#I'M A MONSTER

[paint1117iny]

[vulpixisananimal]

ALSO!!! i've just been poking through some of your other posts and just discovered the bonnie angst, AAAAAAAAAAAAA

really cool tho!!!

WELCOME TO THE BONNIE NIGHTMARE ZONE

YOU THOUGHT THIS WAS JUST ABOUT SIFFRIN SYSTEM SHENANIGANS

NO

MEMORY OF SNAPPING BLAST

[erineaera]

Anecdote: When I designed my version of Sagau (Reader CreatorXHarbingers), I introduced a whole family line (the Nevaskys) so that Reader would have something to see other than our Harbingers.

[xfangheartx]

Summary- Blitzø tells Stolas how he really feels, and things do happen.

Preview:

  Buffy didn’t know why, but things were unusually quiet right now… and she did not like it. If there was anything she learned during those ten years she was living with the Vices (fuck them still), it was that when things got too quiet, that’s when things got bad. Buffy hated it when things were too quiet because it always made her nervous… well, more nervous than usual.

  That’s when there was a knock at the door.

  “That can’t be another client, can it?” asked Millie while Moxxie attempted to open the door, only for it to slam into him when it was thrown open by none other than Stolas, who was dressed in his royal attire… and he did not look the least bit happy.

  “…Hello, Your Highness…!!” Moxxie groaned while Millie ran over and pulled him out from between the door and the wall.

  “Um… can we help you, Prince Stolas-” Buffy started, only to squeak in fright as the demon owl glowered at her with his glowing red eyes.

  “Where… is your father?” Stolas asked in a tone mixed with authority and bitterness.

  “H-he’s in his office,” Buffy stammered, “but… he’s with a client right now, so-”

  Stolas didn’t let her finish as he walked past her and pushed open the door to Blitzø’s office, where he found the imp speaking with a Sinner that had octopus tentacles for hair and legs. The only thing that looked remotely human were his arms.

  “Blitz!” Stolas shouted.

  “Stolas, what the fuck are you doing here?!” Blitzø questioned. “I’m busy!”

  “Yeah, man! He saw me first!” the Octopus Sinner shouted, only for Stolas to glare at him, which caused him to gulp nervously. “Uh… you know what? I’ll come back later.”

  With that, he ran out… or crawled out… whatever octopi did.

  “Blitz! I demand an explanation!” Stolas shouted as he slammed his hands on Blitzø’s desk.

  “What do you mean, ‘an explanation’?!” Blitzø asked. “I gave you my fucking answer, Stolas!”

  “What kind of answer is ‘I love you but I can’t be with you’?!” Stolas questioned.

  Outside, Loona, Buffy, Moxxie, and Millie had their ears glued to the door.

  “Ohhh, shit…” Loona cursed. “I knew something was up.”

  “I can’t believe this, Blitz!!” Stolas shouted. “After everything we’ve been through, together, THIS is how you want to end things?!”

  “You think I WANT to end this?!” Blitzø questioned. “Fuck, Stolas, I don’t need this, right now!! I already feel bad enough that I woke up in someone else’s bed, this morning!!” He gasped as he covered his mouth while Stolas’s eyes widened in shock… but that shock slowly shifted into anger.

  “You did WHAT?!” he yelled.

 “He slept with someone else?!” Millie whispered in horror as she and the others all gasped.

  “I thought that Dad smelled weird!” Buffy said.

  “Okay, look, before you say anything else,” Blitzø began, “I did something really fucking stupid! I know that! But just so you know, Stolas, I was drunk and he was hot!”

  “THAT’S your excuse?!” Stolas questioned. “Being drunk, I understand, but you slept with someone else simply because they were ‘hot’?!”

  “Well… I mean…” Blitzø stammered. “He…” He sighed as he ran his hand down his face. “He… he kinda reminded me of you.”

  Stolas blinked at Blitzø, who gave him a nervous grin… and that’s when the prince did something even he didn’t expect. He started to laugh. He just started covering his face and laughing loudly… but it was that kind of laugh that someone made when they were about to jump off the deep end.

  “I… I just don’t believe this!” Stolas exclaimed. “You slept with someone because they reminded you of ME?! Do you not see the IRONY in that, Blitz?!”

  “It is a little ironic…” Moxxie muttered while Millie, Loona, and Buffy shushed him. “What?!”

[a-broken-worthless-monster]

I'll never be something truly good for important person. I'll always be a bothersome mess with inconvenient and wrong feelings who can't even help enough.

I don't want to exist.

[dreadwulf]

oh god, in that Arrested Development AU, is Jaime the Buster?

[shewhisperedit]

ugh what's wrong with me today, I got fucked so good last night but I can't stop thinking about more, with many, just groping and eating and fucking

[ensanguinate]

I just accidentally stepped on my cat's tail a lil bit I'm going to hire a fucking hitman to take myself out

[january-summers]

Dear Brain, I hate you with the force of ten thousand suns. Stop making things worse, stop making things horrible, stop hurting Agent Washington. No love, January.

So, this post right? Feral Wash Awol Murder Rampage through Covie Forces Au?

My brain went: but what if we made things suck even more for poor David? Like, a lot?

Cause I was thinking, right, how would I tell that story if I wrote it? Well, I mean there was five other thoughts happening simultaneously, but the end result was:

Warnings for below the cut: injury, murder, semi-graphic descriptions of injury and death, brief mentions of suicidal thoughts, events which might be considered self harm, aspects of unreality, excessive use of 'David' instead of 'Wash(ington)'

no beta, I die like all the freelancers who aren't Wash or Carolina (Or California.)

this implies a somewhat slightly less feral Wash/David than the previous, and got a bit rambling and somewhat very dark, and I really need to stop hurting Wash/David, and spend time in much happier AUs, like a soft PFL AU where things are nice and the worst thing to happen to Wash is that during an undercover op, out-of-armour Wash is outed as a former rockstar by a fan.

Anywho:

-

We start with David in the psych ward, a therapist is with him while he tells them he doesn't remember, he doesn't stop asking he can't remember!!! The base was attacked, and they were fighting and now he's here, everything was just a blur between all that, stop asking for details, he doesn't have them!

But the therapist asks him to try, to start at the beginning, what's his name, his rank, his serial number, tell them about his team mates, no you can't see them right now, please answer the questions.

So David answers as best as he can, (and at this point I would like to take a small hilarity break to suggest his last name is actually something very normal, like Cooper, or Campbell, or Church, or anything that makes his initials D.C.) and slowly starts recounting the story, with prompting from the therapist when he falters.

He talks about the base, how they (he and his team) would hang out and train and prepare for the covie forces to arrive, and how they arrived without warning, swept over the base and would have killed everyone inside if David hadn't disobeyed his Sargent's orders. But he'd survived, he falters as he tries to get through the attack, tries to put into words the fear he'd felt at losing sight of each of his team mates, and lets the therapist slowly wheedle him into telling how he'd found each and every member, banged up but alive, how they'd fought and run and fought some more and blown up so many of the damn covie bastards until there was silence at last.

How they'd walked through what remained of the base looking for any survivors and finding only the Sargent. Hiding.

David stops here, again, and the therapist tells him that it's okay, they already know, there was camera footage recovered, they know what David did, but they want to hear it in his own words.

So David confesses. He'd dragged his Sargent through the blood and scorch marks, made him look at the dead, and then he'd beaten his Sargent's face bloody, hadn't stopped until his face didn't look like a face anymore, and then he'd let the Sargent crawl away just far enough to think he had a chance before putting a single bullet through the back of his head.

The therapist thanks him, and tells him he did really well, and that David should rest now. Outside David's room, the therapist talks to others, arguing that their work isn't done, not only was David found so many miles away from that base that he should have been able to walk it in the month he was missing, there were all those destroyed covenant bases, he might have information! Plus, his confession wasn't accurate, several key details were wrong. (what they don't exactly say, by they mention the footage, talk about whether or not David knows he was lying.)

The therapist gets an allowance, they have until the court date of David's court-martial to get anything they can out of him, but he's confessed enough to the crime he's being charged for, everything else is just filler.

Over the next week or two, the therapist gets the story out of David in bits and bites, of how he and his team had discovered their comms were fried beyond repair, then made the decision to try and hoof it to the next base after salvaging whatever they could from theirs. Covie and UNSC weapons alike.

The discovery of the next base being wiped out. No comms. Low supplies. Plenty of tracks to follow.

They'd decided to take revenge against the covies, hadn't expected to walk out, but they had. First one covie away team, then two, then scout and small teams, then finally a base.

Always waiting for each fight to be the one that kills them.

David talks slowly and with morbid humour about how he'd used the weapons he'd stolen to kill the covies in increasingly creative ways.

Sitting by a river trying to wipe dark blueish-purply blood off of his... everything.

"I have some very important notes on the minimum safe distance to reach after shoving grenades down a gator's throat, by the way."

How one base had been in a large indent in the rock, not really deep enough to call it a cave, to tall and exposed at the front, but he really didn't know what else to call it. David stops to laugh as he recalls the conversation right before he'd begun the plan for that base.

"This is the worst life choice I have made. Ever. Of all time," David had complained, tightening the rope's knot to make sure his makeshift harness was secure. "Your worst life choice ever, of all time, so far!" His team mate had corrected him before David had jumped off the cliff, running along the rock face to swing out across the opening, so high up no one would have expected it, shooting out the bases shield generators despite being upside down and swinging very fast and not having very long to locate and terminate before they were adjusted to cover his surprising angle. The clamber up the far side of the opening, back onto the small outcropping to load the makeshift bomb (a lot of grenades duct-taped together) in his hastily abandoned harness so he can throw it over the edge. One of his team mates frantically praying as David judged the swing to cut the rope so the bomb would release right into the center of camp. The explosion and the realisation the ridge wouldn't hold as the cave collapsed, his team racing ahead and calling back for him. Getting caught in the rock slide and coming to with one arm pinned beneath stone. Stuck there in the sweltering sun until his team had found a stick to lever it off of him.

The therapist takes several breaks over the course of the interview/interrogation, to talk to their own team, who've been watching via live camera feeds.

"You really believe this kid and his team did all that?" one of the therapist's team asks. "Some of what he said contradicts, you had to have noticed. And where's this team of his? I thought he was the only one they picked up?" "You haven't noticed?" another asks the first, amused, and perhaps a little condescending like they're waiting for the first to catch up. "That David seems to be the star of it all, the big hero making all the plans and taking all the action? His team is a supporting cast of two-dimensional characters? No alarm bells ringing for you?" "So he's making himself out to be the hero?" "He knows he's lying," the therapist says, staring into the ether, replaying David's words and actions as he'd retold the events. "He knows exactly when he's lying." "So what, he never did any of it? His team carried him? or none of it happened? How'd the covies die then? Rogue Spartan?" "Hahahaha," the second team mate laughs like they can't believe the first can be so stupid. "No, but seriously, how did you get a job here, was it nepotism? Go back and watch the footage, look at his body language, his body keeps telling the truth even when his mouth is lying to us."

The therapist perseveres, helping David tell the story in his own time, how tired the team had gotten, how hard it had been to sleep, how they'd discovered that one type of covie ration was edible for humans but it was also, for humans, a space weed brownie, how they'd accidentally discovered certain types of polarized lenses could... not entirely reveal active camo, but would show more obvious signs of it than looking straight on.

"It's not something you can use all the time," David says, holding his hands up like he's using two pairs of something (sunglasses) to act like a active camo radar. "You're better off waiting until you have reason to believe they're there... even if they show up unexpectedly it's not, it's just not feasible to use them all the time, and besides, the real trick is making the shot, you've either gotta turn away from the reflection at shoot where you think they should be, or make the shot using the reflection to target." He extends his right arm up and behind him, keeping his eyes on his left hand as he mimes a gunshot.

The first of the therapist's team mates comes to a conclusion. "Okay, I understand, he got his team mates killed along the way, that's why they weren't picked up with him, they didn't survive his insane theatrics in the field!"

"Ooohhh, partial points," the second tells them. "Right track, but you got off at the wrong destination, you're a little early... or late in this case."

Finally, two days before the hearing/trial/court-martial, they reach the end of the story. And the therapist asks:

What happened on the first day, what happened during the attack on the base?

"I told you." David says, "I already told you, stop asking. I told you what happened."

"Where is your team?"

"No, no I don't want to. Don't make me look." David hides his face in his hands, body curling in on itself. "If I look it's real. I'm not ready yet, it can't be real yet."

"David please, tell us what happened to them, tell me what happened during the attack on the base?"

And David looks up, looks at the therapist, looks at his team standing behind them. They smile, give him encouragement, and for a moment he hates them for it.

So David starts again, retells the beginning, the base, the quiet before, the surprise attack, the fear as he loses sight of his team one by one, and then finds them.

Riddled with crystal needles, burned, crushed, one of them torn in half at the waist (David had thought for a moment that one was fine until he'd moved far enough to see...), and one of them he almost hadn't found. Wouldn't have found, if it hadn't been for the sight of their lucky rubber duck half fallen from the torn pocket of a headless corpse.

He retells the desperation of the battle, determined to take as many of the covie bastards with him as he could before he joined his team mates.

The absolute rage he'd felt at being denied when the last covie had fallen but David had remained.

And the cold, burning beyond fury when he'd found the Sargent, how he'd broken the man's knee and dragged him through the base, through ash and blood to each and every member of David's team, to make him look at them, how he'd beaten his Sargent's face, demanding he apologise, until the man finally agreed.

"I'm Sorry! I'm Sorry, Please, stop, I'm sorry!" "No," David had said, "Not to me." He'd stood, given his Sargent enough room to turn over to see where David was pointing. To the team's youngest, staring wide eyed and unseeing, looking almost untouched... above the waist where there was still a body to see. "You apologise, to them." And the Sargent had, crawling and begging for forgiveness. David had sighed. "No." He'd denied the Sargent's pleas for forgiveness and put a bullet through his brain. "We don't get to be forgiven for this."

David is sent away, off to face military justice, and left behind in the psych ward, the psych team unwinds.

"I don't get it, did you read it in a file, about the team already being dead?" The first team mate asks. The second team mate lets out a long, drawn out sigh of annoyance. "Go back and watch the footage, watch the way he moved his body. For the most part, he's contained, small movements, fury, fear, frustration, all held in check. When he made big movements it was in two types of situation. First, when he was demonstrating something-" second mimics David's illustration of reflective lenses and shooting behind themselves "- and second, when he talked about the team having active roles in events, like when he was pinned under the rock? Or when he found each of them "alive". go watch, imagine the story without the team, his body will show you what happened." And the team mate does watch, piecing together events with the story and how David moves. How his shoulder had twisted and his leg had stretched like he wanted to pull something closer with it. How his arm had turned and legs had gone uneven in a way that hadn't made sense... until first team mate puts themselves in David's position, pinned under a rock by one arm and desperate, desperate enough to use his own legs as a fulcrum to leverage the rock off his arm.

They won't see David again. In several months they won't particularly remember him, not with the number of patients who come through their doors, cycling through as the war drags on and on and on.

[hlizr50]

My biggest contribution to Elorcan Week 2023 is this 6-chapter, what-if fic.

If you know anything about me, it's that I'm a monster.

As one of the coordinators of Elorcan Week, I suggested today's theme (What-If) for the sole purpose of being... well... monstrous. I chose to ask the question, "What if Vernon had managed to steal Elide during Empire of Storms?"

That being said, the first two chapters of Eleven Days are posted on AO3.

Please heed the trigger warnings for chapter 2.

“Why couldn’t you just let me die?”

With a sharp intake of breath his eyes snapped to her profile, tears leaving trails of flickering silver on her cheeks. Slowly – so slowly – she turned her head to him, searing him with a hard, accusatory glare.

“Elide, I –”

She launched herself at him, pounding at his chest with her tiny fists as her voice cracked over ragged screams.

“Why couldn’t you just let me die?! WHY?!” she demanded. Lorcan, eyes wide with alarm, simply let her pummel him, while her words tore him to pieces. “You should’ve let me do it, Lorcan. Why didn’t you? Gods, WHY?”

Tag List: @elorcanweekofficial @headcanonheadcase @vikingmagic33 @mercarimari @daevastanner @mystical-blaise @thelovelymadone @sunshinebingo @shadowsxgwynriel @freyjas-musings

[lescarbille]

Fake fic title: "Darling Dreamer"

Angggggggggggggsttttttttt ! Yes that's what "Darling Dreamer" inspired me. No my brain is not deranged... I mean... Technically yes but... It's a good deranged... Leave me alone !

Darling Dreamer

Landoscar | 3k | angst / no comfort | haunted | MCD

Oscar's silhouette appears in his dreams. Night after night. Dream after dream. Can he still call them dreams? They are nightmares because Oscar is no longer here and all he has left are the ghosts in his fantasy. "Oscar! Oscar! Stay! Oscar!" Lando can only scream as they are separated by a mist. And Oscar looks at him so sadly that the only thing he wants to do is run and embrace him.

[thesporkidentity]

no no charlie brown specs, i promise i'm not going to move the football give you meds this time

[impala-dreamer]

this may be one of the most emotional scenes i've ever written

[kalebsocs]

A perfectly cut scream with the egos would be like this:

Marvin: hmm.. candycorn? :picks up a package of it someone left on the table:

Chase: why would anyone eat that? Only weird people like that!

Anti: spontaneously glitches into the room, sounding unusually friendly:

Anti: I LIKE CANDY CORN :D

Chase and Marvin: AAAAHHHHHH

I don't know who you are, or why you decided to give me your headcanons, but I fucking love that. Seems pretty accurate I'll say. Here might be my longer version of that w/ all the main 6.

Chase:

Chase has had bad experiences with most things related to most things childhood related. (I have this headcanon based on the "Lost the only two people that ever mattered to me." bit. Talk more about that later if you're interested.) So he doesn't like most kinds of candy.

The guy likes sweets, sure.

And it probably used to give him a sugar high when he was happier.

But childhood trauma might've only allowed Chase to like one or two kinds of candy.

I see him as a Snickers bar kinda dude, but that's probably because I like that shit as well.

"You're not you when you're hungry, dude."

Chase probably hates Candy Corn for the texture it provides, he probably used to eat just a tiny bit if his kid demanded he try it.

Oh yeah, and memories like that add to the candy trauma.

Henrik:

Henrik avoids candy for the obvious reason that he's a doctor and knows the danger of that much sugar.

I do imagine he also gets a sugar high, and it comes out in the form of a mad scientist.

The only candy that Henrik might accept is the Lollie pops he hands out to good patients. (children obvi) That stuff can last a little longer, so his sugar highs aren't as dangerous or explosive.

But this fucker might as well hiss at candy corn while sending cease-and-desist-related insults in German at anyone who offers the candy.

He considers those things to be caramel sugar pyramids with the sole purpose of a "get a cavity quick" scheme.

JJ:

Doesn't mind candy corn

He wouldn't choose to eat candy corn out of everything else, but he doesn't hate it like Chase and Henrik do.

He mainly likes the caramel flavor but dislikes how it can get stuck in his teeth.

He's also a Lollie Pop kinda guy, mainly for the old-timey feels.

It's either that or a good bar of dark chocolate.

JJ doesn't get a sugar high like the others, but he also just doesn't eat candy often.

Jackieboyman:

Jackie likes to eat candy corn mainly for the shits and giggles.

Stuff like hissing at mutuals with candy corn fangs, adding it as decoration to whatever sweet things he might make specifically for Halloween if his times aren't robbed by...bank robbers maybe?

As a superhero, he'll hand out candy to saved victims on Halloween.

Whereas his 'secret identity' self will give out baked goods (the only ones that aren't burnt to a crisp) to any Trick-or-Treaters that approach his apartment complex.

However, Jackie doesn't necessarily choose candy corn out of the many other candy types.

Jackie seems to be the kinda guy who loves sour candy

Marvin:

Marvin soooo hates candy corn.

He's kinda pompous and snobby when it comes to their candy tastes, so candy corn is basically the most peasant-like candy he can think of.

Hates everything about candy corn.

The colors remind them of stupid and boring traffic cones,

the texture gives "hard on the outside, soft on the inside" a bad name,

and the flavoring tastes sooo cheap to Marvin.

Give Marvin any kind of chocolate and they'll be happy though.

Anti:

Eats candy corn purely for the chaos

It's a move he'll make to taunt all the other egos into fighting them.

But Anti otherwise doesn't care about candy in general

Food in general seems silly to it because before he took Jack's comatose body, they didn't need food or the sensations of taste that food provides.

It doesn't matter how tasty or dogshit the food is, Anti will only eat it if it'll keep his current vessel alive or if it'll cause a reaction from the others

If you did ask and Anti would willingly answer though, Anti would say that its favorite food would be dead human corpses, it traumatizes everyone else around them, and he finds it hilarious.

[a-broken-worthless-monster]

Woke up from a dream that was vivid, I got to have important person around in a miracle encounter and somehow be useful and wanted.

Can't say much but I remember lots of it.

I'm an idiot. I want to cry. Time to get up before my alarms go off anyway.

[loo-nuh-tik]

Contre Soirée - I'm a Monster