#also: it seems to have gone well despite The Fear and The Terror!!

[gothyanki]

presentation… DONEzo…

[sonicexelle-junkary]

Your sonic the rot au-- You've stated that a person can be cured if they go super.. So this begs a FEW little questions. 1. Sonic has passed the point of no return HOWEVER the emeralds have restored his life before, so let's get to question #1.. if Sonic somehow turned super.. would he be revived or would we have an infected super sonic? 2. If super forms CAN kill the virus, how would the virus react to Fleetway? Since he IS super sonic, albeit evil. They wouldn't be able to infect him, right? Would it be afraid? 3. Back to question one in a way.. since the chaos emeralds have restored his life before, the same thing could be done for others. (If you're wondering when this was, it was in Sonic 06. And you DID say you're following the ingame continuity.) So would the chaos emeralds be able to wish everyone infected back to life if they were to use the warp topaz? DR. Starline said it himself that it can cause MASSIVe changes with just a little charge! Pump the power of super shadow through it, and he should be able to undo everything in one fell swoop. If it exists.. if not, shadow could do something similar with the phantom ruby. 4. Is Silver infected as well? If he wasn't I think it'd be cool if Silver and Shadow were some sort of apocalypse duo, surviving the terrors together. Also, how DID shadow get infected? Did Sonic get the jump on him?? Please answer both. 5. Lastly, how did Sonic get infected? He's patient zero so he had to be infected, I'm placing my bets that Eggman infected him with it, and possibly fucked himself because of that.. because if Eggman did create the virus, then it sure as hell isn't following his orders. I imagine Eggman staying locked up in his base if this is the case, if not.. he's very unprepared for what's to happen.

Well, this is a long one. I’ll answer this the best I can

1- perhaps. But if he runs out of rings he would drop dead, as his insides are hollow. There is nothing to restore. The Rot will never ‘go super’. Why would they do something that would kill them?

2-The Rot can’t infect pure chaos energy (which is what I assume super forms to be), so it won’t be able to infect Fleetway. Now, will it be afraid of him? No. As The Rot is incapable of fear. At least, that’s what seems to be the case.

3- the au only follows game continuity, everything outside of the main line games created by the sonic team aren’t cannon (despite tangle being cannon to Frontiers). And despite following main game continuity, it doesn’t follow the same cannon as the games do (just to keep the story a little more interesting so that it’s not just a ‘oh gee this character is better now the day is saved’ kind of deal. It’s meant to be bleak for a reason). The chaos emeralds can’t just magically heal a person when they become super. You could heal someone with them, but to create organs from nothing might be a stretch, even for that. As well, pretty much all of the phantom Ruby prototypes are gone post forces, I assume the real deal as well.

4- no comment

5- see previous answer

[connectionterminated13]

(For the fallout au) is Charlie a character in the au? Or Henry? I think Charlie would have a blast traipsing around the wasteland lol

Yes! There's a lot of lore to this LOL sorry it's so long

Just like in normal fnaf Henry and William make fazbear entertainment together! But they don't just run a diner instead they sell family friendly robots and (also run a diner chain). Both William and Henry are able to get enough spots for their families in a vault Because of their wealth.

Anyway the bombs drop and Henry and Charlie are able to make it to the vault and so is William but Mrs. Emily or Afton along with Sammy, Evan Elizabeth and Michael. William is immediately declared overseer, Well Charlie and Henry morn their lost loved ones. William mostly tried to push past the grief of losing his wife and children focusing on being the overseer, What he didn't know was vault tech had specifically chose him as the overseer for the experiment of the vault. They wanted to see what would happen if someone with multiple mental illnesses was forced into a leader position.

Anyway over the first year in the vault William became increasingly paranoid that radiation would leak through the walls and began constructing Antimatronic suits to protect himself and others, He began to convince almost every resident of the vault of this too, Spiking paranoia except for Charlie and Henry who both knew how science worked. But Charlie was too young so no one listened to her and Henry was too busy being sad... And life kind of continued on for a while everyone paranoid and scared but trying their best to live until 1 day Charlie got a message on her pit boy that someone with Michael's pit boy was trying to enter the vault.

Charlie despite the danger decided to open the vault for a minute. And income tumbling Michael and Elizabeth. Of course the vault door being open made everyone go into lock down fearing that the radiation was going to get them, This terror only intensified upon seeing Michael who was basically in the middle of his transformation into a ghoul. Michael was locked in a containment area well Elizabeth who seemed to be unscathed by the radiation was immediately given medical attention. William took advantage of everyone's fear Telling them that what was happening to Michael was going to happen to them all if they didn't prepare. Well everyone in the vault was freaking out Michael was dealing with his body decaying, The only person who would even get near his isolation area was Charlie who came every day with food and water and medical supplies, Henry came too but very rarely since he was basically just a shut in at that point Only asking if Michael knew where Sammy and Mrs. Emily were.

After only 2 months William decided that Michael would be thrown back out into the wasteland to not contaminate the Vault any further, Charlie was the only one who disagreed watching as Mike was forced out. After Michael left things quieted down for about 4 years, William told everyone that Elizabeth had died from injuries sustained in the wasteland and people moved on.. Until Slowly children started disappearing. William blamed it on Sickness Caused by the radiation which no one really believed but there wasn't really anything else to believe. This happened for about 2 years with everyone living in complete and utter terror that their children would be taken in the middle of the night, It went on like this until Charlie caught William in the act of kidnapping a child. She tried to tell everyone but only a few people listen to Her. The few that listened all left the vault with Charlie. But Henry chose to stay inside with William.

Charlie and the other people of the vault resettled hurricane Utah, Charlie lived a relatively happy life there, And you're right she did enjoy it in the wasteland. For a while she tried to find Michael but eventually gave app he was gone... And even if she did find him Charlie knew the community that she was a part of would not accept him. So Charlie Grew old and married a man named John and a couple kids and passed away, Not knowing what happened to her father down in the vault.

What happened to Henry down on the vault if you're curious is the same thing that happened to everyone else. William shoved everyone in a suit, He ripped apart the vault basically to make more, And of course he put Henry in one since he didn't want his sweet Henry to ever die. Luckily Henry isn't mindless like The others but he's lonely. He mostly just spends his time making more machines.

Sorry this was so so so long I thought I'd use this ask to establish a bit more of the Lore for my AU :) Also I don't think the Henry thing is set in Stone as much as the stuff with Charlie I'm still working on this after all LOL

[parad-ice-lostandfound]

Prompt:

Pairing: OM!Brothers x GN!MC, Simeon x GN!MC, Diavolo x GN!MC, Barbatos x GN!MC

Genre: Hurt/Comfort ig?

TW: Small paragraph of what sleep anxiety is and entails directly below (please skip if you don't feel comfortable reading it, not really relevant to the headcannons), fear of dying in sleep, mentions of random pains. If there's anything I've missed, please do let me know!

Sleep anxiety, also known as somniphobia is a sleep disorder that describes discomfort sleeping alone or a general fear of falling asleep. Those who experience somniphobia explain it as extreme anxiety that makes it difficult to get to sleep even when they are tired. It is often associated with other disorders that cause negative sleep experiences, including sleep paralysis, frequent nightmares, night terrors, and parasomnias.

Lucifer

At first, Lucifer doesn’t realize something is wrong. He has brothers who are prone to staying up late, so usually, he’ll tell you to sleep as he does his rounds. It’s only after finding you up a couple of times at unholy hours of the night despite showing signs of needing the rest that he thinks something is wrong.

He calls you into his office one night, long after his brothers have gone to bed and carefully pries out the reason for your unhealthy sleep schedule.

After you tell him about your fears, he’ll offer for you to sleep with him in his room. If you accept, he’ll quickly take you to his room and get in bed with you, but he won’t sleep. Instead, he’ll be playing with your hair, trying to lull you into sleep, assuring you that he is right there.

He will do his research and ask you if you want to visit a therapist to help with your situation. In the meantime, he’ll do subtle changes to your schedule and eating habits that’ll help.

Lucifer starts paying closer attention to your mood as it is a clear indicator of whether you’ve been sleeping enough or not. Will try not to look as if he’s too worried about the random pains, but they do keep him up at night sometimes and so he takes you to a doctor to make sure nothing is wrong with you physically.

Lucifer is reminded of just how fragile and delicate humans can be. Of course, you’re no damsel in distress, but you aren’t as resilient as demons either. So expect him to fuss over you like a concerned parent the moment you seem to be in pain.

Mammon

Mammon, being your first demon (and your biggest simp) catches onto the fact that you don’t sleep pretty fast. He is observant when it comes to you; neither the bags under your eyes from lack of sleep nor the way you seem reluctant to go to your room at night slip past him.

His confrontation is quite straight-to-the-point. Just a simple “Hey human, did ya not get enough sleep last night?”, but the concern in his eyes and tone is as plain as day.

Once he finds out about your fears, he relates it to how bad Beel’s nightmares were after they had just fallen. Sure, they weren’t the same thing, but the essence of it was pretty much the same; in both cases, a loved one was afraid to sleep and thus harming themself.

Invites himself over to your room for sleepovers. Don’t pay attention to the way he blushes seeing you in your nightclothes or how he tenses slightly when he gets into bed with you. Give him some time and he’ll wrap his arms around you, pulling you close and humming a calming tune to help you fall asleep.

Panics a little when you tell him about the random pains and immediately takes you for a medical check-up, multiple medical check-ups in fact. You can never be too cautious, y'know?

Hates the fact that you worry about dying in your sleep. Hates it even more that he’s become slightly paranoid about it as well. Sometimes he’ll wake up in the middle of the night only to check whether you’re still breathing.

He’s lost you once, and he never wants to experience that again.

Leviathan

Leviathan didn’t really find it odd that you remained awake at odd hours of the night. The otaku was the same way, so he couldn’t really judge you when you answered his messages almost instantaneously even if it were 3 in the morning.

It took Asmo pointing out the exhausted look on your face for him to notice at first. After that, he becomes extra observant around and during his interactions with you.

One night, after a long gaming session in his room, Levi asks you why he always sees you online or awake at weird hours. He knows he does the same, but he actually gets some sleep since he doesn’t really have any obligations aside from RAD classes, which he attends online.

Once he finds out about your fears, he is sympathetic. Anxiety is a tough thing to deal with, but don’t worry, he’s here to help you. On nights you don’t wanna sleep, just come over to Levi’s room. You’re tucked in his bathtub bed carefully, lo-fi music playing in the background while he plays a game on his PC. The dim light from Henry’s aquarium, the clacking sounds of his keyboard and the music seem to ease your mind and help you to fall asleep quickly.

Levi gets worried when you tell him about the pains and even goes with you to your doctor’s appointments that he arranges with Lucifer’s help. After all, the Lord of Shadows couldn’t possibly leave his Henry to suffer alone, could he?

Satan

Satan is a smart demon. He is quick in catching onto the practically non-existent nature of your sleep schedule but doesn’t know whether it is his place to ask. So he waits for a few days, reasoning to himself that maybe it’s a one-time thing, maybe the stress from RAD is getting to you, maybe-

Yeah, he doesn’t last long.

He pulls you aside from his rambunctious brothers one day and gently asks you if you’re feeling okay. He assures you that he won’t make you talk if you don’t feel like it and reminds you that he’s always here to listen and help.

When you tell him about your fears, he is at a loss for a moment. If it was something else making you sad, Satan would’ve immediately offered to destroy it. But this was something your mind was doing to you. Satan immediately starts researching on it, advising changes to your schedule and diet to help you get over it.

Will talk you into meeting a therapist and getting medication if necessary or if the changes in your routine and diet don’t help much. He becomes very worried when you tell him about the random pains and sees if there’s a spell to help you with it, just in case it’s not something physical that can be controlled or healed.

Asmodeus

Asmo quite often gets on your case about not taking care of yourself but chalks it up to either one of his brothers or schoolwork keeping you up at first. It’s only after he does a little digging that he finds out that it’s not his brothers or RAD homework.

Asmo worries, and he shows that by inviting you to his room to relax and enjoy a stress-free spa day. As he pampers you, he coaxes you to talk to him and tell him why you haven’t been sleeping.

Once he comes to know of your fear, he’ll do everything in his power to help you get over it. He’ll suggest that you two have sleepovers in his room at least once a week. He chooses a calming scent like lavender on those days and treats you like royalty. The atmosphere in his room is calming and his soft voice makes you feel safe enough to fall asleep comfortably.

When you inform Asmo about the random pains, he immediately suggests a massage to try and help with it. Of course, there are other remedies as well, so if a nice massage by him doesn’t really help, he will do everything in his power to help you.

Probably ropes Solomon in to help you as well.

Beelzebub

While it is true that Beel often has a one-track mind when it comes to food, he is very devoted to his family. And since he considers you a part of his family, he is very attentive to you as well. That’s how he finds out about your almost non-existent sleep schedule.

When he comes to your room for the third time after a nightmare and finds you awake, he asks you if everything’s alright. The worry in his voice and the face he makes convinces you to tell him about your fears.

Beel knows how bad not sleeping can be for your body, but doesn’t really know what to do, so he settles for doing what you always do when he has a nightmare; he gets into bed with you and cuddles you, hoping it can help. He’s extremely relieved when it seems to work and you go to sleep.

Beel suggests exercising to help with making you sleep. If you’re exhausted by the time you need to go to bed, you won’t have the energy to think and get scared by the prospect of sleeping, right?

Being an athlete, I think Beel has had his fair share of pain and injuries. So when you tell him about the random pains that freak you out, he immediately goes to Lucifer.

Beel asks Belphie to look over you when you’re sleeping and also talks to Lucifer about seeking professional help for you. He just wants you to be happy and safe.

Belphegor

Wonders if it’s because of him that you fear dying in your sleep, considering, y'know, sleep being part of his domain and his past with you.

Belphie doesn’t show he’s concerned; even if you don’t sleep at night, he can always get you to nap with him. Imagine how betrayed he feels when he finds you don’t actually sleep when he naps with you. On one hand, he’s kind of happy that you don’t push him off or anything when he clings to you for hours on end, on the other hand, you need sleep dammit-

He tries to ease you into talking about it, but somewhere along the line he loses his patience, his tone bordering on begging, asking you to tell him why you won’t sleep. He knows what not sleeping can do to someone, and he shudders at ever seeing you that listless and dull.

After telling him about your fears, Belphie will immediately ask you to nap with him. He will also offer to look over you while you sleep, slipping into your dream to make sure you aren’t plagued by nightmares when you finally decide to sleep.

Suggests going to a professional when you mention the random pains you get. Belphie also becomes very clingy, not wanting to stay more than a feet away from you.

Simeon

Simeon is perceptive; not a lot goes by this angel unnoticed. So it’s safe to say that he finds out about your lack of sleep fairly quickly.

Simeon isn’t the confrontational type. He gives away little hints that he knows you’re not getting the rest you should, feeling that you’ll come to him when you’re comfortable letting him know what’s going on.

Once you approach him and let him know of your fears, he will gently soothe your worries. His presence in itself is very calming, and there is no judgement in his eyes when he listens to your fears, however irrational they may seem to you as you say them out loud. He assures you that you are safe and protected, surrounded by people who would do anything for you.

Simeon talks Lucifer into letting you stay over at Purgatory Hall more frequently to help with your fear of sleep. He does everything to make sure that you have a good time whenever you’re over, be it baking treats with Luke, experimenting with Solomon or just cuddling and being lovey-dovey with him.

When you tell him about the pains, he offers to use his angelic powers to ease them. It’s only a temporary measure, so Simeon advises you to get it checked out, coming along with you to the doctor if you want him to.

He buys things said to help a person fall asleep, like soothing scents and candles and gifts them to you whenever he sees you.

Diavolo

Diavolo is a very devoted partner. Although he does not get as much time with you as he likes, he asks Lucifer to keep him updated on your condition, what you do etc. That is how he comes to know of your lack of sleep.

The next time you visit the castle, Diavolo inquires about your well-being, asking if you’re okay and if there’s anything he can do to make your stay in the Devildom better. Gently, he pries the truth from you.

There is absolutely nothing this demon will stop at if it means you get your sleep. Diavolo immediately asks you to stay at the castle so he can take care of you himself. No matter how busy he’ll be, he makes time from his schedule just to help you with this.

He gets Barbatos and Lucifer to help him in his research, finding out ways to help. Any lifestyle or diet changes that can help are implemented immediately. If those do not help, Diavolo seeks out the best therapists and psychiatrists.

When you tell him about the random pains, he gets a little freaked out. He offers to help you with magic, but also advises you to get a thorough medical check-up, just to make sure nothing else is wrong with you. He treats you like a delicate little flower and spoils you during all of this.

He comes to all your doctor’s appointments, eager to make sure that you’re alright.

Barbatos

Barbatos is meticulous in all aspects. Not a single detail goes unnoticed, so it was only a matter of time before he would come to know about your fear of sleep.

He brings it up one day as you’re helping him in the kitchen to make something for his young lord’s lunch. He makes sure you know that he will not force you to answer him, but also tells you that he worries about you and would feel much more at ease if you told him why you wouldn’t sleep.

Similar to Diavolo, Barbatos asks Lucifer to keep an eye on you. He knows he won’t be able to focus on you as much as he’d like due to his duties and responsibilities, but he does try to be there as much as he can.

He researches ways to help you with it. On Lucifer’s suggestions, he takes the evenings off for a few days so that he can be with you. Barbatos implements certain changes to your diet and lifestyle that may help you.

He is also there to all of your doctor’s appointments, though you’re not quite sure how he does that. He is a bit concerned when you tell him about the random pains and takes you to get them checked out as well.

Sometimes it may feel like Barbatos is behaving like a overprotective and concerned parent to you, but it all comes from a place of love. If you ask him to back off a little, he will most certainly do so, though a little reluctantly. He just wants you to be safe and happy.

[malfoysprinces]

The Minister’s Daughter

- draco malfoy -

PART 3

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

The return of Lord Voldemort sent shockwaves through the wizarding world, marking a dark and foreboding chapter in its history. His resurgence was marked by an atmosphere of fear and trepidation, as whispers of his malevolent presence spread like wildfire. His name, once feared to be spoken, was now on the lips of every witch and wizard. The chilling news of his return sent ripples of uncertainty and concern, for Voldemort was the very embodiment of evil, and his return heralded a time of impending darkness. His followers, the Death Eaters, rose from the shadows, and their activities instilled a sense of foreboding and insecurity, reminding all that the wizarding world was far from immune to the terrors of its dark past. Voldemort's return was a grim reminder that, despite years of peace, the age-old battle between good and evil had rekindled, and the wizarding community would once again have to confront the malevolent forces that threatened their World. The Sacred Seven, despite their strong bond, couldn't escape the complicated influences of their parents. Their  priorities and loyalties were complicated enough. Some of their parents being part of the death eaters were a basic knowledge around Hogwarts. However, they try not to project it on each other. Their friendships were stronger than that.

For Y/N, she got letters from her mum every now and then. Occasional letters from her mother mentioned Voldemort's return also posed a risk for her father as the Minister of Magic. Things were tense back home, as well.

It was all becoming too overwhelming for her at the moment.

Draco's return brought the news with him. He was...tense.

There was a certain distance between Y/N and Draco ever since he got back.

It all must have happened on his trip back home. They were perfectly fine before it. What caused him to be so distant must have had something to do with that trip. The sudden change in his behavior was nothing but unpredictable. He was cold and distant. However, it was hard to explain. He didn't give her reason to question his love for her, but he kept his distance. Seems he always had somewhere to go and something to do. With each passing day, he grew increasingly cold.

Days turned into weeks and Y/N couldn't count them anymore. He was cold. Brutally cold. The guy once who held her so close, so gently close was gone. Something was missing in his touch. Y/N couldn't exactly name it. The man that she loved was slipping through her fingers and there was nothing she could do.

It all started with late night sneak outs.

After classes when Y/N and Draco went to Draco's dorm, they would talk and cuddle for an hour or so, and Y/N would fell asleep in his arms. He would leave the room gently. It was not until that night she had noticed it.

It was a cold February night. The snow embraced Hogwarts. Y/N and Draco were in Draco's dorm talking about how posions became harder this year. But Draco's mind seemed to be stuck on something else. She was aware but didn't want to point it out. They carried on the conversation. Well, mostly she did. Then he pulled her into his embrace and kissed her. Draco was so close yet so far. After a while, Y/N's eyes were so heavy that she couldn't hold them open. She fell asleep in Draco's arms. Only to find out he was gone after an hour or so.

"Dray?" her gaze wandered around the room. It was almost midnight. He was there, holding her. Where could he have possibly gone? "Draco?" she asked again. No answer.

Him being cold was one thing. Him being gone at midnight was another.

Y/N decided to check the common room. Maybe he just wanted to get some air she thought to herself. She perfectly knew it was an excuse she made to herself. However, she wanted to believe it. And even if he wasn't in the common room, he could always be at Astronomy Tower, right?

She got up from the bed and put her jacket on. She held the doorknob only to find someone else pushing it from the other side.

"Draco?" she asked.

"Oh, you--you up?" he asked.

"Yeah. And you? You were gone?" she asked.

"Yeah, I had to um…- you know, deal with some stuff." he obviously lied.

Since when does he have some stuff to deal with in the middle of the night? The sentence itself screamed that it was a lie. Besides, it was written all over his face.

"What kind of stuff?" Y/N asked, hoping to get a proper answer.

"Some Prefect duties...like…patrolling around." he answered.

"It's not your turn to patrol today. That's why I am staying here tonight?" she knew something was wrong.

"We changed the schedule. I must have forgotten to mention it. No big deal." Draco answered. He was giving the runaround.

Y/N might be many things, but stupid definitely wasn't one of them.

"Draco, this is the last time I am asking this. Where were you?" her tone was skeptical rather than cold.

"I don't understand why you are making a big deal out of a patrol. I had to do it. I am a Prefect." he was confident.

"I am not stupid. I know your schedules better than you do. We planned this night weeks in advance."she was also sure of herself.

"Whatever, Y/N. I am not doing this with you right now." he said as he was walking towards his bathroom.

"Oh? Is that your final say?" she asked.

He looked at her over his shoulder and answered "Yes."

And with that, Y/N started to pack her things to leave the room.

"What are you doing?" Draco asked.

Y/N didn't answer.

"Why are you leaving?" he asked again.

"I'll stay in my room since you developed a habit of sneaking out when I’m asleep." she answered.

Draco would knew that it was a matter of time before she would notice.

"I won't tolerate it. Not without a proper explanation, at least." she added.

"I have already explained. You'll learn to respect me." he answered.

"Respect goes both ways. And we clearly have a problem on your side." she answered.

He frowned at her.

Her eyes landed on his grey eyes for the last time that night.

Then she slammed the door and went to her dorm.

Pansy and Daphne were already asleep when Y/N entered the room. She kept her quiet, not wanting to wake them up. It was until, she slipped over a chair and fell down.

A loud noise woke both Daphne and Pansy up.

"Are you okay?" Daphne asked with sleepy eyes.

"Geez. Just watch your step." Pansy was still half asleep.

"Oh, sorry guys." her tone was cold.

Pansy was the first one to remember that she wasn't supposed to be here tonight.

"Weren't you staying with Draco?" Pansy asked.

"Um, yeah. I was going to-" she was cut off by Daphne.

"Was?" she asked.

"Yeah, he has been kind of…distant?" Y/N's answers were short.

They both looked confused.

"What's going on, Y/N?" asked Daphne.

"I don't know, I really don't. He has been acting weird lately. I lost the track of time since when it all began." her own words made her cry.

"Oh, Y/N. I am sure it is not about you. He was never the warmest one anyways." Daphne said.

"Yeah but…still, he is not the same as before." Y/N answered.

The girls were desperate. They had a look on their faces of worry.

Just then a knock was heard.

"Can I come in?" Draco's voice echoed.

"Girls, is it okay if he just comes in?" Y/N asked.

They nodded.

"Yes." she answered.

Draco stepped in and looked into Y/N's teary eyes.

"Can I talk to you outside?" he asked.

Y/N nodded and stepped out of the room.

"I am listening." she said as she was looking away.

"Look me in the eyes." Draco commanded.

Y/N's eyes were still away from his.

He cupped her face and turned her face to him.

"I was with Snape. I am sorry." Draco answered.

"That's the best you could come up with?" Y/N said as she didn't believe Draco.

"Theo was there, as well. You can ask him." Draco answered.

The blind leading the blind she thought to herself.

"Okay, Draco. Let's call it like that then." Y/N answered half-heartedly.

Her problem was not only about tonight but also about that it had been weeks now that Draco had started to act distant.

"However, this doesn't change the fact that you are distant from me. For weeks now." she said it.

"Forgive me." he answered.

It was clear that he was not going to let her go. At least tonight. And it was also clear that she was not going anywhere. At least not for a while.

She looked straight into his stormy grey eyes. Once filled with love was now seemed to lose its light.

Draco took a step closer. "Forgive me." he whispered again as he was leaning in to kiss her.

The kiss was….needy. They both needed each other and they both knew it. Tears were coming down on Y/N's eyes as she was kissing him.

Forgiven? Yes. However, heartbroken? Absouletly.

Y/N, Daphne and Pansy were on their way to Hogsmeade. Ever since the word was on street, the tension was unbearable in Hogwarts. Voldemort being back meant Y/N's father to be on watch. Every single day. Every single hour. And Draco's behaviours were definetly not helping.

Daphne and Pansy, acknowledging Y/N's situation, decided to take her to Hogsmeade for a butterbear.

Girls remembered the first time they went to Three Broomsticks. They were at their first year. Three little girls, giggling and drinking butterbear. Oh, the things Y/N would do to go back to that day.

As they walked on snow, Pansy almost slipped.

"Watch out!" said Daphne.

"Yeah Pans or is it because you want your Prince Charming Pucey to come and save you?" Y/N laughed.

"You know, the snow suits Hogsmeade. It looks its best covered in snow." Y/N said.

The girls nodded.

As they entered The Three Broomsticks, they noticed Mattheo and Blaise sitting together. However, Y/N noticed Draco was not there.

"Hey guys!" said Pansy.

"Oh, hey!" answered Mattheo.

“Didn't know you guys were coming to Hogsmeade today, as well." adressed Blaise to girls.

"Yeah, it was kinda a last minute plan." answered Y/N. "And, you guys spoke to Draco?" Y/N asked.

"He is with Theo. They have some things to do, I think. I'm not entirely sure.” answered Blaise.

Yeah of course he did.

"Oh, okay." Y/N tried to hide her disappointment with a smile.

As the group sit and talked together, Y/N's mind was on Draco. It wasn't typical for him to get lost on a Saturday afternoon.

But still, what else he did was typical anymore?

They were the "power couple" of Hogwarts. They were the dream couple. But it all went down in the blink of an eye. One moment, she was his world, and the next thing she knew he was gone. She could sense something was wrong. Every afternoon, he was gone for an hour or so and when he came back, he was destroyed. Y/N first thought that Draco was cheating on her.

Never in a million years, never in a million possibilities. But there she was. He pushed her to that point.

However, not so long after she knew that cheating was out of the picture. Cheating was never in the picture, actually.

Worse was yet to come. With days going on and Draco being distant more than ever, Y/N decided to talk to him, again. Little did she know, this talk would end in an argument. She tried it a million times, hoping to get a proper answer. Each one of their talks either ended with an argument or Y/N crying or both.

"Draco?" Y/N said. Draco nodded.

"This is the last time I am asking this. I-I.. feel trapped. I am not used to seeing you like this. You haven't been yourself for a while. What is wrong?" Y/N's eyes were filled with tears as she was speaking.

She has not been feeling well for a while now. It's almost like she was being dragged away with Draco. She tried to follow him a couple of times whenever he disappeared. However, every time, she lost him. It was practically like he had a way of hiding himself. He managed to be successful every time.

"A-answer me." Y/N stuttered.

"Nothings wrong." Draco looked away.

"Well, clearly something's wrong. And you are not telling me." Y/N said.

"BACK OFF FOR A SECOND FOR SALAZAR'S SAKE." Draco yelled. "LET ME BREATH." He added in a cold tone.

Y/N was shocked. She had never seen him this cold. Yes, he was angry. He tended to get angry at times. She was used to his anger. However, she was not used to his coldness.

She stood still. Waiting for him to react, again. She was expecting Draco to leave the room at this point.

However, he walked towards the window and stood there, looking outside.

Y/N was feeling broken.

She walked towards Draco, swallowing her pride, she hugged him from behind. She put her head into his back. "I love you." she whispered.

"I love you, too." Draco said back. He ran his head through his hair.

Y/N had to give up getting a proper answer, again. "You can tell me anything, you know. I will always stand beside you. I will always choose your side, whether you are right or wrong. It doesn't matter to me. All I am saying is, I am here for you." Y/N said hoping to get a reaction from Draco.

He just nodded. Nothing more. Just. A. Nod. From. Him. Y/N was broken. Once again.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

[withoutyouimsaskia]

Remember Me, Special Dreams

Part XIX.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23 | Part 24 | Part 25

GIF: Originally posted by @​​​

Summary: Self-insert. You're having trouble with recurring night terrors and Morpheus pays you a visit. (Title from the lyrics of Placebo’s Special Needs)

Warnings: language, angst, mentions of night terrors.

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: Hello there, hope you are well. It’s been frosty and snowy in the UK over the past few of days and it is making everything look so pretty. How about you, what’s your weather behaving like? Also, please prepare yourself for massive feels in this one. Take care, all my love, Saskia <3

Sandman Masterlist

-----------------

You awaken naturally when the sun begins to cast a glow and warmth into your bedroom.

There's a smile on your face. You feel so light and airy.

Images of your time in Fiddler’s Green with Morpheus flash behind your eyelids. The way the sunlight touched his face, carving out his cheekbones. The rosy pink of his lips as they were upturned by his contentedness. The lustre in his eyes as he watched you drink in the beautiful nature around you. How he had sat so still and serene when you had explored the celestial scenes inside his coat.

The kisses too. You can feel your mouth tingling from them, despite the fact that it had technically happened inside your head.

Morpheus’ technique was faultless; there was the correct amount of pressure and yield between you both, and the fact that you hadn’t gone any further, it was refreshingly mature. You were no longer a hedonistic teenager and he was definitely not either, if he ever had been one.

What surprises you the most is that you don’t feel frightened by this development. Before, you had admonished yourself for kissing him and had sought to contain your less than platonic feelings, yet kissing him had felt like the right thing to do.

The two of you clearly shared a mutual attraction. Why else would Morpheus have initiated it?

You grin widely, it is impossible to suppress.

Were physical interactions with humans going to pale in comparison from now on? Based on the satisfaction you currently felt, it was looking highly likely.

You reach up to swipe at an itch on your nose. Something strange is found there; a soft disc. You open your eyes to inspect the object.

A petal is sticking to the pad of your index finger.

A cherry blossom petal.

You then notice the Sakura scent that is dispersing around you. It is luscious, but it shouldn't be there.

Adrenaline forces you up into a seated position.

There's pink everywhere. On every surface. Sticking to your exposed skin. Caught in your hair.

Realisation dawns on you with a stomach dropping shock.

You've just pulled some of the dream through into the waking world.

"Fuck!" You curse out loud.

With flitting thoughts, you are going back through the past few days to try and find a trigger.

There's nothing bad.

No confidence knocking incidents at work, or disquieting news, nor fear inducing encounters.

If anything, you have been the opposite of bad. You have been happy. Morpheus had seen to that.

Perhaps too well, it now seemed.

“Fuck,” you repeat again, more quietly.

  ***

It takes you hours to clean your room. You resort to scooping the petals into a bucket and then depositing them into the compost bin by your front door. It is tiring but at least the manual task gives you time to think about things.

You reach the conclusion that it is intense emotions of any kind that causes your ability to manifest.

You know you must tell Morpheus of what you did but after the events of last night, you are somewhat conflicted.

There is care and affection and understanding between you. Friendship. A considerable achievement based on how precarious your association had been at one time. The thought of shattering such a fragile thing, a thing that indicated the beginnings of an attachment, you cannot bear it. And when you factor in the other friendships you have forged in the Dreaming...

When all the debris is cleared, you sit dejectedly on your bedroom floor. Various courses of action are followed through to completion in your mind. You do this repeatedly, agonising over minute details in the hope that you can figure it out. Yet the only thing you settle on is this:

There is just one route that can be taken.

When it reaches night time, you heave your leaden frame into bed. You close your eyes and picture him in your mind.

"Morpheus." You whisper. “I need to talk to you but I don't think it is safe for me to come to the Dreaming.”

You are pulled under in a matter of minutes.

You are standing in a void.

An inky, echoing void, painted in hues of twilight, deepening into midnight the further you look. You are unable to locate a boundary in the barren space. 

Morpheus emerges from the darkness.

“Where are we?” Your voice echoes eerily.

"A place outside the usual boundary of the Dreaming."

"And the dreamers will be safe from me here?"

"Yes," he utters the word with total reassurance.

You release the breath you had been holding with a shaky exhalation.

"You are distressed, Y/N," he states, drawing closer to you. “Has someone hurt you?”

You shake your head. Your heart constricts uncomfortably as you prepare to divulge the terrible information.

“I pulled part of last night’s dream through into my bedroom. The blossom from the trees.”

From the disturbed expression on his face, this was something that Morpheus had not anticipated being able to transpire.

“You have not been stressed,” he reasons.

“I know.”

“And I did not feel any disturbances in the structure of the Dreaming.”

It suddenly dawns on you however, that you had been trembling; you had reasoned it to be because of the coat but maybe there had been something else at play.

“You have to do something,” you say firmly.

He shakes his head. “I am forbidden from taking action against a human who is not an active threat.”

Your voice rises in pitch, “What about this do you not consider an active threat?”

“I will find a way to handle this,” his tone implies he is trying to shut the conversation down.

This only riles you further. “No. You have to take away my ability to dream.”

He blinks and processes your statement. “I will not. To sever you from the Dreaming, it would take away so much of what it means to be human. I could not do that to you.”

“So you would rather see me dead?” You blurt out.

Pain and confusion flicker in his eyes.

“Matthew told me how vortexes are usually handled. I may not be one, but I know that I pose a serious threat to the Dreaming and that you must neutralise it.”

You begin to intellectualise out loud. “The function of sleep is not to dream but to rest and repair the brain and body, and process the day's events. As long as I can still do those things, it doesn't matter whether I can dream and I’m fairly certain that is the case otherwise you would have already mentioned that.”

You look Morpheus straight in the eyes, challenging him with the stubbornness of your gaze. “Am I right?”

His mouth falls into a severe line. “You are correct. Your health would not be compromised.”

It’s all the confirmation that you need to feel like you are making an informed decision, yet it doesn’t stop him from making a last ditch attempt to sway your resolve.

One of his hands twitches towards yours as if he wants to touch you.

“If I cut you off from the Dreaming, you will turn your back on all the relationships you have made here. You will be unable to visit the places that bring you comfort. I would-”

“I know,” you interrupt, forcing back a sob. “Of course I would miss the life I’ve built here. It’s all I’ve been thinking about since the moment I woke up.”

You can see that it is going to take more than that to persuade him so in your desperation, you begin to lie about your feelings. You hate yourself immediately for doing it.

“That being said, I can't live in a dream forever. I have a life in the waking world. The only reason I am here in the first place, with such awareness, is because of a malfunction in my brain. You have to let me go."

He turns away from you, taking a deep breath.

“There is no other way. You know I am right,” you persist verbally and move to keep his face in view. “It’s the only way to protect your realm.”

His face is blank.

“Please, Morpheus,” you are almost begging now. “I don't want to hurt anyone again.”

Time crawls sluggishly as you wait on tenterhooks for his answer.

Begrudging acceptance takes his features. He eventually nods in defeat and takes two steps backwards. Anguish seeps from his form.

When he looks at you again, the familiar and comforting blue of his eyes has gone, replaced by a shining silver. It’s like the eyeshine seen in nocturnal animals when a light catches their retinas.

The effect unsettles you.

His coat suddenly whips in the wind, each movement casting shadow shapes into the space around and between you.

He extends his right arm and for the first time, you feel his power in its undiluted form. It warps every molecule creating a chimera curtain across the confines of your body.

The temperature is tepid, inoffensive, however the intensity is stunning. You choke back a vocalisation of discomfort, stifling it into a shaky whimper.

Numbness takes your fingers and toes before travelling up your limbs.

The boundless energy pushes deeper into your chest, concentrating in the space a few centimetres below the hollow of your throat.

Realisation dawns on you with heartbreaking clarity. There is such thing as a human soul, and Morpheus was about to breach yours.

There is resistance. Painful resistance. You close your eyes, urging the strain to dissipate. You know that you will not be able to withstand it much longer yet you know you cannot give up now.

The tension snaps.

Your eyes fly open.

Morpheus' face jumps.

Everything that he needs to consume rushes out.

You feel the entire agonising loss of it.

It is over in a matter of seconds.

Then everything stills.

Morpheus lowers his hand.

It is done.

You feel like you are falling.

Morpheus moves forwards quickly, arms outstretched as if to break your fall but no feeling of being caught ever comes.

You instead wake in your room with a sickening jolt.

Rivers of tears are tracking down your cheeks and strangled cries bubble out of your throat.

You had done the right thing and you knew it. But it didn’t stop you from feeling like you were shattering into millions of pieces.

Morpheus was unreachable.

The dream was over.

-----------------------

A/N II: I’m really sorry. 

--------------

"Forget the horror here. Leave it all down here. It's future rust and then it's future dust."

Taglist: @pinkcyclewitch @layla2-49 @shoidy-cat @silverhart93 @boofy1998 @dotieeee @ponyboys-sunsets @fangirlmary @littledollll @fatimakinney @jamiethenerdymonster @rosaren2498 @mr-sandman-bring-me-a-dream @madiebear @sandman-33 @sallysal9 @asiludida164  @elf-punk @grungeisntmything

[dingbatnix]

Blob

Chapter One

Chapter 2

Here’s another multi-chapter thing that I won’t finish anytime soon! : ) I’m just tired of holding on to them, so here!

Inspired by what i think was a clip of Tommy going, “Hello there,” in a high pitched voice to something cute.

Thanks to @da3dm for helping me proofread! also if anyone spots any mistakes with the ‘its’ and the ‘it’s’, please let me know! I was having trouble with those.

Enjoy!

Word Count: 1,838

Warnings: Mild description of blood (though only through technicality, it’s just pink ichor?)

Tommy stared at the crater that used to be his stuff. It-it was all gone…all of his hard work…just like that! No ceremony, no nothing. It just…didn't exist anymore! 

He scrubbed an arm over his stinging eyes. He wouldn't cry! He was a man! A big man! And even if all of his stuff, his work was gone…he'd, he’d just have to rebuild! And…and not make Dream mad this time…yeah! Tommy nodded to himself, mind made up. He would be okay. He wouldn't think about how he was having to restart, again, he would just…do it. Yeah.

A quiet squeal of pain stole him from his thoughts. Tommy looked around. There wasn't anything he could see but the grassy, hole-riddled field he was in. He glanced over at the newest crater and had to do a double-take. There was something moving in the bottom! Something other than shattered rocks and burnt-up roots! 

Tommy deftly hopped forward, avoiding a twisted piece of debris, and gingerly picked his way down the side of the steep drop. He only tripped twice before he made it down to the bottom of the crater. Jagged bits of rubble laid about, but he ignored them in favor of eyeing the little creature on the ground.

It was white, with a round head and a teardrop-shaped body, and was a little smaller than his palm. It turned when it heard his footsteps and squeaked in terror, little dot-eyes wide. Tommy blanched. Its face looked exactly like the one on Dream’s mask. He took a step back, warily analyzing the thing. 

Despite the fact that it had Dream’s mask for a face, it kinda seemed…softer, in a strange sort of way. Its smile seemed to quiver, and it actually blinked, making its eyes seem much less beady than the ones on the mask. Tommy’s guard melted like hot butter, and he crouched down with a coo.

"Well hello there, little fella," The blob-like creature turned and tried to hop away from him. Suddenly, it squee’d in pain, spasming and flopping pathetically onto its face. Something glinted in the sunlight, drawing Tommy’s gaze over to its exposed side.

"Oh! You're hurt!" Tommy peered at the small shard of glass sticking from the thing’s side. Strange, watery pink liquid dripped from the wound, shining glossily against the blob-creature’s white skin. Tommy’s eyes darted to the ground around it, where he could see what seemed to be the shattered remnants of a glass bottle. His brow furrowed in thought. Was it being kept in a bottle? Did it get caught in the explosion? 

The little blob whined and attempted to push itself up. Another pained squeak escaped it, and it stiffened, sinking back to the ground. Tommy felt a swell of sympathy rise through his heart. Poor guy…I should help it.

Nodding to himself, Tommy reached forward and gently scooped his fingers underneath it. It squeaked in fear, tiny dot eyes scrunching shut as it started to tremble. “D’aww. I’m not gonna hurt you, little guy.” He grinned, brushing his thumb over the creature's skin. It felt soft! Like a marshmallow!

It ducked its head, trying to avoid his touch. The glass embedded in its side scraped against one of his fingers, and it flinched with a tiny yip. Tommy gasped, feeling a flash of guilt. “Hey, hey, it's okay, sorry, buddy. Here,” he brought his other hand up and cupped it underneath the creature, giving it more space to sit on. 

“Let’s, let’s go get that glass out of you and patch you up, yeah?” He didn’t get a response, unless he counted the small whimpers it was making. Tommy pushed himself up from his knees, trying to keep his cupped hands steady, and stood. 

Tommy frowned. All of his stuff, including his medical supplies, had just been blown to smithereens by Dream. He didn’t have anything he could use as bandages…

He scanned around the pockmarked landscape, looking for anything he could use. His eyes passed over his tent, and he paused. His tent! His tent could work!

Idea in place, Tommy started carefully picking his way out of the crater, using his elbows whenever he needed to climb instead of his hands. The little blob creature he was carrying had gone limp, and for a moment Tommy was worried that it had died. He brushed a thumb over its head and was in equal parts relieved and guilty when it flinched.

Tommy finally reached his tent and ducked inside. He glanced around, gaze alighting on the shears hooked onto the crafting table. “Here we go!” Carefully, he shifted the creature to his left hand and grabbed the shears with his right. It recoiled at the sight of the sharp blades, but he was quick to reassure it. “I’m, I’m just gonna use these to get you some bandages, okay? Here,” He lowered the hand with the blob down to his bed and tilted it slightly. “Off you get, come on, fella.” He shook his hand slightly, encouraging the creature to hop off. It hit the thin blanket with a weak squeal and just hunched over itself, eyes scrunched shut and trembling lightly. Tommy frowned.

With his hands now free, Tommy could now snip away at the edge of the tent’s thin fabric wall until he had a length of cloth about as long as his arm that he could use as a bandage. It left an ugly, jagged hole in the wall of his tent, but Tommy scoffed. It's not like the thin fabric did much against the wind, anyway.

He dropped the shears back onto the crafting table, bundling the bandage up, and turned to his bed. Alarm slashed through him. The little creature was gone! He stepped quickly over to the bed, scanning over the top of the threadbare blanket. Nothing! Tommy dropped to his knees, checking underneath the old mattress. There! The little white shape was painstakingly hopping towards the tent wall, making tiny, poorly held-back squeaks every time it landed.

Tommy reached under the bed and gently wrapped his fist around the creature. It squee’d desperately, frantically writhing between his fingers as he drew it out from beneath the bed. He quickly cupped his other hand under the blob and brought it to his chest.

“Hey, hey, hey buddy, its okay, you’re okay, I’m not gonna hurt you, bud. I just want to help.” It cowered down in his loose fist, shaking and making small, hiccuping whines. Guilt flushed through him. He-he really didn’t mean to scare it! 

He uncurled his fist, gently setting the blob in his palm and bracing his hand against the side of his other. Slowly, Tommy sat up to his knees, intermittently making sure the little creature was secure as he shuffled over to the crafting table. As soon as it seemed like Tommy had a good hold on it, the little blob gave up, slumping sadly against his fingers. It was still quivering, but at least now it wasn’t actively trying to leap out of his hold.

Tommy breathed in a deep gulp of air and brought his hands away from his chest to gingerly set the creature down on top of the table. It squeaked quietly when it hit the cool wood, scrunching in on itself, then squealed sharply when that seemed to jostle the glass in its side. It sent a tiny glare towards the shard, its little dot-eyes flattening out while its smile seemed to straighten. Tommy had to stifle a grin.

“Alright, I gotta-I gotta get that glass out of your side, okay?” The blob’s gaze snapped towards Tommy, and it churred lowly, turning its injured side away from him. Tommy winced, reaching forward and hovering his hands beside the creature unsurely. It ducked down and gave him a shaky glare. 

Tommy winced, then settled his mind. “Don’t look at me like that! I’m trying to help you!” He had to get the glass out. It would probably kill the little thing if it stayed embedded in its side.

“Okay, buddy, this is gonna hurt, but I gotta do this.” He paused. “Brace yourself, I guess?” With that, he curled one hand around the plump little body and pinched the protruding edge of the glass with the other. He tried to pull it out as smoothly as he could, but he had to readjust his grip on the slippery glass several times, making the poor blob creature whimper loudly each time.

Finally, the two inch-long shard of glass popped free, and pale pink blood (ichor? Tommy wasn’t sure) suddenly gushed from the wound. The blob wailed, shuddering and sinking against the fingers still curled around it. Tommy moved quickly, dropping the glass shard and snatching up the long bandage. He pinned one edge of the bandage against its side with his thumb and gently started looping it around the blob’s body, making sure it was tight enough to curb the blood flow, but not tight enough to keep the little guy from breathing (he thought it was breathing. Probably.) Tommy finally tied the bandage off and leaned back to inspect his handiwork.

The bandages seemed to be holding, and there were only a few places that were stained with the creature’s pale pink blood. It would have to be good enough for now, because Tommy didn’t have anything else. Not anymore.

The blob had its eyes scrunched shut while Tommy was taking care of its wound, and now it slowly blinked them open, peering at first at the thick swath of bandages wrapping its body, then at Tommy. It chirped, curiously, warily, and leaned forward with its head cocked.

Tommy splayed his hands out with a bright grin. “See? I Just wanted to help. I wasn’t gonna hurt ya.” It flinched back when he raised his hands, then leaned forward again. It trilled, glancing down at the half-shod bandages then back up at Tommy.

After a long moment of staring, the blob attempted to hop forward, but froze with a yip and hunched back down. Tommy winced in sympathy. “Yeah, that’s gonna hurt for a while. Sorry bud.” He apologized, hesitantly bringing a hand up close to the little creature.

It flinched back at first, but after a beat, it leaned forward to nuzzle its head against Tommy’s fingers. The teen grinned, a small laugh bubbling out of his throat. He curled his fingers over its soft white skin, gently stroking the little creature. He was mildly surprised when it started to purr. It was a weak, wavery sound, but a purr nonetheless.

Tommy’s chest already felt lighter than it did just a few minutes ago, when Dream had destroyed all of his possessions. He decided that he was going to keep the creature, as long as it wanted to stay with him. For now, though…it needed a name.

"I think I'll call you…Blob."

The newly dubbed Blob shot him an acidic look. 

Tommy shrugged, smiling brightly. "What? I'm not changing it."

[ruthlesslistener]

So when I was little I was like. Deathly afraid of snakes. Terrified and awful at even being around them. A sharp contrast to my sister who at the ripe age of 10 would happily want to hold and touch snakes, even if she really shouldn’t. (She’d over turn logs and wood to look at the babies? Little snakes curled up under them. Much to my horror.)

Anyways around 14 I started trying to get over it, bc my rational brain had kicked in and I knew they weren’t any real threat to me. They were just creatures trying to live and explore safely as well yknow? I held a snake at that age for the first time and I actually enjoyed it. Wasn’t frighten and was proud of myself for not freaking out about it despite it being v new and nerve wracking. (In the years following with trying to connect with Mother Nature I’d also be trying to breath and get myself to not freak about being close to spiders and some other bugs. Still. Working on those.)

Since then I haven’t had access to snakes in front of me. High school didn’t have any science teachers with snakes and I’m in a city for college so even worrying about them being in the brush is gone. So my fear/progress with snakes had largely gone dormant. But! You keep posting snakes and esp your thoughts and experiences with Juniper and it’s?? Really?? Helped me wrap my head around being cool with snakes. They’re funky noodle creatures. They’re pretty chill usually. They’re creatures with habits and personalities like anything else. Just noodle shaped. No more dangerous than a dog or cat really, maybe even less so considering big dog breeds. Arguably prettier than a lot of dogs too.

Idk it’s just been nice hearing about Juniper. She sounds like such a delightful noodle to live with honestly. And hearing about your experiences with her has grounded snakes back into reality instead of Evil Serpent Creature Of The Brush. So thanks for that ig✨✨

!!! I've just had this sitting in my inbox for a couple days now because I genuinely couldn't come up with the words to answer it. I've loved snakes all my life but was raised by a parent who was and still is scared shitless of them, so being able to reduce some of that terror by just nerding out about them?? That really made my week.

Now, if you want some more fun info about my experiences with them that ground them even further into 'this is just a little guy' territory:

Snakes are hands-down one of the most gentle, least-capable-of-evil vertebrates that I've ever worked with (which to be fair, includes parrots and rabbits so we've got a high bar here), primarily because they seem to only experience a few emotions: fear, hunger, curiosity, and contentment, and each of those motivations take up the entire braincell currently running at the moment. Which is likely far more simplistic than what we give them credit for- they can be very clever little things when they want!- but what surprised and delighted me the most after getting Juniper (even with all the research I did!!) was just how much curiosity takes up that one active braincell. Snakes are very frightened, sensitive beings, but when they feel secure enough for it, they are SUPER inquisitive. Everytime after 7, Juniper will poke her head out of her hide, and will actively watch me go about my nighttime routine until I settle or she gets bored enough to fall asleep. When I take her out, her primary mission is to explore wherever she can, investigating every little change in her environment before coming back to me to coil up under my crossed legs (or trying to wedge behind the bookshelf). They're often flagged as simple animals, and their emotions likely are quite primitive, but there's just a certain sort of joy that one gains from watching an animal explore her surroundings and seeing the little gears turning in her brain that makes it click just how similar we are to each other, even after years of evolution, and how magical it is that she has grown to understand that I am harmless enough for me to be a familiar anchor point when something New and Scary but also very Intruiguing comes along. And it's delightful to interact with her and see that realization click into place, and to also know that I wouldn't get a bite from it without great warning. Because snakes only bite when scared or hungry, and she is neither scared of me nor mistakes me for her dinner. That's a marked difference from interacting with parrots or rabbits, and also much less painful of a bite prospect- snakes do not have big beaks or jaws made for crushing through wooden materials, with sharp edges that slice right into your flesh. They've just got a whole bunch of little pinprick teethers, and no bite force whatsoever to hold it up. A bite is much less scary and much less likely to happen from a nonvenomous snake than from most other animals

(They can presumably also get angry, but the only time I've ever seen an angry snake was a very territorial, horny male in breeding season who'd mistake hands for othet snakes. Even then, all he'd do is push at them with his coils or grumpily shove at the hand with his face. No striking! Just the snake equivilant of hip-nudging.)

Something else about Juniper that really surprised me when I first got her- snakes aren't born knowing how to eat! They've got the instinct to strike at food and coil it, but the actual size they need to strike, amount they need to coil to kill the prey, and which way to gulp it down is a process learned by trial and error. Some can bonk their wee faces too hard on the strike and scare themselves so bad that it stops them from eating; some will try endlessly to eat a rat from the side or the ass end and then get so frustrated by their efforts that they give up. Juniper, luckily, is not either of those- she's a garbage disposal of a ball python, one that'll eat anything as long as it's not covered in substrate- but she was terrible at striking when she was little, terrible at figuring out how to eat said prey, and is still pretty terrible at wrapping her meals, like any proper snake should. I got her eating frozen/thawed when she was only 75g, so it's likely that she's never learned how to kill prey, and so sometimes she just...doesn't even try. I can't ever give this girl a live rat!! She doesn't know how to kill it like a proper python!!! And that's just so very funny to me. It really shows you that snakes aren't instinct-driven killing machines like people say, but animals equipped with a basic understanding of what they need to do and no actual experience on how to do it. She's at least figured out how to eat her reheated rats facefirst like a normal snake should, without enthusiastically trying to chow down on it from the side, but the way she's learned to manouver it against her body until she finds the right way it needs to go took almost an entire year of practice. And it's fascinating to see her do it, as she'll often use her own coils to help push her food to where she wants it to go. It might seem callous to state how much I enjoy watching my snake eat, especially since I love rodents, but the clear enjoyment/enthusiasm she gets out of a meal and the way she problem solves to get it in a configuration where she can eat it shows just how much more is going on upstairs than what we think, and that's super cool to me

(She also wipes her face after meals! Usually because a bit of substrate gets caught in her mouth and she hates the feel, but I've seen her do it even when nothing is in her mouth. She'll go up to one of her rougher pieces of decor, then carefully wipe her face on it, one side after another, just like how people do with napkins. I'm not sure if this is to help realign her jaws or if the fur of it tickles her face when no subtrate is in her mouth, but it is extremely cute)

Anyways, I'm so very happy that I've been able to use my love for snakes to help you appreciate them better! Here's a couple pictures of Juniper for you, taken when she was just hanging on my lap chillin while I called my family (or crawling over me so that she can get a good scope of the new apartment)

[outeremissary]

Oooh how about 18 (if you want to, it looked like a funny question), 32, and 37 for Balthazar?

I fear I'm going to disappoint you on 18- I don't have my ex's encyclopedic memory of B99 even if thanks to them I think I've seen the whole show about five times over. ^^;; But I can do my best for the others!

[prompt]

32. Your character is having a prom night/debs. What kind of outfit do they wear?

Hm, a modern question. Balthazar is so weird to define in modern style because we live in an era where masculine clothing is rather enclosed. I think being trans in a modern setting vs. a fantasy setting also comes with a different kind of weight. But there's a fantasy element to prom, and certainly a certain kind of spite that queer teens bring to it (at least in my own experience). His outfit is cobbled together from a combination of thrifted oddities and ordinary formalwear. The pride of this ensemble is a bright red blouse with ruffly poet sleeves that must have been nearly fifty years out of style. He goes as friends with Linzi and both of them are called vampire lesbians at school for a week afterwards. It's a nightmare.

At this point in his teen years he would have been a true terror if he'd been left in the Catholic school he went to when he was younger.

37. Your character has been kidnapped. Who has kidnapped them and how do they escape?

Hm, a lot of possible answers here. To seize on one that nearly did happen: one of Balthazar's great fears when he was younger and homeless for a time was getting picked up by any of the various cults that valued having a discount celestial on hand for various gruesome reasons- there's a reason the average lifespan of aasimar is so low. He was never very capable of defending himself despite his sorcerous abilities, so he slept with one eye open and was constantly paranoid about anyone he spent the night with. He can vividly remember an evening that he was approached by a pleasant, well-dressed woman who seemed especially set on talking to him; when she bent forward he caught the briefest glimpse of a death's head moth tattoo under her shirt. Even after he made his excuses and left the bar she had cornered him in, he kept thinking he caught saw someone from the corner of his eye following him throughout the evening. He ultimately spent the night on the floor of a temple of Abadar with a concerned young cleric near him. It's frighteningly easy to imagine what could have happened if he hadn't picked up anything strange about that woman. He could have easily gone along with her to her home- or wherever she decided to lead him- and woken up imprisoned who knows where (if he'd woken up at all).

If he was stuck in a situation like that, it would be difficult to escape, and it would have to be done fast. He would seize on the first opportunity he had with one of his captors alone to attempt to charm them into either giving him the opportunity to get away or getting close enough that if he put them under with a spell he could get either the keys (ideally) or a weapon away from them. There wouldn't be much more for it then except making a break for it and hoping he got lucky. Who knows- somehow his abysmally terrible luck somehow always balances out in the critical moment. Despite everything, maybe the gods look out for him after all.

[ollieofthebeholder]

to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest): a TMA fanfic

<< Beginning < Prev. || AO3 || My website

Chapter 55: April 2017

Jon hadn’t been thrilled Melanie had accepted Elias’s offer to join his staff. Actually, that was an understatement. Jon had been horrified, and also surprised Martin hadn’t killed both her and Elias for that. At the same time, though, he had to admit her logic was sound. If she was going to be Jon’s liaison to the Institute, help him with his research, it was far less suspicious if she was doing said research in her official capacity as an Archival Assistant than just as some nosy kid off the street. She swore Martin understood that she knew what she was doing and trusted her, so reluctantly, Jon had decided to as well. If nothing else, it meant that she could keep him updated on how Martin was handling things. Not well, as it turned out.

He also hadn’t been particularly thrilled to find out Martin wasn’t the one sending him the statements. Or that he was still a suspect in Leitner’s murder. There were quite a lot of things he wasn’t particularly thrilled about right now, actually. Melanie’s friendship, and the kittens, seemed to be about the only things he could really be grateful for at the moment.

He missed Martin.

He missed the others, too—Tim and Sasha had been his friends long enough that he’d actually wanted them to come to the Archives with him, and Gerry was…well, Gerry made him a little nervous, actually, and he wasn’t entirely sure why, but he was a good man and a solid friend—but after over two months on the run, so to speak, the absence he felt most keenly was Martin’s. Partly it was that the low-grade hum of terror that formed the soundtrack to his daily life these days faded much more into the background when Martin was there; partly it was that he worried about Martin’s safety despite Melanie’s reassurances that he was fine, that he might be a little stressed out but he was physically okay, that he was trying to stick to his regular work schedule and not spend all his time at the Institute, and that he hadn’t crossed anything particularly dangerous lately and his powers didn’t seem to be getting any worse. Mostly, though, it was just that this was the longest since they’d become friends, or at least friendly, that Jon had gone without seeing Martin’s smile, or hearing his voice, or accepting a cup of tea from him.

Melanie seemed to understand that last part, at least, since she mostly made cocoa when they were debriefing.

Sighing, Jon looked at the package that had been delivered to Melanie’s house once again. It felt like a written statement this time, which could have meant that it was one Gertrude never got around to recording, or it could have meant that whoever was sending these packages didn’t have access to the tape it was recorded on. Either way, he was convinced—and Melanie agreed with him—that the carefully curated statements he was being fed were meant to lead him in a particular direction. It wasn’t hard to guess what that direction was, either. Most of the statements so far had dealt with the Stranger, and the tape he’d received last week had outright mentioned the Unknowing, the Dance. It was enough to make Jon suspect, or maybe fear, that the statements were coming from Elias, who still thought Jon was being kept largely in the dark.

He made a mental note to run the theory past Melanie when she got home. If Elias knew where Jon was, then he’d almost certainly hired Melanie with an eye—no pun intended—towards making it easier for him to feed Jon information, so they would need to go over anything he said to her very carefully.

For now, though…there was this statement. Might as well see if it could add anything new to their store of knowledge, or if it was just confirming what they already knew.

All three of the kittens were flopped in a pile of sleep in Melanie’s scrap basket; Jon quietly and carefully picked it up and moved it into the kitchen, then shut the door. It wasn’t so much that he thought they’d be a bother, they usually weren’t, but the last thing he wanted was for one of them to wake up and demand attention while he was mid-statement. Then he sat down, checked to make sure there was a blank tape in the recorder, and slit open the envelope, then pulled out the statement on official Institute letterhead.

Melanie had left him her tablet to do his research with, which had been a huge improvement over his fumbling attempts to investigate the first couple of statements he’d been sent. That this was a Buried statement became quickly obvious; if the reference to a pit hadn’t been clear enough, the frankly lurid description of the statement-giver’s dream made it blatant. It would have seemed oddly unconnected from the others if Jon had been as ignorant as Elias believed him to be. He did his usual due diligence, jotted down his findings as he came across them, then got up to light the ward. The candle for the Stranger was getting low, but he thought it would probably last the duration of the statement; even if it didn’t, there hadn’t really been anything in it that specifically invoked it, so he would probably be fine even if it burnt out. He made another mental note to bring it up to Melanie while he lit the points for the Eye, which was also getting low, and the Buried. Then he sat down, tucked the throw blanket Martin had made around his legs, thumbed the switch on the recorder, and brought it up to his lips.

“Statement of Jackson Ellis, regarding the geographical oddities in the town of Bucoda, Washington,” he began.

If it weren’t for the fact that Jon was getting to the point where he could…sense real statements from the get-go, even before trying and failing to record them electronically, he might have been tempted to dismiss this one as an American exaggeration, the way he’d tried desperately to do with that wolf-man statement. It seemed overtly ominous, almost dramatically so, but it was still true, which almost made it worse somehow. Not that Jon was remotely aware of anything going on around him as he read.

“Statement ends,” he said at last, lowering the final page to his lap and reaching for his scribbled notes. “On the surface, this seems…wholly unconnected to any of the statements I have received to this point. It makes no mention of the Stranger, no mention of the Unknowing or a Dance or anything like that. I have done what research I can. The town of Bucoda, Washington is…well, it’s…gone. Newspapers reported it as an earthquake, and tremors were felt as far away as Castle Rock, but despite every article describing Bucoda as having been ‘destroyed’ by the earthquake, there are no pictures or records of the destruction itself. No damage seems to have occurred outside of town limits, and all the roads in the area seem unaffected, despite there being no evidence of rebuilding works taking place after the event. As far as I can tell, there was an earthquake, and then Bucoda wasn’t there, but aside from those two details, there is absolutely nothing. I’m not able to follow up with Mr. Ellis myself, and I probably should have waited until I could ask Melanie to help before I recorded this, but…”

He took a deep breath. “It’s the end of the statement that gets to me. The nameless old woman Mr. Ellis mentions. I…have a very good reason to suspect that that woman was Gertrude Robinson. If that is the case, then that means that Bucoda was the site of—”

The lightbulb at Jon’s shoulder went out with a pop that made him jump slightly. There were no windows in the living room, so it was almost totally dark, save the feeble guttering of a candle that illuminated little more than the shelf around it. At which point it occurred to Jon that only one candle was still burning.

“Oh. Great,” he muttered to himself. With a grunt, he untangled himself from the blanket and stood up, then made his way to the light switch on the wall and flipped it on.

Nothing happened. He flicked it a couple more times, but all the lights remained stubbornly off.

“Perfect,” he grumbled. “Likely blew a fuse. One bulb going out shouldn’t have done that. Right.” He fumbled for his lighter, intending to at least light it up long enough that he could find a candle that didn’t need to stay where it was.

“You don’t want to do that,” a sing-song voice said from somewhere behind him.

Jon froze, inhaling sharply, as harsh footsteps tap-tap-tapped across the floor towards him. He hadn’t heard anyone come in, and he didn’t recognize the voice, unless it was one of the others playing a joke…

“I mean,” the voice continued, “you can if you really want to, but you’re not going to like it. Sometimes not being able to see is a good thing.”

If it was anyone playing a joke, it had to be Melanie; the voice sounded almost exactly like the Toy Soldier from the Mechanisms, and Melanie was the only one who knew the band’s discography well enough to imitate it that closely. Jon turned around just in time to see a hand silhouetted in front of the still-burning candle, reaching for the wick. He started to protest, but his breath caught in his throat as he noticed the way the light gleamed off the thumb and forefinger—dully, but in a way skin never would have done—before they pinched the flame and snuffed it out, leaving them in total darkness.

Definitely not Melanie.

“Who are you?” he demanded, hoping the fear he felt didn’t show in his voice as he angled himself towards where the hand had likely come from.

“Well, my father called me Nikola, and then I killed him, so I thought I rather deserved to have his second name too,” the voice said from more or less where he’d thought it was coming from, in far too casual and conversational a tone for what it—she?—had just said. “Which makes me Nikola Orsinov. Pleased to meet you at last.”

“You, um…you killed Gregor Orsinov?” Jon managed. Which was probably not the most important part of that statement, but was at least a question he felt confident in asking.

“Yep!” Nikola—Jon supposed he should think of her as Nikola, or maybe Orsinov, since she’d chosen that part—said brightly. “He got really boring, and I’m a monster. I mean, what do you want me to do—not pull him apart? I did use all the bits.”

Jon backed up against the armchair without conscious thought, clutching the throw blanket he still hadn’t put down to his chest a bit tighter. It wasn’t quite as good as holding Martin’s hand, but it would do for the moment. “I—y…y-you don’t…sound Russian.”

“How can I sound anything, silly? I’m plastic.” There was a hollow tap, tap as if someone had rapped on a plastic skull—which, well, was probably what had happened. “I don’t even have a voice box. I had to borrow this one.”

Which might go a long way towards explaining why the Toy Soldier hadn’t been on the newest album. Jon really hoped he was wrong about that. “Uh…” he began, fishing out his lighter with his free hand again.

“Don’t turn on the light,” Orsinov ordered. Jon was so startled he dropped the lighter. He’d never find it now.

“A-are…are you going to kill me?” he asked. Unconsciously, he wrapped his now-empty hand in the throw blanket and hoped he wasn’t unraveling it.

“No!” Orsinov said, sounding aghast. Jon didn’t relax, and he was right not to, because barely a moment later, she amended, “I mean, yes. But not for a good long while yet. I don’t want you to go to waste.”

“Then—then why are you here?” It occurred to Jon that she might have come for Melanie, and panic gripped him. He had no idea what time it was. Suppose Melanie got off work…or, wait, hadn’t she mentioned plans tonight? Wasn’t she going to be late? Oh, God, please let her be late…

“Oh, I just thought it was high time we had a good old chat,” Orsinov said. “Face to no face! Eye to…well.” She giggled. It sent a chill down Jon’s spine.

Jon’s mind flashed back to the statement he’d received first after holing up in Melanie’s place, the one about the window display and the blank-faced mannequin. That had to be the same figure now in front of him. Which meant he knew what she was capable of and was not keen to have that happen to him—or anyone else he cared about. He took a deep breath, as quietly as he could.

Managing, somehow, to keep his voice steady, he asked, “What do you want?”

Orsinov hummed. “Well! We have a mutual friend, Archivist. Or did. I think you did something naughty to them!” She gave that giggle again that shattered Jon’s confidence, what little of it he had. “But they told us you were asking some very interesting questions. So we should have a little trade. I won’t come after any of your friends, and in exchange, I want you to bring us back that old piece of skin! We thought that mean old Gertrude had destroyed it, but now we think maybe she was just very good at hiding.”

“I—what? What skin?” Jon stammered. He tried desperately to remember if they’d done anything involving skin that wasn’t a Flesh statement. Then he remembered the taxman’s statement about the taxidermy shop. “From, from the Trophy Room?”

“That’s right! You know which one I mean.”

Jon didn’t, actually, but he suspected he would live longer if he pretended he did. “I’m sorry, are you asking me to find it for you?”

“That would be lovely. And a lot nicer for you than our other ideas.”

Suddenly, Jon remembered the cryptic reference Gertrude had made in that one tape he’d received, the one about the plumber and the forest: I had assumed Orsinov and her ilk would have spent more time searching for their precious skin.

“Why is it so important?” he asked. He didn’t know if she’d answer him or not, but he had to try.

To his surprise, she did answer, sounding absolutely elated. “I want to wear it when I dance the world new.”

“But—but wh—” Jon began, then cut off with a strangled urk as a hard, plasticine hand suddenly closed around his throat and lifted him effortlessly off the ground. Immediately, his lungs began to burn and his ears began to ring as the flow of oxygen to his brain was cut off.

“Question time is over, little Archivist,” Orsinov said in the same cheery tone she’d answered his other questions in, now muffled by the pounding in his head. “Find the skin for us. You have until…well, until I change my mind.”

She let go. Jon fell to the ground in a heap, still clutching the blanket to his chest, gasping for breath as his ears popped and air flooded back in. He was practically sobbing.

“Shh,” Orsinov said soothingly. It made Jon feel sick. “Save your energy for the Dance.”

The footsteps tapped away as Jon struggled desperately to regulate his breathing. There was a faint click, and he realized the tape recorder had been running the entire time.

A second later, the overhead light quietly turned itself on.

Jon stayed where he was, huddled at the base of the armchair, clinging to the throw blanket, tears wet on his cheeks. His whole body shook with adrenaline and fear.

He’d fucked up. He’d royally fucked up. The house was supposed to be warded, it was supposed to be safe, and here Nikola Orsinov had just…waltzed in like it was nothing. He’d let the Stranger into Melanie’s house…

Sudden misgiving struck him. He forced himself to the feet and stumbled towards the front hall, still clinging to the blanket like a lifeline, and checked the door. It was locked…and more importantly, the chain was still attached. There was no way Orsinov could have come in through that door. And come to think of it, he hadn’t heard the door to the living room open…

He checked the kitchen, but there, too, the door was shut and bolted. The kittens were still curled up in the scrap basket, although Wynken lifted her head and blinked up at him when he walked past. She shook her head, then scrambled out and followed Jon back to the living room, mewing plaintively.

Jon collapsed into the armchair. Immediately, Wynken scrambled up his leg and butted his hand, demanding attention. He rubbed her ears and chin, managing the tiniest of smiles when he was rewarded with a purr far larger than the calico scrap on his stomach, and tried to calm down.

Whatever skin Orsinov wanted, Jon knew it was imperative she not get it. I want to wear it when I dance the world new. Which meant it was probably a keystone of the Unknowing, which meant Gertrude probably had destroyed it; she wouldn’t have wanted to risk it getting out of her hands. Maybe Gerry would know, but Jon would either have to get Melanie to ask him or break cover and ask himself. Either way, he needed Melanie to come back so he could ask. And also so he could make sure she—and everyone else in the Archives—was okay.

He began humming under his breath, then quietly singing the song Martin had sung for him the first time he asked, the one about the boatman. Maybe it wasn’t a proper sea shanty, maybe it didn’t have any protective powers, but it made Jon think of Martin, and that made him feel better.

It would be the best he could do for now.

[mysmistree]

Excerpt Chapter 7 from Hugh Winter's "The Chronicles of Lycanthropy and Other Strange Phenomena"

In my many studies of the fantastic and the mysterious, the most peculiar case I'd ever come across was my one experience with the affliction known as lycanthropy, more colloquially known as Werewolf-syndrome.

  The experience began as curiously as the disease can be found. I was visiting a local college in Florida, having been asked to give a lecture on half-humans, and was staying in a hotel nearby. One night, as I was preparing to bed, as the full-moon shone through the window of my stay, I heard it.

The howl.

It was an uncommon sound to hear in the urban area, so I immediately threw on my coat to investigate. Down the stairs, outside I rushed, armed with only a pen and notebook, dashing into the thin nearby woods.

After many hours of searching, I stumbled across it. A beast of half-man, half-werewolf. It stared at me with glaring eyes and barred teeth, and yet despite this I felt no fear. It did not seem hostile, but any movement toward it earned me a snarl, so I kept well back.

I saw soon that the creature's foot was unable to bare the full weight of the beast. I'm a mere novice in the field of medicine, but I surmised it must be broken, given that if it were sprained, the creature could likely at least limp away with the trees as support.

Painful though it must've been, this cause of immobility granted me an excellent chance to observe the creature.

It was quite tall, being nearly my height while sitting, easily approximated at two and a half meters tall. (Or 8'2" for Americans), with a strong build well-hidden beneath layers of white-crimson fur. The body unharmed, with no signs of blood, even around the broken leg, though the creature was well-armed with sharp claws upon each digit, and sharper teeth between its lips. It's eyes were a pale green, and the stare it gave divulged an understanding intelligence, certainly not forgetting its humanity.

With that said, aside from those observations, there was little to be had in the many hours I spent with the creature. With a broken leg, it could hardly address its traditional behavior, and it was clear that it understood it wasn't getting anywhere until it turned back.

Minutes passed, soon hours, and before long the full moon set, just two hours before dawn.

And there, I witnessed the most incredible, and terrifying thing.

The beast shuddered, and shook. I could witness the very bones of it's body break and re-assemble themselves, each cold snap frightening me to my core before being followed by an elegant reforming of the limbs. Whole muscles tearing themselves apart and rebuilding themselves beneath the pale skin, being revealed from the shedding hair.

As I witnessed this, I could not help but yelp in terror at each passing snap and crack, though what truly pained me was the empty look in the creatures reforming eyes. Pain so common it was endured as though there was no other way.

It was but a few minutes before the large, brazen creature was replaced by the source: A lovely young woman in her early 20's.

She had pale skin, and white-crimson hair covering many parts of her body, though it had shed itself completely from her sides, arms, neck, and face. Her pale-green eyes were unfocused, as though in a daze.

I checked her vitals and, finding that she was stable, put together a rudimentary splint before I wrapped her in my jacket and carried her back to the hotel. Upon returning I gave the front desk a pretty penny in trade they don't bother me about her for the next day or so, and also to borrow some ice for her leg, before laying her on one of the luggage trollies and transporting her up to my room, where I was staying. Once we were there, I laid her upon the room's bed and began this paper.

At some point in our journey up, it became clear she had fallen asleep. She's still presently resting, though she has stirred a bit as time has gone on. It is dawn, presently, the clock on the wall reading 5:26 AM.

Subsequently, I have also gotten little rest. Dangerous as it may be, I believe I will take my dreams upon the couch provided to me. I've left the woman a note describing the situation and requesting she stay until morning, and I shall now sign off.

- Excerpt from Chapter 7 - The Lady With Lycanthropy

[poorswann]

I prayed for this and wished for this on eyelashes

and then other times when it seemed too much to even pray for I prayed for “anything but this pain”

I am scared to record my thoughts because I don’t want to curse myself

a good thing has happened and my response is unusual. it is not a bad response, and I am happy, and I am not anxious, but it is amazing how quickly I want even more, and invent new scenarios to terrorize myself with. potentialities that are suddenly very pressing and incredibly deadly yet I had not conceived of them even a day ago, not completely, and then I do not know which was folly. was I thoughtless before or overthinking now?

and then old fears about myself return but I have played this tape through many times. I considered long long long before this juncture “do I only want this because I cannot have it?” and the answer ended up being no in every way that was important

I think the reason I feel differently about things that I “have” or that are within reach is that my mind is just trying to protect itself. “eh, I don’t want this anyway” for when it’s gone. and it��s the same reason I choose unachievable things to chase. the chase is agony but it’s not worse than loss. and chase also keeps me alive. but I’ve grown and don’t have to be dominated by these cycles anymore. what has returned is not the cycle itself but a fear of it and a fear that I actually will destroy anything and everything good. i become paranoid.

and this is where I go “jesus christ can’t anything GOOD just happen and leave you HAPPY and not anxious?” so I’m trying just to enjoy. not just to enjoy something really really really and truly amazing but to enjoy the lack of “anything but *this*” pain

this is the facet of my life that was causing me the most conscious, chronic, horrific distress. daily. I have been unable to eat, sleep, stay awake, stop eating. now there is something real, tangible, SPOKEN OF, to cling to. I’m not making up feelings and events. I know what is happening. now it’s my job to cope with the what if’s like every other person has to, and be brave. I have to.

i never in my life wanted anything this badly for this long. not once. nothing even close. it is a shock to the system. it feels like true evidence that I am not cursed but I am scared to think that because the thought could curse me. so I guess this merits a call to Kim tomorrow. others can see things more clearly than me. I’m too close

a beautiful and brave thing has happened. someone I love in the purist way has grown immeasurably. I see him surprising himself. I can’t poke holes in it and be so brittle and questioning. I know the important things

all the way boiled down my fears are: am I doomed to destroy this? (no, I’m not, that’s not real, only self-fulfilling) am I doomed to be unfulfilled? (no, you are afraid of your old patterns, that is not you anymore and you’ve quietly proven it to yourself in preparation for this moment, should it ever occur. you TIRELESSLY thought this through. you were correct) and… what new horrors will haunt me with all of this new space in my head?? that I don’t know but I’m going to try very hard to fill it with something good before a demon takes root. I can’t do this passive “well let’s wait and see what fixation pops up next” thing again. if it happens it will be despite my best efforts. I need to be able to say that

for now. gratitude and relief. THESE are the good times and you fucking know it. get a grip

[lastwordsradio]

4 - Dead Air

No matter how hard I try, I cannot seem to remember much about the next day - it lurks on the outskirts of my memory, hazy and elusive, like a bad dream that leaves a sour aftertaste despite you having no recollection of the details. You know it was unpleasant, but you wouldn't be able to explain exactly why. That was - and still is - how that day behaves in my mind when I think of it.

I can vividly recall the pain, however. And the blood. I cannot say which of the two took longer to erase.

I did not leave my flat that day, that I remember also. I realise this must sound strange given what I had just experienced, but you must understand; social interaction, to me, has ever constituted a nigh-insurmountable struggle - there is a reason I chose to spend my life surrounded by books. However hideous the prospect of remaining locked up with that ghastly artifact might have been, it was somehow less intimidating than the alternative; I was terrified of walking out and having to offer explanations to inquisitive - and potentially aggravated - neighbours. I was possessed of a gnawing, paralysing certainty that as soon as I stepped out of the door, there would come a procession of indignant individuals expecting to be told exactly what had occurred last night and perhaps even demanding compensation - I had, after all, no knowledge of the effects that the horrifying, otherworldly scream might have had on the other residents of my building. There was also the fear, which only grew as the hours passed, that, upon realising I would not be exiting my apartment at all that day, the most curious or “concerned” neighbours would start knocking on my door. This vexed me to such a degree that, if given the choice, I believe I would have preferred for the radio to turn on again rather than having to face anyone's questions or recriminations.

I need not have worried - nobody came. And now, weeks later, I cannot help but wonder if that wasn’t the most disturbing event of the whole ordeal.

I was forced out of my flat the next day. Not by any sort of obligation or duty (I had texted my assistant at the bookstore and told him I was sick), but because the radio turned on again by itself around mid-morning, just as I was finishing my coffee. I had managed to shower and get dressed, and the red bloodstains in and around my ears were almost gone - the pain too had subsided somewhat, and had now become a dull, throbbing ache that was almost bearable as long as I refrained from making any sudden moves with my head. I still couldn’t hear much at all - which, I assured myself, was probably for the best, since my damaged eardrums wouldn’t have been able to tolerate anything louder than a whisper - and yet, when the radio started broadcasting, I heard it like it was playing right next to me.

It was just static; a low, garbled murmur, almost like a purr, but it was enough to freeze my heart and make me drop my coffee mug in a fit of pure, utter terror. I ran as if Death herself were behind me.

For all I knew, she might very well have been.

It took me a long time to gather the courage and determination necessary to walk back up to my building, climb the stairs to the third floor and stand, hands shaking, scant centimetres away from my front door. I had fled all the way to a nearby park and collapsed on a bench for the best part of the afternoon, so by the time I returned the sun was already beginning to set. I was just about to walk back into my flat, as slowly and silently as I possibly could, when I heard it: a voice, soft and muffled, coming from inside. I froze, feeling the frigid fingers of fear curl themselves around my heart again, but then a realisation hit me that momentarily halted their insidious advance. Wishing with every fibre of my being that my suspicions were wrong, I walked inside and gingerly closed the door behind me. I could hear the voice much more clearly now.

My eyes welled up with tears born of the bitterest sorrow. The deepest, most wretched grief I have ever felt overcame me and I fell to the floor, sobbing miserably. I shook my head and covered my ears, but it was for naught; it felt as inescapable as if it were playing inside my head.

A children's lullaby I hadn't heard in over ten years, sung by the gentle and haunting voice of my dead mother.

[missingartist]

Rescue

Just a random thought I had- Let me know what you think!

Warning- kidnap and reference to suicide and death

‘Excuse me!’ her voice was edged with rigid disbelief and fear. Not fear per se but terror. Sheer terror mixed with pure panic.

Arthur Harrow watched with dark eyes as she looked up at him. Blood crusted his hands as he dragged the rough digits across her skin. The room was icy cold; the heat of the torches did little to warm the room, only illuminating them both. The ominous orange light fought against the harsh breeze that swirled in the underground temple. The final resting place of Amit. It was not some grand, opulent temple that she had expected but beige sandstone with no carving or paintings; there was nothing but decay and dust.

 ‘You are my reward, beloved. Amit has decided. Once the scum has been obliterated from the face of the earth, there will be peace, and we,’ he grip on her hand tightened, ‘we will be together ruling with purity and justice.’ As the older man's voice cooed, his hand on her palm became almost unbearably painful.

Tears welled up in her eyes as she looked at his weathered hands. The light highlighted the crinkled line of his face ever. He was serene, peaceful and sweet. It made the weight of his words all the more sinister. The voice was eerily calm as he made you watch as red oozed into the water, as the life left their body before he dragged you away from their body. Your boyfriend's body.

 ‘You…you have got to be out of your freaking mind. Never happening, you creepy prick!’ Her voice was wavering as she tore her hand from his. Despite the fact the nails tore thin red streaks in her skin, she didn’t flinch. Despite the fear, she remained strong. Despite everything, she still loved him, them, and even if they were gone, it didn’t mean she was going to submit to his murderer. Her beautiful clumsy, and goofy boyfriend was gone but also Marc, who was an avatar for Khonsu, a former mercenary, and married. The man, Harrow, had gunned them down.

 ‘You're emotional, my vision of purity. The corruption you endured under Khonsu enslaved person has taken its toll on you. Sleep. Hopefully, you will be more responsible after a night's sleep.’ Harrow’s voice was smooth and never rose as he pressed a sickening kiss to your forehead.

 The touches on the wall flickered as he disappeared into the dark. The sound of wooden doors bolted behind him. Leaving her alone in the sand walls of the temple. Layers of dirt and dust from a thousand years ago layer every surface; the grimy bed behind her ominously beckons to her, taunting and terrorising her.

 Tears pricked at her eyes as she sank onto the bed, kicking at the iron chain that connected her to the bed. She wanted Steven, even Marc, but they were gone, dead, and she was left in this nightmare, alone and abandoned.

 Xxxxxx

 Taweret grimaced as she looked at them as they peered through the doorway. Ever as a hippo, Marc could see the scowl as they watched the man sweep out the room leaving the petrified girl shaking like a leaf. It was dark, but they could still see the fear flickering in her eyes and the shine of the tears as they dripped slowly down her face.

 The room was not anything they had seen before. It was ancient and large, but time had turned it into a tomb of death and decay. She sat in the middle of a stone bed like a brightly polished jewel stolen, locked away in the dark.

 ‘What is that? How do we see that? That hasn’t happened.’ Steve flapped from the corners, hand frantically pulling at his curls. ‘This isn’t real; it can’t be right, Marc. Right, Marc?’

 ‘These are things that are happening now. Your hearts are intermingled. Judged together and separately.’ Her previous jovial voice seemed to lose its bounce as she watched the young women's eyes frantically search the room while whipping furiously at her eyes.

 ‘Men like that…deserved to be drowned in the Nile. We have them every century. I mean, really… they get me down.’ The hippos shook her head as she slammed he hands against the door sending both men to jump a foot into the air.

 ‘I am sorry, but men like that…I wish I was down there.’

 Marc and Steve watched, taking in every fragment of her. Dressed in white robes that covered the ink that stained your skin. Perfect skin marked with bruises and red lines. She looked so removed from the women they loved, Steven loved.

 ‘Marc, we have to balance our scales and get back to the living. Marc, can you hear me!’

 Marc could hear him, but he could not take his eyes off the figure of her trembling form. Despite her shaking, her eyes frantically searched the room for escape that feral look of stubbornness.

 ‘You don’t think he uses her as a sacrificial virgin?’ Steven's voice rose several octaves.

 ‘I doubt she could be considered a virgin after we have done together.’Marc muttered as he took in her bleeding arm, red scratching staining the white cloth a light pink.

 ‘I knew it! I knew it you snuck out and used my girlfriend.’ Steven roared, hand slammed at him surprising hard.

 ‘Technically, you used my body to get a girlfriend. And she started it first.’ Marc shot back as he returned the claps back to Steven, hard than needed.

 ‘Take that back she did not!’

 ‘If a man wakes up to find a beautiful woman sucking him into oblivion….’ Marc snapped back

 ‘Your finish that sentence am I will mess you up.’ Steven snapped back, giving him one last slap before moving away.

 ‘We have to get to her.’ Steven roared, running fall force into his alter’s body, sending them sprawling onto the floor in a mass of arms and legs.

 ‘Boys! Boys! This really isn’t going to help her, is it?’

‘You mean…’ Steven panted out from a rather impressive headlock.

 ‘I am probably not allowed to tell you this, but what the hell? You only live once… oh, sorry. This is your heart, and since your hearts are connected you ….’

 ‘We can communicate with her!’ Steven gasped in delight, throwing off Marc's grip and surging forward and disappearing through the door.

 ‘Steven.’ Marc called, following.

 A sharp pull on her heart through her from the plan she was formulating in her head, well, the plan she was attempting. Her blood turned hot, like lava in her veins. Breathing came in heavy pants, and for a moment, just a moment, the realisation that she might not have to become the bride to some manic because she had some sort of stroke came as a relief before it turned into panic. She didn’t want to die, but it was preferable compared to life with Harrow.

 A comfortable feeling replaced the heat, and she blinked once, twice, three times as the light of a rectangle door blinded her, as two figures crossed the threshold.

 ‘Steven? Marc?’ She gasped. ‘You're alive… I thought… you're not real. I’m …I have lost it.’ She laughed, pressing her hand to the side of her face. Dirt smeared across her face.

 ‘Shhhhh, it’s okay, we are here. We are just out of reach at the minute, but we are coming, baby. Both of us.’ Steven soothed, reaching forward only to be bounced back, unable to pass the threshold.

 ‘At this point, I would take Khonsu over that fucking creep.’ She laughed weakly.

 ‘Did that creep with sandals touch, you love. I’ll kick his arse.’ Steven whispered as he knelt down to gaze across, eyes resting on the iron cuff binding her to the bed,

 ‘No, but he wants to make me his bride of purity and chastity; the guy’s insane.’ She muttered.

 ‘Yeah, that defiantly proves that he is insane. I’ve been on the end of your idea of purity.’ Marc gave a humourless laugh.

 ‘Yeah, remind me if you ever do rescue me out of here to talk about boundaries.’ She hissed weakly, standing lurching forward.

 ‘My boundaries are excellent.’ Marc smiled tightly.

 ‘I don’t think sleeping with your alters girlfriend when she doesn’t know you exist counts.’ She muttered as she stood tentative, eyeing the chain.

 ‘Technically, my body, so your my girlfriend too.’ Marc spoke; he wasn’t sure while he was trying to get her angry; at this point, the anger was better than the terror she must feel.

 ‘I don’t think Layla would be very happy with that.’ A tired and worn smile etched across her face, and sad eyes shimmered in the orange light; she took four steps towards them. The chain snapped tight as she moved, pulling her back sharp with a vicious twang that sounded out against the room. The chain glowed a deep purple, and the chain was shorted by one link, pulling them further apart.

 ‘Well, you better hurry up and rescue me while your girlfriend is still in one piece.’

 ‘Does that mean you will still be my girlfriend after this?’ Marc’s voice cut through the dark, eyes roamed over his features; it was a broken gaze, unbelieving.

 There was a silence. And silent pleading.

 ‘Sit tight, love; we are coming.’ Steven cooed, reaching his out as if to touch her.

 ‘You need to hurry, or there might not be much left of me to save. By the rise of the moon, Amit will be released, and I’ll be……’ she gulped down a surge of bile, ‘and I’ll kill myself before that happens.’

 ‘We will be there soon.’ Marc straightened as he nodded, jaw hardening as he watched her image fade.

[aggravatetheaxe]

Hey! Saw your post and saw you said you were upsettie spaghetti so I wanted to cheer you up!

Slashers who stop everything they’re doing because their “My S/O needs me” senses are tingling and go to their rescue to comfort their angry s/o?

I was hoping to come up with A way for you to get your emotions out through your writing- 😅

Hope you feel better! 🖤

I've never done a post in this style before so hopefully I do okay! I think I covered pretty much all the slashers I write for so far (I didn't do Billy Lenz because I still need to read the novelization). I may have gone way overboard, so if I do these in the future, I'll probably just pick a few instead of doing the whole roster 😅 (or you can pick for me). But doing this much work did distract me!

Above the cut:

Bo Sinclair

Vincent Sinclair

Lester Sinclair

Included below the cut:

Michael Myers (OG)

Jason Voorhees

Leslie Vernon

Thomas Hewitt

Bubba Sawyer

Brahms Heelshire

Erik ("The Phantom")

Deacon Billings (OC Ghostface)

Courtney Dwayne Delmont (OC slasher)

Kathleen Montgomery (OC slasher)

Masterlist

***

Bo Sinclair

Despite being autistic, Bo is very in tune with peoples auras and body language. He has to be to manipulate and deceive people with any modicum of success. He's trained himself when it comes to these things; even besides masking or manipulation, he needed to be keenly aware of when his parents were in Bad Moods so he could either avoid them or prepare himself.

The mood he's probably best at when it comes to this, for those reasons, is anger. He can smell anger a mile away. So if you're fuming, you better believe he notices.

At first he's annoyed and will demand to know what your problem is. He's not a very tolerant person, and he can be a bit of a hypocrite. He's allowed to have big, messy feelings, but when it comes to others having big, messy feelings ... he's not so comfortable with that. He gets overwhelmed.

Once he realizes that this is more than an attitude problem, he'll take it much more seriously. And assuming you're not mad at him, he'll want the rundown on the whole situation from beginning to end. He wants all the dirt.

He'll let you rant, and honestly, he'd think you being this angry (when it's not directed at him, but even still sometimes) is kind of sexy. And don't expect him to shut his mouth, either; he'll be ranting right along with you, affirming you and insulting whomever/whatever you're angry about.

He doesn't wanna cuddle. He genuinely thinks you can't cuddle anger away. He'll put on some loud-ass music and let you vent your frustration however you prefer. Maybe suggest a long drive down to the lake or into town or just ... picking a direction and going. He has fantasies of running away from his anger sometimes. He knows how it is.

Depending on what you're angry about, it could definitely get to the point where he's angrier about the situation than you are. And if it really hurt you, he will not let it go as long as he lives. The best he will ever do is maintain a grudging neutrality or distance from the person/situation that made you angry.

He's very protective. If you're angry at someone you need to maintain a relationship with, you're going to have to keep an eye on Bo to make sure he doesn't deliver revenge for you behind your back. If it's something he can solve, he'll do it, so if you don't want him running his mouth, watch him.

Vincent Sinclair

Vincent is in the same boat as Bo when it comes to sensing auras, though his handle on body language and facial expressions is not as keenly honed. While Vincent was not physically abused as brutally or as often as Bo, this wasn't because of some sterling quality he had that Bo lacked. He was always The Good One because he saw what his parents did to The Bad One and knew he needed to protect himself. He tried not to do anything that might provoke his parents.

You can feel anger before a fight like you smell ozone before a storm. Vincent is attuned to the feeling not just because of his parents but because of Bo's temper, too. Because of this, like Bo, he can very accurately sense anger in particular.

His initial reaction is to observe you, gauging if you need time to cool off. If you need space, Vincent is the Sinclair for you. He's used to being quiet and deflecting and riding out anger.

However, once he realizes that your anger is not directed at him or isn't explosive enough to become a problem for him, he's concerned. Rather than asking what happened, he will ask if you're okay, and leave it up to you whether you'll tell him about it or not.

If you vent, he'll sit and listen patiently, maybe even thoughtfully working on a sculpture while you rant. He's not judgemental and he can be very emotional himself, so you could say the most ridiculous, dramatic things and he wouldn't even bat an eye. Let out all your messy, destructive thoughts and feelings. Just try not to throw or punch anything; that's when he shuts down.

If you decide you just want comfort, or decide you need comfort after ranting, art is his first suggestion. It may seem cold to you at first, that his instinct isn't to hold you or kiss you but rather to redirect you to a project - once you got to know him, however, you'd know that's his most genuine way to show he cares. Redirecting to something creative calms him down more than platitudes ever could, and he wants that for you. He's nonjudgmental about the art you create as well, even if it's objectively terrible. It's not about the quality.

He won't turn you down if you need physical affection, however. His twin is extremely tactile, so it wouldn't be the first time he held someone after a breakdown. He prefers to do this if he's certain you won't lash out physically, but if you were in a really bad way and needed to be touched, he'd do it regardless.

Lester Sinclair

Lester witnessed his parents' anger, but it was usually indirectly; if Bo was the Bad One and Vincent was the Good One, he was the Overlooked One. He's not a perfect person, probably not even a good person, but of the three brothers, he's the most normally socialized. He isn't trained to be tuned into everyone's every shifting mood in order to survive.

It takes Lester a little longer to pick up on your anger than his brothers, but not too much longer. It takes him a couple tries at trying to talk to you or get your attention before he realizes something is really wrong.

His first reaction is to get upset. He soaks up emotions like a little sponge, so he's suddenly cranky, too. He also jumps to conclusions and assumes that you're angry with him, and he does not take rejection well. He might be bitter and passive aggressive. You being angry just makes him want to go in another room and not be around you, and yet at the same time, he wants your reassurances. It's messy and sad.

Once he realizes - either through observing you or through you communicating with him - that you're mad at another person or situation, then he'll feel comfortable enough to approach you and ask you about it. You'll definitely need to reassure him that you're not mad at him though.

If you wanna rant, he'll take you on a long drive and let you vent your heart out to him. He won't be quite as aggressive as Bo, but he'll be on your side, frowning with disapproval, telling you "Ya can't fix stupid." If you want only comfort or need comfort after venting, he feels much more equipped for that. He'll put something relaxing in the VHS or let you play his old Super Nintendo, get you a beer, just let you chill out. And he'll let you win at Doctor Mario.

If the situation is something really serious, you best believe he'll be talking to his brothers about it the second he gets a chance. He may be a sweet guy, but he can be real nasty, and he doesn't fuck around when it comes to you. You might have to keep an eye out to make sure he doesn't tell someone off or punch out someone's lights.

Michael Myers (OG)

In 1978, Michael is not very in tune with any emotions besides fear, and even then he only really understands it in an abstract way, as his condition and upbringing haven't really been conducive to him learning about emotions. Unless you're screaming in terror, have tears running down your face, or are shouting angrily, he really can't read your moods. Without any obvious change to how you normally act or look, there's a huge chance he might just not notice if you're angry. He spends a lot of time in his own little world.

In 2018, even though he's spent over 50 years institutionalized, Michael has had time to take in the world, and he's seen a lot more. He understands fear much more than he did when he was 21, but what he understands most of all is anger. His anger fuels him. He would pick up on yours right away and be curious, though he wouldn't verbalize it.

If you tell him how you feel, he'll take note of it. If he witnesses you doing something destructive because of your anger, he'll simply observe. He would be fascinated with this thing you're doing, because it's not something you normally do, and though he might not notice emotions, he certainly notices routine and pattern. Either way, you'll have to tell him how you feel, because he'll simply watch you otherwise.

One thing that can be said for Michael is that he's a good listener. He may not internalize everything you say, but he will remember what he thinks is important. You may be surprised; he may remember tiny little details that seem inconsequential to you but loom large in his mind.

Unless you were caused serious physical or mental harm, he would not be angry on your behalf. He would, however, do nothing to assuage your anger. He thinks it would be kinda neat and interesting to see you snap. He's not 100% sure why you don't just do it.

In 1978, he won't be much help beyond listening to you, but he would be curious to see what you do to vent your anger. You may find him by your side more often, observing you. He may also want to find and observe the object of your anger, especially if it's a person. In 2018, he would, in his own way, suggest you solve the problem by murdering someone/something. He's insatiable, but killing is the closest he's ever come to satisfaction. You should try it.

Jason Voorhees

Out of all of the slashers, Jason is the most likely to actually literally sense your anger, especially if you're psychically sensitive/powerful like Tina Shepard. I'm talkin'—assuming you have a pre-established relationship—he'll be doing something else and just get this itch that tells him you're out there somewhere, pissed off.

Obviously this is untenable. As long as he's not super busy or Pamela has other plans, Jason will stomp his way through the woods to get back to you, regardless of the urgency of your anger. If Pamela doesn't approve, well, he'll let a little anger go and assume you're okay. If he suspects you may be in danger, though, he's sprinting regardless of what Mom says. There's time for both things, Ma!

The first thing he'll do when he returns to you is scan your dwelling, then you, making sure nothing is broken. At that point, you'd probably be able to sense his confusion even without him signing. Jason doesn't experience emotions quite like a human anymore, and he's quite tactile besides, so a lack of tangible or visible clues as to why you're upset would trip him up for a second.

He doesn't want to comfort you at first, he wants to know what's wrong. He'll listen to you vent only long enough to understand the situation and identify his target. His immediate next move would be to eliminate the problem. You'll definitely have to hold him back, and it may take a bit of convincing. Earthly consequences don't really apply to him.

Before comfort comes blowing off steam, for you and for him. His first choices would be mangling some trees (you can pretend it's for firewood) or skipping/throwing stones into the lake. You're welcome to join him if those things calm you down; watching him get his stone to skip like 11 times on Crystal Lake may make you feel better, at least.

You might hang out there for hours before he suddenly decides it's time to go home. He'll do what he can to make your comfortable or stay out of your way while you make yourself comfortable, then comfort you as you please. His go-to choice is always foot or hand massages.

Leslie Vernon

Leslie is extremely observant and surprisingly analytical given how silly he is in the day to day. His intuition makes it pretty easy for him to read people, but especially you, since you two are so close. Especially-especially if you're his Survivor Girl (gender neutral term of course). You two are in sync, so he knows if something's up. Maybe even before you fully figure it out.

God, you're so hot when you're angry, you really are. He almost wants to let you scream and holler and go nuts. But he prefers you only get angry like that at him, especially if you're his Survivor Girl, so his first move is to comfort you or talk you down to a place where you can be comforted. He'll speak to you calmly and rationally, reassuring you and touching you if you wanna be touched—on your upper arms or shoulders or face, or with one arm around your back.

He doesn't just want to comfort you, though, he wants to calm you down enough that you can tell him what happened. Even if you claim you don't want to talk about it, he will coax it out of you eventually. He's gotta know what got you so upset. It's his business to know everything about you!

Assuming you're angry at someone/something that isn't him, he'll talk it through with you. If you're upset about an argument with someone, he has the capacity to see it from the other side, but ultimately, he's there for you. He'll let you bitch as much as you want, still touching you, and he'll be disgusted and/or disappointed with the situation.

Above all, though, what he wants is to see you smile again. The only worries on your mind should be the ones he comes up with, and man, he's not even halfway done grooming the next batch of unlucky teenagers. He'd pat your face or touch your hair and tell you to cheer up, and probably defuse the situation with a stupid quip or joke. Take you out somewhere fun, maybe.

Once you were cheered up, he'd humbly suggest you solve your problem with a little murder. "I mean, I know killing's not really your thing—you're really good at it, though, a talent! You know that..." Pause, considering you. "You want me to do it? 'Cause I can clear my schedule for the rest of the night." If you decline, he'd be like "Suit yourself" but may or may not still murder whoever upset you. If you agree, he'd be super excited to make a romantic night of it. His mind would be going a million miles an hour planning everything out.

Thomas Hewitt

Tommy knows anger when he sees it. Not only does he have loads of internalized anger, he's been on the receiving end of it plenty. He's far too large to be scared of anyone in a physical sense anymore, but he's been shouted at countless times. To know when to shut up and do as he's told versus arguing back, he's learned to gauge intensity and direction of anger, and he well knows that anger can be redirected to him.

So, he instantly recognizes your mood, but it might be a while before he approaches you. When he does approach, he'll let you decide what to do, whether that's throwing your arms around him or banging your fists on his chest to vent your anger. You won't hurt him.

Eventually, once you're all hugged or cried or screamed out, he'll wrap his arms around you and give you a reassuring squeeze. There's no need to tell Tommy what's wrong—he won't ask unless you're obviously in serious distress or injured—but if you decide to speak, he'll listen, brows drawn tightly the whole time. He's thoughtful about the situation.

If you're mad at someone in his family, there isn't much he can do for you besides comfort you and assure you that whoever upset you—Hoyt, probably—didn't mean what they said. If you were hurt physically, it would be another story, but his family gets in shouting matches all the time.

Rather than offering help, he'd wait for you to request it of him. Whatever you ask, shy of hurting his family, he will do. Murder someone? No problem. Make you some food? You got it. Bring you a blanket? Sure. Give you some quiet alone time? That's fine, too.

If you need to vent, he's got plenty of ways to get out your frustration. Plenty of farm work to do, or you could work on something around the house with him. He might suggest knitting or sewing or some other handicraft you enjoy. It always makes him feel better to buckle down and use his hands for something.

If you're still preoccupied/upset by the time you two bed down, or heaven forbid the next morning, then he starts taking it more seriously. Something that disturbs you for that long is bad news. He'll watch you carefully the next couple days to see how you're doing, waiting for you to need him for something.

Bubba Sawyer

Like Tommy, Bubba has been on the receiving end of anger many, many times, so he's familiar with what it looks and feels like. Despite his size, he's still susceptible to physical violence at the hands of his loved ones, so he's very wary of anger.

However, he doesn't have a female presence in his life like Luda Mae, who expresses her anger through passive aggression—so, he's more used to shouting and screaming. If you aren't prone to screaming and shouting, it might take a little bit for him to realize you're not just sad or upset, you're angry.

Bubba will be over you. He'd give anyone else their space because he'd be afraid of retaliation, but you're his special person, and he's pretty sure you're not going to hurt him. He'll touch your hair, your arms, your wrists; he'll babble as he tries to figure out what's wrong. He just wants to comfort you and let you know everything is all right.

If it's too much or you're overwhelmed and you snap at him, he'll ease back. He'll blubber like a kicked puppy, but he won't give up. He'll still try to comfort you, just in other ways, such as getting you a comfort item or article of clothing, or maybe some food. And boy will he helicopter.

There's no need to tell Bubba what's wrong. In fact, it might be better if you didn't; if it's something he can't fix, it would do nothing but majorly stress him out. If it was one of his family members who upset you, as with Tommy, he wouldn't be able to do much. Even if you were hurt, he's just not in a position to stand up for you. That fact would absolutely kill him, though. He'd end up getting even more upset than you.

He doesn't know what help to offer you beyond comfort, but like Tommy, if you requested something specific, he'd try to carry out your wishes. He'll also try to cheer you up with some music and dancing, or just being silly like you like.

Need to blow off steam? He's got plenty of coping mechanisms! Bubba's idea of a perfect de-stress session is turning up the radio and getting lost in crafts. He's got lots of supplies, mostly to create clothing and accessories, and you're special, so you can have your pick. A drive and the radio might be nice, too. If neither of those appeal to you, he'll try cooking or baking with you. He loves sharing the kitchen with someone.

If none of that works and you're still upset, be prepared, because he's gonna be an anxious mess until you're better.

Brahms Heelshire

Brahms is somewhat familiar with other people's anger. He certainly has a whole fountain of internalized anger brewing just beneath the surface, but that's different. He knows that when Mummy is angry, she yells and cries, and when Daddy is angry, he seethes and stews. The former would be obvious to him, but the latter would take him a few minutes to be quite sure about. You're not acting how you usually do. Are you being stern or are you angry? Are you cross with him?

He does not have a lot of empathy for other people, so if your anger gets in the way of his routine or the attention he wants, he'll be irked, cranky, sad. Not necessarily at you—though that is possible—but the situation in which you find yourselves.

Much like Bo, he's allowed to have big, messy feelings, but it makes him uncomfortable and scared when other people have those feelings. He might even hide from you for a while, especially if you screamed and cried.

Once he realizes something is really wrong and you're not mad at him, however, he'll start thinking of ways to cheer you up so things can go back to normal. He hates having his routine interrupted; he's very particular. And he cares for you, so seeing you in distress is very scary and uncomfortable for him.

He'll start by fetching you something you like—something manageable for him like your favorite juice or a sandwich, or if you have a special item or article of clothing, that. He's quite shy, though, and like I said, he'll probably be hiding, so he'll leave it somewhere he knows you'll find it (on the bed, outside your door, on your desk, etc.)

If that doesn't calm you down and your anger is really getting in the way of his routine, or otherwise making him uncomfortable, he'll finally make an appearance. Very bashful and timid at first, using his little boy voice. "What's wrong, Y/N? Did something bad happen?"

If it's something that can't be helped, he'll suggest you do something together to take your mind off it (most likely something he likes to do). He may even be coaxed into taking a walk around the grounds, though he doesn't like to leave the manor at all, so you'd have to convince him. He prefers quiet playtime, maybe some coloring books or loud music to vent your emotions. It would intrigue him to see someone else use his toys to calm down. As long as you recognized he was being very nice, sharing them.

If it was an argument you had with someone, he would want more information. Are they likely to leave you alone, or will they come to the manor? Will he have to deal with them? Because it's scary, but he'll do it for you.

If, for some reason, none of those things work, he may cry or throw a fit. Either way, he'll be frustrated. Adult Brahms may make an appearance and try to help you in more Adult ways.

Erik

Though he lives five cellars beneath an opera house now, Erik hasn't always been entirely reclusive. Even these days, when he can stomach it, he sometimes goes out to see the world. As a younger man, he observed people's lives and moods with a hungry fascination (that has now mostly been replaced by melancholy and longing and bitter anger). Like several of the other slashers here, he's had to train himself to sense fury to protect himself. He's also incredibly wrathful, so you could call him an expert!

He has a very keenly honed sense when it comes to you specifically, since he's watched you so much. He notices the change in your demeanor immediately.

If you know him as the "Angel of Music," his voice will appear to you once you're alone, asking you what's wrong and assuring you you can confide in him—he will insist you tell him, though. "There are to be no secrets between us, Y/N." He will listen without interjection as you vent your heart out, and when you're done, soothe you. Don't let his calming voice deceive you, though; behind that mirror, he's seething, planning to take matters into his own hands.

If you know him as Erik, he will go to you the second he recognizes the shift in your mood and take you from what you're doing, regardless of your wishes. He'll sit you down, kneeling before you with your hands in his, and gaze into your eyes, imploring you to tell him what's wrong. He'll absolutely allow you physical comfort, but he will also absolutely insist you tell. He'll need reassurance that you're not angry at him, because that thought would break his heart.

He will let you vent however you wish. You could have the most dramatic breakdown ever—throwing things, beating your fists on his chest, wailing—and he wouldn't judge you. He would be awfully concerned, though.

Will be 110% on your side. You are his poor little meow meow. "My poor love, my poor Y/N!" He is beside himself with sympathy for you and you only, and is very offended on your behalf.

He will always suggest music as an outlet for your anger, but he will have taken note of your other hobbies and interests as well. He'll fetch your things for you without being asked, as long as it won't separate him from you for very long. If you'd rather just have comfort, that's fine, too. He could hold your hand and caress your face for hours on end under normal circumstances, so no problem there. He may also suggest a little time on the surface, if you normally live in his home. Fresh air will do you both good, he reasons, and he enjoys spending time with you where others can witness it. It fills him with pride and love.

Otherwise, he's at your service for any other soothing activities you need. A calming bath, some sweets, shopping, anything. Perhaps avoid asking for any sexual contact, however. First of all, being asked directly makes him very skittish and nervous; second of all, his method of love-making (when you can coax him) is very intimate and tender, which may be tedious if you're in an angry mood.

Unless the situation is extremely serious or dire, his first priority is making sure you're soothed. Once that duty is fulfilled, however, he is absolutely angrier about it than you are. If it's not that serious, he won't skip straight to killing, if only because he knows it upsets you. He will definitely be writing an extremely strongly worded letter, however. If someone slighted you seriously, they're getting threatened. If someone hurt you physically, they're meeting the Punjab lasso.

Deacon Billings (OC Ghostface)

Deacon definitely knows when people are angry. His step-mom was a passive-aggressive laundry-folder and his dad was a storming out of the house kinda guy; when the two of them were together, they were all hushed but heated arguments at night when they thought he couldn't hear them, or else extremely embarrassing passive-aggressive arguments in public. Growing up, he found himself around a lot of angry people. And there's no shortage of anger in him, either.

So yeah, Deacon knows when people are pissed, and he knows when people are pissed at him. The thing is, he just thinks it's fucking hilarious. He was that kid that would goad peers and teachers just to be an asshole and had virtually no friends as a result. He's a menace on the internet, too: a horrible troll for no reason, stirring the pot even when he doesn't have a stake in the argument. He's trained himself to find people's weak spots so he can strike at them. He does it to make himself feel more in control of his life and his own anger.

So when you're ticked off, he's gonna notice the change immediately. If you made a vent post on social media, he probably knows you're angry before you even see him. He follows all your social media (even if you don't realize it) and checks it constantly. He'd call you out of curiosity to ask what happened. He's open about his stalking tendencies: "I saw your post, babe, who do I need to stab?"

If you otherwise come home angry, he'll be up on his feet, following you around the house and pestering you, trying to get you to tell him what's wrong. If you try to hug him, he won't push you away, but he'll be distracted, trying to needle answers out of you the whole time.

There's no question in his mind as to whether or not you're angry at him. He just assumes you're not; he has a pretty good handle on how you act when you're angry at him specifically.

He'll let you rant all day if you want. You could talk about the shit that's pissed you off for hours and he'd still listen. Outwardly, he might poke you a bit and play devil's advocate for the other side of the argument, if there is one. This is purely for the purposes of being a little shit.

Internally, he's already going down his pre-murder checklist. If it was someone at work, they're dead. Someone in the neighborhood, dead. Online? It'll take a couple days, but they're dead. Even if you're not angry at anyone in particular, just a situation, he'll find someone to menace. He'd walk through fire for your approval.

He's not good with soft, emotional comfort, so instead he'll try to think of something to help you let off steam. His go-to is something competitive, especially if it involves you chasing each other. A Nerf or water gun war, a PVP game with you on opposite sides. He'll put up a good fight, but you always kick his ass.

Once the immediate situation is addressed and you've ranted your heart out to him, he can't keep his hands off you. "Seeing you all pissed off drives me crazyyyyyy." He's grinning, brown eyes sparkling. "Come onnnnn ... I'll get it off your mind!"

Courtney Dwayne Delmont (OC)

Courtney is a hunter of all manner of game, so he's used to interpreting non-verbal cues and body language—when an animal is in distress, when an animal is about to attack, etc. His grandfather was a very angry man, as well, in a simmering sort of way. He would seethe about something before suddenly delivering one decisive strike. Courtney himself is not a particularly angry man, unless some prey is really giving him a hard time, but he can read your body.

If you come home angry, he'll stop in the middle of what he's doing and watch you, still and quiet, just confirming his suspicions. If you leave the room he's in to go collapse on the sofa or something, he'll follow you, looming over you and waiting for you to tell him what's wrong. He's patient.

If you want to vent, he'll sit and listen thoughtfully, doing something with his hands while you speak—probably cleaning his gun or some other weapon. He doesn't look at you. He wouldn't demand greater context to the situation but he would ask "Why?" and "Who?" until he understood Enough.

If you want comfort, he'll sprawl on the couch and let you lay on top of him. He'll probably pull a blanket on top of you to try and encourage a nap. If the nap doesn't make you feel better, he's feeding you protein. Do you like homemade jerky?

Sex is also on the table (not literally ... unless). He's found it's a great way to blow off steam, and he's more than happy to make all worries, troubles, and other thoughts go away for a little bit. Expect that to be the rest of your night, though, because he doesn't do quickies.

Generally, he trusts you to handle your own shit, so he would be more focused on you than whatever made you feel the way you do. However, if days passed and you were still angry/upset/sad, or if it plunged you into a breakdown or was an otherwise extremely serious situation ... just give him a target. It's up to you, but if you tell him to take the shot, it'll be quick and clean. If you're unable to make the decision, he'll decide for you without hesitation.

Kathleen Montgomery (OC)

I'm still developing her so this one won't be as in-depth and is subject to change.

Kath makes it her business to know everything about you. Chances are she's seen you explode screaming while stalking you ... chances are, if you've been in a relationship for a while, she's made you explode screaming. She knows what you look like when you're angry. Besides, she's strong for her size, but she often has to take down people who are much bigger and stronger than her; she uses manipulation and trickery to help ease that divide, so she's good at reading people.

Like Deacon, she also monitors all your social media, so if you made a vent post, she already knows you're in a shitty mood before you come home. Unlike Deacon, she doesn't tell you how she knows, so you're left to assume she's just all knowing. Considering her god complex, that works for her.

She'd probably text you to come home, and she expects you to answer. If you're unable to come home, she'll call you to ask what's wrong.

Once you're together, she wants to know everything about the situation. Even as you're speaking, she's already on her phone or laptop, looking up the people involved. Instead of getting mad on your behalf, she laughs. She's a fan of emphasizing how pathetic or weak the opposition is.

She takes your feelings on the subject seriously, but everyone else in the situation? Insects. Not even worthy of your time or concern, let alone hers. You're obviously in the right here (even if you're not). She'll tell you as much, and say some pretty intense, over-the-line things about whomever/whatever you're angry at.

Overall, however, she's calm and collected about the situation. Your bout of anger is a chance to get you to be reckless with her. She'll do your hair and makeup and dress you up nice, then take you out. Fast driving, drinking, baiting people at bars, menacing neighborhoods ... maybe a little killing, if you'd like.

***

Masterlist

[blzzrdstryr]

Generous offering

Yandere!Zhongli x gn!Fatui Harbinger!reader

Wordcount:1843

CW:Yandere themes

There are several simple things one should know before dealing with the archons - be respectful and polite, speak only when you’re allowed to and most importantly - never forget that archons aren’t humans.

The first two rules are instinctive - it’s natural for humans to simper and bow before the forces far greater than them, while the latter is not; on the contrary it’s counterintuitive and unexpected. People tend to project, tend to humanize - they see kindness when there’s none and make a huge mistake of assuming that archons see things the way they see it.

Tsaritsa, for example, lacks humanity, despite holding the title of Goddess of Love. The love that she holds for you is different from love mothers and fathers give to their children, or love that young sweethearts share at night, it’s cold and impersonal and undeniably cruel.

Tsaritsa says that she loves all of you and she loves Snezhnaya, yet she lashes out a harsh and gruelling punishments at every perceived failure and rules her land with an iron fist, one would think that the cryo archon is a liar and a hypocrite, who uses pretty, flowery words to hide the atrocities she commits, but this perspective is flawed. Tsaritsa loves all of you and she loves Snezhnaya, she’s just not human enough to properly express this.

That’s why it’s a bit jarring to see the ancient lord of these lands in his mortal form - he lacks the same otherworldly terror and grandiose that every of Tsaritsa’s move and word carry, yet he also possesses the air of wisdom and elegance so refined that rare person can reach it. It’s easy to assume that he’s human.

Rex Lapis, or “Zhongli” as he calls himself now invites you to the Liuli pavillion the second day after your arrival, for tea and local cuisine as he says, and who are you to decline a God?

Liuli staff hurries and dashes around, preparing their best room for you - Fatui are known for their seemingly endless finances, no wonder they’re in haste. “Please make yourself comfortable, dear guests”, the waiter curtsies and leads you to the dining room, which happens to be richly furnished and decorated with high-quality darkwood furniture and the hand painted wall panels further accentuating the luxury of the restaurant.

One of these panels illustrate different scenes from the Liyuen mythos - a battle of mighty and wise adepti against the horde of demons, Rex Lapis aiding his people in building the Harbour and the most spectacular one - a majestic dark brown dragon with golden fur and feathers descending to the devoted worshippers, who in turn present him with their offerings and gratitude.

He orders tea and meals for both of you, as you start to converse about the plan that he is determined to bring into life - the so-called test of Liyue, and the guarantee of you obtaining his gnosis.

“And what about your colleague?”, he sips a bit of his tea, intense amber eyes piercing right through you. He looks both human and non-human in this moment, both undeniably mortal softness and frailty seen in his figure and the barely concealed divinity, the sense of awe slowly seeping into air mixing in one person.

“And what about him? Tsaritsa and you have negotiated everything beforehand, I will make sure that he plays his part properly”, he hums at your answer, lowering his gaze deep in thought. You start on your own tea.

Ah, Childe, if only he knew why exactly he’s here - a distraction and a scapegoat. You even feel bad for him - it’s truly unfair to be lied to by your own Goddess. However, it’s also not a big surprise - Childe is the loudest out of all Harbingers in all senses. Infamous for his skills and battle obsession, his name is enough to have people both shivering in fear and cursing him.

“What do you think of your archon? Was serving her of any use to you?”Rex Lapis unexpectedly asks.

You lean back in your seat, thinking what to say.

“Tsaritsa is a gentle soul, she declared war only to protect us, her subjects and I am ready to aid her in whatever undertaking she starts”.

“Will you continue to serve Tsaritsa, if her action might put you in danger, make you suffer and bring unnecessary grief?”, he leans closer to you, his human features distorting enough to reveal the ancient dragon sleeping inside. His eyes shine a cold golden glow and accurate fingernails morph into sharp, dark claws.

“Yes”, you breathe out, mesmerized and terrified by the sudden change: “Her love knows no bounds, yet she always puts the needs of the nation before anyone else. If my suffering can help Snezhnaya, then I will accept it with open arms”, he moves back at your answer, all draconic traces gone in an instance, upper corner of his lips subtly rising - whatever you said must’ve pleased him immensely.

The conversation flows back into the territory of plans to be realized, yet the cold sensation of dread still clings to you, your gut feeling yelling at you to get up and run. You remain seated to the end of your meeting, politely conversing with the God that terrifies you.

***

Days slowly grow into weeks and Childe acts just as you have expected - the Eleventh Harbinger might be smart, yet even he wouldn’t be able to see what two of you are scheming. Still, you request Ekaterine, a spy you planted in Northland bank, to keep you updated on the Tartaglia’s actions - extra caution never hurts.

You continue to meet up with geo archon, as you two discuss your next actions. Tartaglia has started cooperating with that blonde foreigner Signora has warned you about, and while this union doesn’t pose any threat to your plans, it’s always good to have a plan B, just in case something happens.

Sometimes your conversation develops into a more unexpected direction, as you find the archaic lord more chatty and tending to ramble, than any of Liyuen historians would dare to picture him as. One on such occasion he talks with you about dragons - benevolent deities who protect and bless their people in an exchange of generous offerings.

His eyes devour you, as he retells you ancient folktales and you suppress your discomfort, preferring to attribute his honestly unnerving behaviour down to his lack of humanity - he was never human in the first place.

That’s why you also prohibit yourself from viewing him as anything but God - Rex Lapis in his “Zhongli” persona is genuinely attractive, he’s well-mannered and obviously handsome and far more knowledgeable than any mortal should be. If you didn’t know of his true nature you would have fallen for him by now - it’s hard not to.

Life, how strange that wouldn’t sound, goes as usual - you get Ekaterine’s report on what Childe’s up to and if it’s something unexpected you book a Liuli pavilion room and send an invitation to the funeral parlour consultant. You only need to wait until Childe gets desperate enough and decides to use the sigils of permission to unleash the well-awaited chaos.

This routine however is soon broken by the appearance of familiar ashy-white hair in the distance. She doesn’t wear her signature mask or dress, nor are there agents at both of her sides, yet you can still clearly recognize her. Signora leaves the Wangsheng building in haste, cape with the hood concealing most of her face and figure, except the long locks of hair, peeking from inside.

What is she doing here?

You thought that Tsaritsa sent two of her servants - Tartaglia and you, him to “test” Liyue, you to oversee the former’s actions and obtain gnosis, there’s no need to send her too.

Your mind races, as you search for a logical explanation of Signora’s presence as your memory supplies the piece of first conversation you had with “Zhongli” - could it be that Tsaritsa also sent you to play a role you have no idea of?

Cryo archon is a goddess of love and her love is cruel and unforgiving, she has sacrificed countless chess pieces before, so it wouldn’t be surprising if she did that again - you are nothing but a pawn after all, one of the tools she uses to exact her will and force her vision, all of the Harbingers are.

You want to believe that you can accept and resign to whatever hardship and fate your Goddess might subject you to. You can’t.

***

Adepti and Qixing converse at the pier of the seaport, as you hurry to the Northland Bank, a slight smile playing on your lips - Childe has finally done it - he summoned an ancient god to lure out Rex Lapis, ultimately proving that Liyue can stand without him.

There are sounds of heated argument heard when you open the building’s door and then you see it - Signora and Tartaglia exchanging barely concealed insults and “Zhongli” standing nearby.

“[Harbinger]? What are you doing here?”, the ginger shifts his gaze onto you, a rare emotion of hurt and disbelief flickering in his dead fish eyes. “Of course, Tsaritsa sent you too”, he smiles, angry and disappointed. “Seems that whole world wants to make a bad guy out of me”, he stomps out of the room, leaving you with Signora and “Zhongli”

“[Harbinger]”

“Signora'', you acknowledge each other, after she trails exiting Childe with her eyes.

“I am here to take the gnosis of Rex Lapis”, she says and you nod, accepting that your Goddess lied to you too: “Tsaritsa also asked me to give you this letter”, she extends her arm, a thick envelope with the familiar seal catching your attention.

With the trembling hands you snatch it out of her hold and almost rip the envelope - for what reason did Tsaritsa send you here?

She writes that you need to stay in Liyue for an undetermined period of time to upkeep “the agreement” made between her and Rex Lapis. You read her message silently, yet when your eyes trace over these words, the sensation of “ “Zhongli’s” eyes on you becomes ten times sharper and stifling. You don’t know what to do.

The other Harbinger leaves too, taking the gnosis with her, as “Zhongli” takes a couple of steps to you, touching your shoulder in a somewhat reassuring gesture. “[First]”, he starts, tone sympathetic and soothing. You don’t fall for it.

“You had your hand in it, didn't you?”, you hiss and accuse, throwing an angry glance at him, momentarily forgetting about the first two rules of dealing with archons.

He smiles, revealing two sharp fangs, his surprisingly scaly hands snaking around yours. “Yes”, Rex Lapis admits, and looks nothing like gentle and knowledgeable “Zhongli”. How could you forget? Archons aren’t humans, humanity is just a fancy dress they don to toy with mortals. He is the dragon, not the benevolent deity that is painted on the wall panels of Liuli pavillion, but a greedy and ancient creature, hungry for gifts and gratitude.

You are his generous offering.