#even though i killed him in this fic im still going to write and draw for him in the future lol

[jamminvroomvroom]

congrats on 5k queen! you’re writing is so brilliant beyond belief and you deserve all the love and support this site has to offer. can i request lando+angsty smut (the best combo)…prompts along the lines of “i don’t think im ever going to love anyone the way i love you”//“i don’t think i want to love anyone else”

how did it end?

ln x famous fem!reader

in which it ends, until…

i love this fic with my whole heart. thank u sm for this request, anon, and for being so absolutely for gorgeous and kind <3 kicking off the 5k celebration with a big, sad, sexy bang! lemme know what you think, hugs n kisses

songs to set the mood: how did it end? by taylor swift

warnings: 18+!! minors dni!! smut, angst angst angst, fluff, happy ending! exes to lovers, just. a lot going on. sad!lando, sad!everyone, so many feels, r is a big deal model, alcohol consumption, mentions of smoking

4.1k words

one gasp, and then…

“how did it end?” the woman strokes your arm, soothing, tentative.

you don’t know her all that well, she’s signed to the same agency as you, you see her in the halls sometimes and sit next to her in makeup chairs.

you stare blankly at her, registering. news travels fast apparently.

you smile, small, fake, tilting your head to the side. you mumble something about different schedules, timezones, right person, wrong time. she watches your face intently, with sympathy. you want to throttle her. she’s being kind and you despise her for it right now.

“i won’t tell anyone.” she affirms, her fingers still smoothing over the skin of your arm.

yes you will, you think. all of her friends, the rest of the building will know exactly what you’ve told her by the time you get to your meeting. you don’t begrudge her, though, that’s the nature of the industry.

“well, it was good to see you.” you nod, even go in for a quick hug, and then you speed away, beelining for the elevator. the ride is short, your managers office somewhere on the third floor and you shuffle down the corridor, ready to be informed of what your life will look like for the next three months.

fittings, shoots, paris trip.

mhm.

swimwear season, charlotte tilbury, meeting with the vogue journalist.

cool.

week off, few days in london, monaco grand prix.

no.

“what? no.” you splutter. out of habit, you reach for a necklace, frown when you realise it’s no longer there.

“what do you mean, no?” she narrows her eyes at you.

“i can’t go to the race. no.”

“girl, i love you, but did i ask?”

“you know i can’t-“

“you won’t have to see him.” she reasons.

“but what if i do? he’s obviously gonna be there, and the events before and after- no. no.”

“lando norris is not gonna be the end of you.”

you stifle a laugh, one that sounds more like a strangled cry.

what if he already was?

-

look who we ran into at the shops,

walking in circles like he was lost

lando stares at the shampoo.

specifically, the one you use. used. he can’t be too sure anymore, he supposes.

he’d popped out for a loaf of bread, about an hour ago. he didn’t want to acknowledge how long he’d been staring at the women’s toiletries section.

you seemed to live on, everywhere. lando could see you in his apartment, the passenger seat of his car, the back of the garage. even the fucking supermarket wasn’t safe. you were very much alive, moving on with life, and yet you haunted him like he’d killed you himself.

perhaps he had, in a way.

the basket grazes the outside of his leg.

that’s the shower gel he’d buy for you, the one you only used when you stayed with him in monaco.

there’s the tampons you asked him to buy, crying back at home on your- his bed.

oh, and there’s the shampoo that you made him buy, the one that you told him made his curls feel extra fluffy when he was between your legs-

“lando?” a voice calls, drawing lando out of the mist.

“oh, alex. hey.” lando croaks. he hasn’t noticed the lump in his throat until now. he clears his throat, running a hand through his hair.

“what you doing, mate?” alex asks, eyebrows furrowed. he scans lando’s face, puffy eyes, watery.

“shopping.”

“for women’s shampoo?”

“no, no, just… looking.” lando stutters.

“when was the last time you slept?” alex’s voice is laced with concern, apprehensive. he doesn’t know what to say to his heartbroken friend.

lando smiles weakly.

“i’ve been sleeping.”

alex sighs.

“okay, when was the last time you slept properly, then?”

lando’s shoulders visibly sag.

“about a month ago.”

-

we hereby conduct this post-mortem

“we can’t do this anymore.”

the words fall from your lips in a whisper, but they reach him like you’ve screamed them at him. he sits opposite you, in the arm chair, so far away, only a metre or so.

“i know.” lando breathes shakily.

“i don’t want this but…”

“yeah.”

it’s been such a good year. you’re in love. it’s not enough. there’s too much distance, too many outsider opinions, too much longing for someone who’s on the other side of the world.

he’ll be in london. you’ll be in brazil.

he’ll be in australia. you’ll be in amsterdam.

it’s too much.

“i love you, though.” you remind him meekly.

“don’t know how to not love you.” he sniffles.

your heart shatters, the pieces flying over the room, spilling across the floor. they mix with the splinters of his, painting the room red. all you feel is blue.

you cry in his arms when he takes you to bed, his own tears spilling over your collar bone when he buries his head in your neck, licks over the marks he’s left there. to remember me by, he’d muttered dryly.

when you’re both finished, he lays there for a moment, still on top of you. damp with sweat and tears, the taste of one another still lingering on your tongues.

“how is it possible that i miss you already?” he pants, lips grazing just below your ear.

“i get it, lan. i’ve been missing you for a while.”

you’re gone when he wakes up.

and so, a touch that was my birthright became foreign

-

come one, come all

it’s happening again

the empathetic hunger descends

there are about six cameras pointed at you when he asks the dreaded question.

you’re in new york, sat on a talk show hosts sofa, lit by stage lights and his inquisitive eyes. two hundred people sit in the audience, on the edge of their seats waiting for you to spill your secrets.

“so, what happened there, with lando?”

you plaster on the fakest smile to date, crossing your legs anxiously.

“we’re both just so busy, you know? he’s doing amazing things in f1 and i’m all over the place with work.”

“we love both of you over here, it was sad to hear.” he sympathises, adjusting his tie and leaning back in his chair. his fingers drum over the wood of his desk, waiting for more.

vultures. everyone is a vulture.

“and we still have a lot of love for each other. he’s a wonderful person.”

there are tears in your eyes and bile rising rapidly in your throat when you shake hands with the crew, the host, and retreat to your dressing room. you stumble into the en-suite and throw up. then, you fall onto the sofa and cry. you fix your makeup at godspeed and reply to the text from your team, inviting you to drinks at some rooftop bar, promising to meet them there. you punctuate the text with one too many exclamation marks, feigning excitement.

“we still have a lot of love for each other.”

translation: i can’t understand: how did it end?

-

lando watches your interview. of course he does. he watches everything that you do, watches the way you set the world on fire.

he can’t help himself where you’re concerned, like an addict craving the next hit. you look so pretty on tv, glowing. you look fine.

god, why do you look fine?

he hates himself for hating just how fine you look. he is not fine.

“he’s a wonderful person.”

your words ring in his ears. they anger him, because if he’s oh-so-wonderful, why aren’t you here? why isn’t he there with you, waiting backstage? why can’t you just hate him? why can’t he just hate you? maybe you will, if he shows you just how not wonderful he can be.

he gets drunk that night. forces max to hit the clubs with him. sticks his tongue down a pliant woman’s throat. doesn’t ask her name. let’s her invite him back to her place. it has to be her place, he can’t fuck someone else in your bed, the one you used to share. he leaves minutes after he’s pulled out. he’s sure she’s lovely, too good for him and his bitter fucking heart. he feels utterly disgusting.

lando goes home, scrubs his skin red, and then does it again. he doesn’t go to sleep, watches from his balcony as the sun begins to rise over the sea. he hikes to the highest point he can reach in monaco, where it’s quiet and there’s no one to judge him, or worse, sympathise with him.

he stands at the edge of the cliff. screams once, twice. he sits on a rock, and lets himself cry.

the deflation of our dreaming

leaving me bereft and reeling

my beloved ghost and me

sitting in a tree

d-y-i-n-g

-

your stylist is plying you with options.

you can wear the denim with the cream OR you could do the red and white? or we can go full glam! or! or! or! we could-

you drown her out. you don’t give a fuck. not a single one.

what you wear to the monaco grand prix is quite literally the least of the your problems. your biggest problem, of course, is that you have to go to the fucking thing.

visibility is important, get people talking! the words of your manager ring in your ears until you have a dull migraine brewing behind your ears.

you leave the fitting not entirely sure what you’re wearing, but your stylist will be sending the clothes over so you can pack.

when you land in all too familiar nice, there are cameras. when you get to the hotel in monaco, you and lando are already trending on twitter. well, at least he knows you’re coming. when you’re getting your makeup done before your first event, you get a text.

i’ll try and keep my distance.

try.

try is such an interesting word. the fact that he has to try to stay away makes your belly flutter with embarrassing, self loathing butterflies. don’t try too hard, you want to respond. you don’t.

should’ve told you i’d be here you shoot back.

you think i didn’t already know?

of course he knew. he’d probably asked god knows how many brands to invite you. you try and feign an illness but your team drag you kicking and screaming to the event.

-

there are no two ways about it: you’re drunk, on a tuesday night, somewhere in the principality. a few cocktails with a jewellery brand turned into a night on the town, bar hopping with people you hardly knew and barely recognised.

you’re shaking your ass in jimmy’z, pretending to have fun when you see him.

lando stands at the bar, watching you, jaw tensed, eyes solemn. you exit the club faster that his car down a back straight, stumbling into the smoking area. you bum a cigarette from a guy who tries really hard to convince you that he’s the son of a british lord, and sink into the corner, ignoring the people recording you.

depressed model shame smokes outside monaco club because she is fucking pathetic, the headlines will read.

“thought you quit that shit.” his voice washes over your body like you’ve been set on fire, smooth tone, ambiguous accent making you ache.

“i did but then i got forced to come to monaco, so.” you shrug.

“forced?”

“‘m here for work.” you sigh.

“i guess i am too.” he mumbles. you raise an eyebrow.

“you live here, lan.” you tease. lan rolls off of your tongue too sweetly.

“doesn’t feel like it anymore.”

how can it, without you? he wants to scream at you. he can’t, you don’t deserve it.

“how are you?”

you want to touch him.

“shit.”

he needs a taste.

“yeah.”

you put your cigarette out. it tastes like shit, half smoked.

you stand there, stare at each other.

take me home, you want to beg.

come home, he clenches his fists, trying not to grab you and remind you how you’ll always be his, right here, up against the side of the club.

“good luck, if i don’t see you.” you whisper. you linger, praying that he’ll beg you to stay so that you can crumble into his arms, without having to make the first move.

lando ponders his options. his head and his heart wage a war.

logic wins, unfortunately.

“thank you.”

you take that as your queue to get the fuck out of there, and disappear into the night.

-

it’s raining on sunday. the dreary weather seems to perfectly sum up what has been the worst week of your life.

you’ve seen your ex boyfriend more times than you can count, ended up with about four hangovers as a result, and with a pounding head, you have to sit in the paddock club and wait for the sound of engines to split your head in half. it was your own doing, so you’d suck it up, recognising that you were a disgustingly privileged bitch, and there are people who would sell their kidneys to do what you’re complaining about.

you never complain, not usually. but your heart hurts and your body hearts and your mind hurts and it’s just not fair. lando is gorgeous, and you miss him so badly, and your shoes are digging in. who the fuck thinks it’s a good idea to wear heels to an f1 race?

you see him before the race, mouth good luck from afar. he winks. it’s something you used to do before every race. old habits die screaming.

the rain falls harder, the track slick. you say a prayer and take your seat.

“norris has this in the bag, he’s bloody good in the wet.” you hear some old guy say behind you. you are cursed with the knowledge of just how good in the wet he is, and you end up flushed.

he wins. his second one in three races. you pray that no one notices the way you weep. everyone notices.

you make a mistake and rush for the podium, your pass giving you access. he graces the top step and you sob, grinning like a fool, soaked through with rain. the anthem plays, the champagne pops. he finds your eyes in the crowd. your hair falls, stringy and curled, mascara smudged. you are the most breathtaking sight. he stands still, washed with an onslaught of champagne, watching you like he’s scared to take his eyes off of you. his boyish grin and hopeful eyes render you weak - you’re there for him, after all - and he can’t help but bask in that little fact.

dangerous territory. you break, and disappear.

-

say it once again with feeling…

the photographers barely get a second to snap a picture of the top three, because lando is gone. he takes the stairs two at a time, descending from the podium and throwing his pirelli cap and a shaky apology at his pr rep. the adrenaline spike makes his blood rush; he needs to find you and stop you and tell you that he will never be able to stop loving you.

the exit is the natural assumption, and he nearly slips a thousand times as he sprints through the paddock. the ground is wet, but he figures that if his car made it, so can he. the gates are in sight, and so are you, your clothes sticking to your shivering frame.

he calls your name, thunderously travelling towards you, his voice hitting your ears like a sonic boom. you freeze, turn slowly until your facing him. the rain splashes around you, not letting up.

you’re within his reach, and he pulls you in, hugging you tight. you melt into him, clinging like he’s a life force. he inhales you, your scent that he’s missed so horrifically. you crumble, and so does he, pieced back together as one.

“i can’t do this, i can’t.” he kisses the words into the cold skin of your neck.

“no, neither can i.” you choke wetly with emotion.

“miss you too much. it’s too hard, it’s stupid, it’s-“

“wrong. it’s wrong. ‘m sorry.” your breath fans his face, breathing life into him, life that he’d lost four months ago.

he grabs your shoulders, lowering so that his eyes are level with yours. his curls fall over his eyes, sodden from the rain.

“i don’t think, no, i know: i’m never gonna love anyone the way i love you.” lando speaks slow, convincing. your chest is tight.

“i don’t want to love anyone else.” you croak, the lump in your throat making it hard to breathe.

“come back to me.” he mutters, pleading.

“don’t think i ever left.” you breathe, hushed.

your lips slot over his easily, it’s like breathing. the kiss is messy, helpless, and he engulfs you whole, his body wrapping around yours like a blanket. you latch onto his race-suit, drawing him in, and then you both seem to remember where you are.

lando norris caught kissing ex like horny teenager in monaco paddock!

you pull away with breathless chuckle. the air is fresh, and you feel alive. he steals another peck.

“wait for me at home. i’ll be quick.” his hand finds you ass, just for a second and you scold him playfully.

home.

yeah, home.

“don’t make me wait.” you grin.

his brain short circuits.

“do you still have your key?” he splutters, refocusing.

you scoff. “never took it off the chain.”

-

you pace the apartment, taking in the space. it hasn’t changed, but it’s messier, a visual representation of lando since you left. the pit of your belly swirls with anxiety, anticipation. he’ll be back soon, and he’ll kiss you, make love to you, remind you that you’re home and that it’d be stupid to leave again.

you’re still damp from the rain, shedding layers until you’re left in your vest and jeans, ridiculous heels kicked off by the door, your jacket airing over the back of a chair.

he hasn’t taken down the pictures of you together. he hasn’t moved your ugly collection of magnets from the fridge. he hasn’t changed the blinds that you chose, but he didn’t really like. your candles sit on the bookshelf half burned, the teddy he’d won you at a fair sits neatly on the sofa. the L pendant and it’s chain is strewn over the coffee table, right where you left it the morning after it ended. your breathing is heavy.

the front door opens behind you.

you don’t move, your eyes still fixed on the silver chain, overwhelmed by how empty your neck feels all of the sudden. he comes up behind you, his head resting on your shoulder, arms finding home around your waist. you often used to find yourselves in this exact position; while you brushed your teeth, made coffee. the room is deathly silent, breathing and the distant buzz of post race festivities the only thing you can hear. lando follows your gaze.

“kept it. knew that one day, you’d come back for it.”

“i came back for you.”

“and that necklace will stay with you when i can’t be there.”

you nod. he kisses your neck.

“missed you so bad.” you gasp. he licks your skin, bites down softly.

you spin in his arms, his hands pawing at your hips and everything blurs when he kisses you.

-

shaky fingers work over zippers, buttons, clasps, and then you’re both bare. you sink into the mattress that you missed so much, his body moulded with yours when you both tumble into the sheets. this is messy and frantic, utterly lovestruck. the lightning strike of his touch has you keening, sweating beneath him already.

“missed you. missed this.”

“do something, lan.” you cry, quiet against his shoulder.

“missed my perfect girl.” he grunts, lips working your chest while his fingers leave a trail of goosebumps over your inner thigh.

“please.” you sigh when his fingers dip between your folds, sliding over your wet flesh. his lip catches between his teeth, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of you.

he thumbs at your clit, stroking over you in slow, firm swipes, and then he’s sinking a digit into you, slow and steady. your toes curl, tears pricking your eyes at the intrusion, but you don’t have much of a chance to adjust, a second finger joining the first. he fucks you full, the stretch of just two fingers making you whine, one hand threading into the sheets while the other slams over your mouth. you want to hide, the pleasure rendering you a mess across the pale grey linen.

“no, let me look at you.” lando rasps, spare hand tugging at your wrist. you whine, writhing when he curls his fingers. “why are you hiding?”

you can’t hold back the choked cry that sounds from the back of your throat, his palm bumping your clit as he grinds his fingers deep.

“gone shy on me, baby? where’s my good girl gone?” lando coos, moving so that he’s leaning over you. the angle change sends your legs flying, kicking out at the sweet torture. “‘s because you haven’t been fucked right in so long, hm? can’t remember how to behave?” he’s smirking down at you, scanning the changing lines of your face.

“need it, need-“ you stutter, the words dying on your tongue.

“words, pretty girl, words.” lando encourages, false sympathy dripping from his tongue.

“need to cum, want you to make me…” you trail off.

“was that so hard?” he tuts, and everything speeds up.

the sound of him working you so sweetly makes you shake, your thighs clenching tight around his hand. the wet squelch hits your ears and you blush, cheeks coloured deep with embarrassment, awe, desperation.

your mouth drops open, screaming silently when it hits, your thighs slick. you drip down his wrist, his hand covered in your release.

“there’s my girl.” lando sighs, diving down to kiss you hard.

you can feel the damp press of his fingers as they dig into your thighs and you squirm beneath him, finding your way into his mouth.

“fuck me.” you slur, teeth knocking with his. he swallows you whole, groaning into your mouth.

“not so shy now, hm? been dreaming of hearing you beg for it.” lando shudders, shifting between your legs.

you can feel the press of him, thick against your cunt and you wiggle your hips, pushing to meet him halfway. the stretch burns deliciously, and you grab at his shoulders, dragging him in.

“fuck, baby.” he breathes, sinking into you slowly. “feel like heaven.” disbelief coats his voice, like he can’t reconcile that this is real; you’re back here, his, in the bed you were always supposed to share.

“it’s so good. feel so good for me, lan.” you whisper, lacing your fingers through his hair.

“love you so much.” he kisses you like he means it, rocking into you with purpose.

“can’t believe i lived without this.”

“can’t believe you’re all mine.”

the release builds, every thrust reminding you of what you could have lost for good. there was no lack of love, in fact you were starting to wonder if you had loved each other too much before.

“never losing you again. can’t live without you. my beautiful girl.”

your tummy grows tight, and he finds your clit when he feels you clamp down on him. he pulls you through the pleasure, guides you to your orgasm and you blindly follow him. you’d follow him anywhere, you decide.

you tell him you love him when you let go, spilling all around him, warm. he’s panting, kisses your forehead gently. he rolls off of you, and you feel the slow drip instantly, but you curl into his side and he wraps around you.

home.

“promise me something.” he whispers. you feel the way he shakily inhales.

“hm?”

“don’t leave again. you belong here, too. with me.”

your eyes are watery.

“i’m staying. ‘m yours.”

“about that…”

lando springs from the bed, naked, disappearing from the room. you watch, confused, cold all of the sudden.

you can hear his footsteps padding through the hallway, and then he’s back, his figure in the hallway. he runs, jumps, lands gracelessly next to you. endeared, you laugh softly.

“sit up.”

you do, leaning up to sit next to him. his fingers skim your shoulder, pushing your hair out of the way. cool metal dances over your skin.

“back where it belongs.” lando smiles at you, eyes wide and stunning.

you toy with the L. something heals in your chest, right around where your heart is.

“the sweetest boy.” you shake your head in disbelief, grin up at him like a fool.

“bath?”

“you know me so well, noz.”

come one, come all

it’s happening again

-

oh, my heart. there is something deeply wrong with me

-

taglist

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[baconcolacan]

Hello! I hope you are well, I have some questions:

1- I know I've already asked this question and I think it's the third time I've asked it, but how would Hillarson's unit react if they found out that the red leader is in love with Tom? Would them suppose that would be the reason Hillarson cares so much about Tom?

2- If R!Tom were a cannibal, would R!Tord still love him?

3- What do Paul and Patryck think about their leader wanting to make Tom his own?

4- (It's a stupid question) What does R!Tord think of Tomme bear?

5- The entire Norwegian EFA unit is dead?

6- Are all sentinels programmed to kill soldiers? If so, do civilians also count? What if a sentinel came across a child, would he kill him?

7- What were Hillarson's unit's thoughts on having an EFA soldier join their unit? What were their thoughts after Tom attacked Finnigan?

8- R!Tom has depression?

9- Regarding the question you answered about their heights, are all your AU's the same height?

10- If R!Tom told R!Tord that he was bored, what would R!Tord do?

Thanks for writing such an amazing fanfic like regimen! I told my friend about the fic and now every night we start reading regimen and go through chapter 8.

When he read about Morales' death it affected him so much that he dreamed about him, I remember he told me, Hey, I dreamed about Morales 😭

Oh! He is drawing a regimen drawing for you! He hopes you like it, he hasn't finished it, but he's very happy to finish it, well this is getting too long and I don't want to waste your time.

Have a good day and take care of yourself! ^^

Hello! Hahaha I hope you're doing well too <3 Answers below the line

1- Notable people like Morales, Finnigand, Baxter, Corporal and Hilarson himself might feel disgusted for Tom as well as flabbergasted that that was the reason why RA was hunting him down. People who may not know Tom well might be sorry for him, and those who left the unit earlier on might even push for Hilarson to give Tom up faster.

2- Odd question but yeah, R!Tord would still "love" him 3- They think its weird but don't mind it much, its none of their business and it isnt the first time they went with the whims of their leader.

4- It's cute. He thinks its precious that Tom still has it.

5- :)

6- Sentinels are generally programmed to kill soldiers only. Civilians are usually avoided, but if a fight happens in a residential area some casualties may occur, but as their A.I. develops that happens less. So no, children aren't among the body count, usually.

7- The unit was....very hesitant. I wrote about it a bit in Regiminis but EFA soldiers have a bad reputation in the army, mostly because it's an accepted fact- though not readily admitted- that EFA soldiers aren't meant to survive their station. After the attack on Finnigand, they became wary of Tom and his reactions.

8- Yup.

9- More or less yeah! I might change it around a bit but they often stay around the heights I assigned.

10- :)

OOO IM EXCITED FOR THE DRAWING!! THANK YOU FOR LOVING MY FIC SERIOUSLY <3 Take care of yourself too!

[the-s1lly-corner]

Can I get E, F, I, and W for the slenderman fluff alphabet, please? Your take on my favorite pasta cryptid of all time is so nice and interesting. Adds a certain depth I don't typically see.

Fluff Alphabet w/ Slenderman but it's these letters!

side thing but guys go listen to redoin by jerryterry its so fucking good im listening to it on loop while im writing this and its making my vibrate

E (EMOTION)-

stone cold exterior, warm squishy interior. still hung up on the "slenderman longs for companionship just like everyone else but rarely gets that need met due to his nature and way of existence"

in other words he can be a passionate sap in regards to you, behind closed doors. he can wrapped up easily in things, so sometimes his passion can be mischaracterized as rage or annoyance but rest assured he's not angry with your existence

right in the middle of the "heart on the sleeve" and "cold and distant" thing, he feels he needs to keep up his image of powerful monster but he doesn't let you think at any moment that you're not important to him

F (FAMILY)-

i don't think he would want kids, and thats assuming he even can. in my au he was created by zalgo with the sole purpose to cause problems for people, i dont think zalgo was thinking about whether or not slenderman can reproduce when he making him

of course adoption is always an option, and who knows, maybe if you guys find some stray kid in the woods he might just take them in

this is where my take on slenderman strays a lot from the original since i personally think slenderman just. kicks kids out of the woods (which leads to them talking about him, which leads to slenderman being a known cryptid in universe) but thats mostly just me not wanting to dwell on child death + giving the dude some level of morals that at least somewhat align with the self loathing that comes with his "i dont want to eat people but i have to in order to survive" thing

but hey i think thats because i love those comics where people draw predator and prey animals where both sides are sympathetic

love shit like that

slenderman is only one part of this huge web that we call nature, simply existing because that's just how things are

whips and nae naes

I (INJURY)-

rest assured that he will tear the world apart should someone or something ever send harm your way. god forbid you are mortally wounded or even killed

he knows some basic first aid stuff thanks to watching people for so so so long, but he's a kriller not a healer, he doesnt know what to do if youre losing a bunch of that red liquid that fuels your insides

oddly calm about it, though, though with the way he holds you you can feel his rage seething under his skin

he himself /can/ get injured but its rarely something to fret about unless its like, from some real powerful person or some human who knows how to take down a specific man eating forest demon; i've actually never really thought about what conditions would need to be met to outright krill slenderman but

yeah

when he's the one hurt he insists you not to worry, it's going to take a LOT to keep him down

if you're injured and its something he can treat he will make sure you take it easy but hes not going to baby you about it

W (WARRIOR)-

okay so im writing this segment first because i can write a whole essay and really i dont know if theres going to be anything stopping me from doing just that. curse you jerryterry, the bops are so good. anyways onto the topic; a lot of my interpretation of slenderman is admittedly based around the early fandom characterization of him + a very specific fic that will remain nameless (though im more than happy to spill the link in dms, said fic also has some influence over my entire au/hc thing but thats not todays topic)

despite what many may think, i feel like, at least with my hyper specific take on slenderman, i feel like he wouldnt want you to fight along side him or be a proxy. only time i can see him date a proxy or fellow kriller is if you were already one prior to the relationship. in my au, slenderman resents his own existence for being what he is, and if he could he WOULD choose to be something else; however he cant rewrite the laws of this universe or fight against his biological functions

like i can go on an entire tangent, but my au is still so scrambled around that im not entirely sure where to start or how im going to make it make sense, but i feel like he would much rather keep you by him and safe (and even then i feel like thats pushing it, sure hes more than capable of protecting you but what if something stronger than him comes and fucks shit up? not all the creepypasta characters are buddy buddy)

but perhaps i will write a collection of loosely connected one shots one day detailing the world building and dynamics

i make no promises

[mostlymaudlin]

fanfic writer challenge!

instructions:

list & explain the three lines/moments from canon that are most fundamental to how you write your fave character

challenge 3 more fic writers to do the same!

ok i did this for carry on but im doing a separate one for aftg <3 because its fun

it is surprising to no one, but my fave character to write is andrew :) and i gotta put this puppy under a read more because i wrote way too much. i have [clenches fist] SO MANY THOUGHTS ABOUT ANDREW MINYARD !!!

but first, ill tag: @sillyunicorn @starwarned @takitalks @rainbow-0bsidian @pipedream-darling @otherworldsivelivedin @mrskrementz @fortheloveofexy @seasy33 @jostenminyard

(doing more than three to get the ball rolling lol)

Andrew's smile vanished when the elevator started its slow crawl down. Neil returned his stare, every muscle tensed for a fight. At the fifth floor, Andrew pushed away from the back railing and started for Neil. He reached for Neil's keys, but Neil moved the ring out of reach. Andrew tried again, and Neil had to step back to dodge his grab. He backed right into the metal doors and realized a moment too late Andrew didn't care about his keys at all. He buried the ring in his pocket, feeling pinned in. How stupid, that someone so short could have such a presence. -- (The Foxhole Court, Chapter 2)

ok, a long one to start, but important ! one of the reasons i love writing andrew is because of the way hes fucking nuts. and as someone who is also nuts, this is pleasing to me. and let me make this point without using silly euphemisms: mania is a state in which a person is heightened, but they are still fundamentally themselves. their thoughts are not limited by silly things like filters or predicting consequences. it is impulse and pleasure-chasing. so! when i look at andrew, who is supposedly on some whacked out fake drug that induces mania, i think about how his actions that could be brushed off as "he's just high" actually reflect an andrew without inhibitions. this is especially helpful when looking at andrew in TKM, when he becomes incredibly difficult to read.

this scene is the reverse, though, and that's why it's important to me. andrew is not on his medicine here, but he's not Mr. Repressed either. this is an in-between, where he's choosing to let some of himself shine through (mostly with the intention of freaking out neil, lol). and it's great, because andrew shows us a few big things:

he reads & understands people SO well, even if he rarely caters to their needs. the fact that he goes for neil's keys on day 1 to draw a reaction is like... yep. you got him lol.

he is willing to take drastic measures in the name of.... well, at this point in the story we're not sure, but soon we'll see that its to protect his people

he's crazy???? lol. i just think andrew's dialogue in tfc/trk in his brief unmedicated moments (and even his manic ones!) are so indicative of how andrew thinks. he's so fucking weird. in this scene, he follows his cornering act with "How nice to meet you, Neil," Andrew drawled. that's so weird!! he's weird. his brain is silly and clever and quick. This bit and others like it are the foundation on which ive built my version of his POV.

now, speaking of andrew's brain --

Andrew stared stone-faced back at him. Neil would have assumed it a silent rejection of Neil's veiled accusations if Andrew's hand hadn't frozen midair between them. -- (The King's Men, Chapter 11)

let's set the scene. immediately before this, neil has suggested they go on spring break, implied that there was a this, then hit andrew with his "And I am nothing" / "And as you've always said, you want nothing."

so like. andrew just got punched in the gut approximately six times in under a minute. poor guy. when neil prompts him back into action, he first threatens to kill neil, and then kisses the shit out of him. squeeee, ROMANCE!!!

when i look at this scene, i think of that first quote i pulled. i think of andrews silly and clever and quick brain, and about how much work he does to keep his mask on. there are plenty of times his mask cracks, but this one is the most fun because he is so clearly being overwhelmed by FEELINGS. he is confused by neil, irritated with him for bringing up all these things that andrew long ago decided didn't matter, and furious with himself for wanting it all too. he has to freeze so that none of that slips out of his mouth or onto his face. when he recovers, he deflects thru being mean (which is useless against neil, but still a satisfying way to blow off some steam) and then kissing him :) because really, that's what it all boils down to: andrew wants neil so bad it makes him want to murder him.

and look at this, a nice transition to the final scene!

"Rumor has it I'm pretty interesting."

"Don't believe everything you hear."

Neil ignored that dismissal because Andrew was already pulling him down again. They kissed until Neil felt dizzy, until he wasn't sure he could hold himself up anymore, and then Andrew pulled Neil's hand off the beanbag chair. He held it up and away from them for an eternity, then slowly pressed it flat against his chest and let go. Andrew tensed up under Neil's hand but relaxed before Neil could pull away. --(The Kings Men, Chapter 15) (The second Chapter 15) (Because thats something we have to clarify in these dumbass books)

oh my GOD. has a scene ever scened like this scene scened. has a touch ever meant so much. has a character ever tried this hard. ok, once we've all finished banging our heads against the wall and screaming, let's review:

andrew wants neil so bad it makes him want to murder him. but andrew also wants neil so bad that it makes him want to TRY. im actually going to take this apart bit by bit because if for some reason you're still reading this madness, i think you'll appreciate the detail LOL.

ok, first: before this paragraph, neil confronts andrew again with the gravity of their relationship, and andrew plays his usual game of deflecting and bullying. that doesnt work (andrew, has that EVER worked???***) so of course the next action is kissing.

and kissing and kissing and kissing.

and somewhere in all this kissing that is so good that neil is dizzy, something in andrew says: i want more. he takes neil's hand, maybe on impulse, and has to stop to think about what he's going to do. and then he tries to give: he places neil's hand on his chest, LETS GO, and then relaxes under his touch.

its hard to tell how much of this was impulse and how much was thought through. im willing to bet it was mostly impulse, especially because andrew doesnt hit neil with a "i never do anything i dont want to do" when neil acknowledges that this is probably something theyre not ready for. (instead, andrew reacts by deflecting/bullying -- "One hundred and one" -- and then more kissing. so predictable!).

but still! it says so much. it says that he wants and wants and wants, he dreams about things he thinks he'll never have. and neil keeps trying to prove him wrong, and andrew wants to believe him so badly, wants to SHOW neil that he's starting to believe him. scream!!! andrew invented romance. he put neils hand on his chest and LET GO. he said: "look. im trying. i want this too, even if i cant even think the words." he said: "i want to figure out how to trust you."

because underneath it all, i believe andrew is a deeply hopeful creature, and that is the thing he hates most about himself. he wants a home, he wants a family, he wants to belong -- and it makes him feel so fucking foolish. its easier to wrap these wants up in duties and protections, concrete and emotionless things. but neil never actually wanted andrew's protection, yet he still wants andrew more than anyone ever has before. thats fuckin earth-shattering. theres only so much deflecting and bullying and kissing you can do before some of that deeply buried hope claws its way out.

SO YEAH i really didnt need to do all that but i did. if youre still reading then like LOL youre a trooper hope u enjoyed the 2AM Nerd Rory show. but i think about andrew a lot (obviously) and hes such a difficult character to write, so returning to scenes like these three really help ground me in the version of him that lives in my head. so that i can put him in situations :)

***actually wait i just remembered one time where the bullying/deflecting worked, so here's a bonus. in ch 10, the make it to finals and have a party at abbys. andrew and neil are outside, and neil is frustrated with andrews apathy -- "Would it kill you to let something in?" / "It almost did last time." -- and then also starts talking oh so earnestly about how andrew could be court if he'd just TRY. andrew, obviously, gets mad and asks Neil if hes capable of talking about anything other than Exy. which actually hurts neil's feelings, because neil just really likes talking to andrew about exy (the thing hes most passionate about) & deeply values his opinions, and hes upset by the implication that they dont actually have this in common.

and like, you could read this as andrew just being sick of talking about exy lol. but i see it as part of the pattern. andrew is triggered, first of all. and then neil is being a little too earnest about the future and andrew, talk to me. and andrew's fucking overwhelmed !!! he does not know what to do with this! so: lash out. hit neil where it hurts. deflect and bully.

[saltymongoose]

Hi, are your requests still open?? Or I'll even pay you to write something too.

If they are, can I request fic with Deimos, Hank, 2B, and Sanford protecting and comforting a FTM(not transitioned yet) reader that is their partner. They protect him from an abusive family member? If that's not okay then maybe just comforting them on a really really bad dysphoria day?

I'm dealing with major family issues rn on top of my HEDS/POTS flair ups and I'm just breaking down and need some comfort from my boys that would def hug me and kiss me and tell me im okay and tell my family members to "Fuck off cuz I am a real man." I'm trying to draw some art too... but I have major art block art.. but your writing Is amazing and inspirational. I always look forward to everything you do. You are my hero and I wish I could write like you. Thank you for everything you do and please take care of yourself! Drink and eat pls!!❤️❤️❤️

Also this is the first time I'm asking something and I'm to nervous to come of anon so I guess you could call me...Kai? Thanks and sorry if this is too much yiu can ignore it

I'm sorry to hear about everything you've been going through Kai, it's beyond awful to have family members who're so unsupportive and damaging. :( I'd be more than happy to provide some comfort and protection from the boys for you, and as always, free of charge. <3 (Thank you so so much for your kind words as well, they're awfully sweet of you to say and reading them made me pretty emotional haha. I'm glad you like my work so much, it's readers like yourself that make writing so fulfilling for me, so thank you for that as well. And please take care of yourself too, of course. :)) 💕

[Part 1] They Protect a Transmasc!Reader from their Abusive Family ft. Hank & Sanford

(TW: Transphobia, Verbal Abuse, Violence (they're not yandere but still, it's Madcom), ft. Transmasc!Reader) //- {PART 2 HERE <3} -//

- [HANK J. WIMBLETON] -

Anyone who knows of your significance to Hank would realize that it’s not exactly a good idea to try anything against you, whether it be trying to make you uncomfortable or attacking you physically.

Your partner is the most wanted man in Nevada, and he has absolutely no patience when it comes to anyone or anything threatening you, period. It doesn’t matter if it’s some random grunt on the street, or some agent Doc insists he works with, or even if they’re an Employer. If they hurt you in any way, shape, or form, he’s paying them back for it tenfold.

It’s only right since you’re likely a target simply for your relationship with him and he considers it his “job” to protect the people he loves. And by that, just you, really. He can’t even remember the names of the other SQ members he works with 90% of the time, so you’re it for him. Although this just means all of his protective instincts are centered on a single person, which if anything would be more of a deterrent. (For mildly intelligent people, at least.)

However, while he never expected your family of all groups to be added to his “blacklist”, he isn’t averse to going after them the same way he does all your other persecutors. Hank genuinely couldn’t care less about their blood relation with you or any history you have with them; he solves nearly all his problems with violence anyway, so another set of bodies means very little to him in the long run. (Bear in mind, he won’t outright kill them in front of you, you don’t need to see that.)

Though because you’d generally prefer not to have to deal with organizing a funeral or explaining why your significant other gunned down your family (to your other family members who you'd prefer not to speak to), you made him swear not to kill them. A shame since they more than deserved it to him, but you're one of the few people Hank actually listens to, so he'll go along with it.

However, you never told him that he couldn't be violent with his protectiveness, even if they didn't end up dead.

So when he happens to be accompanying you to your family’s place to fetch some of your things and someone decides to make a little unwelcome comment about you (something about how you’re “never gonna be a real man”, whatever that means), he bristles when he hears the words. The look of discomfort and sadness on your face immediately drives him to physically threaten them; he's quick to invade the offending family member's space, anger coursing through his veins as a hand reaches for one of his knives.

It doesn’t take long for whoever made the comment to be thrown to their knees, a blade at their throat before you’re able to stop him. He's always been impulsive, and what they've just done to you would be enough to warrant murder if it were from anyone else. (They should consider themselves lucky you were more merciful than he was.)

He can only think of the look of your frowning visage as he grabs their jaw harshly, almost driving the knife into them as they jolt in his grasp. He usually doesn't care about insults, but if they're against you and targeting something so intrinsic to who you are, it's enough to piss him off immensely on your behalf, to say the least.

"Newsflash, asshole. Nobody asked for your dogshit opinion," he hisses, jostling your terrified family member before forcefully turning them to look in your direction. "See him? He's a real man. If you're too stupid to understand that, that's on you. But if you say anything like that to my boyfriend again, I'll fucking kill you, understand, dipshit?"

You know it's more of a bluff than a genuine promise, given the fact that you've been over this with him before. (Or at least you think so.) You ignore your family member's pleading for Hank to let them go, as well as the other people in the house who've come to watch, still feeling hurt at their comment. Having your partner there made it better, but it still didn't lessen the sting of the words themselves.

Hank notices this of course and will drop the offending individual to the floor (paying no mind to how their skull painfully hits the concrete below them, whoops) so he can pick you up protectively and remove you from the situation entirely. You let him, of course, silently eyeing your family from over his bicep as you snuggle into his arms, relaxing a little for once that evening.

The complete juxtaposition in Hank's behavior the moment you two exit through the front door is honestly amusing to you in retrospect, but in your sickened feelings at what just happened you don't notice it. He holds you tighter to himself as he walks, leaning down to press his forehead to yours and nuzzle into your temple. You told him once that his purring was comforting for you, so he'll do it here, and loudly too. He's relieved when he feels you sink into his grasp more at all his affection, but he can tell what just happened is still weighing on you.

Despite excelling at dealing with matters physically, Hank is very inept at anything concerning emotions (and to his credit, he knows it very well). He'll still try though since you need the encouragement and he hates seeing that despondent look on you. (He also just loves you and wants you to be alright, but that's hardly anything new.)

"You okay?" He rasps lowly, almost whispering to you, and you give a strained half smile in response. He tilts his head in concern and you sigh, reaching up to cup his cheek and watching as he leans into your hand absentmindedly.

"Not really, no, that was…a lot. I will be though, eventually…Thanks for that, by the way," you say, voice small as you rest your head on his chest. It’s funny, you were only there for forty-five minutes and you’re exhausted. This only makes you doubly grateful for your partner being willing to carry you and comfort you physically, even when you don’t feel like talking.

You could feel him nod resolutely against your hand, the only reply you’ll get from him on this matter. His silence is fine with you; you were so close that you didn’t need words to understand his view anyway. Especially not with how he makes sure to hold you as close to him as possible on the way back, wrapping you up tightly in his arms as if to protect you from the rest of the world as he takes you back home, where you’ll be safe from everything else.

Hank’s type of care is a strange one. Filled with gentle touches and harsh protectiveness, Nevada’s most infamous mass murderer is nothing if not soft around you. You were a point of vulnerability for him, but one that he welcomed with open arms. He’d rather die than let something happen to you (and he’d be very willing to if it came down t it). Even if the threat isn’t incredibly violent, his main priority is your well-being, whether that be your physical or mental health. Perhaps this is why you feel comfortable enough to fall asleep in his arms, content that he’d keep you safe as you went home. He wouldn’t let anything happen to you and you knew it. After all, he loves you beyond belief, just as you do him.

- [SANFORD] -

As one of the few people in Nevada who actually has a semi-intact family in his life, Sanford knows the true value of having close relationships with your parents and/or siblings. However, he realizes that your family is also the people who can cause you the most suffering. They know every little button to press to get a reaction, and it's only elevated to a more painful level if they don’t accept you for who you truly are.

In all likelihood, you’ve confided to him before about your familial situation, and what he heard both depressed and angered him. How anyone could be so awful to you is just beyond him; you’re one of the nicest people he’s had the pleasure of coming across and he wouldn’t trade you for everything, why would your family do you so much harm purposefully?

The feeling of disgust only festers with each time you tell him about another one of your family's abusive actions towards you, and he honestly considers just suggesting you cut them off. They don't deserve to have someone like you around them, just as you don't deserve to be mistreated for something as simple as your gender identity. You don't need to justify who you are to them, and the fact that they badger you about it and degrade you is enough to make his blood boil.

You probably don't see your family that often anyway, cause once you two got together he was fully willing to just get a place with you away from anywhere having to do with them. The further the better. (The last thing he wanted to happen was for them to encounter you when you went out for groceries or ran errands. More distance meant more safety from them, after all.)

It's not that he wants to isolate you or anything like that, and really you're free to do what you want, he just doesn't want to run the risk of them hurting you more than they have already. As such, he’s hesitant to even drive you to visit them, to be completely honest. You don’t deserve to be put in a potentially abusive situation, but if you have to be around your family for whatever reason, he insists on accompanying you.

He holds your hand the entire way there, throwing you soft looks to gauge your mood and running a thumb over your knuckles when he sees your nervous posturing. He hopes that his reassurance will help in some way, even if he's also dreading encountering your family.

He's tense at your side the moment you both walk through the door to your family's home, putting himself between you and any family members as he oversees your interactions. Most would feel threatened by his posturing; it’d be quite obvious that he’s acting as sort of a sentinel for you, and having someone like him as a protector should be a deterrent to any awful behavior. Lest they end up suffering some harsh consequences for their actions.

But of course, this doesn’t stop some people. Perhaps they just walked in and saw you, thinking you were on your own and taking it as an opportunity to slew some abuse at you, completely oblivious to the fact that your partner was just across the room. Or maybe they were just ignorant enough to believe your partner wouldn’t protect you from them.

However, they’ll notice and realize the reality of the situation soon enough. It’s impossible not to when they open their mouth to make a disparaging comment about you and are met with a painfully tight grip on their shoulder and the broad form of your boyfriend looming over them.

You'll notice that their abusive remark is cut off by a sharp squeak, and turn to see them looking almost sickly with fear at your boyfriend. The same whose glare seems to darken when they have the nerve to send a pleading glance towards you to make him stop, as if they're not the one who tried to verbally attack you in the first place.

No matter, he'll helpfully twist them around so he's all they see instead. (Quickly too, since he hated the way you seemed to freeze when they tried to make eye contact with you.) The perpetrator is terrified to their core since they know very well about who he is, but the short apologies they try to stammer out don't quell any of Sanford's anger at them. It's not him they should be apologizing to.

He'd even consider forcing them to right that moment if he couldn't read you as well as he does. He knows from your shaky motions and quick glances back at him that having any prolonged contact with them would probably just risk upsetting you more, and besides, what kind of a partner would he be if he brought his boyfriend's abuser closer to him?

Despite this, he won't let go of them. He's almost like a guard dog that's latched onto someone, unwilling to let them move a mere inch away as you go about your business. While you're distracted, he'll even lean down to get uncomfortably close to your family member to give them a bit of a warning, silently delighting in how they jump at his sudden movements.

"You aren't gonna say another fucking word to him, understand?" He hisses, "None of this shit about you not understanding that he's a man - cause that's what he is, dumbass. You can fuck off if you think I'll just let you insult him like that, or I'll make you wish you knew better."

They nod frantically, and he gives them a sardonic, if not outright threatening grin. Just in time too, as you turn back to them with some personal belongings gathered in your arms. You don't look at your family member when you approach, but Sanford's quick to disregard them as well once you're a meter or two from them. (He doesn't want you to have to be too close to them, anyway).

He gives their shoulder one last squeeze, threatening to pierce their skin with his claws before he lets go and returns to your side. You find it slightly amusing that he insists on wiping his hand off on his pants before he holds yours again, and as you exit the building he makes a joke about not wanting any "filth" to touch you. It makes you smile a bit, which relieves him.

He has a thoughtful look on his face as he helps you into his truck, one he always seems to get whenever the topic of your family comes up. You give him a few questioning glances, silently prodding at what's eating away at him as he seems to mull over something for a moment. He then turns to you, giving you a warm smile.

“I’m really proud of you, you know? I don't know how I'd be if my family pulled something like that with me," he remarks, giving you a playful glare when you shrug and avert your eyes, already beginning to formulate some sort of retort to his praise.

"I mean, I didn't do very much-"

"Not this time, I guess, at least not physically. But you've dealt with their shit for years, so I'd say you're stronger than you think you are." He states simply, a tone of finality in his words. Under no circumstance would he let you downplay or disregard your own feelings and role in this; so what if you didn't want to get in their face as he would? Physical confrontations aren't everything, especially when he's half sure those pigheaded people in your family wouldn't change with or without them. The point was that you're perfect just as you are, and you don't need some dumbasses who don't know anything to make you doubt that.

You understand as much when he leans over to give you a quick kiss on your temple, whispering so before leaving another peck on your cheek and pulling back. For that simple moment, your anxiety is quelled. Funny, how something as common as Sanford giving you affection could calm you down so much. The love he has for you is pure and nearly overwhelming sometimes; it fills you with a warmth so comforting, and a feeling of gentle reassurance you don't know how you went without before. And you knew it was the same for him.

For now, though, Sanford thinks he's got a bit of a solution to this issue (if you could call it one). He's been thinking about it for a while, but now that he's seen firsthand the quality (or lack thereof) of people in your family, he doesn't think it's going too fast. At least, he hopes you won't think so either.

Your attention is caught again when he mutters your name, and you look over to see him staring down at the dashboard, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel as he nervously clears his throat. It's weird to see him so nervous, but it's cute; it reminds you of when you first started dating and he was so anxious about being with someone seriously, least of all someone he admired so much.

"I know this might be too fast, but..you could, well, "join" my family, if you want. My mom's been asking about you, and they just really want to meet you, to be honest. Probably because of how I don't shut up about you," he laughs a little awkwardly, and you smile at how bashful he looks, brow quirking at the question. "They're not...like yours, and I know they won't screw with you like that. So..would you want to?" He looks hopeful as he eyes you, and you can see the slightest bit of apprehension in the way he shifts his hands against the wheel as he waits for your answer.

You hum in thought, genuinely considering the offer. Sanford's without a doubt the nicest guy you've ever met, and you don't think his family would be spoken about so highly by him if they weren't the same. Besides, there's no harm in meeting your boyfriend's family. However, there's a little something about the way he worded it that made you curious.

"Yeah, I'm down for that. All this talk about me joining your family is pre-tty interesting though, babe," you begin, a teasing lilt to your voice as you lean over the console to perch your chin on his shoulder. "You thinking about proposing?"

He sputters, face going red as you chuckle at him. He's quick to make a recovery though, nudging his elbow at you as he shakes his head to himself (he can't hide his own grin, despite this). You feel relaxed as you lean back into your seat, grateful for the distraction in light of everything else that happened that day.

Although, you don't make it entirely back to your seat before Sanford reaches out for your hand again. His larger hand returns to hold yours just as it was on the way to your family's place, and you can see a slight blush tinge his cheeks when you turn yours over to interlace your fingers. He only has a single real response to your teasing, but it's enough to make you double-take.

"That depends, would you say yes?"

[wormlips]

The way I got into Thramsay, I was frightened at the thought of reading ff about them, even though I shipped the guys from Killing stalking — arguably not as whumpy. But, they were the most toxic pairing I’d shipped, up until that point. I had only ever watched GoT too, till recently. I thought the fanfiction would be darker, I think. But I was still intrigued, cause I did draw them on one occasion. Then like 5 years later, I came to check this tag on a whim, and had such a visceral reaction to some fanart on here. Long story short, I now strangely ship three pairings where one half of the ship kidnapped (“kidnapped”) the other. And two where one character has .. lost some bits. *whispers* how are there two?? 💀

Yeah it's funny how you can tell yourself 'im just going to take a quick look' and then fall head-first into things. like you never saw it coming but suddenly it's a part of your life

or dismissing a thing only to return years later and realize that it was right up your alley all along

Your ask made me write even more because like you I hadn’t shipped anything on thramsay's level before so i didnt have a good frame of reference what it might have been like but i were intrigued too and it's cathartic putting into words what i think makes them so captivating to me

I definitely had interest in toxic relationships with abusive and dark elements in it long before but none where one of them had literally removed body parts from the other. I think Ive always been on the softer side so I need (needed? Idk if i do currently) some sort of mutual feelings even if it is irrational or non genuine like people who cant help but still love someone who hurts them or the reverse - loves someone but cant keep from hurting them. The DA fic kind of pushed that to its limits but it contained some sort of lingering sentimentality amidst graphic descriptions of flaying and i was thinking you can do that??? Though in that fic the torturer had been corrupted by magic so their relationship had been normal at one point which separates it from thramsay. but it had been proven to me that ppl could justify* ”love” in horrible conditions that is interesting to read and i should stop writing but i went into thramsay fics to find out if someone had done so (also whatever else, i was fucking around to find out)

It just hits the spot i ❤️ characters being conflicted about their lover and i want to be unable to tell if the ”love” they feel for their counterpart is actually something else

even though i'm not particularly into show-verse thramsay anymore the best example i can give is the infamous bathing scene where ramsay asks if reek loves him and reek says of course with full conviction and it's like obviously it isn't true though reek might feel like he does because he has conditioned himself to have that response, he brainwashed himself to cope and for safety because he has to believe so ramsay can't find out he's lying but then if he thinks he feels it so much that he does............? how do we define real vs fake love an-... whatever i'm going too far we don't need a philosophical discussion of this rn

you can make it worse by switching between him being self aware of all this to fully believing he's always been ramsay's, the way he slips back into theon's thinking patterns in the book from reek's and anything inbetween until you have toxic sludge on your hands and furthest thing from a normal, healthy relationship

and even more fun if you do the same to ramsay, it doesn't have to be real love but it's such a clingy obsession and dependency, mutual belonging and the idea that he will always return so his closeness, his whispers will be likened to that of a lover because what else is there to compare it to *there's probably a better way i could put it but by justify i mean the author writing something that makes sense from the character's point of view. i don't want to be misconstrued

[peacockrulz]

youre so right about narration!! i could go on all day really, its the biggest thing for me that takes a fic from good to great, especially with characters like j- characters with a persona of sorts, characters that lie to themselves or are in denial, or characters with a lot they need to sort through, and j is sort of all three in some capacity. i cannot wait for hostile takeover to update! if you ever decide to try writing a fic id love to give it a read! ive noticed you have a lot of interesting ideas about characters and their dynamics through your fanart, something i think could translate to writing well. you also clearly have an understanding of what makes a fic good- though i know from experience its often easier said than done. still, id love to see you try! this is actually my first time rp-ing canon characters, ever. right now im playing j (thanks hostile takeover) in a discord server, though i might try n soon because i reaaallly struggle with characterizing him. ive been roleplaying my whole life really! i started with roblox warrior cats though... im shuddering with you id kill for more dollxn art from you though. no pressure but you get them it seems. its been a while since i listened to final girl but its definitely their song suggestive lyrics or not i hope they die and go to robo-hell together <3 - juzi anon

*sigh* putting this under a readmore because HOO BOY did I maybe went full analyzer on this one. thanks for your time Juzi Anon <3

I've read alotta fics in my time on the internet and honestly? I don't think I've ever read a fic that hooked me on a character narration quite like Hostile Takeover's J. J's awareness of every part of what shes doing and how shes doing it makes it even more subtle when you realize that despite all of that, she has so little awareness over what she thinks. Like she doesn't question it. Uzi's narration makes a point to show how she censors her own thoughts, she doesn't allow her mind to wander to certain parts of the past, shes completely aware of how some thoughts sound and decides against saying it all together. Meanwhile, J will go on and on about how much better the job would be without V's constant talking back and N's inability to do anything right, and in the same paragraph be constantly thinking about the argument with V, and what got V so messed up to begin with. J is like a rock, a precipice of confidence. But the moments where she doesn't know what to do, (like when she thought she was going to die in that church tower from the rising sun) its almost like she has to put on appearances even in a moment where shes completely panic-ed, that she still somehow has to pretend she knows what shes doing, even with no one around. Its why the fic made me rethink J in general, I've loved J for while but Hostile Takeover was the first time I actually was able to SEE what J could be as a character story. It really puts into perspective how important narration can be in telling a damn good story. (Sorry this became a J paragraph. I could analyze fics for the rest of my life and be happy lol)

Haha maybe one day I'll finally sit down and write. I'm not really the greatest at translating my thoughts to text, for some reason its easier for me to illustrate my feelings about a character then to write it out. The only reason I can draw fanart like that is because I analyze these characters to death lol. Looking at all the angles of two characters and then asking the question of 'what would it take for them to be on friendly terms' is a pass time I indulge it frequently!!!! Thats why I like rarepairs, sometimes they're dynamics are alot more unique than most, even if they're 2 characters that have never once canonically interacted (which is my favorite. Alot more creative thinking with that one yknow?) Still, maybe I'll get to it :O (prolly would practice writing analysis post first. because I always have to stop myself from doing it on other posts XP)

I've also grew up on roleplaying (my brother is into roleplaying and that got me started on it lol) used to roleplay on roblox even before I could read (which. isn't a joke actually. who gives a 5 year old unrestricted internet access???) funnily enough I can't even say I ever completely grew out of it, I still visit alot of roleplay maps on roblox (including WCUE!! never actually roleplayed there but I think its fun to spec) but mainly I used to roleplay on animal-based mmos like FeralHeart in my younger days.

Iffff,,, I could say anything about N's character,,, to hopefully help inspire some ability to write him (and sorry this gets its own paragraph) I would probably say that he is a very self-destructively selfless person, whos never gotten over anything or anyone in his life (I.e when V was in stasis during their time in the manor, N constantly visited her and would draw pictures of the two of them together ((as lizards)) and is kinda implied to have been reading books to her during this time. Even after getting 'digitally lobotomized', while N couldn't exactly remember V as he knew her back then, he still carried that affection he had for her all that time ago. He never stopped caring about V, even when he forgot) while I wouldn't describe N as in anyway 'innocent' or 'naive', N still has a habit of unconditionally caring about pretty much anybody lol. He had like, what, a 27 minute conversation with Uzi? And while it wasn't enough to completely convince him, it still was something that made him hesitate ("I really enjoyed our time together,"). And while I'm here (having mentioned Uzi) I would also say N is a very lonely character, seeing as he was often belittled by his peers (J) or in some cases completely ignored (V, but she had her reasons and thats a different discussion) a funny part of N's character is just how much he IS like Uzi. A person completely isolated by his kind because of how he is, who was never given an explanation as to why, why everyone is so oddly cruel to him. The biggest difference though being that N never fought it, he completely accepted getting knocked around if it meant he could stick around. It took someone else to point out how fucked his situation was to make him think twice about it. Uzi is the type of character to go down kicking screaming and punching(asterisk but thats also a different discussion), and N, despite being in such a similar place to her, isn't that kind of guy. While I wouldn't say N is the type to take everything lying down, there is something to say about just how much he is willing to take before getting angry, yknow? Overall, I think N is a very loving, loyal-to-a-fault, kinda guy, but his compassion for those around him is often times the reason he gets so tunnel-visioned in the first place (i.e causing explosions and throwing rocks and debris everywhere in a mass, angry panic, trying to go save V.) and its why he is so willing to get himself hurt in the first place. ("I really enjoyed our time together, but I can't have you shooting V with that thing.") (Or yknow, cutting his arm off, but thats alot less selfless-ness and alot more self destruction) His patience and understanding is one of his biggest strengths and somehow always the reason he gets hurt. Basically I think he need to go a lil insane as a treat.

((Oh its also good to note that his unconditional love for everyone around him is also the only reason why he has lived this far to begin with (the characters this includes: V, Uzi, AND Cyn.)))

I also think the above, is the reason why I enjoy NxDoll so much. it takes SO MUCH for him to hate someone and yet Doll did the one thing that would make him do it (hurting someone he cares about the most). I just knoooowwww if they saw eachother in that church it would've been ON. That fight would've taken out the whole god damn BUILDING. it would be two people fighting for the exact same fkcing reason!!! REVENGE!!! the horrible chain of trauma contuines with them!!! killing one will only leave the other with what remains!!!! And yet I also see them as two people who would really benefit from being on friendlier terms. Both becasue N's softness is just not something we ever see Doll treated with, and because Doll's avocation for justice might just be the thing N needs to get a god damn backbone for once and earn himself some self-appreciation.

But I also think its more fun when its enemies AND lovers.

They should make eachother worse <3

[waywardsalt]

on my knees gripping my head hnngggg i thought abt bellumbeck too hard

tag ramblings are fun and on brand but i have too many disorganized thoughts and tags are limiting.

anyways thinking too hard abt him is an extremely good and fun thing but i cannot draw the way i wish and can't really put my thoughts into fic form so this is very much going to be a fun ramble.

bellumbeck drives me insane we all know this. he showed up in my dream last night as of writing this sentence so he is on my mind, which is surprising bc fictional stuff doesn't usually show up coherently in my dreams but there it was.

it's so incredibly fun to think about bellumbeck. he's such a black sheep of a loz final boss, there really isnt another loz final boss like him in concept or even in 1:1 tone imo. it's so fun to take bellumbeck incredibly darkly seriously.

to be fair bellumbeck is kind of objectively a fairly dark and disturbing final boss on a conceptual level, and it's not really out of nowhere since phantom hourglass has at least a little darkness running through it even if the general tone of the game doesn't really acknowledge or take advantage of it. but if you think about it hard enough even without getting into post-game speculation in regards to what happens with linebeck, bellumbeck is kind of a dark boss and it's great. full on screen demonic possession of a major character with most of the cast incapacitated and link isolated with no escape on the ruins of the ghost ship that started everything and facing a boss that is constantly facing him and both someone he's been with the whole adventure and also the creature that's captured his friends and killed who knows how many people.

it's so oooouuuugghhhh it's so much fun to think about bellumbeck even though it's such a short encounter. it's so... the mystery around bellum, the way linebeck is built up throughout the game and saves link directly before getting possessed, the fucking on-screen vaguely violent possession (i am forever obsessed with the way bellum grabs and tugs on his arms), the way ciela is captured early into the fight, too, the first companion character you meet and, if you had her equipped, it leaves you without a fairy that follows your cursor around for the first time all game, it's very... congrats you and your friends are at rock bottom! good luck getting everyone out of there alive!!!!

of course it's not quite that because this game is geared a bit more towards younger players, but still keeps those streaks of darkness and complexity just simply because they're inevitable parts of this story and it's characters. bellumbeck. i'm talking about bellumbeck. what a soulsborne-ass final boss, huh?

there's only so much a ds game can do in terms of boss animations, but i think a lot about more complicated movements and animations for bellumbeck, so, so much character can be communicated through a boss's animations. in my mind, i enjoy bellumbeck movements with an emphasis on puppet-like flourishes and mannerisms, and an emphasis on weight with how he fights. these two go very well together, and its something i love imagining.

with the latter, an emphasis on weight, would ideally focus on the sword (and im a fan of it being this huge greatsword, reading berserk got me around to liking it because you can do that really well) and how it has to be used one-handed, with bellumbeck leveraging his own weight against it and taking advantage of momentum to use it especially effectively to turn link into a little green and red smear on the wood. attacks blending into each other as he builds up momentum, and using that weight primarily against link, who is a small opponent who relies on rolling around and can’t really stack up at all in terms of brute force.

i imagine this kind of physicality and movement would lend itself very well to bellumbeck also having more puppet-like movements, being a little too tugged-along by his attacks but still retaining his footing, his free arm being just a little too limp a little too often, and his leaning away from his sword side, likely with the intention to properly balance himself out, looks off with how his head lolls unnaturally to that side. the puppetry effect lessens as the fight wears on and bellum gets the hang of the body he’s using, but never actually goes away since he’s not looking to act properly human anyways.

just like... movement flourishes and details that could add a whole lot to the overall experience of bellumbeck that i think about often.

[that-vigilante-piedpiper]

Couldn't fit in ask so I hope it's okay here!

Warning very long! 

I absolutely adore Pied Piper, I found it when it had only chapters in the 20s and was obsessed. Your writing is beautiful, I adored Reo, Izuku was killing me in the best way possible. (Plus your humor is so fucking funny, your social media breaks in it have me dying) I subscribed and left it there for when it's almost done because I have been burned far too many times by illegal cliffhangers and discontinued fics. 

And with that out of the way, it's time for the latest thing. I always look at all the fanart at the beginning and end. I'm absolutely blown away by all the amazing fan art. Ferret is truly doing God's work. So you can imagine my confusion when I saw Nighteye(I only knew it was him cause the centipede called him Mirai), some centipede human, a woman, and Gang Orca in the same bed. I was understandably disgusted but mostly confused. I checked the tags, saw nothing about it, and brushed it off as a discord inside joke. 

More chapters flew by (I read all 64 chapters in 2 days, yes I should sleep but your writing is way too good.) and I got to the art of a human centipede and who I thought was some random guy about to kiss. It's been a while since I watched the show so I didn't remember Centipede as a sidekick or what Nighteye looked like that well. I'm still scarred and Ferret has to pay for my therapy.

Y'know that one line where Nighteye mentions that he attended their wedding? I first thought 'wait Nighteye isn't married' checked the tags and saw nothing about it. So I reread it and thought that Nighteye attended Aizawa, Hizashi, and Oboro's wedding instead.

Thus I was able to finish chapter 64 peacefully and went on your Tumblr. Your word game is really fun and adding on the DFO spin-off is very entertaining. Until I stumbled on the Centipede ask for the word game. And I saw the tag centipeder x nighteye. 

I thought it wouldn't take me that long to see the end of it to know the mystery behind this very much cursed ship. 

I WAS WRONG

I'm now fully aware of why that fanart is there and you can't even blame the LoveWins nation anymore. YOU BETRAYED YOURSELF. You didn't need a bet to kill off Nighteye. YOU ALREADY IKIT. (I'm still mourning him)

But yes, have the divorce go through, let us readers see the mention that Nighteye isn't wearing a ring. AND FOR EVERYONE'S SAKE DON'T BET ABOUT MPREG!

(Serious note though I really love your fic, I hold Izuku very close to my heart and have grown very attached to your version of him and his growth. You're amazing)

[THANK YOU 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 AND YES I HAVE ALSO HABE A LOVE HATE RELATIONSHIP WITH FERRET MY BELOVED 😭😭 also the woman in their 4 way ship is Rei Todoroki 😔😔, her and gang orca arent BAD, BUT WHEN THEY WANT TO COMBINE ALL FOUR LIKE SOME POWER RANGER EPISODES I DRAW THE LINE. BUT YES, IM SO HAPPY TO FIND ANOTHER CENTIPEDER X NIGHTEYE HATER, THERE ARENT ENOUGH OF US, I NEED MORE, AND I PROMISE, I SWEAR TO YOU I WILL NOT BE MAKING ANY MORE BETS 😭😭😫]

[bluiex]

howdy i had a dream about vampires and mumscarian so behold the ramblings of my drowsy brain. i've also gotten distracted like seven times trying to write this lmao boatem as vampire hunters but scar gets turned (because of course he does) and the group is torn between team 'well-he's-a-vampire-now-we-gotta-kill-him' (impulse and pearl) and team 'how-about-we-don't-do-that?' (mumbo and grian) mumbo's got a spine like a wet noodle though so he flip flops between both groups. grian puts up a front of wanting to kill scar but every time the two come face to face he seems to always miss when it counts the most.

it doesn't help that scar's fully embraced the aesthetic and is like 20% hotter with the fangs along.

the two do a lot of flirt-fighting, grian insistent that he can take on scar by himself only to come back battered and even more determined to "handle" scar on his own.

everything boils over when grian's has scar pinned to the floor, sliver chains on his wrists to keep the vampire down, stake poised over his heart, and he just can't kill him. scar does his best to convince grian that he doesn't need to do this, that he can just let scar get away yet again, and grian quietly confesses that he doesn't want to let scar go.

he misses when they were on the same side, and his heart's split in two.

dropping the smug facade, scar bares his heart in return, that he hasn't been attacking humans, he hasn't hurt a living soul, that just because he was turned he wasn't suddenly a completely new person.

"i might be a vampire, but that doesn't make me a monster."

grian caves and lets scar go, but not before making a small side comment about enjoying their chasing game, but that it has to end sooner rather than later.

the two find each other yet again, but it's different, grian's not geared up for one, his only defense a silver cross at his neck, he's slower, he's not putting up a real fight. and he's grinning the whole time.

scar gets grian pinned up to a wall, eyeing up the chain with an annoyed grumble. a contingency plan, grian explains, flushed and breathing heavy.

grian makes scar promise that if he's turned, he'll still be good. it's that blurry line between monsters and humanity, and he promises.

grian yanks off the chain in one clean snap, when they're interrupted by mumbo, silver knife out and ready. he's already lost scar, he wasn't going to lose grian too. mumbo tells scar to stop controlling grian, because surely that was the only reason grian hadn't killed scar yet.

but grian holds up the chain in clear view, and lets it fall. with an open hand he asks mumbo to come with them, that they can all be together again, no more fighting, to run away and live the rest of eternity happily.

grian can feel scar getting impatient, the vampire's breath hot against his neck, fangs lightly pressed to his skin, and he pleads with mumbo to come with him.

mumbo hesitates, and in the distance, pearl could be heard shouting, her voice drawing near. he turns back, and looks down at his knife.

scar didn't want to fight him, and neither did grian. but pearl did.

he steps close, picking up the chain, and for a moment he really considered the offer. but a pair of footsteps grew close, and mumbo pocketed the chain, rushing back down the alley. "i'll cover for you." grian opens his mouth to beg again, but scar's bloodlust had reached its peak, and he sinks his fangs into grian's neck. he lets out a shrill scream, and the last thing grian sees is mumbo warding off two shadowy figures, being carried away in scar's arms. grian wakes up with a vial of blood pressed against his lips, and drinks greedily, curled up into scar's side. "we'll get him," scar reassures him. "we'll bring him home." tl;dr two vampires and their human boyfriend try not to die hope u enjoy like halfway thru this ask basically turned into a fic in it of itself - ☾ anon (im new here :D )

WHY CANT I HAVE DREAMS LIKE THIS BRUH

this is such a great idea too. Scar getting turned then force to run from them </3 Grian can't bring it in him to kill Scar cuz LOVE and Mumbo so on the fence.. waaah theres so much angst potential before Grian decides to be with Scar forever amazing amazing, i love this crescent moon anon- sososo much <3 the little ficlet itself is amazingly written too aaaaa

[monstrouslyobsessed]

HELLO !!! not really a question or something but thank you for your works 🙆 they truly satisfy my hidden monsterfucking kinks 🤭 ANYWAYS PLEASE DO CONTINUE WRITING ): I REALLY LOVE THEM SAUURRR MUCH LOOKING FORWARD TO YOUR NEW WORKS SOON !!! keep safe and mwah w/ consent 🙏🏻 —anonymous

🥰ahw tysm for reading my works!! i'll do my best, even though i'm slow as shit about it, aha. i'm forever grateful for all your support and it is super appreciated!! <3

Hi, I'm over 20 college student who loves reading dark writings or yandere concepts and just recently found your blog and amazing works. Although requests are closed and I don't want to cause you any trouble, I'm curious whether you're still open for Alucard(Hellsing ) writes,, I have fallen in love with Hellsing and most of all, Alucard and your last writing of Alucard as Vlad the Impaler was so fantastic,, I was hoping to see a prequel version of it(like, HOW Vlad met the reader, and judging from her POV it's likely that the reader was unwilling to become a vampire, let alone become his bride)... it's been quite a while since you wrote Hellsing but I wonder if you're still willing to write a piece of Alucard later on??? Your work of Alucard was truly a masterpiece, and it's sad to think that this is the only Alucard piece in your amazing blog.—anonymous

tbf i kept the backstory between alucard and his turned darling super vague because idk myself tbf;;; there's too many possibilities, from a victim of slavery, war, orphan, childhood friend, etc. possibly! i'm down to write specific animes and whatnot i'm familiar with, i'm just more comfortable writing one-off ocs and monsters because i always just sort of felt like i'd be doing the existing characters wrong somehow?? plus i haven't been reading or seeing many medias these days (not a huge tv show watcher;;; my attention span is that bad, been trying to pick up reading books and mangas again though, personal distastes about certain popular shows aside). yeah i live under a rock.

that said, i do see alucard forcing his darling to hibernate and stashing them away in hiding somewhere when he sensed he was being hunted after and that they will destroy his darling, be it using them up as a gruesome science experiment or just outright killing them. supposed the darling was found and being used as a lab rat though...

we'll see if i ever get around it lmao i have a long to-do list 😭thank you so much for your kind words!

The drawing is definitely ok and you’re an amazing artist 🥰 —anonymous

daw thank you! i really should draw more, huh? <3

I can't stop reading your work! It's amazing. Can I request a continuation of the Pyramid Head fic? —anonymous

i'm not open for requests, sorry! that said, im not sure how to write a continuation for him exactly. i shared some headcanons somewhere in my blog about the fate of his darling and him. plot wise? its still vague to me. other than never-ending smut and, well, 'creating' bunch of monstrous creatures from all the breeding the butcher is doing to his darling, i'm still chewing on ideas.

i'll take notes tho to consider it some more though, ty for your kind words <3

status update: writing is slow. got stuck at where to go in the male ursula knock off piece so i might go and find another wip to work on just to publish something. anyway, concept and headcanons are open. maybe writing something sfw would knock the writers block out.

hope yall are staying cool and safe for those who are dealing with the horrid heatwave! please drink some water to stay hydrated <3 for the others doing ok with their weather, be good to one other, mwah!

edited: missed a question, whoops.

[penguin--person]

hey. hey you. I’m way too nervous to leave an actual comment on it but the rain world fic you posted recently. Fucking slaps. It’s so good. Idk how to put it into words but it’s like you make the characters so clear and and…idk but I think your fic is so cool and good. AND I DONT EVEN RAIN WORLD IS SUPPOSED TO BE. I came in through PAFL but I’ve been curious about rw for a while now, and this has made me want to check it out even more. Also, take your time on the swap au!! Stay healthy(physically AND mentally. They both matter) and don’t burn yourself out! Always remember that you are priority #1, and that your needs should always come first. Alright that’s it bye :D

AWAWA!!!! wawawwaaa!!!! explodes and diessssss ..n"!!! thanke you!!! thank you:3!!!!! your kind words are always so!!! nice and cool!!! and a pleasure to receive!!! <3333 rain world my good friend rain world... its a game for sure!!! ive been engaging less w the fandom lately, but, i still rlly like the game:3 ive been into it for. checks steam achivements. like two years now (i got into pafl not long after i think) !! rain world has these thangs tho - slugcats! :) the link leads to my rw pafl au... i have. SO Many pafl aus. you dont even Know. i havent even posted half of them. you dont know about my wandersong pafl au. you dont know about my buddy sim pafl crossover. you dont know about my pathologic pafl au (yet) (>:3). and thats because i never draw anything for them ❤️might write smth tho... ..

mm . youre rlly cool. thank you again!!! for your support!!! as a thank you, heres what ive got so far for the next chapter of swap! its not much, and mostly just first draft, but! just for you ❤️the '*' signal words/sentences im gonna italise

It’s another day. Just like always.

Half-asleep, Yura glances at the door, halfway through his breakfast. His mother’s standing there. She’s already fully dressed, while her son is still in last night’s clothes. He hasn’t had much energy as of late. It’s not like he ever has any energy, even more as of late, with the trip to the zone coming up... Not to mention everything that’s happened with Dmitry.

Yura grunts at the thought of that… *monster. 

Why didn’t he stick around? Maybe he’d have been able to convince Sergei to let him stay, or at the very least, not report him. Maybe he could have helped Dima escape. Maybe he could have seen the police coming and warned him. Maybe if he had used his brain, he’d have told Sanya to let Dima stay at his place and avoided all of this. But, no amount of *maybes is going to change the fact that he’s gone. Dead, maybe, for all they know.

The door clicks shut. He’s alone now. Anya is either at school (Is there school today? What day is it?) or, more likely, at Olya’s right now. She probably won’t be back for some time. Yura will be all by himself until then, getting swallowed up by unnecessary feelings.

… Whatever. He only knew him for a week. He shouldn’t care. His eyes shouldn’t sting at the memory of the guy. It doesn’t matter that Yura wasted so much time and money helping him out. Feeding him, giving him a place to stay, hanging out with him even though he was *such a pain in the ass.. But none of that matters now. Never will matter, because he’s gone.  The only thing that matters is that he- *it, Yura corrects himself - killed a few people in Sergei’s flat.

… Well, not really people. Not ones that matter, anyway. Three or so cops. Blew up their heads, Sanya said, that it looked like that’s what happened. Yura got the feeling she didn’t tell him more than she had to during their phone call. It was clear that she wasn’t pleased with how things turned out. Maybe she was hoping Sergei could help Dima. Let him live with them.  Find some place for him to stay, at least.

Yura can’t find the strength to not blame her for this. The rational side of him argued that she was the *least to blame, actually, she didn’t know this would happen. Most likely, she didn’t even know that Dima’s a mutant. Still. Though the final nail in his (hopefully only metaphorical) coffin was decided by Sergei, *she took Dima to him. She should have known.. but, how could she have? There was no way for her to know.

A frustrated groan escapes the teen. There’s really no need to be thinking that much about him. About *it.

He groans again, frustrated by his inability to call Dmitry what he is. It’s not like he didn’t know the truth all along, either. Again, he internally reprimands himself for getting attached. Sanya isn’t to blame here- no, she’s not the one responsible for all of this. Maybe for getting him reported so quickly, but that was always going to happen, one way or another. Better soon than later, the teen thinks. Before he let that not entirely uncomfortable feeling grow more than it already has.

Before he can ponder this any further, his phone buzzes. With one hand, he rubs his eyes, with the other he picks up his phone.

*We need to talk, a message from none other than Mr Kazarin himself. The tone of the message makes him sound like he wants to break up, Yura thinks to himself. Funny. Maybe it is one. Yura runs a hand through his hair, staring at the message. His stalker times are over before they even started, his only hope at making it in this godforsaken world, all because of that.. *thing. Nothing he can say could fix this.  

Luckily, before he can ruin Sergei’s view of him any further, another message. An invitation, if one can call it that, to meet up at an unimportant location. It’s not like he has much choice in this - so, he sends back an *ok, gets dressed in his unitidy clothes and heads out.

—

something something sergei angst

“You know what this is about.” Sergei proclaims. Yura doesn’t need to reply for him to know he’s right, but he still does, accompanied by a dry chuckle. “‘Course I do. It’s about Dimochka.”

“*Don’t call it that.”

The air is thick with tension. Despite this, Yura nonchalantly holds a cigarette out to him. Like nothing’s happened- like this is just a regular training session. With a sigh, he takes the cigarette, and with one quick motion, he takes out his lighter. Yura is fiddling with his own. 

[disaster-fruit]

🖊 😈🤔

Fanfic Ask Game

🖊 Post a snippet from a current WIP.

Is it a WIP if i haven't touched it since forever?

“Martin nodded slowly, wrapping his arms around his shoulders like a girl in a dance, except the music in his head was immediately interrupted by the shrill ringtone of Luciano's phone.

— If you pick this up-

Too late, Luciano already had it in his ear.

— Hi. Yeah, it’s me. Okay. — Luciano’s attention was again on his job, but when his eyes met Martin’s, he smiled and pulled him close with a strong hand on the small of his back. — Really? Uhum. Yes. No.

Pulling his shirt out of his pants, making the skin under tingle with the caress of blunt nails.

Martin wanted to escape for offense alone, for Luciano daring to pick up his phone in his presence, but he was trapped. Or felt trapped. 

— I’m going to kill you. — Martin whispered, drawing the words with his lips.

— I see. — Luciano continued. — Yeah, that sounds bad. Uhum. Good luck though, I’m super busy right now. Got my hands full. — he pinched Martin's side. — Yep, can’t get around it. Not possible. Alright bye.

By the look of it, Luciano had just hung up on the person he was talking to. 

— Where were we?

— I’m not forgiving you for this. — Martin pouted. 

— No? — he leaned to kiss under martin’s ear. — Not even if I open a rosé and make us a romantic candlelit dinner?

Martin would first kill himself for getting burning red when he wanted to be angry. 

— No. — he stuttered, to his own horror. — Especially if you do that-”

😈 Is there anything you enjoy doing that you think your readers hate?

Alpha!Lulu but i still know im rIGHT

I guess open endings/ending a little earlier than the actual “end” and let yall fill the gaps. Like the ‘sacrifice’ on At Eden’s Mercy, or the ending for House of Mirror

Also whenever I write smut I’m never sure about how much of my particular kinks and preferences I should let bleed into the fic, and I cant really know how yall feel about them so?

One thing I want to write more and that I’m not sure the readers will like in this fandom is more violence and horror. I don’t have much experience with it, but I would like to explore it more, but I think fandom shippy spaces tend to prefer more fluffy or hurt/confort-y things and their tolerance for violence and gore in fanfic is very low.

🤔 What is the hardest part of writing fic?

Writing lol but fr I think the hardest part is maintaining motivation long enough to finish. Especially on longer stories but on shorter ones too. All the ‘too many abandoned wips’ memes is unfortunately very true to me :’) I have stories that are fully planned out and that I really liked, but that I still couldn’t find the motivation to finish. Right now I have a lot of free time, plenty of ideas and I STILL cant find the motivation to write

[artist-assassin]

Perspective [Destiny 2 Fic]

[[Title: Perspective

Description: As a challenge from a Destiny server I’m in, I wrote a piece about the same scene from three different perspectives. Bryviks and Senri are original characters. Everyone else is just a throwaway character I’ll likely never mention again in future writings. I hope it’s easy to follow, and hope you all enjoy!]]

High upon a hill overlooking the flattest plains of the frozen planet of Europa, where the vantage point was unbeatable, sat a lone Eliksni vandal named Bryviks. He held a high caliber sniper rifle in his top set of arms, bound in rags in a half-hearted attempt to conceal the weapon from sight if anyone spotted him on the cliff edge. He sat and pondered his future, and where he could go from here. House Salvation was doomed, according to the radio he’d scavenged from supplies found among the corpses of his fallen brethren. The Guardians killed the leaders, encased Eramiskel in a dark ice that other Eliksni whispered would never melt (was she dead in her frozen tomb? Or was she still alive, seeing and feeling the world around her but unable to speak her thoughts aloud or ask for help?). He tried not to think about that, for it was a gateway to thinking about every other horrible thing the Guardians were capable of. 

They always destroy what the Eliksni build. 

A familiar anger burbled in his chest, the only thing keeping him warm in the otherwize icy tundra he found himself stuck on. He had no ship, had no idea where to procure one. Every ketch that House Salvation or even House Light ferried to and from the planet were often shot down out of the sky with blazing guns that burned everything their accursed bullets touched. Bryviks had seen other Eliksni shot with such bullets. There is never anything left of their bodies to mourn over, nothing but a faint trace of ash in the snow where they had once stood.

Bryviks shook his head firmly, checking and rechecking the tubes that connected his breathing apparatus to the dwindling ether supply strapped to his back. Perhaps he hadn’t had enough Ether, perhaps his thoughts were taking such dark turns in delirium. He wanted to stop thinking about the Guardians and everything they have stolen from him and his kind since the Great Machine blessed them with immortality.

The shake brought him back to his present, sitting upon slick ice in a frozen wasteland. He lifted his rifle to his inner left eye, surveying the surroundings attentively. He didn’t know what he was looking for, but he refused to sit in a dark cave somewhere and starve to death.

                                                               ---

The snow across the icy lands of Europa sparkled beneath the planet’s sun, nearly blindingly bright if it weren’t for the helmet that the woman wore shielding her eyes. She trudged onwards even as the small white flakes began falling from the sky once again. A storm was on its way, she knew, and she wanted to find shelter before it began. 

“Guardian,” Her Ghost said in an urging tone, hidden safely in her backpack and talking to her through the helmet’s communication systems. He didn’t use her name even when it was just the two of them.

“I know,” she whispered back. There was no need to whisper, but she did it out of force of habit. 

There was a sniper on the ridge to her left, several kilometers away. She’d known about their presence for half an hour now, when her Ghost had warned her about his scanners picking up a heat signature a fair distance away. His next warning was of the poorly concealed weapon he carried on him.

“If it shoots us...” he began, worried.

“We’ll be fine,” she hushed him. She did not pause as she trudged onwards. She lived and fought by one rule and one rule alone: she does not shoot unless they shoot first. She may be renowned for her ability to finish the fights, but she will never be the one to start it.

She didn’t want to start any fights. She hated the unnecessary violence, hated the bloodshed of it all, with a burning passion. She fought only when she thought it was necessary, and now… She pulled out her Dead Man’s Tale, making sure it’s fully loaded (it is, of course, she never goes anywhere with unloaded weapons) and resting a finger on the trigger just in case. Her grip on the weapon is light, but the weight of it felt heavy in her arms. If they shot at her, at her Ghost, she would defend herself. That was all.

She saw the lone figure pull the covering off of their rifle and aim straight at her.

                                                              ---

The snow began falling again, dark clouds gathering in the skies of this forsaken frozen planet. Bryviks wished he were anywhere else in the universe than here, right now. For a moment, he even considered trying to find a way to the Tangled Shore. He has heard terrible things about the Spider, but he has also heard that he pays his workers a fair wage for their work. Bryviks is a good worker, a hard worker - he could do well in the Spider’s lair…

Suddenly, he paused. The blood in his veins turned as cold as the wasteland around himself. There, beneath the crosshairs of his rifle’s scope, was a lone figure. Not an Eliksni - this was the shape of a human body. And Bryviks knew that mortal humans did not leave their planet for any reason - rarely did they ever even leave their shining City.

A Guardian.

He had a Guardian in his scope.

He climbed up onto his knees, tearing off bits of fabric from the weapon so he could position and aim it better. One clawed finger hovered over the trigger, and he finally paused. What was he going to do? He’d acted purely on instinct upon recognizing the Guardian - a hunter, by the intricately detailed cloak it wore over its shoulders - but now, he tried to form coherent thoughts over the fog of his mind. Was he going to kill this Guardian?

He wanted to. Bryviks thought about his two sisters, and his little brother, and all of his ketch family that had fallen to Guardian hands for no reason at all. His father had joined Eramiskel in her fight against the Great Machine, and had been gunned down by a Warlock and his body looted for more ammo - more ammunition to shoot more Eliksni. A burning feeling surged through his body, and he shook in fury as he looked at the Guardian between his crosshairs.

His hand paused, his clawed finger hovering above the trigger just a breath away from shooting. If Bryviks shot this Guardian - even though he knows the little machine will appear and bring them back to life once again in a miracle of Light, he’s seen it happen so many times before - it will close so many doors of his future. 

What options would he have, after this? Where could he go? He was all alone in the universe now, no family left to guide him. He had to find his own way, somehow. His grip faltered, and he lowered the weapon with several distressed clicks of his mandibles. He thought about going to House Light. They live in the Guardian’s gleaming City now, don’t they? A part of him thinks of them as traitors to their own kind, cowards willing to turn over and dock themselves before a human Kell just for another day of survival, but another part of him wonders... Could they welcome him, possibly? He knows they wouldn’t if he tried to kill one of their precious Guardians.

He put his weapon away hastily, wrapping it up with eager, rigid movements, as if somebody would know of what he’d just tried to do if he waited even another second on this cliff. Once it was properly wrapped up again, he stood to leave. He was already thinking about how to tune his radio to a frequency that could get in contact with Misraakskel. 

A golden, burning bullet tore through his chest carapace.

He fell to his knees in an instant, more overcome with shock than pain, and looked down at his own body. It melted away into ash, and for the last split second of life he had left, he saw the Ether leaving his body in a haphazard shape of a lonely, wandering Vandal.

                                                              ---

Senri was no friend to House Salvation, or to any Eliksni who attacked her or other human-kind, but there was a familiar sensation of guilt twisted in her gut when she saw the lone figure disintegrate into ashes as the Ether seeped from its corpse.

She hadn’t fired the bullet - hadn’t even summoned a Golden Gun. In her arms was her Dead Man’s Tale, and nothing else.

Within seconds, another figure appeared on the ledge where the Eliksni once stood. Another Guardian, a Hunter with annoyingly bright yellow and orange armor, traipsed through the Vandal’s ashes with no regard to the life they had just ended and waved jovially at Senri. She could just imagine a big grin on the Hunter’s face. She frowned in her helmet, eyes narrowed. She turned on her heel, slung her rifle over her shoulder once more, and simply went on her way. The storm was approaching faster by the second. 

She wanted to leave this damned place.

                                                              ---

A week later, in some ruined little hut somewhere in the EDZ, sat two Hunters huddled around a fire. Well - there were three of them, but they had all had more than enough to drink that night and one of them had passed out cold an hour ago. The passed out man wore all black and grey clothes, using his tattered cape as a blanket as he snored soundly in one corner of the broken room.

“Wait, wait, there’s no way-!” One of the others, still awake but very much drunk, tried to whisper-shout excitedly. She wore purple and blue armor, with an electric blue cape to match her glowing Awoken eyes. The final Hunter, sitting across from her, laughed energetically and nodded his head fervently, swinging a liquor bottle as he continued his story.

“Yeah, way! That sneaky bastard snuck right up on ‘er, got his gun out an’ everything! I saw the thing power up, he was ready to take the shot!” 

The Awoken woman cooed in awe. “You saved… The Guardian. Like, not just any Guardian, but, like-”

“The Young Wolf,” the Hunter clad in obnoxiously bright yellow and orange armor nodded, far too proud of himself and not ashamed at all to make it obvious. He spoke her title in reverence, then giggled in a drunken stupor and stood up to put on his helmet and summon forth his Golden Gun once more. The Awoken Hunter grinned, stood up as well, and crouched down and put her hands out into a claw-like stratagem, mimicking a scary, bloodthirsty Eliksni warrior.

“Grrr!” She play-growled, stomping around the fire to approach her friend. She stuttered as she tried to seem threatening. “I’ll kill your Red War Hero, and then- and then go after your City next!”

“Y’er not goin’ anywhere, monster! Not if I have any say in it!” The yellow Hunter said proudly, heroically, and aimed his Golden Gun straight at his friend. He made a pew sound with his mouth, and both Guardians fell into fits of laughter. 

“You’re a hero, man!” 

And to them, that was the truth.

[katyasrussianaccent]

i don't wanna be your friend, I wanna kiss your lips (corpse x reader)

Summary: Corpse suggests you flirt with each other to mess with the fans. What happens when you suddenly catch feelings?

Authors Note: This has been in my brain for so long so I decided to write it. May or may not write a part 2, im not sure. Lemme know what you think! My requests are open for fic/headcannons aswell 💖

It should have been simple.

Flirt, mess with the fans a little, sit back and relax.

It should have been simple.

You remember Corpse coming to you with the idea.

“Why would we do that?” you had asked, frowning at your phone screen. It had been another late night phone conversation with him; something that was starting to become a regular occurrence.

You pictured him shrug as he answered. “Fun?”

“Are you so bored you wanna make a fake relationship with me?”

“Not a relationship. Just do what we do now, but like, more.”

You had agreed before your brain had even registered it. On paper it was straightforward. You already flirted a little anyway, you were naturally a flirtatious person, and so was he. It made sense; or at least you had told yourself that it did. You knew the fans already shipped you together, you saw the things they tweeted as you occasionally lurked the ynhusband tag on Twitter. It was just innocent fun right? No-one was going to get hurt.

For a little while that was true. For a little while he called you baby and you called him darling and it meant nothing. Your face didn’t feel flush when he commented on your latest Instagram post and your heart didn’t do a little flip when he would call you just to see how you were. The phone conversations were your favourite; curled up in bed with the phone on your pillow, trading secrets into the night. He had suddenly become this constant in your life, this almost routine familiarity like brushing your teeth or going to get milk.

You weren’t sure what changed, when it had gone from being innocent fun to meaning something. It was like someone had flicked a switch, and Corpse was no longer a warm glow but this bright, blinding light that hurt your eyes to look at too long. It was almost cruel, the way you wanted something so unobtainable; the universe’s idea of a joke had no humour in it. The thing with Corpse was he was so unaware of the power he had. He was mysterious yes, but he was faceless among a sea of faces; of course people were drawn to him. And you were just another.

You started to pull away. You played different games with different people, you ignored his tweets. It was easier, if you never interacted with him, you could pretend there was nothing but shallow feelings instead of the crashing waves that threatened to pull you under. The fans had started to notice; your streams were filled with questions that you refused to answer.

“Where’s Corpse?” you read aloud as you scrolled down the chat. “Probably in his house? Go ask him.” Your tone was bitter even to you and you inwardly cringed. He hadn’t contacted you in 2 weeks, and while you were thankful, you were hurt by it. It was stupid and hypoctritical of you to be upset by something that was your own doing, and you weren’t sure what you had expected from him. He had other friends, other people to talk to, why would he have cared about you anyway?

Your phone lit up next to you, and you ignored the pang of disappointment at Rae’s picture flashing up.

Rae: Among Us???

You hesitated for a second. The likelihood of Corpse being there was high, but you knew deep down he wouldn’t say a thing to you, not on stream or in front of your friends. You could just ignore him, like you had been doing and it would be fine. You weren’t sure you believed yourself anymore.

“Guys, you want to watch me play Among Us? I’m not sure who’s playing, other than Rae.” You looked at the fast flowing stream of affirmatives and emojis. Guess you had to do it now. You opened up the game and joined the lobby.

“-yeah she looks really fucking cute,” you heard Corpse say as you logged in. You looked down at your outfit,; he definitely wasn’t talking about you in your oversized t-shirt and sweatpants. You had been on stream for a few hours now; your eyeliner was smudged a little and any lipstick had worn off with the constant drinking and licking your lips. No, he definitely wasn’t talking about you.

“Hey guys,” you said tentatively, swallowing down the feeling of jealousy at Corpse’s previous words.

A chorus of greetings hit you, and you smiled at their enthusiasm. You had played with Rae, Sykunno and Toast a few times before, but Felix, Jack and Ash were new to you, though you knew of them.

“Hey Y/N,” Corpse said. You had hoped after 2 weeks he wouldn’t still affect you so much, but the way your stomach turned said otherwise.

“Hey Corpse,” you replied, hoping your tone was casual.

“I haven’t seen you in a while, how are you?” he asked.

“Oh. Uh yeah, I’ve been a bit busy I guess, how are you?” You looked down as you answered, picking at your nail polish. You glanced at the chat that was filled with messages.

corpsesbaby: You can always tell when someones lying coz they look down” llamadelrey: why is this so awkward lmao arent they friends??” simpsforrae: This is like is a breakup i swear

“I’ve been okay, thanks” Corpse answered, drawing your eyes off the chat and back to the game. You nodded as you muted your mic to go back to your stream.

“I hope I don’t get imposter, I always suck at that so much.” You watched as the screen counted down and the word IMPOSTER flashed up alongside Corpse’s name. “Guess I jinxed it guys.”

Great. Not only were you imposter, you were imposter with Corpse, which meant you would have to actually speak to him. Maybe you wouldn’t have to.

You both followed Rae as she walked up towards Greenhouse, and you cornered her while she did her task, killing her quickly.

“Everyone seemed to go right, so we should vent back towards cafeteria to avoid suspicion,” Corpse said.

“Okay,” you answered. You vented together, and you muted your mic to laugh. “This is kinda cosy guys.” You said to your chat. You briefly imagined what it would be like in real life to be so close to him.

You moved to Admin where Toast was doing his task. Before you could say a word, Corpse had already killed him and you both vented outside Cafeteria. “Fuck, that was so close,” you muttered, chuckling a little.

“Don’t worry, I got your back,” he replied, making your heart sing a little.

“Oh my hero,” you said, making a point of swooning to your chat, your voice high and airy. “How will I ever repay you?”

He chuckled, “You shouldn’t ask questions like that.”

You flushed at the suggestive tone he had taken, and you hoped it wasn’t noticeable but judging by the comments in your chat, it clearly had been. This was another issue you had with Corpse; he always made these type of comments with you and it was really annoying. You knew there was no chance he was being serious, and sometimes you wished he would stop it purely because it got your hopes up.

delilah: shes BLUSHING dreamofme: uWu yn uWu

You opened your mouth to respond when Dead Body Reported flashed up, bringing your thoughts back to the game.

“Toast and Rae are dead,” Sykuuno said. “I found Rae in Greenhouse and Toast in admin.”

“I was in balcony, I went there from the cafeteria,” you said confidently. You hated being Imposter, especially being teamed with Corpse, who was so good at the game, you had a lot of pressure to do well.

“I was in MedBay, I didn’t see you YN,” Ash accused.

“You only see if they enter through the left door. She entered through the other door,” Corpse answered for you.

“And how do you know that?” Felix asked.

“I was in Cafeteria,” Corpse replied.

“You could’ve vented YN,” Jack said.

“No I couldn’t have, if Ash was in MedBay, she would have seen me. Unless she wasn’t in MedBay,” you suggested, smirking to your cam as you muted. “It’s not going too bad I don’t think? Always feel like I’ve been arrested when I’m Imposter.”

“Little sus of you Ash to say you were in MedBay when you weren’t,” Corpse said. You gaped a little at how easy it was for him to manipulate the situation, it was almost scary.

Ash argued as the other players began to agree and discuss among themselves. You smiled in success at the text on the screen.

Ash has been ejected.

You split up this time, and while you hadn’t really spoken during the game, you kind of missed Corpse’s astronaut next to yours, and you said that to your chat. “Haha, our colours did look cute together, I agree.”

Any previous trepidation you had had disappeared as soon as you had heard his voice; and you realised how much you had missed him. You would simply just need to deal with your feelings; they would go away eventually anyway. You just hoped it wasn’t too late for you to start again with him.

You walked to MedBay with Skyunno, making small talk as you did.

“I’m glad to see you playing with us, it’s been a little while,” he said and you felt bad that you would have to kill him. As you turned towards him, ready to kill as he did his task, Jack walked in. You mouthed oops at the cam.

“What’s going on here?” Jack asked, suspicion in his voice.

“I was just saying how nice it was to have YN here,” Sykunno replied. You stood and faked your task, watching the green bar fill as you did. It would be too risky to kill here.

“Ah yeah, Corpse has been asking after you constantly,” Jack said. You blinked at the response, it had caught you off guard.

“Oh?” you replied simply. You mentally shrugged it off. Of course he would have asked about you, you were friends, that was all.

DEAD BODY REPORTED

“Felix was dead in Reactor,” Corpse announced. “Oh Corpse, you’re taking a risk here” you said to your chat.

“I was in MedBay with Jack and Sykunno,” you replied, smiling as they agreed. “Where were you Ash?”

She sighed sadly. “I was in Labs, but I was doing a task, I swear!” You all agreed quickly that Ash would be the next voted out.

“2 to go,” you said triumphantly. “I thought I was gonna drag Corpse down, but it’s going okay!”

The round started again and you could feel yourself getting tired. Hopefully this wouldn’t be too much longer to finish the game.

You circled round Corpse a few times, hoping that he would understand your signal. Luckily he did, and you both vented to Decontamination where Skyunno and Jack were. The room had already started to emit steam, making it extremely easy for you both to vent unnoticed and kill them both.

You grinned at the Victory message that flashed up.

“Good game guys!” you said. The others congratulated you and Corpse on your win and you smiled at the sound of your names together. You had it bad.

“It was all YN,” Corpse said.

“Pfft you ssh being humble, it was all you,” you replied, taking your hair out of your ponytail and running your hand through it.

“Your hair looks nice,” Corpse commented and your eyes widened. Your heart started to beat a little quicker. How long had he been watching your stream?

“It’s bad to watch someone’s stream without telling them,” you replied, making a show of pouting for the camera.

He laughed a little. “What can I say, I’m a bad guy,” he said, singing the last words. You laughed at the sudden Billie Eilish.

“Guys, either play another game, or get a room,” Felix interrupted. You blushed a little and rolled your eyes, the chat going crazy from the corner of your eye.

“And that’s my cue to exit,” you said, yawning. “Bye guys, have a good night!” You wished everyone and your chat goodnight before closing the stream and leaning back in your chat. You couldn’t believe Corpse had been watching you. You hadn’t said anything too incriminating, but still.

You prepared for bed, settling back into the softness of your pillows as you grabbed your phone - a terrible habit you really needed to stop.

Corpse: Can I call you?

You gulped at the message that appeared on your screen, a gnawing feeling of nervous clung to your throat as you typed yes. His name came up almost instantaneously and your hand shook as you pressed to accept the call.

“Hey,” he greeted.

“Hey, what’s up?” you asked, trying to keep your voice even while your heart beat erratically in your chest.

“It was nice playing with you again,” he commented.

You sat up a little as you held the phone against your ear. “Did you call me to tell me that?”

“I haven’t spoken to you in a while.”

You sighed a little. “Yeah, I’ve been a bit busy, sorry - “

“You’re lying to me and I don’t know why,” he replied. You had never heard his voice like that before; so angry and hurt. You tapped your foot against your mattress as you thought what to say.

“I -”

“Did I do something?” he asked. You had been so selfish; blocking him out to avoid being hurt, but you hadn’t thought about his feelings. He was more popular than you were, you had assumed he would be fine, that he wouldn’t care if you were around or not.

“No, you didn’t do anything, I swear -”

“Then what? Because I thought we were friends, close friends and then suddenly you pretty much disappear. But you’re still streaming with other people. It’s pretty shitty of you.”

You chewed the inside of your cheek and looked up, the sting of tears threatening to fall. “It was really shitty of me, I’m sorry.”

“What happened?” he asked. “Please just tell me.”

“I don’t know what I’m meant to say,” you replied softly.

“What do you want to say?”

You blinked, the anticipation of unspoken words caught in your throat, making it hard to swallow. The taste of them was bitter on your tongue. “I...I have feelings for you.”

There. You had said it. There was no taking it back now, and you felt like your heart was about to shatter with every single second of silence that passed. You could hear him swallow on the other end of the phone. “Are you saying you’re in love with me?”

You bit your lip, taking in the meaning of the question he had asked. It wasn’t something you had thought of, you hadn’t conceptualised your feelings for him, not put them in a box labelled love or anything. “I don’t know. I feel something for you. And it kinda sucks being your friend and having those feelings. So I pulled away.”

“Why does it suck?”

You laughed bitterly. “Why wouldn’t it? Feeling something for someone that doesn’t feel the same is fucking shitty.”

“I asked you to flirt with me YN -”

“Yeah, for fun,” you interrupted.

“No, I said for fun, but really I just wanted you to,” he replied. “I feel something for you too. How could I not? Has anything I’ve ever said to you sounded like it was just for fun?” You smiled at his response, your heart no longer on the fit of breaking, but suddenly doing flips and soaring through your chest, radiating warmth through your body.

“Oh,” you said, your brain was overloaded with thoughts, and was apparently no longer capable of coherent sentences.

“Oh? That’s a great response, thanks,” he teased, but you could tell he was smiling as he spoke.

“I wasn’t expecting you to say that, I don’t really know what to say honestly,” you replied.

“Well, baby, how about you say yes to a date?” he asked.

“Yes.”

[wkemeup]

for drabble night- which i am so excited for, by the way!! you're a marvelous writer and one of my top favorite bucky writers- my personal favorite trope is oblivious idiots to lovers (like the love is requited but they're just idiots)

dialogue prompt: “I’m too good for revenge.” “Well I’m not. Give me the gun.” - from anon pairing: bucky x reader word count: 1.4k warnings (provided by @jessalyn-jpeg): idiots to lovers, mutual pining, shouted love confessions, (and warnings from me ->) past torture, descriptions of blood, canon level violence, sorry I made this so dark??? a/n: guess who already broke the 1k rule!!! but hey I loved this one and Im a little sad it's a drabble and not a monster fic. it may not be idiots per say, but definitely two people who love each other who havent admitted it yet and are scared of what it means

A man withered on the ground at your feet, scrambling along the prodding edges of crumbled concrete. Crawling as blood streaked in his wake. This man – this monster – you'd been chasing for weeks was reduced to a helpless, crying mess as you towered over him. His hands shook as they shielded his face, tears streaking over his cheeks. This time, you held the power. You held the leverage. He wasn’t so scary without the table of surgical tools at his disposal – your blood stained upon his hands and a maniacal grin upon his lips.

You didn’t know his name. He was only ever ‘the Doctor’ when you spoke of him in your head. You’d only uttered the phrase once since the team rescued you from his basement two months ago and even then, it had tasted of venom. He haunted you in your sleep, followed you in the shadows of every room, drew screams as he pleased even when he could no longer touch you. Safety was not a luxury you could afford – not after what he’d done to you.

Bucky was your only reprieve. A broken man who had found the pieces of himself again – who had offered pieces of himself to you to soothe the mess you’d become with gauze and tape. It was his arms you woke in when your throat was burning raw, his voice lulling you back to sleep, his hands that had taught you peace again.

Bucky saved what his man destroyed.

“P-please,” the Doctor begged, his trembling hands reaching out for the toe of your boot – like a peasant before a king. You flinched before he could touch you. His back pressed against the wall. There was nowhere else for him to go. You flexed the gun at the end of your grip.

“You ruined me,” you spat, barely able to taste the words as they left your tongue. They did not sound like your own. “You expect me to grant you mercy?”

It only made the man sob harder. He was struggling to breathe – hyperventilating between sobs as his hands curled tight against his chest. Pathetic. Weak. Certainly not the type of man who could orchestrate the kidnapping of an avenger without help. He was sick and twisted and evil down to his bones, but he was not the mastermind behind your abduction. He was the executioner.

“D-don’t kill me,” he whimpered, bowing his forehead to the ground. “Y-you’re an Avenger. You wouldn’t.”

You had every intent to put a bullet through this man’s chest the moment you laid eyes on him again. You’d expected to be afraid, to see the surgical mask over his mouth and the cold, dead look in his eyes. You’d expected him to lunge at you with the scalpel and add to the array of scars he’d drawn upon your body. You’d expected violence from the psychopath you knew him to be.

Instead – you found this trembling, frail man who could not manage the courage to meet your eye. It was only when you were chained and drugged that he felt powerful enough to torture an Avenger. You were disappointed.

“You’re not worth my soul.” Tears welled into your eyes as you stared down the monster who had taken residency within your nightmares. “I’m too good for revenge.”

“Well, I’m not,” Bucky’s voice growled from the edge of the room. He stalked across the floor of the basement, his boots stepping over the stain of dried blood you’d left behind months earlier. His expression was cold, unemotive. The plates of his left arm whirled as he clenched his fist. “Give me the gun.”

Bucky’s hand slid over yours, the gun falling slack in your hand. You parted your lips to tell him that justice was due, that there was still more at play than just the sick mind of the man crumbled at your feet. But the safety was already unlatched and Bucky unloaded the weapon into the Doctor. Blood trailed through the cracks in the floor until they touched your boots. The echo burned into your eardrums.

You gaped, stumbling a few steps back before Bucky could slide the gun back into the holster on your hip. He raised an eyebrow, concerned, but you couldn’t find any air inside your chest. Your gaze flickered back to the Doctor as his body slumped down the wall, sinking into the pool of his own blood. It would stain into the rock amongst your own.

Your stunned stare returned to Bucky as he gently reached a hand towards you. You slapped it away. “Why-- What did you—Why would you do that?”

Bucky stilled, his eyes narrowing. He retracted his hand, genuine confusion upon his features. “Are you serious?”

“We could have brought him in, Bucky!” You threw your arms in the air, pacing over the red stain at the center of the room. “We could have interrogated him! You saw him – he clearly isn’t working alone!”

“We don’t need him, Y/n, we can—”

“He’s a pawn! He deserves a hell of a lot worse than death but we needed him, Bucky!”

“No,” Bucky snapped. His face was growing red, his jaw clenching so tightly the muscle flexed beneath his stubble. “No — that monster should have been shot on sight! I don’t give a shit what he could have been useful for! He got what he deserved!”

“Dammit, Bucky! We’re right back where we started.” You pressed your hands to your eyes. Tears wiped at the edges of your palms – angry, frustrated tears. Helpless tears. A lump burned so terribly in your throat, you thought it might choke you.

“We’re not,” Bucky eased, trying to calm you though his own breathing was labored. “We killed the bastard who took you, Y/n. He’s dead now. He can’t hurt you again. It's a hell of a lot more than we had yesterday.”

“Not when the guy who’s making the calls is still out there!” you cried, shoving away his efforts to reach you, though he kept trying. “We were so close, Bucky! He would have talked!”

“You don’t know that! He could have been manipulating you!"

“He would have rolled over in a second!” you roared, fire and fury and agony coursing through your veins. “And you just—you threw that all away for—what? For revenge?!”

“For you!”

The moment the words left Bucky’s lips he held his breath. His boots carried him several steps back, putting space between you as if it might draw the words back from the air before they could touch you. The anger drained from your body, washing away in a matter of seconds. Bucky exhaled a tensed breath.

“I did it... for you,” Bucky repeated slowly, his voice dangerously quiet. “I couldn’t stand the idea of that monster living another second after what he did to you.”

You swallowed, though your throat was aired dry.

“I can hear you cry at night,” he confessed and your heart clenched. Slowly, Bucky lifted his gaze to you, blue eyes startling through the wash of tears. “I know what he did to you, Y/n. You don’t have to tell me, because I know. I know what it’s like to be stripped of your power, to be helpless. I know what that does to a person. You... You never should have had to know what that feels like, too. It would have lingered over your head, Y/n -- to have that monster in the compound with us. It would have driven you mad. So I did what I had to do. I won’t apologize for that.”

You stared at Bucky, lips parted. “Fury will be pissed.”

You didn’t know why you said that. Perhaps because you were too afraid of what Bucky was really saying – the meaning behind his actions. Why it tortured him to allow this man to live after what he did to you.

Bucky chuckled dryly. “Yeah, I suppose he will.”

Quietly, you inched closer to him, stepping over the wet bloods of crimson as it slithered along the floor. Your arms wrapped around his waist, your head pressing to his chest. Bucky stilled for a moment, surprised, before his arms folded around you. It was warm in his embrace, safe. You listened to the gentle thumping of his heart as a hand circled sweetly over your spine.

And then, so quietly you knew only his advanced hearing could pick up, you muttered, “thank you,” against his chest.

--

this is your reminder that on drabble night I'm barely reading this over after I write it instead of taking weeks to edit and draft and redraft lol so if there's mistakes or the quality is not on par, that is why