#dad gore

[faeriekit]

Health and Hybrids (XXVIII)👽👻💚

[I can't remember the original prompt posters  for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and the prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]

🖤Chapter navigation can be found here🖤 Click to browse previous updates.

💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts 💚 (now featuring mediocre mouseover translations, only available on a computer)

Where we last left off... Danny has another hashtag breakdown! Man, we've got a lot of these, huh? It's YJ's fault this time; whoopsie doodles! ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Trigger warnings for this story:  body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) |  my nonexistent attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.

💚👻👽👻💚

“Danny,” Diana says from the door.

Danny looks up from his place in the book. It’s definitely aimed at younger kids, but it’s a pretty wordy picture book; there are a couple paragraphs he can’t quite parse, but he’s making pretty good progress on the words he can’t recognize.

It’s a story about a cat who misses its mother. Danny tries not to relate to it too much.

“Hm?” he asks, flipping the front flap of the dust cover over his current pages to mark his place. The book goes back onto the nightstand, beside his space shuttle; Danny uses the railing beside his bed to support himself stepping up and out of his wheelchair, leaning on the railing until he can figure out…wait, where’d he leave his old people walker?

“This walk is long. You will want your chair.”

Well, then. Couldn’t she have said that before Danny did all that pulling? Danny falls back into his chair, kinda peeved. “Fine.”

Diana smiles. She doesn’t have to wear the mask around him anymore— Danny’s pretty sure that his injuries have been declared as clotted, or sealed, or whatever at this rate. They for sure swabbed his ectoplasm and came to some kind of conclusion, anyway, which means he only looks gross, but isn’t, like…actively leaking fluids.

On the one hand, gross! But, well, you know. Nothing for it but bandaids and time.

And her face looks nice. Danny hadn’t known what she’d looked like, before. She smiles when she sees him. Her light eyes crinkle, and her lips turn up… She’s nice. Danny’s sure that she’s only there to be in charge of him in case he gets scary, but she’s in charge of him and she’s nice. She doesn’t have to be nice; lots of people have been in charge of him and been mean about it. There was that one guy who kept holding him—with the taser—

(Time slips away from him, a little. When he gets back to the world in front of him, Diana is carefully looking at his face, the back of her hand stroking the back of his.)

Danny’s in his chair. He’s not…there. He’s in his chair, on a big space station (????) with a bunch of really colorful fighters on it, and Diana is touching his hand (that’s so much weaker and slower than it used to be) and he’s not hungry and he’s only scared because of memories. He’s safe. He’s not being pinned down by the neck so that they can strap down his wrists and hips to the table—they’re not shocking him—he can move his fingers, he’s not stuck in his core—

His core throbs. Danny bites into his bisected lip, and tries not to cry.

“Are you alright?” Diana asks, voice gentled. The soft touch of her hand doesn’t stop. “We can wait. There is no—“

Danny shakes his head, and takes his hand away so he could wipe at his eyes. It’s fine. Bad memories are everywhere: in the walls, in the floor, in the ceiling, in the hands of people taking care of him. That’s not… There’s nothing Danny can do about that. That just. Takes time.

…He think he might have that time. Now. He thought he would die for good in that five by five box, waiting for something that would finally end him instead of just keeping him in a cycle of injuries he never fully healed from.

But now he’s not. He’s here.

He wants to keep going.

“Alright,” Diana says, slow and careful. “Hold on.”

Danny doesn’t hold on—or, well, you know, he engages his core muscles and all that, but he doesn’t cling to his arm rests or to the frame of his chair because he knows that Diana is really, really strong, but she also really, really doesn’t want to hurt him.

She rolls him out of the medical wing and into the space station proper. Danny feels like he’s been here before, but he doesn’t remember it super well. Maybe it was when he was sick or something? Either way, a lot of different people wave at him as they go by—or just straight up stare, if they’re rude—and Danny generally just watches people rush by, carrying all kinds of equipment, and a potted plant, and a…starfish in a jar…?

Oh, the starfish waves at him???? Danny waves back because?? What??

Danny rolls to a stop at a smooth, cylindrical elevator. It looks like a giant test tube.

…Oh boy. Danny takes a deep breath, and holds it. Reflexively. Sure, this elevator probably isn’t like being dunked into water to see if his body absorbs ambient oxygen from the atmosphere or if his biology is truly not oxygen-based, but the memory is. Bad.

They go upwards. Nothing happens but Diana’s pushed button.

Danny exhales.

They get off at a section of the base Danny’s never been to, and it's essentially just a long, somewhat narrow hallway. The walls are actually painted a creamy off-white here, and there’s…like…decorative panels towards the base of his wheels trailing down the hallway? An orange ceiling, too?

Huh??

The rooms are numbered, but they’re not plain steel like in other areas downstairs; some of them have stickers, or drawings, or marker written straight onto the door itself. They look...cozy...? Danny thinks so, anyway, compared to the rest of the ultra high tech space base.

They roll to a stop in front of a door. It’s got a number on it, same as all the others, but there’s a box cutout taped to the front of it. The—

—The print is of the same style of space shuttle Danny keeps next to his bed, inked onto glorious cardboard medium.

Danny stares.

“Gegrapa,” Diana urges, so gentle. Too bad that, uh, Danny doesn’t know that one. He looks at her. She mimes touching the door— Oh. Got it.

Danny leans forward just enough to touch the door with his fingertips.

The door says something in a robotic voice, but the synthesizer is too mangled for Danny to make out the words. The door slides open horizontally into the wall, instead of the way the other doors open like portals or from below, and it’s kind of cool?

Inside is a bedroom. Danny stares.

…No, it’s actually a bedroom. Not a medical wing, not a cot, not a repurposed conference room or—it’s actually got a bed in it. Like. A real one. There’s a wooden headboard and it’s got a mattress on it that’s thicker than a VCR.

There’s constellation sheets on a bed big enough to curl up on.

There’s a nightstand, a small desk on the far wall—there’s a little lip where the bedroom dips into a tiny sitting room, a small television on a table and a small table and chair. It’s kind of…it’s kind of like a little hotel suite.

Danny’s mouth goes dry.

He doesn’t move, and Diana doesn’t wheel him in. “It’s okay,” Diana says, and—Danny almost flinches when she touches his hair, but it’s only Diana, who’s never hit him, and they’re fine. He’s…safe. It’s safe. He’s safe here. “Do you want to go in?”

Danny doesn’t move. His hands don’t touch the wheels. They’re shaking; he puts his hands in his lap and he tries to breathe. “…What?” he asks hoarsely.

“A rum for my Danny,” Diana murmurs, quietly. Danny’s heart throbs at the possessive. “You are healthier now. You do not need doctors every hour, but only sum hours. You cuðe spenda more time here, all ana.”

Words go by so fast even at Diana's smooth, unhurried pace— and Danny licks dry, split lips. He looks around the room—and the room is small, sure, but they're in space. Space will always be a premium. Even in this small room, though, the furniture is sparse and placed distant from each other…distant enough that Danny can wheel around freely in his chair.

There’s a Moon clock display hung on the wall over the doorway, and Danny can faintly see the outline of what he assumes is the current lunar phase as seen from Earth.

Having the lamp isn’t exactly the same as glow-in-the-dark-stars, and thank goodness for that. If it had been, Danny might have cried.

(Or, he realizes, something burning in his eyes that isn’t ectoplasm, maybe he is crying.)

“...Me?” Danny asks, terrified to know the answer. Is this room for him?? Is he getting a room here? Is he supposed to stay here? On the moon?! Is he supposed to stay with everyone here, in a tiny room, where there’s nowhere to go and nowhere to escape?

…It’s a bedroom. It’s already so much more than the stupid guys in white ever gave him.

“Yes,” Diana says, and lets go of his hair. “Use it, or do not. Sitta here, or sitta in the medical bay, but now you have two choices.”

Okay. So Danny has choices. He swallows his feelings—they taste a lot like snot—and rolls himself inside to inspect the room.

There’s another little fridge inside the sitting area. It’s not right next to the bed like it is beside Danny’s cot, but it is the same style of fridge. When Danny pops the door open, it has the same styles of snacks. Fig Einsteins. Peanut butter squeezies and applesauce squeezies and yogurt squeezies. Protein shakes in bottles. Pedialight. Hummus packs.

Danny might still need someone to open the snack packs for him. That’s kind of a high dexterity food, if he thinks about it.

“If you wish to sitta here, we will visit you all you like. There is a belle at your bed,” Diana says, and walks in with all her purple scrubs and tied-up hair to point to a little button on his nightstand. It’s red. It’s got a little smiley face sticker next to it, and Danny thinks he recognizes the style from one of his nurse’s bestickered name tags. Belle is probably a direct cognate for bell. He’ll be able to get everyone to come up here if he needs help.

…Okay, that’s kind of nice. To have personal space. He hasn’t had that since… Danny’s eyes squint as he thinks; he rubs an eye. Wait, when had he been squatting under a conference table? Was that a real memory??

Diana is very tall, even in the little space, but when she ducks her head, the gesture makes her a little smaller, a little more manageable for Danny’s lower-than-usual-gaze. Now that he can see her expression, she looks soft, and even uncertain, even though she looks stone and strong on the television when she goes out to fight. “Do you like it?” she asks.

Danny fidgets.

He—does. He likes it a lot. The room doesn’t have any windows, but if Danny moved all his things in here, got used to being able to come and go, and people coming in and out…this space could be just another space. It’s quieter than the medical ward. More peaceful.

…The room is utterly devoid of other people.

(Danny thinks of The Box. Danny thinks of being in The Box.)

(Danny doesn’t like remembering The Box.)

“I am scared,” Danny admits to his twitching thumbs, his fingers itching for a fidget toy or one of his physical therapy tools. Diana’s face immediately drops.

“Why are you scared?”

I’ll be alone Danny wants to say, but he doesn’t know the word for alone and he struggled with phrasing. “No…people here.”

“That is triewe. You would have more dīegolnes here,” Diana agrees, and straightens out of her crouch. “Is that good, or bad?”

It isn’t good and it isn’t bad…? Danny isn’t sure how to phrase it. It’s neither. Being alone is just scary.

“You not hurt me,” Danny tries, knowing he’s missing some connecting word in the middle. He ignores how Diana comes back to kneel beside him, because if he looks at her, he won’t say anything. “Do not.”

“No,” Diana says, from beside and below him, gentle, careful. “We do not.”

No. They don’t. Danny swallows. “Bad…hurt me.” He doesn’t know the word for Earth or planet or even downstairs, so he just meekly points downwards.

Diana stills. It’s like watching Vlad’s Maddie cat spot a bird to hunt down. Danny tries not to feel pinned. “On eorþegearde?” she asks, still light, still gentle. Danny can hear a shadow of steel, though, and he counts himself lucky that she’s never treated him like an enemy. Danny quickly nods. His eyes squeeze shut.

“Who?” Diana asks feather-light.

Danny doesn’t want to tell them what he is. Admitting the name of the agency hunting him itself would be given in.

…But maybe if he doesn’t say the name…and they...and they promised they'd help hide him...

He wants to be right. Danny wants to be right that they're nice, and that they want to help him. Danny wants to be right that they want to protect him. As long as he never, nevernotevernever tells them he's a ghost...

Maybe someone will help him. This time.

“Bad,” Danny repeats, because he genuinely has no idea how to translate?? “Wants…hurts me? For…” WHAT WORDS DOES HE KNOW? Danny gives up and just draws a y-shaped autopsy incision on his chest. It goes down from his collarbones to his belly button.

Diana watches. Her eyes are sharp.

“Do you feel safe with the staff dunstæger in medical?” Diana is quick on the ball with the question and Danny nods quickly—he’s never alone there, and no one’s ever hurt him, and people whose job it is to help people are always coming in and out, and Medical helps them too.

“Good,” Danny whispers. “Talk…talks to me.”

“Ealne weg,” Diana affirms firmly. Whatever that means. “We will cepa you safe.”

You safe and we is all Danny needs to hear. He could probably cry by himself, but Danny wants the comfort anyway; Diana lets Danny take her hands into his, and he lets tears fall into someone else’s grip instead of his own.

*

Bruce is halfway to the monitor room before he feels himself be picked up from underneath the armpits.

Usually finding himself at inappropriate heights involves horseplay from Clark. No one else would be so bold as to actually put their hands on him within the professional setting of the Watchtower—and Bruce has worked very, very hard on maintaining a reputation that keeps the handsier of his fellows at bay.

The culprit is not Clark this time. Bruce finds himself looking downward at Diana’s tearstained face, fury and resignation warring in her expression.

Bruce is careful not to sigh. “Wonder Woman. What is the matter?”

“Someone,” Diana grits out, voice carefully modulated to cut out her own pain, “Hurt my charge.”

On the one hand, the situation with their patient is exactly as Bruce had expected. The circumstance is tragic. The circumstance was predictable.

On the other, Diana's new upset means that Bruce now has more information to work with than ever before.

Bruce can work with this.

“Tell me everything.” Bruce’s voice is just as firm—even held midair like a cat. “I will help you in every way I can.”

[crude-mood]

HERO! Comic Pages 60-61

PAGES:

Cover - Previous - Next

You can read a little bit ahead on my Patreon! <3

[soottea]

wanted to make a little thing about my durge's backstory pre-tadpole

[hairscare]

since the fanon fnaf au takes place in modern day in my brain i like the idea that william got springlocked a little later and raised vincent after his parents untimely mysterious murders (vincent did it) but now hes trapped in the safe room and his silly ass nephew is continuing his work for funsies

[beemers-hell]

Reading Dad au’s lore on Bank’s face instantly reminds me of that one hilariously stupid Winnie the Pooh meme

“Hey Pooh, how are you?” “…” “…” “They (Bandits) took my fucking eye (and face).”

[Gore]

may've gotten carried away

[wonkawinka]

we’ll meet again

“we’ll meet again… don’t know where, don’t know when..”

alastor x angel!daughter!reader

CHAPTER ONE: don’t look at me like that!

— — CHAPTER TWO: smile like you mean it!

warnings/notes: NOT PROOF READ! blood, murder, guns, wounds, no use of y/n, uses she/her pronouns, reader is on the fem side, here are some things to know first, all the french was google translated i am so sorry hsdhdh

mawmaw- another way to address one’s grandma in the south

ma chére- french for my dear

as-tú mange?- french for have you been eating?

ça va aller - french for it is going to be okay

muffuletta- a sandwich that consists of provolone, olives, cured meat, and bread which originated in new orleans back in the early 1900s!

wc: 2003

————————-

LETTERS. letters turn to words. words turn to sentences. sentences turn to paragraphs. paragraphs turn to essays. essays turn to books.

one swoop in the air and one of the books gets snatched in a blur. the figure flew past the big, gold plaque which read The Records Room, landing softly on the floor of the library. you said gently as the big ol’ eye stared right back at you. heaven was littered with eyes. every crevice, ever corner, every wall of The Court had at least one staring right at you.

“oh, come on, don’t look at me like that.” the girl frowned at it, silently biting back on herself because she was quite literally talking to a book. it was as if the book was telling her to let it go, maybe even begging her to go home. her deer-like ears going against her head as she pondered the idea.

“ugh…” you released the book as it flew away, staring up as it joined its friends in the air— are all the books friends?

you grabbed your messenger bag, dusted your skirt, adjusted the vest, fixed your scarf…

and took a deep breath. today will be a good day, you thought mentally. if today isnt, tomorrow will be.

nodding at passerbyers with a polite smile, you strolled the streets of heaven, tracing your steps as if it was the back of your hand. people spoke your name gently, acknowledging your presence with soft tones.

one called out to you “nice to see you again, dear!” one smile to that woman.

then another “lookin’ good, toots!” another nod to that one man… despite the clear connotation of it.

“ate that up!” that made you nervously smile, not quite understanding the ‘new modern slang’ quite yet. looked like the teenager that recently arrived in heaven— a good person, you add.

you rounded the corner and sighed with relief at the sight of a familiar corner store. mawmaw’s corner. as you took note that the little store was closed, you reached for the secret key that sat in one of the flower pots.

third petunia to the left… ah. you pick it out of the pot and quietly open the door to the restaurant, locking it behind you.

“mawmaw?” you call out gently, not wanting to startle the poor woman. she was washing dishes, as usual, turning as she heard your voice.

she called your name in excitement, “ma chère!,” pulling you in for a hug which you happily accepted. she pinched your cheeks and turned your face from side to side to examine it.

“as-tú mange? you look so tired, sugar. i told ya’ to start watchin’ your health!” she scolds you with a sigh, shaking her head in disapproval, her new orleans accent slipping out as she pinches your cheek. “you youngins, tsk tsk.”

“i know, i know...”

she let go of your ear to turn back to the kitchen, giving you time to rub your cheek and soothe the pain. she quickly whipped up a muffuletta for you, her motherly love engraved into all her cooking.

“wouldve gotten you jambalaya, but people started comin’ left and right for it, dont even know where they comin’ from!” she exclaims with a laugh, brining the food towards you. she went on to talk about her day which you, of course, offered your utmost maximum attention to each word that fell from her mouth. the only thing that filled your ears was the subtle tumble of the air conditioning and the thick new orleans accent leaking from her tone. it was comforting in a nostalgic way. forms of her reminded you of your own father. own father. father. fath—

“oh! happy father’s day by the way!” you say with a slight teasing smile, but it was genuine for the most part. she turned to you with a— well, unamused, and albeit a confused face.

“hunny, i’m a woman.”

“that works her aaaa——,” the older woman cocked her eyebrow at your language choice, “bbbbutt… off every single day even when she’s dead. that’s enough recognition on both father and mother’s day” you say with a smile, finishing the last bits of your food.

“y’know, sugar, sometimes you remin’ me of my son.” she says with a smile. “quite the charmer back in the day, i’ll say!”

“never knew if he had kids, though.” she tried grabbing your plate, offering to wash it, but you declined with a smile, getting up to wash it yourself.

“well… sometimes, you remind me of my father.” you said, “say, what's his name? tell me ‘bout him. who knows, maybe he did have kids.”

the ringing of the water filling your ears as they awaited to hear an answer from the older woman. they twitched in reaction to the noise— it made you think back.

— — — — — 1932.

you walked through the woods quietly, trekking your way quietly to the cabin. home. you skipped in your steps as the delight of finishing your tasks early filled your core. the leaves swayed in the air, whispering untold nothings throughout the night. the gravel under you crunched against your heels as you got closer and closer to your humble abode.

you wouldve kept going. your father always told you to head straight home after your miscellaneous errands were done, especially after dusk. his words ringed in your mind always saying, “its is never safe for a dear like you to be hanging around town at night!”

there was a whisper in the bushes. a quiet one, but it was noticeable. it was enough to halt your steps.

you stood your ground as your eyes pivoted to the greenery. adrenaline started pumping; it removed the glue from your shoes that kept you from approaching the sound. what would be the harm in checking it out, anyway? you were close enough to your house as is.

something grabbed your ankle— shrieking in horror as the hand pulled itself towards you.

a man, bloodied, battered, drenched in his own blood looked up at you in a panic. the metallic stench rung in your nose as you stared down at the man in shock. he looked vaguely familiar— but the bloodied mask over his face barely made him recognizable. a flick away and all the oxygen would stop flowing through his veins. something turned in you. churned. stomach twisting in absolute horror and disgust. your mind told you to run. to scream. to call for help. to do anything but get your hands dirty.

but you couldnt leave the poor man.

you pulled the guy out of the bushes, only to discover a gunshot wound right in his abdomen. it was like some ravage animal was trying to tear him up right there and then. he stared up to you, not talking— hell, he couldnt talk. blood dripped from his mouth like a faucet. he couldnt if he tried.

but eyes always spoke. he didnt need to use his words. he looked grateful in a way. grateful he wasnt alone when he’ll die.

hands bloodied as if you were the one who caused it. his wound pooled out fountains of blood, onto the ground, seeping into your skirt.

“who… did this to you?” you whispered to him, bloodied hands shaking violently in reaction to the sight. he wanted to answer— but he couldnt.

you knew better than that.

you held his hand when he passed— which only took roughly around two minutes. it didnt take long.

you stood up. turned. looked. saw.

a man was looking at you from the woods. it was dark, but nothing could hide that manic smile, cheeks outstretched that it was nearly not human. nearly. he looked at you, eyes boring into your face.

he kept looking at you. it was only a matter of seconds, but to you it felt like hours. days. years. decades passed in those seconds. time ticked. it slowed down in the fastest way possible. it sped up in the slowest way possible.

you wanted him to stop looking at you.

your father— no. your father never looked at you like that. thats not the man who tucked you to sleep. thats not the man who made your favorite pancakes when you were sad. thats not the man who let you sleep with him whenever you had a nightmare. thats not the man who only trusted you when making his coffee every morning. it was unlike him. her father would never—

there was a gun pointed to her.

“dad—?” you whispered, as if he could hear her for the distance they were at.

the trigger popped.

the clock started.

the body jolted violently at the impact. it fell. blood pooled from the area like floods of rose petals bathing the forest floor.

it was a perfect hit. alastor always had perfect aim, anyway. he was never going to miss. he never misses. but as he approached, he had wished he did.

he approached the corpses slowly, making no haste in his steps. two birds, one stone. then he saw you.

you.

alastor’s manic smile faltered as the realization dawned on him. he fell to his knees, dropping the rifle, nearly throwing it to the side. his eyes blew open as he was instantly to your side. it was quite pathetic— especially for him. by now, he wouldve been tearing his victim’s flesh open, feasting on his prey like some crazed animal.

four minutes.

you, weren’t supposed to be home yet. you, weren’t supposed to wander to the small, suspicious sounds of the forest.

you weren’t the main target.

you coughed up blood, suffering the same fate of the man you had just encountered a few moments ago. now you were the victim, fallen to the forever bloodied hands of your manic father. the fact it was your father still hasn’t occurred to you fully yet.

he softly cradled you in his arms, now seeing your face stare back at him. “pa?” you coughed out, earning a shush from alastor.

“it’ll be okay, my dear.” he said, not sure if he was assuring himself too. his manic laugh grew louder and louder as he rocked you back and forth like a helpless child. “ça va aller..” he repeated this like a spell. a prayer. a grasp of intangible hope.

three minutes.

“pa, it hurts.” hurts was an understatement. your whole life was draining from one measly hole in your neck. it burned. ached. everything you have worked for draining out of your body in the matter of minutes.

“i know, my dear. it’ll all be better soon..” he carefully scooped you up to rest in his chest as if he were comforting you from a nightmare.

but his ego would never admit he was comforting himself in this nightmare.

it wasnt a nightmare, however. it was reality. your blood pooled onto his coat. his hands. everywhere. the stench reminding him that this was in fact, reality.

two minutes.

in moments of pure desperation, tears pooled down his face, completely contrasting the smile on his face. his eyes spoke.

“im sorry, pa.” you apologized. why were you apologizing?, you asked yourself. he was the one that just threw away your whole life, you thought. but—

but he was your father.

“don’t you apologize, my little dove,” he responded, “don’t you apologize.” his hand held your head to his shoulder. the hand that caused this mess in the first place.

one minute.

your life flashed before your eyes. did he even care? were you just another toy of his that he could kill? was he behind all of these killings he himself announced on the radio show you, oh, so adored— no, of course he did. it all made sense now.

“i love you.”

wait.

why did you say that?

times up.

— — — — — PRESENT.

the ringing of the water came back to you. the lukewarm water weaved through your fingers. it brought you back to your senses.

“say, his name was alastor.” she answered.

alastor.

[pink-static]

He literally said "you're not like the other girls".

Pink Static is a monster romance horror comic with very irregular update schedule.

Content warnings: body horror, gore, n s f w

Page 35

thank you for all your nice comments! if you want to support me - you can donate a couple of bucks via boosty.

[fazgoo-connoiseur-1987]

bloody accountant

[srpayt0n]

[ukulelette]

Depeche Mode on Taratata, 14 February 2023

[b00rad]

Yeet the single celled organism

[hogoflight]

Maybe Apollo still keeps his journals from when he initially started discovering medicine and (depending on the way you look at it) they are either very worrying or the FUNNIEST thing ever.

#1:

Oh boy Artemis and I are gonna try out this technique I saw in the future where you cut a body and take out all the bad stuff then sew it back up and then they’re good as new!

#2:

WARNING: THE GOO NEEDS TO STAY IN

(don’t worry they gave them anaesthetic beforehand and they’re completely fine afterwards they fix them up and now they have special rapid healing powers and also their own lil religion thing going on!)

[cherry-pop-elf]

Big Bad Wolf

Dad! Remus x Reader

It’s the full moon, and Harry came running to you for advice and help. Lupin went missing, and Harry is scared that someone’s going to get hurt. Or worse. Expelled His dad will end up shot. So, as the romantic partner to the boys father you go and help him. You both just hope to find him before someone else does

Warnings 18+, Horror, Gore, violence, fear, Whump, character death ((deserved)) happy ending

Writing Commission’s Are Open

“Dad-?! Dad!” You were startled awake, by the sounds of Harry. You were spending a few days, at Hogwarts, with Lupin. As his romantic partner it was permitted, but it sure did startle students to see someone who wasn’t their teacher in the classroom. Such as you, having fallen asleep at his desk. You were waiting for Lupin, but it seems sleep caught you first. Until now.

“Have you seen dad-?” Harry asked, as he hurried towards you. A bottle in hand, with a worried look. You did not like where this was going. You really hope that was not a full bottle of wolfsbane. As if that was needed right now. You sat up quickly and straightened up.

"He said he needed to run and talk to someone really quick, and asked for me to stay here until he came back." Now that you said it out loud, it made you very suspicious. You had a bad feeling about this. A very very very bad feeling. It seemed the feeling was mutual, and no words were needed. The two of you were soon running out of the classroom, and straight outside. Wands out.

"Great, just great-" You huffed, as the two of you were now roaming around the grounds. A worry of what happened with Remus, and if the Dementors would come your way. You made sure to hold Harry's hand, and he did not refuse it. He had a uncomfortable run in with the Dementors after all, as if he wanted another.

"Should we ask Hagrid for help?" Harry asked, as you pondered. That could be very helpful. He was a monster keeper of sorts, and more people looking could reduce casualties. Fang could help as well, but Hagrid was not the best with secrets. Still.....You had a werewolf boyfriend on the loose, and one not on potions.

"I will go talk to Hagrid; you go to the Shrieking Shack. Maybe he went there by habit?" Seems like Hermione was really rubbing off on him, because that made perfect sense. You recall a few times you could hear him, when locked in his designated room, about a shack. Along with his night terrors, and school days.

The plan was set, and Harry explained to you how to get there. Most likely knowing, in case of emergencies. The two of you would split, and Harry hurried to Hagrid's Hut. You stayed, until he made it. Just to be sure. Once he had entered the home, you would hurry to the tree, it was terrifying, but you had to. For Remus.

You had to army crawl, and enter with a few scrapes, but you managed. You hit the knot in the tree, and was able to slip through the roots. Through the dirty cavern, and across the rocks. It was a journey, but you managed. You would push at the wooden boards, and soon had your head in the shack. The stench of blood heavy in your nose. He was here.

"Moony?" You whispered, as the world went still. Even the wind seemed afraid to speak. You were terrified, but someone had to be there for him. You swallowed your biile, and forced yourself into the house. Onto your knees, wand in hand, before properly standing.

Deep breaths, that made you gag, in a vain attempt to try and calm yourself. You knew this when he told you what he was. He didn’t want you to sign up blind. He didn’t want to feel like he trapped you. The moment he told you, you tried to study all you could. Meaning you carried your own vile of wolfsbane. Small, but hopefully enough to soothe.

As you tried to follow the stench, you couldn’t help but hear something. It was someone. Someone gagging, and coughing. Seeming to be….No. No no. You had hope the blood you smelled was that of a wild animal, but no. It was of someone.

You wanted to barge in, and see if you could save them, but that could cause issues. Like him turning on you. Instead, you kept your steps quiet. Just coming closer, as the figure kept gasping and wheezing. Begging. What made your blood run cold was what the person said.

“Remus, please….You would have done the same in my place. You would ha-“ Before there was silence. Silence, as bones were snapping. Crunching, and being devoured. They were dead, and you knew that you couldn’t do anything to have prevented it. You tried to reason, at least.

Finally, you were at the door. Given quite the sight to behold. This sickly looking beast, chowing away on a dead body. Beyond recognition, except for an arm. Said arm having been torn off, and slammed into the wall near the door frame. You narrowed your eyes, as you saw it was missing a finger. Clearly before the attack, as the numb was healed over.

Before you could wonder who the figure was, you suddenly felt something bite at your leg. Not in a means to attack. It was so gentle, you almost didn’t notice. A attempt to grab your attention. It succeeded, as you looked down to a black dog. Shaggy, skinny, and struggling to pull you away from the door. A means to get you away.

Seems it acted too late, as the nawing of flesh was silenced. Just the eerie sounds of blood falling on wood, as the werewolf looked over. Blacken eyes focused on you, as it growled. Clawed, and mangled, fingers were soon on the floor. Cautiously approaching you, only for the dog to block its path. Guarding you.

You didn’t know what to do. Do you run? Do you stay? Do you move slowly? You can only read so many books, before you face a real deal. Nothing prepares you for a real life experience. Was he staring at you because he recognized you? Was he no longer hungry? Was he aware of your scent, and wouldn’t harm you?

So many thoughts, only to be silenced by an ear rattling howl. That said that, and you were trying to run for your life. The shaggy dog quick to defend you, and jump at Remus. Buying you time, as you tried to think of where to go. Leave the building? Back into the hole? You didn’t know. Before you could make a choice, the rotten wood broke under you.

Crashing through you went, only for your leg to snap in the process. You screamed in pain, and that alerted Remus to you. You tried to fight through the pain, as you held your wand up. Trying to defend yourself, as Remus tore through more of the wood. Leaving splinters to rain down on you, as you laid in the broken old living room.

“REMUS-! PLEASE-!” You sobbed, as you didn’t want to hurt him. Blood pooled around you, as the torn muscle was shreds around your shattered bone. So much pain, panic, and despair. Was this the end? Dispite it all, all you could think of was how this would affect Remus. The guilt he would hold, when the moon rises again. Only to see you dead in his teeth.

Seemed that would only be a nightmare, as he was slow to approach you. Sniffing you, before looking down at your leg. Giving it a lick, and whine. As if trying to help you. If you weren’t so delirious from pain, you would find it sweet.

“Fuck, you look like shit.” A voice spoke to you, as Remus seemed to curl around you. Using himself a pillow, for you to rest on. Just feeling his ribs, and hearing his strong breathing and heart. It was soothing, and let you catch your breath. Long enough to register where the voice came from.

A man was soon standing infront of you, in a Azkaban uniform. With long, black, shaggy hair. With a beard to match, against his gaunt face. So skinny, yet so alive. Shaggy black hair, just like shaggy black fur. That’s when it hit you.

“Padfoot….” You choked out, when you weren’t crying from pain. The name made him smile, and you could see life in his hollow eyes. It warmed his heart so much, knowing Remus told you about him. That he was still spoken so positively. That Remus didn’t believe the verdict. He knew better.

“That’s me. Now be quiet, and take advantage of Mooney having a full belly.” He hushed you, as he would begin to try and help with your leg. He would take his torn shirt off, and forced you to bite into it. Trying to make you quiet, as he popped the bone into place. Making you scream into the fabric, as you held Remus tighter. Suppose in that feral brain of his could register his mate was hurting, and soon was nuzzling his face against yours. Using his nose to wipe your tears away.

“There. Worse of it is over. Now how about-“ Before he could finish, the sound of the basement door was opening. Before Sirius could do anything, you grabbed his pant leg. Trying to get him to stay. The pain, however, made you feel to weak. Your vision was blurring, as you curled up against Remus. It was all to much, and soon…..You blacked out.

Morning came, and it was unwanted. The sunlight on your face, and making you groan. “Five more minutes-“ Was your reply to the beast, before a chuckle was a reply. A chuckle you knew very well. A laugh that made you fight the sun, and open your eyes. Remus.

“Morning, pup.” He smiled, as he set his book aside. His scared up hand was quick to help brush the sleep from your eyes, as you took in the world. Such as how your leg was propped up, and that all the blinding white was from the medical wing. Another comforting sight was that Padfoot was in another medical bed. Being treated, and not sent to Azkaban.

“Lots of questions, I know. I’ll keep it short. I had made an attempt to go check on Sirius, last night, only for the two of us to stumble upon a familiar rat. We chased him for so long, we didn’t register the moon. Suppose it was a good thing we didn’t. A lot of good has now been done, with him disposed.” Despite what seemed like good news, there were tears in his eyes. Like he lost an old friend. Suppose you’ll ask about that later. Now, you needed rest.

“I can’t believe you came chasing after me.” He tsked, as he was already using a cold rag on your face. Helping you cool off. “Suppose Harry is to blame. I could have hurt you. I would never forgive myself if I had infected you to. I could have-“ He went on and on, before you held his hand. Forcing him to stop, as you smiled.

“Then you won’t be so lonely on those full moons, would you?” He wanted to be frustrated with you, but that would be rather hypocritical. So, he just gave a defeated sigh. With a smile. “I have a type, it seems….” Was added, as Harry was soon to enter the wing. Along with his friends. Hermione, and Ron. All needing answers about why an escaped convict was in the medical wing.

Remus would give a sigh, as you scooted over. As best as you could, so he could sit with you. The trio was soon on the neighboring bed, sitting together, while keep quiet for Sirius to sleep. A snuggle into Remus’s lap, and he took a deep breath. Knowing you were there to support him.

“It all started, when three little Gryffindors thought it was wise to become unregistered Animagi….”

[luck-of-the-drawings]

IMAGINE. working at ur stupid uhhh job or whatever. pulling into your drive way and ready to work on some crazy project in your garage. opening the door to the most unfamiliar silence. did your wife and kid leave for something? could you imagine knocking on your kids door, hardly getting an answer, and opening it to find the splattered remains of your wife across his room your child is scared! hes hardly consolable, in a state of shock and terror. you are too, but youre the adult here. you need to take charge. you need to protect him. you need to do something. you need to do something.

[lacring]

strict nanny

[violentclown555]

STUPID GAY IDIOT MOMENT!!!!! BOOO!!!!!

Oh my god sims 2 lore beat my ass and left me naked in the streets,,,, TANK, TANK GRUNT, I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU TANK, OHHHUUH

This ones my favoriteee :3 (it also crashed Wigglypaint!)

I love his big sad wet eyes

This is the first one I drew, from memory, accidentally squished him sorry

They werent lying that fixation can hyper