-asleep state, Ace just grumbled and nodded. The very idea of letting Deuce wander outside alone being the literal opposite of what they had all agreed on not crossing his mind.

No more than ten minutes later, Yuu and Jack walked down the stairs. Opening their mouth, Yuu's words didn't come out, quickly seeing they were down a firstie, “...Where's Deuce?”

Ace sat up from the couch, eyes wide as though if he opened them more he'd be able to find Deuce. Epel had turned from his trance-like state where he was washing their bowls in the sink, catching eyes with a now fully awake and panicking Ace.

“Fuck, h-he told me he was going to go check around the house, I didn't-”

The lights flicker. Everyone looking up at them, bulbs growing to a frantic pace before fully going dead and casting the cabin in shadows.

…

Yuu looked to the pair of panicked firsties, “Did you fucking morons really let him walk out there ALONE!? He’s one of the hot ones; he’s a sitting duck out there!” They moved to the couch, slapping a drowsy Sebek on the back of his head to wake him up fully.

“Fuck-Deuce!? Deuce!?” Epel didn’t wait for anyone else to speak, rushing out of the cabin with his shovel and into the quickly darkening night, disappearing from view.

Groaning, Yuu held their head in their hands, “Oh god, they’re both out there now…”

Sebek quickly grabbed his axe, awake and standing at the door, eyes trying to look through the dusk in the hope of seeing either of his boyfriends, “Should we go after them?”

Ace spoke up, prepping himself along with Jack to go rushing out into the night, “They’ll…they’ll be fine, right? They’ve got their weapons and they’ll find each other.”

Yuu spoke, double checking their laces before grabbing their hoe, “I mean…Do you think they'll spontaneously start having sex?”

…

They all rushed toward the door, Jack muttering under his breath, “Yeah, we should find them-”

Yuu spoke, her tone with a slight mocking edge, “Yeah, we should find them.”

Deuce was turning to walk back to the cabin when he saw the lights go off from a distance. They wouldn’t have gone to bed without him, and the flickering of the lights was not a vote of confidence. Taking the gamble, he turned around and walked away from the cabin to retrace his steps to the off-sight electrical box. Now that the sun had truly set, his work was only lit by a bright full moon.

He bit his lip, looking over wires and switches. He wasn’t sure if it was from the poor lighting, but the writing on the labels was basically unreadable. Deuce still tried, though as he tried more and more solutions that yielded no results, he assumed that the electrical box was only for set dressing and wasn’t actually functional. Giving a big sigh, head hung low before he made the choice to give up. It was growing late and he needed to get back to his friends, lest his removal from the group kick-start the second act in a way.

Opening his eyes, picking his head up, he froze. The moon was his only light, a light that was…gone. He waited for a moment, praying it was only a cloud drifting overhead though he knew the night was both starless and cloudless. The ragged breathing behind him was his easy tell it was not a cloud.

Deuce tucked and rolled, jumping to his feet just in time to see the killer’s machete swinging down into the electrical box. He for a brief moment made a confused note on if the box was functional or not, the metal blade making it spark and flicker violently to show a large man in an old and blood stained jumpsuit. he wore a crude burlap sack with eyeholes cut out of it as a mask. The lumbering man turned his head toward him slowly, glowing red eyes, soulless yet wild at the same time. He pulled his weapon from the still-sparking electrical box and taking two big steps far too close to him.

“S-stay back!” Deuce dodged the next swing, the cold bite of the blade just barely missing his skin. He gritted his teeth, eyes moving around in an attempt to refind his location in the woods, planning to bolt the moment he could back to the house.

His luck quickly ran out, his foot bumping hard enough against a raised root that sends him falling onto his back. He tries to scramble away, only to feel the killer stomp a foot onto his bare chest in an effort to keep him still. The weight felt unbearable, the feeling of muddy and worn boots grinding rocks and twigs into his skin as he stared up at the killer. 

The murderer leaned harder onto him, his arm raising high and poised to swing his blade down hard onto Deuce’s neck.

For a brief moment, Deuce wondered just what dying felt like, and he couldn’t help but agree with Yuu; who would ever find something like this entertaining? He closed his eyes, sucking in a breath he could barely get and bracing for the pain of his life ending.

Instead, he heard a familiar yell of rage followed by a hollow thud of metal contacting with a blunt object. The pressure moves off of his chest, giving him the chance to finally took a deep breath. Another thud sounds beside him, scrambling away to see the killer face down in the dirt before the rusted head of a shovel comes down on the back of his head. HARD.

Epel was all but growling, his hair wild and misted with sweat and forest debris. He brought the shovel over his head, swinging the blunt face to the back of the killer’s head a third time with even more force than the first two hits, “FUCKER!”

Deuce couldn’t help but flinch at every hit, a small part of him almost feeling bad as Epel basically turned the downed killer’s head into a jelly-filled sack, “Uh…Epel? I think you got him?”

Epel huffed, swinging down another time, “Ya gotta make sure, Ah ain’t gonna take the chance of this fucker getting back up!” It only took a moment of thought. Clicking his tongue, Epel changed the angle of the shovel bringing the sharp edge down in a stabbing motion. 

Deuce wasn’t sure if it hit, but the wet-sounding crunch was more than he needed to know Epel had just stabbed the killer through the head with a shovel. He retched into the ground, gagging at the mental image he didn’t even see.

Shovel still in hand, Epel knelt to the ground, his free hand gently gripping onto Deuce’s shoulder, “Baby? Baby, ya ok? He didn’t hurt ya?”

“I’m…I’m ok…This is just…I didn’t think it would be this bad. It’s all kinda silly looking back but this is…Epel, this is way too…” Deuce had started to slowly turn back around, a hand braced against his no doubt bruising chest. His eyes widen in horror, prompting Epel to look behind him as well.

The killer was gone.

…

Epel’s grip on the shovel changes again, his eyes gaining a dangerous glint as he starts to scan around the dark, “Cabin. We’re going back to the cabin.”

Deuce could only nod, his hands shaking as he tried his best to wipe the cold mud off his chest.

Ace never liked feeling useless. It rarely came up since he didn’t try to throw himself into helping others around him, only the ones he dared to care about. But now, walking through the dark night of a fictional forest and sticking close to an axe-wielding Sebek, he felt painfully useless.

He walked closer, trying to keep up with the taller boy’s strides and whispers out, “Shouldn’t we be calling out for them? How are we going to find them if they can’t find us?”

Sebek didn’t look at Ace, keeping his eyes trained ahead of him and ears as perked as possible, “We can’t let the killer know we’re in the woods. It’s bad enough we’re not sure if Epel and Deuce are together, but it’s best if the killer isn’t aware we’re all out and about.”

“Ok, but-”

The faint sound of static broke out through the forest ambiance, a jolt going through both of them at the out-of-place noise. Sharing a look, the two walked closer to the sound of buzzing and stilted voices. 

Walking through the brush, Ace and Sebek looked at an abandoned campsite in confusion. The site was obviously old, rusted camping gear, a sun-bleached tent with small holes in the side. The smell of rotted food only a faint odor. 

The two only look around the camp for a few moments before the sound of glitched voices start again. Sebek stood guard at the tent as Ace crawled into the abandoned space.

“Oh! Sebek, there's like a radio here. Come see, it looks old as shit!”

Sebek harshly whispered, already crawling into the tent, “Stop yelling!” Looking at the radio, Sebek could only grimace, “By the Seven, it is old. Give me a moment I may be able to get this working again.”

Ace moved to the side, raising an eyebrow as the half-fae started to slowly twist dials, “How is it you know how to work an old radio like this?”

“It's a two-way radio. My grandfather and Lilia both had one similar back in the valley...Was easier then telephones for fae. Silver and I would make late night calls to each other as children once we learned how to work them…”

“Aw~.”

“Stop talking, I'm trying to focus.”

With every dial turn, more static played, only blips of voices lost in the fuzz until a familiar voice was heard.

“Hello!?”

“Ortho!?”

Sebek's slow movements sped up, trying to find the perfect frequency before picking up the receiver to speak, “Ortho! It's Sebek and Ace, are you alright?”

Even with the correct channel, Ortho sounded clipped and fuzzy, “There - much time. I'm in the - but I'm in the town. Make your - to the beach by the dock. I'm attempting to rent - boat. -ay safe. - let - be --------.”

Ace sighs as Sebek puts the receiver back on the line, “Ok, that's good at least, right? Ortho's here and he's trying to reach us.”

Sebek tries a few more times to find a viable station, only to grunt as nothing more than static plays, “It is, but it's concerning he hasn't been able to reach us in the first place. Renting a boat shouldn't be that difficult-.”

The pop of a branch outside sends them both into silence. They move slowly, crouched positions primed for running as the sound of footsteps grow closer through the static. Sebek manages a glance to Ace, the redhead nodded and already holding two of the flour bombs.

The footsteps stopped just outside their location, a brief moment of static-filled silence before red lights were suddenly visible through the small tear of the tent. The killer’s swing was quickly parried, Sebek raising his axe to block the machete blade cutting into the plastic film and forcing the killer’s stance off. While Sebek forced his way through the newly made hole of the tent, Ace was crawling his way out of its proper entrance. He stood to the side, watching in mild amazement as Sebek kept pace with a brick wall of a man swinging a machete with almost neck-breaking speed. But, the longer he watched, the more he realized that Sebek was slowly losing steam while the killer remained in perfect form.

Ace makes a quick survey of his surroundings, catching the tip of the cabin in the distance, he turns back to the fight in front of him. Once, Sebek had blocked another machete swing, the two locked in a standstill of trying to overpower the other, he yelled out, “Sebek! Sunny-side up!”

With an upthrust of his axe, Sebek quickly made his way between the killer’s legs and behind him. Before the killer could turn around or even swing downward at the speedy fae, Ace launched two of the flour bombs directly at the killer’s face in quick succession. As he coughed and sputtered in the cloud of flour, Sebek swung his axe directly into the man’s knee.

The two first-years didn’t stick around long, only for Ace to pause as the killer let out animalistic grunts and yells at the powder in his eyes and his unnaturally bent. He smirked, grabbing another egg and throwing it at the back of the man’s head. Three egg bombs used, Ace decided that was enough and followed after Sebek back to the cabin.

“DAMN IT!”

Jack turned around, sighing as another flock of deer ran past them both. Since they had entered the woods, they were constantly assaulted by the sounds of bushes rustling and twigs snapping. It had put the two of them on edge to the point Yuu had nearly decapitated at least two deer and Jack had actually punched a buck across the face.

Yuu braced against a tree, trying to control their breathing while Jack walked closer. Luckily, they had only jumped a little at the feeling of Jack’s hand gripping onto their shoulder, “These fucking deer, man…”

Looking around the woods, Jack’s ears swivel before he sighs again. Looking down at Yuu, he gently pulls them away from the tree and turns them around: “Our nerves are shot. I haven’t heard the others since we separated at the house. Let’s just head back to the cabin and regain our wits.”

“...Ok, yeah. That’s a good plan. I swear, the fact I pointed out how there were no deer around, the movie spawned in a whole population of them to spite me…”

Jack shrugs, huffing and following behind Yuu, “I wouldn’t be surprised at this point…”

They walked for only a few moments before the rustling in the bush started again. While Yuu had simply groaned, rolling her eyes and making a vague rude gesture over their shoulder to what they assumed to be a deer. Jack had smelled the faint scent of flour and garlic powder.

The beast men turned in time, the moonlight reflected off of the killer’s machete as he brought it down. Jack threw a left hook, metal bands slamming into the side of the blade to deflect its swing. With the opening, he threw a right hook directly into the killer's nose and sending him staggering back.

Yuu turned around at the sound of metal hitting metal, eyes widening in surprise as they saw Jack punch the killer in the face, “God damn, Jack.”

Jack kept himself in proper boxing position, bouncing on the balls of his feet, “Thanks; I started doing boxing with Vil again.”

And such training had clearly paid off. Jack ducked and weaved around the murder, forcing the machete away from him mid-swing by punching the side of the blade and delivering what would normally be devastating blows to the killer’s face and chest. Yuu did their best to stay to the side, not wanting to give their assailant the chance to grab at them or stand in Jack's way of swinging.

It all happened too quickly for either to stop. Though seemingly untired and unfazed by Jack's onslaught, the killer had grown frustrated with his lack of progress. Stepping back from one of Jack's punches, he grabbed hard onto his wrist and tugged him forward. It wasn't enough to truly budge him, but it give him clear enough space to swing his machete down onto Jack's forearm.

The yell Jack let out wasn't painful, but he assumed it was the fact he had adrenaline coursing through his now sliced-open veins. Blood sprayed out from his wound, a bright red shower in the moonlight when the killer pulled his blade out. Jack could only attempt to pull himself free, fearing the next swing would slice his arm in two.

Thankfully the next swing never came. Yuu had stepped into action the moment Jack had been hit. She swung her modified hoe, the short and cropped blade sinking firmly into the killer's neck. The attack made his grip loosen, letting Jack pull his gushing arm to his chest in an effort to stop the bleeding. 

Yuu pulled their weapon from the killer's neck, dropping low and spinning to use the tool to sweep his legs from underneath him. Once on the ground, Yuu twirled the hoe over their head, bringing it down to the center of the killer’s forehead.

“Damn, Yuu.”

“Lilia's been showing me some stuff.” Pulling the hoe from the killer’s head, they swung one more time at his neck. Another deep cut to the other side of his neck, nearly decapiting the creature before they felt safe enough to turn their back on him.

Walking closer, they surveyed Jack's arm, “Ok, back to the house. That's bleeding way too much…”

“What about him?”

Looking over their shoulder, Yuu glared at the prone killer, “That's not enough to kill him but I don't think we could. Horror movie slashers can out-survive an atom bomb if you write they can.” Yuu pressed Jack's arm tighter to his chest, gently urging him back in the direction of the cabin, “Let's just head back and get you patched up.”