#character death warning

[foreverchangingfandomsao3]

jate jage nu’vaabi liniba an’gycese (good men don’t need rules) (4,650 words) by foreverchangingfandoms Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: CC-2224 | Cody/Obi-Wan Kenobi Characters: CC-2224 | Cody, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Ahsoka Tano, Asajj Ventress, Stitch (212th medic OC), Clone Trooper Waxer (Star Wars) Additional Tags: Character Death, Ahsoka Tano Dies, Getting that one out of the way so you know what kind of fic this is, Ahsoka Tano is Obi-Wan Kenobi's Padawan, Angst and Feels, Angry Obi-Wan Kenobi, That's Not How The Force Works (Star Wars), Jedi Culture & Customs (Star Wars), Gentle Obi-Wan Kenobi, At least he's gentle towards the end, Soft ending compared to the beginning, POV CC-2224 | Cody, Grief/Mourning, Jedi funeral preparations Series: Part 2 of Codywan week 2024 Summary:

Good men don't need rules; Obi-Wan has them for a reason. Ventress finds out precisely why that is when she kills someone dear to him.

My fill for “There are three things all wise men fear; the sea in storm, a night with no moon, and the anger of a gentle man” for @codywanweek

[bleedingballpoint]

i love fix it fics where the author really has a field day with the butterfly effect. oh strahm survived the coffin trap? yay !! yay he lives! oh what's... oh... this is somehow more cruel!

...fics where a doomed character survives only to prolong the inevitable. only to win a fate crueler than the last

[milflewis]

dantteri + christmas gifts

ah. ok. so. it got sad? sorry 😔😔 i started writing and then the pacific rim fic took over my brain so here you go. some dantteri in this au

“Here.”

Valtteri looks up from his mashed potatoes and beans. Daniel is standing in front of him in the most obnoxious Christmas jumper that Valtteri had ever seen. It’s giant, pushed up at his elbows, gaping at the neck, fire truck red and neon green and it has lights. It vaguely resembles a reindeer. The present he’s holding is badly wrapped too. There’s a strip of sellotape that looks like it’s wrapped completely around and around the middle with no stopping.

“I didn’t get you anything.” It’s been years since Valtteri had last felt nervous and off balance around Daniel, not since at least, basic training, but the feeling is familiar and sour on his skin. He can feel the back of his neck heating.

“Ah,” Daniel grins, shoulders loosening. Valtteri unclenches his fingers from around his fork. This he can do — Daniel making fun of him is just as familiar as how anxious he shouldn’t still be able to make him. “Guess I’m just a better person than you are, Valtteri.”

Valtteri hates how Daniel says his name — the ‘Val’ short and dragging out the ‘-tteri’ like it’s a song.

“I’m better sure that people who are better than someone don’t have to say that they are.”

Daniel shrugs, giving the present a little shake. It doesn’t rattle or make any kind of sound. Valtteri takes it. “Not everyone can be perfect, mate. I’m just a man, you know? Only human.”

“Right. Thank you,” Valtteri says, putting the present down next to his plate, picking back up his fork. He eats a mouthful of lukewarm beany potatoes, raising his eyebrows at Daniel, a silent is that it?

Daniel stares back at him, smile slipping slightly. He opens his mouth and closes it, narrowing his eyes. The tension is back in his shoulders when he walks away, hands in his pockets, the line of his back just barely curved.

Valtteri rolls his eyes, mouth dry. He’s too tired these days, too busy, to indulge Daniel’s irritating need to take the piss out of everything. He can fuck off with his joke present or whatever — Valtteri isn’t going to play into it.

—

It takes Valtteri four years to open the present. He had forgotten about it, tucked away in one of his drawers, lost amongst Lewis’s shit with Nico and the never ending Kaiju attacks and training.

Daniel has been dead three years when Valtteri finds the present again, looking for his spare spare phone charger. It still had the unending strip of sellotape, the corners torn and curling. It’s squishy in his hands, the wrapping crinkling.

He laughs when he opens it, head falling into his hands, the wool soft against his cheek. It’s the first time he cries since Lewis has left.

Sebastian finds him like that, hours later, when Valtteri doesn’t turn up for dinner. He doesn’t say anything, only drags him out of his chair and into the medical ward, ignoring the wetness on his cheeks. Kimi raises his eyebrows at the sight of them when they take over his office couch, Sebastian shoving a tray of food into Valtteri’s lap. He doesn’t even lecture them which tells Valtteri more about what a state he looks than anything else. Kimi isn’t one to break out the sympathy for anyone who isn’t dead or under six years old, and even then, it’s a close call.

Sebastian very deliberately does not ask, in the same way that he very deliberately does not talk about Daniel, and they eat in silence, and it’s not nice, but it’s not awful either.

—

He ignores George beside him. He’s bouncing on his toes, chattering, sleeves buttoned close to his wrists, ink just barely peeking over the back of his hands. The tattoos on his arms are different than Daniel’s were, less colourful, more lined blueprints of anatomy than paintings. Valtteri hunches more into his raincoat, hand clenching around his umbrella.

Lewis looks tired when he steps off the helicopter, bruises under his eyes even darker than they were when Valtteri saw him three days ago. He’s wearing the same coat, heavy and solid and grey. It fits him along the shoulders, cuffed at the wrists, too long at the waist. There is a faint patch on his back where SCHUMACHER used to be printed on.

Someone trips coming out behind Lewis, tall, weird facial hair, big eyes. He’s holding his arms close to his chest like Lewis is. He looks very French, even in the pissing rain. Pierre Gasly, Valtteri thinks, picturing the background check that he had ran two years ago when Lewis mentioned, in that soft bewildered way that he does when he doesn’t quite know what to do with someone but refuses to admit it, that this kid started following him around and doesn’t seem to be stopping.

Valtteri wonders if the kid even knows what he has done, what he has done for Valtteri in saving Lewis from himself. If he even knows the depth of the debt that Valtteri owes him.

Valtteri bites his cheek when Lewis spots him, eyes lighting up, something in his face loosening. He presses in close when Valtteri throws an arm around his shoulder. The collar of Lewis’s coat is soaked through.

“Wasn’t sure if you’d actually come,” Valtteri says and it’s a lie and they both know it. Lewis was never going to do anything else when Valtteri asked him to come back. You are terrible for my ego, Valtteri thinks and the thought is so fond he could choke on it.

Lewis grins, bumping his hip against Valtteri’s. “Well, you know. Mark told me I wouldn’t be able to do it and fuck me, but I couldn’t let him be right.”

Valtteri laughs, lifting the umbrella to cover the two of them. Lewis flutters wet eyelashes at him in thanks and Valtteri rolls his eyes, nearly missing the look on Lewis’s face when he spots Valtteri’s hands.

I helped him knit them, Lewis will tell him, hours later, when they’re alone in the kitchens together, ice cream cold on their knees, the blue light of the fridge hollowing out Lewis’s cheeks. He was so nervous. He. He wanted. He.

Stop, Valtteri will say, eyes open only because he’s afraid if he closes them then Lewis will disappear again. And Lewis will stop. And they won’t talk about it until years later when the Kaiju attacks are more manageable and Lewis is teaching more often than he is fighting and Valtteri can bring himself to complain about how the gloves unravel at the ends and the fingers are all different lengths without feeling like he’s going to throw up.

But for now, Lewis just looks at them for a beat, swallowing hard, and then, his coat meows and he winces. “So,” he starts, already doing his wounded eyes and smile soft at the corners that gets him away with nearly everything. It’s all Sebastian. “You know how I was telling you that I started minding these two cats.”

“Yes,” Valtteri says, trying not to laugh. George is not as successful, bursting out in laughter as Gasly’s coat meows in unison.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Welcome to the Dungeons of Fear and Hunger.

[messiahzzz]

Chosen.

[achenetype]

Hihi can you please do a Luke x reader where it’s basically an unrequited love like reader is so in love with Luke and he has no idea so she moves on and years later she’s over him and confesses to him like a oh I thought you should know and the whole time Luke had been in love with her, kinda base it off that one TikTok audio where it’s like “I’m not in love with you anymore” “I never knew you were” 🩷🩷

OHH YOURE FEEDING MY ANGST BRAIN WITH THIS ONE. buckle up lets break some hearts

edit: this ended up being WAY sadder than i originally intended. i am so sorry anon oh my god

i gave you a rare gift (but you didn't want it) — luke castellan

pairing: luke castellan x fem!reader

word count: 2.8k

content: angst, major character/reader death, unrequited love, mutual pining, reader is part of kronos' army, luke and reader are doomed by the narrative, [Y/N] used (sparingly), alcohol mention, description of injury

listening to: bloodfest (from mizumono) by brian reitzell

You are twenty-two years old, sitting on the rocky beach of a lake somewhere in the forests of upstate New York. Light, gentle fog hangs in the air around you, and the only sound is the tap-tap-tap of Luke skipping rocks across the water.

Come dawn, the world will burn. The gods will be dethroned. Every demigod will either be free, or dead.

But now, at midnight, you are twenty-three and Luke turns to you. He's holding a small, squashed cupcake in one hand. "Happy birthday," he says, "to my right-hand man." He pauses. "Woman. Right-hand woman."

He holds the pastry out to you and smiles, but something behind his eyes is empty. Hollow. He hadn't been sleeping recently. As much as he tried to hide it, he couldn't stop you from seeing when he came to you every morning for a cup of coffee and to debrief for the day.

Perks of being the revolution leader's best friend, you think. His right-hand woman.

Luke's eyes flick from the cake to your face. "Do you like it?" He asks, and for a split second, you swear there's a note of hope in his voice. "I wanted to do something, y'know," he says. "Twenty-three is huge. It's a monumental age."

You nod, but stay quiet.

He pauses for a second. "You remember how you always said you wished you never had a birthday?"

When you were twelve, nearly thirteen, your mother drove you across the country to go to summer camp.

"It'll be like a road trip," she said, tossing your duffel bag into the back seat of her battered car. "And then, hey, you'll only stay at camp until the end of August, and then you can come back and go to school. See all your friends again." She squeezed your shoulder and pushed the car door closed. "How about that?"

"Sure," you said. "Super fun."

And it was; you were actually kind of excited. You'd never been to New York. It seemed a million universes away.

And it was your birthday tomorrow. Maybe this was a gift, something that your mother had put together to make up for the years of being too tired and too drunk to make a cake, or get presents, or anything.

Your mother put her hands on her hips and sighed. "You know how I feel about the attitude, yeah? Let's not do this today."

"I wasn't even trying to—" You cut off as your mother glared at you, her face tense. You knew that look: the biting-the-inside-of-her-cheek, trying-to-be-understanding, trying-to-be-a-good-mom-despite-it-all look.

You hated that look.

"Just..." She sighed. "Just get in the damn car, [Y/N]."

You did, fighting back the tears building in the corners of your eyes, and the slam of the car door closing was as loud as thunder.

Twenty silent minutes of city streets and highway merge ramps and cold, empty stretches of asphalt and concrete passed before either of you spoke.

"Mom," you said, thirty-three seconds into minute twenty-one, "I'm sorry for talking back earlier." Your voice was quiet, shaking, cupped in your throat like a scared animal.

She didn't answer, keeping her eyes fixed on the road.

"I don't like being like this, Mom," you said, looking over at her. The silhouette of her through the driver's side window, backlit by the streetlights, was shapeless. Impassive. "I don't like doing this with you all the time."

She scoffed.

You pulled your legs to your chest, tucking your head between your knees, and tried to find sleep.

You weren't sure how long you slept, but you woke up to the sound of music playing softly over the speakers. Exit signs whizzed past you at what felt like breakneck speed. You wondered, briefly, if you would break your neck if you jumped out of the car right now.

Ultimately you decided against it. You didn't want your mother's last words to you to be, get in the damn car.

That would make her feel guilty, you thought, and that guilt would make her hate me even more.

"I don't wanna fight," you tried instead, picking at a loose thread in the cuff of your jacket sleeve. "Mom, I'm sorry, okay? I don't want us to be mad at each other anymore," you said. A sob caught in your throat, heavy and wet and choking.

Your mother sighed and reached one hand from the wheel to tuck your hair behind your ear. "I know you don't, sweetie," she said. "I don't want to be mad at you either."

"Then why do you do it," you asked.

When she turned to look at you, her eyes were wet. She smiled, or tried to. "Sometimes, certain people just…can't help but fight," she said. "It's just part of who we are, I think."

"Did you fight with Dad?"

Your mother inhaled, quick and sharp through her nose, as she flicked the turn signal to right and guided the car down the exit ramp from the highway, her eyes locked ahead. "Yes," she said. "Sometimes. Sometimes I think that's where we get it."

You swallowed. "Do you ever miss him?"

She doesn't peel her gaze away from the road. "Every day."

The two of you made your way through bustling streets and across too many bridges to count. You thought you fell asleep again, for a minute or maybe a year. Maybe it was all a dream.

"Mom," you asked as she turned onto a worn dirt road, the sunrise barely stretching over the horizon, "why are you bringing me here?"

She didn't answer for a moment. Two moments, then three. Through the leaves, you saw one tree standing impossibly tall. A pine tree.

Your mother parked the car and turned to you. "Because I don't know what to do with you, [Y/N]," she said. "I don't know how I can keep you," she paused, "safe. How I could do this, on my own, in any normal way."

She got out of the car and grabbed your bag, shoving it against your chest. "Camp is just up that hill there," she said, gesturing in the direction of the large tree you'd seen earlier. "They’ve got people up there waiting for you."

"Mom," you said. "Wait, I—I wanted to talk to you—"

She shook her head. "I can't come with you, sweetie." She smiled, the curve of her mouth falling just short of her eyes. "You just remember that I love you, okay?"

At that moment, you knew: she was going to leave you here.

“No,” you said, tears rolling down your face. “No, no—Mom. Mom, please.”

“Before you go,” she said, her voice tight and sharp, “I wanted to give you this.” She reached into the back seat and pulled out a jacket, worn leather with patched elbows. “It was mine in college,” she explained, not meeting your eyes. Like she was reading from a play or book, and you were the unfortunate audience. “I figure, it doesn’t fit me anymore.” 

She pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Happy birthday, baby.”

It was the first time you had ever felt like your mother loved you. You knew she liked you, sometimes. But you were never quite sure if she loved you until that moment. 

And then she got back into the car with one final, teary nod. 

And you never saw her again.

“Yeah,” you tell Luke, shrugging. “I think I’ve got a pretty good reason, though.” Your lips curve into a smile.

He laughs and tilts his head. It’s a habit of his; he’ll say something and twist his neck just a fraction, narrow his eyes. A nervous tic that not even years of training and fighting and killing could stamp out.

You used to think about kissing his neck when he did it, but now you’re not sure whether you would know the difference between kissing and ripping his throat out. 

“True,” Luke concedes. You laugh, too, unrestrained and loud. “Gods, your sense of humor is dark.”

“You laughed first,” you remind him. He grins.

The cupcake he offers you, despite its lumps and smears of frosting, is pretty good. You split it apart with careful fingers and hand half of it back to him.

“You’re celebrating with me,” you laugh, “so you get half. That’s the rule.”

Luke simply smiles at you and takes the crumbling cake from your hand. “Whatever you say.”

You roll your eyes, grinning back. “Damn right.”

Luke’s laugh rings out again, sharp and bright against the night sky. Firelight flickers across his face, painting him in brilliant streaks of orange and gold. 

“After tomorrow,” Luke murmurs, pulling his knees up to his chest, “we can do this whenever we want.” The wind ruffles his hair almost fondly, floppy brown curls stirring and settling back against his skull.

You raise an eyebrow. “This?”

He gestures in a wide arc. “Be here, like this. Just be people, instead of demigods or heroes or revolutionaries.” Luke’s voice picks up, conviction surging into his words. “I mean, seriously—when was the last time you thought you would ever have a normal life?”

You’d never understood the demigods who joined Luke’s cause without knowing him. The plan itself seemed crazy—the only way anyone would follow it was if they knew their leader could pull it off. 

You have to know Luke to know he was capable of that, you think.

Until now. Now, you see what you think everyone else sees—a real leader, a revolutionary. A force for change with a silver tongue.

He makes it all seem so possible. You almost think he might pull it off.

Luke looks over to you. “We’re going to change everything,” he says. 

Almost.

“We’re going to change the rules,” Luke said, spreading the map over an empty cot in his cabin. “If we want to win, we need to be thinking six steps ahead of the enemy.”

A few of the campers huddled around the makeshift table shuffled and coughed awkwardly. 

“Every strategy’s been done before,” a tall girl with bubblegum-pink hair and an eyebrow piercing shouted from the back of the group. “How are we going to out-war the god of war’s kids?” 

Murmurs rushed around the table, soft and susurrant. There’s no way we’re going anywhere here. We’ve gotten our asses beat six weeks in a row. What are we even doing?

Luke smiled. “Ares is the god of war,” he said, “not strategy.” He slung his arm around one of the campers next to him and inclined his head in the direction of the map.

Quietly, almost too quiet for you to hear, he murmured into the girl’s ear. “Don’t doubt yourself, Bethy,” he whispered.

You learned three things in the ten minutes that she spent explaining your team’s new strategy—

—one, your team was going to kick some major ass—

—two, your strategist’s name was Annabeth Chase, and she was the smartest eight-year-old you have ever met—

—and three, Luke was right.

Annabeth’s plan took the rules of Capture the Flag and threw them out the window. She split the team into four subgroups, each with a delegated leader. Luke nodded along as she talked, marking the map with a stubby pencil. 

When Annabeth’s eyes, dark and piercing, searched the crowd and landed on you, you felt your heart stop.

“You,” she said, “are you good with a sword?”

You raised your eyebrow, pointing to yourself—just to confirm this genius child was speaking to you—and Annabeth nodded. 

“I guess?” You said, shrugging. “I know some basic stuff, and I’m good at disarming.”

Annabeth’s face broke into a smile. “Work with Luke on the first wave of offense.” She gestured to the map. “You two will take points B and B-one,” she explained. “My group will take the A-points. You wait for our signal to move in.”

You met Luke’s eyes across the table. Hey, you mouthed. 

His eyes flicked up and down your form. Hey, he mouthed back. You ready to win?

You smiled and nodded.

Good, Luke said, all teeth. Let’s go.

He stood and grabbed his helmet. You did the same.

“I’m [Y/N],” you said as you followed Luke through the forest. “We, uh—we met when I first got here, like, a year ago.” I was sobbing my eyes out because my mother abandoned me, you didn’t add. It was kind of pathetic. I think I threw up from crying so hard.

You suddenly hoped Luke didn’t remember meeting you, actually. That would be less embarrassing.

He turned and caught your eye. “You live in the same cabin as me. ‘Course I know you.” 

Of course he remembers.

You laughed, flushing red. “Oh. Yeah. Of course.”

The silence was so thick, you could have cut it with the sleek bronze of your sword.

In the end, it was Luke who broke the silence. “You wanna play a game while we wait out here?”

You shrugged. “Sure,” you said. 

“Twenty questions,” Luke replied. “So we can learn enough about each other to actually work together.” He smiled. “What’s your favorite color?”

“Low-hanging fruit,” you said, your voice just barely taking on a teasing tone. “It’s green.” 

Luke laughed, loud and full and bright. “Apologies,” he said; mirth crept into his words, staining everything with a tinge of that laughter. “I’ll go for the more gut-wrenching, intimate questions next time.”

You flushed red again. Intimate questions. What the hell does he mean by that?

“My turn,” you said instead. “What do you want to be when you get older?”

“We’ll be heroes,” Luke whispers. “Real heroes. Not figureheads propped up by the gods.”

You wish you could believe him. He’s lying on the beach next to you, his head resting in the junction between your shoulder and your neck. Over the treetops, the stars are beginning to fade from the sky.

It’s almost time.

Your throat feels like someone has sanded it down to expose your vocal cords. This is a bad idea, you want to say. We shouldn’t do this. Tell me we can still not do this. 

“Wanna play twenty questions?” You say, crackling and hoarse.

Luke turns to look at you. “Yeah,” he murmurs. 

“My turn first,” you whisper. Luke nods.

You take a deep breath, in and out. “Are we going to die doing this?”

Luke inhales sharply. “Maybe,” he says. Slowly. Deliberately. “But we’ll do everything we can to make sure we don’t.”

“I got another question,” you say. Luke raises an eyebrow. His knuckles brush yours as you sit up.

“Are you scared?”

It’s your birthday. 

You think you’re going to die. 

Luke is kneeling over you, the palm of his hand pressed against the wet opening in your stomach where someone had caught you with a spear. The shaft of it is still sticking out of you, you think. You’re afraid to look down, afraid to see it. 

“No,” Luke gasps, “no, no, no.”

You watch as the gold fades from his eye, leaving behind the honey-dark brown you remember. His hands are slick with blood—most of it’s probably yours, it has to be yours. You’re bleeding out, after all. 

You tug on Luke’s sleeve weakly. “Hey,” you breathe. “Luke. It’s okay, it’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

“No,” he says. “You’re—you’re hurt.”

“I know,” you rasp. “I know it hurts. I’m the one—” 

You break off as a cough sticks in your throat. It feels wet. Oily. Desperate to get out. You taste the blood in the back of your throat before you can even take another breath.

“—I’m the one who’s feeling it,” you finish, your voice tilting up at the end. A joke. Gods, your sense of humor is dark.

Luke laughs weakly. “Don’t talk,” he says. “You’re gonna be just fine, [Y/N], just fine.”

He meets your eyes. You see him realize it in slow motion.

Tell him. Tell him now. He’s never going to know otherwise—he could die any minute—

“Luke,” you murmur. “Luke, did you know I loved you?”

He freezes. “What?”

You cough again. Blood spills over your lips. “I loved you,” you repeat. “Since we were campers. Had the…the biggest, stupidest crush on you.”

Luke shakes his head. “No, no,” he says. “You—”

“You’re my best friend,” you continue. “Whatever feelings were there, you’re my best friend.”

Luke’s palm against your stomach is warm. It feels safe. It feels like sleeping side-by-side in the cabin, like shared meals and shared secrets. 

“Why are you telling me this?” Luke says, “why are you—why?”

You blink, just once, but it takes everything you have to open your eyes again after closing them. “Because I’m going to die,” you whisper. “And even if—even though I moved on, I wanted you to…to know.”

Luke bows over your body, pressing his forehead to yours. Tears slip from his cheeks and fall onto yours, driving little rivers through the blood smeared there.

He’s crying. Why is he—

“You idiot,” Luke says brokenly. “I loved you too. I loved you too.” He cradles your head in his lap, brushing your hair away from your face. “[Y/N], I’m so sorry.”

Your eyes slip shut.

I loved you too, Luke’s voice echoes. I loved you too.

[ohbluesky]

some random tmr doodles + stuff i made for the glader cup 2022 and 2023 :]

also that brinho doodle is an illustration that you can find in @newtedison ‘s fic over here (she literally tweaked her fic so my art could match it so obviously this is dedicated to her <3)

[heph]

heyy, your house md drawing are so beautiful, just know i love them so much! but do you have any house fic that you like???

I have so many.

Here's a list of some of my favesss

Lack Of (Social) Skill - the one where people thought House had brain cancer (I like it because of one line at the end of the story and it made me sick)

Arureos (Greek for Rat) - Wilson takes care of and gets attached to Steve Mcqueen (I LOOOOVE THIS ONE!!!!!)

i may not be as honest as i ought to be - House gets food poisoning, lots of codependence (THIS is my absolute favourite. If you have to pick one fic from this list read this one)

The Kissing Experiment - They kiss a lot 🥺

I Never Sleep With Married Men - They're MARRIEDDDED

narcissus poeticus - Hanahaki

Welcomed Change - developing relationship? Idk how to summarize this one it's just sweet

systemic - House in love and in Denial (my favourite trope)

mr. magic hands - Implied sexual content! Wilson massaging House 5+1

These alongside the fics I recommended where the ducklings are invested in Hilson's relationship are the ones in my bookmarks (the rest are E rated/I don't remember the summary)

[muffinlance]

Blindsiding Badgermoles, Chapter 2: Literal Cliffhanger is Literal

Enter Toph.

Latest chapter || Read from the beginning

Summary:

Zuko goes blind after the North Pole. Iroh, wishing a simpler life for his nephew than Ba Sing Se’s packed streets, takes them to the quiet city of Gaoling. Enter the Blind Bandit, who doesn’t need no Fire Nation spies in her town. Especially stumbly princes who make blind kids look bad. AKA: The Season Two Toph and Zuko blind buddy fic you've always wanted.

With continued thanks to my awesome sensitivity reader, @blindbeta

[reapersynth]

9-1-1

buck + near death experiences

[hom3landr]

"just lie to me, okay? just this once."

Necessary Lies

CW - Major Character Death, descriptions of gore and sickness, ANGST ANGST ANGST

Homelander’s intentions had been pure when he arranged to dose you with Compound V. He’s reminded by a friend that’s how the road to hell is paved

You aren’t getting better.

Homelander’s stomach turns.

You aren’t getting better.

He’d done everything right. The whole process was done under the supervision of all of Vought’s best doctors and scientists. Even as you screamed and begged, he’d been confident that any complications could be swiftly dealt with. Sure, you’d been an adult when the V had been introduced into your system but you are strong. You have to be. You have to.

He watches you in your room. It doesn’t seem right for you to be surrounded by so much blank white. You are color and light but even you can’t withstand the way the awful room dims your soul. Maybe if you could see the sun you’d get better. But the doctors insist you are too fragile to handle any environment except the sterile one you are contained in.

He bites his lip anxiously as you continue to hack up blood, the bright crimson automatically drawing the eye. His instincts tell him to scan you, to watch as the V twists your DNA and transforms you into something greater.

I told you not to get your hopes up. You tend to have a less than stellar track record when it comes to mud people.

He shakes his head and tries to ignore the little voice in his ear. He’s wrong this time. It’s a hiccup that’s all. You’re strong. You are.

The voice is blocked out but not by his own efforts. A horrible cry leaves your lips as your bones crack and shift under your skin. More red spews on the floor. He winces at the wet splat as a chunk of something hits the floor.

That was juicy. Wanna bet that was a lung?

Homelander tastes iron as he splits his own lip. It feels like it’s your blood he’s tasting. It’s your blood he’s spilt.

That one was a little mean, I admit. But buck up Bucko, this is what you signed up for. Maybe you’ll listen to me next time.

He’s done this before. Why the fuck were you the one with complications?

“There’s a good reason Vought doesn’t do it.”

That’s what he told Madelyn that fateful night.

He’d killed her too

He steps to the side as a squad of sour smelling scientists rush in to stabilize you. But what can they do? What can they do now that the only outcome is for the poison to run its course? He vividly fantasizes about popping each one’s head like a ripe melon as punishment for not fixing this. It doesn’t make him feel better.

Please

He begs the voice in his head.

Just lie to me, okay? Just this once.

The once dependable steady rhythm of your heartbeat is dangerously erratic.

You smell like death.

Please!

He worries the cut on his lip with his tongue. It feels strange to have a wound. The scientists flutter around you nervously. They know you’re a lost cause but Homelander’s icy gaze compels them to at least pretend to be helpful. Their terror burns his nose. He decides to make their demise slow.

No can do Buddy, you know that’s not what I’m here for. I’m the only one who’ll never lie to you.

Your heartbeat grows fainter. Your breaths rattle.

One of the scientists pisses himself.

Please…

You turn your head and despite your eyes meeting his, he knows you can’t see him. You wouldn’t be able to even without the wall in the way. He doesn’t think you can see much of anything anymore.

I told you so. Better go in and say your goodbyes.

I hate you

Aw buddy, I’m the only thing you have left.

Your heart stops and a noise all too terribly familiar leaves your throat. The last noise you’ll ever make. A wail just as wretched leaves his lips.

He didn’t even say goodbye. He let you die in that awful room alone. He wasn’t even holding your hand. You were alone like he was alone all those many years ago. Being poked at like he was.

He vomits bile onto the floor.

You’re gonna need me more than ever now. Better get used to it.

[every-moment-a-different-sound]

Dead Boy Detectives Season 1

My Chemical Romance - Mama

[the-crow-cryptids-domain]

More Council of Fords AU, YIPPEE!!! Somehow my first comic ended up being about Doctor Ford, and what he faces everyday-when confronted with his Own Face in varying states of suffering! :)

Also featuring a handful of new Ford variants, such as Fish Ford, Gnome Ford, and Catboy Ford! Additionally, have some small bonuses:

Accidently Mike Wazowski'd Gnome Ford at first...

Transparent Doctor Ford bust from Panel 6

I DID THIS INSTEAD OF SLEEPING

[the-faceless-bride]

Yandere Oc (Valarie) × Reader ⚰️🕊

This series is A DARK ROMANCE/HORROR and may have content that some readers may find disturbing. Triggering. Or harmful. I strongly suggest that if you don't enjoy Dead Doves content this story isn't for you. @pricegouge had inspired me to get into writing like this again for their AMAZING slasher 141 stuff. So thank you for the inspiration to continue this.

Proluge: "Stranger..."

As most times in your life. You're bad decisions came from your friends and their wild ideas. Your boyfriend Mike, your friends, Jessica and Ashley had all decided that this week would be a party week! No rules, no responsibility, no consequences for anything! It was part time.

And it was draining your social battery...

Before your boyfriend you were a homebody. You liked being alone with your music, your fantasies, and your cat... well...

You tried to stay positive, this trip was for you after all. You'd been so sad when your cat Gizzmo passed away, they thought this would cheer you right up. Apparently, they don't know you very well. Not like you thought anyway...

At the moment you were at a bar/club; drained, a bit tipsy, and a bit jealous at the sight of Mike dancing a bit too close on Jessica. Ashley had tried an chatt a bit, you'd always liked her a little more than Jess. She at least checked up on you here and there. Jessica seemed more interested in just coming around for Mike.

"Not having fun?" - a voice calls to you over the music, turning your head you see a handsome man. Shoulder length hair pulled into a low ponytail, his bands and strands falling to Frame his gorgeous face. His voice sweet and seductive like honey. - "not really, and not looking forward to the future either!" - You yell over the booming base of the speakers, - he raises his brow confused on what you mean, - "my friends found some pond they want to skinny dip in after this! My friend Jessica suggested it! I'm not to thrilled to go swimming in a random pond!" - "ah, I see. Not alone then! That's good, i wouldn't wanna go to 'Dead Hookers Lake' alone either!" - Dead... what? - "w-What does that mean?" - You ask scooting over in your barstool to get closer to the tall man. - "Well, It's kinda a rumor y'know? Just something this small town says! Apparently with all the passers-byes some folks end up missing! But they can never really say for sure. This town is almost a ghost town by now! So really, it's just something scary people say to keep pretty girls from wandering out too late at night!" - oh, great. Just what you need. A story that's gonna fuck with your tipsy brain and make you paranoid all night long. Thanks random stranger at the bar. Just what you needed. - "you staying here long?"- you were about to answer but then that paranoia set in, - "I can't tell you." - "...why?" - "cuz you're a stranger."- that just made the man pause. Just... staring at you...

"BABE!!" Mike yelled across the bar, - "LETS GO!!"- he called with the wave of his hand Ashley and Jessica already making their way out. Giving the stranger a short good bye you lightly jogged to Mike before looking back at the strange man once more...

"Are you sure about this?"

You call to your friends and boyfriend, who had already stripped down and gone into the cool muddy water. "Ugh! Stop being a Debbie Downer!! Get in, it's fine!" Jessica called back, making a face to Mike before giggling.

"MHmm," - you make a noise of uncertainty and slight disgust, "the water looks questionable to me!" You respond, "It's fine Babe just drop the tee-shirt already"- Mike said, a bit uninterested. You knew why, he was busy staring down Jess.

Then again, you couldn't blame him, she was very pretty.

Dusty blonde hair, honey brown eyes, plump lips, a full curvy body with great legs and very nice breasts, hell even you looked.

But now, it made you all the more self conscious.

But taking a deep breath, you slowly dropped your boyfriends shirt you had been holding infront of you to hide yourself for a bit longer before the inevitable.

Dead hookers lake. Huh. If you felt anything touch your leg you were gonna flip.

Getting into the water, after many little pep talks you slowly tip-toed through the water to reach your Boyfriend. Every now and again anxiously looking around the water, looking for nothing and everything. Ripples in the water distorting the shadows of the pond, making shapes of horrors just below the surface. Your eyes looking around picturing what could be right there and you wouldn't even know it till something touched you. A fish, a plant, a body, HELL even a crocodile or something! Finally making it to Mike, you pull and cling on to him like a baby koala. Refusing to let go, and slowly the paranoia and anxiety started to disappear.

"What the hell was that-"

Until it came rushing back, "what's what?" Jessica asked a confused and disgusted Ashley, "I think I just stepped in something?" Ashley reaches under, her lip curling up in a grossed out face before starting to rise whatever it was she stepped on out of the water.

"I think it's like a dead fish or something-"

A Hand.

A Mushy. bloated. Discolored. Rotted. Hand.

And everything begins happening all at once.

Ashley is screaming, dropping the hand back into the water, watching the loose skin stretch and wrinkle as it sinks back to the bottom where it once laid. Jessica is rushing out of the water, a never ending stream of- "oh my God. oh my God. Oh My God." 's leaving her soft pleading lips, Mike rushing to get you all out of the water and to your phones to call the cops.

This can not be happening. It just can't. You feel your chest tighten as it gets harder and harder to take a steady breath. You fight the urge to gag as you too begin to rush out of the water.

"They're gone."

Huh?

"What do you mean "'they're gone.'" Mike?!"

"Our phones! THEYRE ALL GONE!"

Everyone is in full panic mode now. Mike and Ashley looking feverishly on the ground to see if maybe they had fallen, Jessica is now telling herself this isn't read. And you're vision is getting Hazy.

Then a Scream.

an ear bleeding, gut wrenching. Scream.

The scream turns to a gurgle, and Jessica holds her neck as she bleeds freely from the new wound. Eventually falling as the tries to press the hole in her neck. Twitching as the dirt and mud covers her naked body, ruining her perfect skin as the rocks under her leave cuts and scrapes against her backside.

"JESSICA!" Mike screams; a mix of fear, horror and anger.

And within a fraction of a second, Mike and Ashley take off running.

Not bothering to fully get dressed. Ashley tossing on her long sweater and Mike is boxers, you clumsily pulling on Mike's tee-shirt and panties as you try and keep up, "wait! Please! Wait for me! Please don't leave me!" You scream out to them, trying to navigate the way out of the thickly packed wood that over casted the dirt trail. And then as you tumble from a tree root a large hard hand grabs you, pulling you to a strong chest and holding you down.

In a panic, unable to use your hands and the large hand comes close to your nose and mouth with a cloth you toss your head back hoping to hit something to make the attacker let go, a man gasps but ultimately it only seems to hurt you more than him... and in that moment a sweet smell hits you, the soft cloth over your face being the only comfort in that moment.

"Don't worry, I'll take care of them. You just rest for now. Goodnight Darling." The voice slowly fades away.

A/n: here is what "Stranger" looks like, you'll get his name in the first chapter.

And here is voice claim. (Let me know if it doesn't work. It's been weird. And dont mind the capcut 🤓💀)

[aleebeesplats]

“Abnormality Dancin’ [Mariella]”

CW HERE TOO JUST IN CASE: FLASHING IMAGES/LIGHTS, BLOOD, SLIGHT CHOKING, CHARACTER DEATH, AND IMAGES THAT MAY BE UPSETTING(? I wasn’t sure how to describe them)

[And Mariella was different. And Mariella was the same. Because Mariella knew herself. Knew her thoughts just as she knew the back of her hand. Because Mariella was just like every person, every colleague, ever family member. And Mariella was in control.

Right?]

This is part of my Rag-Tag au and is not canon to TSP(that’s obvious but still)

Song: Abnormality Dancin’ Girl by Guchiry

[katsettee]

Whoops