#fictional death tw

[mrdrhenwardhykle]

Up close and personal (check alt desc)

[mishkakagehishka]

ohhh little gorey prompts you say?

you know how some serial killers have calling cards? mika as a serial killer but his calling card is to take the heart of his victims ♡

Serial killer Mika!! My beloved fr. I love that idea, but also I had to look up anatomy pics for this and ?? Why did I think a liver was like. Much lower and much smaller lmao

Word count: 1517 Summary: Mika has a bit of an unorthodox hobby - he's really found himself in the art of murder. And he always makes sure to take a souvenir with him after each kill <3 Warnings: gore, mucking about inner organs, death Note: I have no idea what I did to his motivation tbh. You know that part of Human Comedy where he goes off on why humans suck? I just remembered that and went "aye, let's go"

A starless night, dark and cold. Mika clutched his bag closer to himself, seeking the warmth he couldn’t get from his light blazer. He forgot to dress up warmly today, not expecting the sudden drop in the temperature. Already dozing off, he barely kept himself on his feet in the train, leaning onto the pole with all his weight. There was still a few more stops until he could get off, he wouldn’t be harmed by closing his eyes, just resting them for a minute. The train was empty, anyway. Just him and one older man who was fast asleep on one of the seats. But as he let his guard down, Arashi’s warning from earlier that day echoed in his mind. “Be careful on your way home, today, Mika-chan!” she’d said. He knows why she told him that, and why there was no need for him to be careful, but he’d feel bad ignoring her advice.

There was a bit of a problem in the city. The news only ever talked about it, everyone seemed to be in a panic, people were spreading truth mixed with lies. Even a mythology of it was born. There was a serial killer on the loose, to keep it short. Nobody knew who they were targeting, why, who they even were and if they worked alone or not. The only thing that was known was that people have been turning up dead. And the theory of a serial killer was brought up when, after a few autopsies, a chilling pattern was noticed. All of them were missing their heart. Or, rather, although they were found dressed, stripping the bodies revealed a sloppily stitched up chest. And taking out the thread - an empty spot where the heart was supposed to be. The killer’s sign, their calling card. It couldn’t have been anything other than a sick person, to be able to not only murder someone violently (all the victims showed signs of struggle, strangulation marks, shallow cuts, and bruises. The cause of death was almost always blunt force), but to then cut them open, steal the heart and sew them back up, putting their clothes on and leaving them on the street. It was a wonder how the killer was never caught, considering the bodies were always out in the open. And what on Earth were they doing with the hearts, anyway?

Well, that’s why Arashi wanted Mika to be safe. He was so thankful to have friends who worry and fuss over him, but she was worried for nothing, really. He couldn’t tell her that, but he knows nothing will happen to him. And he sees how fearful she is whenever she has to return home alone, too. He notices how scared she gets whenever the topic is brought up. Mika wishes he could tell her not to worry, nothing will happen to her. But he can’t. As much as he trusts her, he just can’t tell her why he’s so certain no harm will befall the two of them.

“Hah~,” Mika breathed out. Sat on his knees on the hardwood floor, he wiped the sweat off his forehead with his forearm, careful not to touch his face when his hands were so filthy. They always struggled. And he was never able to land a clean cut because of that - not only could he not see in the dark, but then they keep fighting him off… As if it would save them. Taking a moment to catch his breath, he fished the little pincushion from his pocket, laying the vibrant red thread and needle on the floor between him and the body. Another person who struggled, another person who will be found with a bruised neck and broken bones. He’s thankful he had the dresser to bang their head against - he was already so tired, he felt like he might have been overpowered this time. That would have been a tragedy.

It didn’t take much effort to strip the shirt off a corpse, and it took even less effort to drive his knife into their chest - right above the sternum and between their clavicles. It took a bit more effort to wedge the knife down, to tear through their skin and flesh, down to their stomach, however. The stench of blood mixed with the horrid stink of death, permeating the air. But all it did was make Mika breathe in deeper. He’d always liked the scent. He wiggled the knife a bit, trying to pull it free from the body. It gets stuck sometimes, that’s just how it is, so he had to be forceful. With an “oomph”, he finally freed the knife, setting it down beside him. He had no qualms digging in, either, shoving his gloved hands into the gaping wound, spreading it further open so he can reach in more freely. Though it was always difficult to reach the heart without taking anything else or breaking the ribs, Mika thought he was getting better. Wiggling his hand below the ribs, past the stomach and the liver, until he could grip the heart. His other hand was leaned on the corpse’s shoulder, to keep himself from falling as he leaned over them, blindly digging around their organs. When he felt the heart unbeating in his hand, he made sure to squeeze it just enough to hold it safely in his hand, not enough to break it, as he tugged. It took one, two, three strong pulls to separate it from the rest of the body, a disgusting sort of squelching sound resulting from his efforts.

And when he held it in his hand, this proof of life, this proof of his taking of a life, he felt an immense exhilaration in his own heart. He felt powerful, in control. This was all it was to him. All those people acting smart, trying to guess his motives - there were no motives. He just did it because he wanted to, because he could. Because it made him feel good to exert his power over others in this way. All of those people asking why he was doing it, if he was antisocial or if he had a personal vendetta against these people. He didn’t. He just hated humans, so much. Mika knows all of the people he’s killed have done horrible things, because they’re humans and that’s what humans do. So, is he really in the wrong? There is no such thing as innocence in this world, so why does it matter if he takes a few lives? When others are making lives worse, his acts of killing may as well be a mercy.

The sewing, however, was still crude. He cuts too deep, and so his mere thread can never sew them up as well as he would like to. Mika threaded the needle, trying his best to make it look tidy this time. He was improving, he thought. It might take a few more tries to perfect, but there was definitely an improvement compared to his first times. He managed to actually close up the hole this time, tying it off neatly and biting the leftover thread off, giving it a clean finish. At least, in his opinion. He always got angry when watching all those hotshots on TV calling his sewing “sloppy” – he’d love to see what they’d manage with nothing but a needle and a thread. The body was clothed once more, and he waited by the entrance to this now resident-less home, peering from behind the curtain for his chance. Although it was already nearing two in the morning, stray cars passed by, some folks returning from an outing here and there. He had to make sure nobody sees him, after all, or else his fun would be cut short.

And when he finally did leave the body in the street, he returned back to the train station, waiting for the late train, as if nothing had happened. The “souvenir” he took wrapped in his blazer, which was stuffed in his bag alongside his ruined gloves. To be safe, he remembered to wash his face and forearms in the bathroom at the station. His shoes were still bloodied, but he can pass it off as mud if anyone questions him, or even just say he got a nosebleed he didn’t notice. Mika’s hand gripped the bag closer to him, unconsciously patting at the section where his blazer was placed. And all those folks wondering why he took the hearts and only the hearts… What did it matter? It was for him. For his collection, to be placed in a jar and kept. To inspire his art.

And once more, the news will talk about a brutal murder. Once more, he’ll have to comfort Arashi. Once more, he’ll laugh and assure her nothing will happen to him on his way home. Once more, he’ll pretend like he’s oblivious and stupid, making sure that everyone sees him as nothing but a harmless young man, as the least suspicious person in this city.

[butchdykenormallen]

meet tear!! age 26, pronouns he/xe, unlabeled aroace man! this guy has so many emotional issues nd is so violent. sorry. i also havent drawn him in ages so if i do remind me to link this post back or reblog it. anyyyywayss

tears backstory is kinda sad. dont mind me

his story starts off with his birth. he was a homeborn baby, since his family couldn't afford to go to a hospital. he was born half blind in both eyes, rendering his vision almost awful, so they installed better optical sensors into his head, but they were a little. uh. too good. to the point he saw things no one else could see. ghosts, unnatural beasts, and even auras showing peoples true intentions. his father was the first who he saw the auras with. he was a man who was trying to "teach tear" to be stronger and able to physically protect himself, but really, he just used this as an excuse to beat him and treat him like garbage in order to keep him submissive and make him hate the outside world. really, this just made him a violent, easily strategized, smart, extremely strong beast of a teenager. so as a teen (16), he called his father out after constantly refusing and fighting him back, and was hit for it. his dad must've thought he'd be more easily controlled, because he didnt expect tear t try and fucking kill him. his mother thankfully pulled him off, but not before tear managed to really knock this guy out cold. after that, he ran away, and hasn't seen his family since, dealing with his own issues with emotion and trying to find suitable friends.

you can do a route for him, but its like norms. you meet him in an old abandoned factory where he lives, and you have to teach him not to kill and maim anyone who makes him slightly threatened or mad. he doesn't exactly see randy or oliver as threats, but sorta unintentionally bullies them a lot. sees karen as a slight threat since shes so strong, but then watching her be cringefail dismissed that entirely. sees mingus as a HEAVY threat and tries to kill her. sees norm as less of a threat, and even calls him out on his intentions.

his good ending? you manage to help him get in touch with his emotional issues and feel safer in his own body.

his bad ending? you introduce him to norm OR mingus, get them to be just. complete assholes to him, he almost kills them, and either norm shoots him to get him off or mingus claws through his ass.

his shit yourself and die ending? you walk into his old factory, try and flirt with him, he pushes you out and you get run over. at that point he didnt even kill you intentionally you just didnt get up fast enough

[weathered-canvas]

hi i'd love to hear about your ocs! i dont know which ones you want to talk about the most so you can answer these for any of them :D

👪 , 🕷️, 🌌

oh hello!!!! gonna do these for Raz since him and the crew are on my mind rn :D FAMILY - what is their family like? what is your ocs relationship to them? does your oc have any siblings? -> He's one of like five kids of his parents, and he's currently living a lie: he believes his parents and siblings are dead. [They used a battle's magic fallout to cover their fake deaths and uh. The letter they sent to Raz never got to him! So he thinks they're actually dead.] When he was young he was relatively fond of his family minus his older twin brothers who were just generally snobbish assholes.

SPIDER - what is their biggest fear? do they have any irrational / mundane fears? -> Raz gets anxious whenever around someone wearing tap shoes/clicky stilettos due to the sound reminding him of things he went through as a soldier. His biggest fear is probably being incapable of protecting the people under his wing - he runs a little 'circus' that acts as a front for other nonhumans who want to travel with some safety - but especially Kalvan or Emyrin getting hurt worse. [A pair of twins, demon-vampire hybrids, who lost their parents and home to a feud between their ancestors and an elven family.]

MILKY WAY - what was the inspiration behind your oc? what was the first thing you decided about them? -> Tieflings are my favorite D&D race and I really wanted to make a tiefling OC and lo and behold! The first thing was actually probably his hairstyle: I was really into undercuts at the time and gave him one.. It's a grown out canonically in his current design though, spending years shut into a library reading up on dark magic does that to you. [He's a former bard fully reclassed as a bloodhunter after his fiance was killed.]

[profictionoverhaul]

Anti-shippers DNIs are so stupid.

You don't want to talk to yourself? YOU'RE THE HATEFUL ASS PERSON DUDE!!! Telling people to die IS hateful!!!!

[shhhsecretsideblog]

No Time To Hide

This was something I wrote for an Imagine You’re Pregnant prompt, original post here. Thought I’d make a side blog and post it here as well cos I really enjoyed writing this and might be tempted to write more birth fics

Eva opened the wooden window of her small cottage, letting the cool autumn air whip through her hair. The smell of woodland and damp grass filled her nostrils as she took a long, calming breath.

Describing herself as a green witch, Eva loved her little cottage hidden away from everyone deep within the rich forest. Coven life was never something that appealed to her; the idea of being constantly surrounded by other witches, their opinions and their magic, was torture for Eva. She much preferred her own company, free to live her life the way she wanted. Free to use her own style of magic, without the distraction or judgement of others. It was why she decided to live here in the heart of the forest. There was a river that flowed through the centre of the woodland, the ancient trees stood tall around her home, and the forest floor was packed with all manner of plant life. It was perfect; just her, the elements and Mother Nature.

Despite her preference of living alone, as time passed Eva began to yearn for something… it wasn’t romance or friendship, but the idea of a child. Children were never something she had considered, but as she grew older Eva had begun to see the benefit of having children. Someone to pass all her knowledge and wisdom to, someone to love and care for and share all that she’d learnt. She wanted to pass on this way of living, to create a legacy.

A few months ago, nine to be exact, she enchanted a local townsman - not that he would ever remember it. And now here she was, rocking side to side and cradling the underneath of her heavily pregnant stomach, preparing herself as birth drew near.

The cramps had started yesterday afternoon, small and barely noticeable at first. Eva had been terribly uncomfortable these last few weeks, suffering constant aches and twinges, so she did not immediately give them any thought. However when they got sharper and more frequent, forcing her to pause whatever she was doing, they soon got her full attention.

Not knowing how long this could take but knowing she would eventually lose mobily as her labour progressed, she collected all her preparations and got the supplies ready. Blankets, towels, sterilised medical equipment, all within easy reach in the main living room. Snacks and drinks lay available on the coffee table and a pot of hot water sat by the open fire keeping a constant warm temperature.

“Mmmnnngghhhhh” Eva moaned deeply as the latest wave peaked. She leaned forward resting her elbows on the window sill, jutting her hips back and swaying them slightly. The baby was low and heavy in her pelvis, the head pressing downwards as her body slowly opened up.

When the latest pain had eased Eva straightened and looked down at her swollen stomach, speaking lovingly towards her unborn babe. “You’re really coming aren’t you little one? I’ve not done this before so please take it easy on me.” Her child responded with a gentle kick prompting the witch to smile.

Over the next few hours Eva got into a good rhythm riding out the contractions, each one hitting sooner than the last and with incrementally more vigour. She paced, rocked, squatted, kneeled, trying to find any comfortable position to ride out the waves. Her low and heavy stomach made moving from position to position cumbersome; one hand staying on her bump or her lower back at any given time, while the other kept her supported on whatever furniture or surface was nearby.

As the contractions ramped up, creeping steadily towards unbearable, the witch’s teeth clenched tight and she growled behind them. Three minutes apart. Holding on to the back of her armchair Eva lowered herself into a deep squat. Sweat covered every inch of her body, her thin linen dress and underwear clinging to every curve of her fertile frame.

Her hips were in agony, the pressure building. She opened her mouth to wail but no sound came out, shocked into silence by a sudden burst between her open thighs. Immediately the pressure eased and Eva could catch her breath again. The wooden floor below her feet was soaked; her waters had broken.

“Oooooooh okay- We’re getting so close- Are you ready to come out now baby? I cannot wait to meet you.”

Eva stood up, cradling the curve of her spasming bump. Her bare feet stepped ungainly out of the puddle on the floor and she quickly threw a tea towel down to soak up the worst of it.

“It’s just you and me, little one. We can do this.” Eva reassured herself, rubbing circles around her swell, preparing for the intensity to soar now her waters had gone.

However, before the next contraction could strike the witch startled at the sudden loud interruption of ringing bells. Rapid and urgent, the piercing chimes echoed all around her cottage, howling through every room.

Witch hunter!

The enchantments set up around her hidden home in the forest hadn’t gone off in decades - she had almost forgotten the wards were still in place. And yet the incessant ringing immediately chilled her to her very bones, suddenly haunting her with long forgotten memories of the brutal murders of her fellow witches.

Her stomach clenched with a new, different sensation - fear. At any other time Eva would arm herself with weapons and potions and storm outside on the offence, making sure to take down her enemy before he had the opportunity to strike. But now… the pressing weight in her hips and the constant aching of her contracting womb showed she was in no position to attack, or even defend herself, if put up against a murderous witch hunter.

She had to get out of here. The warning bells throughout her home would soon reach the ears of the witch hunter and then he would beeline straight to her hidden sanctuary. She needed to find somewhere else to hide.

Distracted by the chimes, Eva was unprepared for the next contraction when it ripped across her body, rooting her to the spot. She doubled over in pain, palms planted firmly on her thighs.

“Unnnhhhhhhhhhhhh no-no-no-no……” she whimpered through strained breaths as the pain skyrocketed and her belly hardened. Panting heavily the witch ignored growing desire to bear down. Her waters had broken, she was probably almost fully dilated, if not already. But she couldn’t stay here. If she stayed, both her and her child would certainly be killed. She had to leave and find somewhere safe to deliver this baby.

After what felt like an eternity, the contraction finally faded and she bolted straight out the back door of her cottage, leaving barefoot with nothing but the clothes on her back. She had wasted precious minutes since the warning alarm riding out that last pain - she couldn’t afford to waste any more time gathering supplies to take with her. Eva took off as quickly as she could, disappearing deep into the lush green forest.

She barely got out of sight behind the first set of oak trees before another contraction was already upon her. Two minutes apart. Leaning against the rough bark of the nearest tree, Eva squeezed her eyes shut and tried hard to swallow the whimper creeping out her throat. The unbearable pressure was demanding in its silent request and her knees trembled with the effort of ignoring it. The baby was so heavy, and dangerously low. Feeling like it would just fall out if she took a step too wide. Yet she remained strong, persevering and weathering the storm in her uterus, determined to keep this baby inside of her until she got somewhere safe.

The second the pain let up an inch the witch was on the move again running as fast as she could across the forest floor. Over ferns and moss, rocks and fallen branches, thankfully the hardened soles of her bare feet were used to the uneven terrain. She made sure to keep off the main footpath and stayed hidden within the dense trees, but it made for more of an obstacle course than she’d like. With added weight of her labouring belly she couldn’t move at speed and on a few occasions nearly lost her balance. But deeper and deeper into the forest she went.

The trees became her allies, providing cover and support when she was forced to stop with each new powerful contraction… 90 seconds apart... 60 seconds apart. A large, ancient willow tree with an unusually curved trunk was the latest comrade in her fight for survival. Eva had pitched herself within the alcove of the trunk, out of sight and leaning back against the bark, lifting the weight of her hardened stomach with both hands. The long hanging branches brushed the forest floor in a circle around her position, hiding the witch behind a nature-made curtain.

“Grnnnhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” Eva could no longer hold in the animalistic sounds of her extremely advanced labour. The baby was right there, nestled deep in her widened cervix, desperate to be born.

“Nooooooooo-please-baby-wait-a-bit-moreeeeeee-” she begged through gritted teeth. The next contraction started before the current had even finished and the need to push was too powerful to refrain. Knees bending and thighs widening, Eva’s body pushed of its own accord.

It felt right, pushing. It was what she was meant to be doing - to follow nature's primal instinct. And yet she couldn’t forget the very real threat of the witch hunter, still hidden somewhere in this forest, poised and primed to kill her.

The fierce contraction continued to hold her hostage. A long grunt escaped her mouth as her body pushed along with the pain.

“I can hear you, witch!” A gravelled voice taunted from across the thick forest.

Eva’s eyes widened and immediately clamped her mouth shut, biting her lips together drawing blood. Half squatting against the tree, every muscle in her body continued to strain as it forced the baby lower and lower and lower. She couldn’t stop pushing even if she tried. One of the hands cradling her stomach shakily ventured south, lifting up her dress and feeling between her legs. Through the thin damp fabric of her underwear she could feel the baby’s head begin to enter the world.

She panted silently, tears streaming down her cheeks. The forest stretched out for miles, completely uninhabited in all directions; she was all alone. There was nowhere to go and no one to help. Heavily pregnant, being hunted, and seconds away from birthing this child.

A loud snap of wood echoed from a few metres away. Eva suddenly bolted like a startled deer, consumed entirely by fear and survival, and disappeared again into the thickened wood. She ran, wide legged, the heavy boulder of a baby’s head deep in her pelvis screaming to be born. Push! Her body cried out. Stop running and PUSH!

But she couldn’t. If she stopped she’d be dead.

Another contraction ripped through her as she ran. 30 seconds apart. Her muscles tensed and squeezed as she ran, her body trying to force the baby out despite the mother’s desire to hold on a bit longer. She could barely stay upright, the raw adrenaline no longer enough to keep this birth at bay. Her legs became jelly, all she could feel was pain and pressure and fear. Eva faltered, she couldn’t go any further. Out in the open she planted her hands against the nearest tree, widening her stance, and pushed. Hard.

“Mnnnnnnnrrrrgggggghhhhhhh!!!”

More of her baby’s head began to appear behind the fabric of her tight underwear.

“Ohhhhhhhhhh-Hecateeeeeeeeeeee!” she whimpered, praying to the deity.

Her baby was close to fully crowning, she could feel it. The white hot agony of being widened and stretched beyond anything she imagined made her eyes water and throat nauseous. She retched, a dry heave, and desperately tried to catch a breath through the dual need to push and the sudden urge to vomit. The texture of the rough bark beneath her palms was the only thing keeping the witch semi-grounded and preventing her getting swept away in the overwhelming sensations currently tearing her body apart. Still bracing the tree, Eva’s head dipped as she took slow deep breaths, ignoring the instinct to push in order to ride out the sudden nausea.

An ominous whistling sound drifted through the trees carried on the wind. Eva could barely hear it over the thundering beating of her heart, that is until she heard:

“Come out, come out, wherever you are!” The voice sang.

The witch hunter was close. But so was her baby... Eva felt between her legs again to evaluate just how bad her situation was. It was bad. Her underwear was stretched beyond repair as it housed a significant portion of her baby’s head, filling her cupped palm. Ignoring all the pain and her body’s pleas to push, she panted heavily and tried to think! She needed a plan to survive.

The witch hunter had physical strength, yes, but he did not know these woods like Eva did. This was her home, her sanctuary, and she knew every inch like the back of her hand. Beyond her laboured breaths and the unnerving whistling of the approaching witch hunter, Eva registered another sound nearby - the swooshing sound of running water. The river - she was by the river!

Lifting her head the witch frantically scanned the surrounding area, getting her bearings of where she’d ended up within the woodland. She was a few hundred yards from the river’s edge, about a mile from her cottage. It wasn’t an area she often visited because of…. That’s it! Okay, it wasn’t a great plan, and there was no way to know if it would work, but it was her only shot of survival.

She took a steadying breath through the current contraction squeezing her womb, fighting once more against the primal need to push. The baby’s head filled her underwear, millimetres from a full crown. If she pushed again there was no way she’d be able to stop until the head was fully born.

Whimpering through the pain Eva stood up straight, one hand staying between her legs, and she prepared herself to move. Just get to the river. She told herself before making her way unsteadily east.

The sound of rushing water grew louder as she stumbled slowly through the forest. One step. Another step. Nearly there. She knew exactly where to go, and where to avoid, desperately trying to stay focussed on her surroundings and not succumb to the agonising pain crowning between her thighs. Keep going.

“You can’t escape me, witch!” The voice threatened, getting closer.

Eva stumbled into the side of a tree, her bare shoulder scraping against the bark. Pausing, she took a brief moment to breathe through the pain. It was a mistake. The second she stopped to inhale deeply her body started bearing down again, forcing the baby down. Immediately the head came to a full crown in her damp underwear and she screamed.

“WITCH!” The murderous voice roared.

Eva turned and saw a flash of black leather through the distant trees, and it was coming her way. Cupping the baby’s head she tentatively wobbled forwards, knees trembling, staggering towards the riverbank. The blinding pain was constant, her eyes barely focussing. She had to make it to the exact right spot or her plan would certainly fail. Her footsteps were shaky but determined as she continued the last few carefully placed steps in her journey. Behind her the crunching sound of a disturbed forest floor drew ever closer.

Reaching the river’s edge Eva collapsed against the large boulder that sat on the grassy bank. She made it. Turning around against the stone, the cold granite pressed against her back as she faced the woods and waited for the imminent arrival of the witch hunter. But the baby’s head inched lower, her body stretched to its absolute limit. She wanted to cry, to howl, to scream. Instead she focussed inward, drawing on all the power from the earth under her feet, and taking a deep breath she finally, and intentionally, followed her body’s demands. Teeth gritted, a growl behind them, she pushed with everything she had. Her whole body trembled, bearing down against the pressure of the large round head slowly appearing between her thighs. The ears… a nose… she could feel it all. Her hands frantically scrambled under her dress and within seconds the baby’s head popped out into her underwear and she cupped it quickly within her palm. The relief was instant and for a brief moment Eva’s heart calmed as she held her child’s newly born crown.

The witch’s reprieve was short-lived as the approaching footsteps from behind one of the nearby trees resulted in another person soon entering the river's edge. The witch hunter was dark haired, full beard, but was not as athletic as Eva was expecting. There was sweat glistening on his temple and dripping down his neck, disappearing beneath a thick leather jacket. His mouth practically drooled at the sight of her and he gripped the long hunting knife in his hand. The lust for her death was haunting.

“At last… you’ve given it a good go, I’ll give you that, but you cannot escape your fate.” The man said as he took a step towards her, threateningly swishing the knife in readiness. “You are an abomination, evil incarnate. Witchcraft has no place here. My family has been taking your lot out for centuries. And it looks like I get the honour of not only killing you… but the next generation as well.” He glared at her pregnant swell.

“No- no! This- this child is innocent…” Eva panted, still holding the head of her half-born babe hidden under the draped fabric of her dress.

The witch hunter scoffed and took another two ominous steps in her direction through the fallen autumn leaves. Eva watched each step with a laser focus.

“No descendant of a witch is truly innocent.” He drawled, tilting his head with an unnerving animalistic incline. “Wickedness will run through its veins, there is no saving its soul.”

Eva couldn’t take her eyes off his feet, watching every step he took. She chose this location for a reason, knowing she needed to end up exactly here by the rivers edge - dangerously using herself as bait. His heavy boots crunched through the orange leaves, sauntering slowly towards her like he was toying with his prey. So close. Her heart stopped, breath held as Eva prayed to all the Goddesses for her plan to work. Then whoosh!

The witch hunter was suddenly hoisted in the air by his foot, caught in a primitive trap laid here many years ago by the previous inhabitants of these woods, whom were long dead and forgotten. The man roared as he was pulled sharply towards the sky, his arms flailing, the hunting knife falling from his hand in his shock.

Eva exhaled heavily and closed her eyes in pure relief. The steady thumping of heart pulsed around her body, beating once more now the immediate threat disappeared. The man yelled and shouted at her as he hung limply from the tree, but the sound barely registered with the witch. Her senses had been overtaken by the sudden movement of the baby, turning inside her, and an all too familiar urgent weight pressing down signalling her work was not yet over.

Eva tried to move but she was too far gone, too deep in labour, every muscle seemingly locked in position. “Unhhhhhhhh Hecate….. mnnnggghhhhh the baby- the baby is comingg…..” she whimpered, the pain splitting her in half as she was stretched once more with the baby’s shoulders. All her bodyweight was pressed back against the boulder, and she managed to sink towards the ground. Squatting deeply, her large rounded stomach rested heavily between her thighs.

“Ohhhh it’s coming…. I- need… mnghhhhhhhh I’ve got to… got to pushh...”

She ripped off her underwear as the next contraction started, freeing the baby’s head from the confines of the damp linen. With both hands ready to catch, the witch pushed with renewed determination. “Urghhhhhhhhhhhh!” One shoulder was out! Then the next shoulder. She took a breath, panting, holding the child dangling from her body. Eva became suddenly hyper-aware of the breeze and leaves, the nearby river and the crisp autumn air, all the elements surrounding them which her child was now being born directly into. Trembling, she beared down fiercely once more and within another few minutes a newly born witch entered the world.

Eva sobbed with relief, quickly pulling her daughter up over her stomach and placing her against her chest. The infant made a soft gurgling sound, her first breath, and then started to cry. To a new mother it was the most beautiful and reassuring sound in the world.

“Disgusting…. Filthy little vermin.” The witch hunter sneered with venom.

Eva had forgotten her audience and looked up with hatred at the man still swinging upside down from the tree. She held her baby tight and secure against her skin, as if shielding the child from the mere sight of him.

“You should drown that thing in the river.” He spat.

Red, blinding fury overwhelmed the new mother. With the pain gone and her baby safe in arms, pure fury raced through every pore of the witch’s body, consuming every atom of her being. Rising slowly, babe still clutched in hand, Eva approached the hanging man with eyes glowing with revenge.

“When I get free, I'm gonna enjoy splitting you from ear to ear!” He roared.

Her head tilted in observation watching the man’s disgusting arrogance in his determination to kill her despite still struggling against the rope binding his leg. Apparently unaware his threats were idle and his attempts to escape the trap were futile.

The witch bent down carefully to pick up the large silver blade that had fallen amongst the browning leaves. The man didn’t see the new mother pick up his weapon, and didn't notice the switch when the hunted became the hunter. Eva stalked silently, murderously towards the hanging man.

Before he could open his mouth to mock or belittle or challenge her, Eva’s hand swished past his vision in a flash, the blade gliding through the witch hunter's throat like a knife through butter. The man’s eyes widened, taking a heartbeat to register what just happened, before the cascade of blood erupted from the open wound and he began to choke and splutter.

Eva dropped the knife.

Delicately readjusting and shhhing the newborn cradled in her arm, she took one final look and started their journey back to the cottage. Eva found comfort in the sounds of the forest; of the flowing river, the whistle of a breeze, and the drip drip dripping of her enemies blood now pooling onto the forest floor.

[aurorawritestoescape]

TAKE ME

Joel Miller x f!reader || 900 words

Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, angst, fluff, death, unprotected piv (wrap it up), creampie. I chose not to include all the warnings so as not to spoil the fic. Pics are for the mood only, reader has no specific physical descriptions.

A/n: yesterday I sat down to work on Bad Blood pt5 but instead wrote this🫣 Hope you’ll enjoy it. Thank you to @milla-frenchy for beta-ing♥️

MASTERLIST

*****

He’s here. You can sense him. Then you can feel him. He’s not cold like you imagined. Like everyone would expect. He’s warm. Hot even. His breath fanning your neck. His lips sliding along your jawline. Scalding hot. Yet they don’t burn you. They caress. Show care. Give hope.

“Are you ready, sweetheart?” You hear him ask. Subconsciously you know it’s deadly quiet in the bedroom but his words are clear to you. You’re silent.

He senses your hesitation and sighs. His face is hovering over yours. He’s beautiful. His plush lips draw your eye first and you’re staring at them, wishing them on you. He gives you a warm smile and leans down to plant a kiss on your chapped lips.

You become hot all over, when he slightly moans against your lips. You slip your tongue into his mouth to taste him more. He’s saccharine with a hint of bitterness as if you’ve bitten into a rotten fruit. You don’t mind it. You pull him closer and he lets you, answering your passion with a buck of his hips against your cunt.

“Oh my…,” you whimper as your fingers grip at his arms and you feel them strong and huge under your touch. They immediately envelop you, rendering your body motionless in his tight embrace. Yet it’s not suffocating, not scary. You welcome the comfort of them, the warmth he’s giving you despite his whole nature.

“Please,” you whisper against his scruffy cheek, “It’s been so long.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he coos at you, before you hear the shuffling of his clothes. He positions himself at your entrance and his hot stiffness sends a shiver down your spine.

“Sure?” He pauses, brushing your lips with his, and you breathe out a needy ‘yes’.

He’s inside you in a second. He’s big and it must hurt, burn. But it doesn’t. He fills you up perfectly and you tremble from the sensation. He doesn’t move though. His worried eyes, sad under the furrowed brows, are darting between yours.

“It’s ok. Move, please.”

He gives you a short nod and rolls his hips, sending his cock deeper inside you, making his tip kiss the deepest spot inside your core.

You cry out as the pleasure overwhelms you and you spread your legs wider for him.

“Take me, take me..,” you beg and he stops your pleading with another short kiss.

“Not yet. Let me enjoy you, baby,” he growls after parting from you and his velvet voice booms in the quiet of the room.

His handsome face is so close to yours, your lashes flatter against each other. Your whimpering lips call for his kiss again and again and it seems that he’s drowning in you as much as you’re losing yourself in him.

His thrusts start hitting you faster, harder, making you slide up on the bed. He grips your shoulder to keep you in place and pushes his cock in and out of you with fervor, not tearing his gaze off your face.

You’ve been exhausted for such a long time that without even registering it, sleep creeps up on you and you fall into the darkness for a few moments, minutes, hours. You’re not sure.

When your eyes flutter open he’s still going, still inside you, and his hips are moving languidly as if he’s trying not to disturb you, wants to let you rest. You must have come in your sleep, as your pussy contracts from time to time, wetness coating your folds and thighs, your skin slippery and sticky against his.

He’s not sweaty, not tired, even after having been plunging his cock into your soaked pussy for what feels like hours. Yet you know he’s on the verge of falling apart by the way his teeth are biting his lower lip without mercy. You lift your face to his and kiss him.

Only after tasting your mouth again, he comes with a loud moan, not ashamed of the euphoria that’s coursing through his body.

He’s spilling his load inside you and it’s warm and lavish as it fills you up fast and you sense it seep out from your stretched hole.

The sensation of his come, pressing on your walls, pushes you over the edge and you accompany his sounds with your needy whimpering as your cunt is pulsating and trembling around his cock.

He’s hugging you tight as you both ascend from your high, lips glued together, bodies pressed to each other. He pulls out and you feel the mess between your thighs. You don’t care.

His lips brush the shell of your ear as he says softly, “we need to go, sweetheart. I can’t - can’t give you more time.”

“I know. It’s ok,” you whisper back and you mean it. You’re too exhausted and you’ll gladly go with him.

“I’ll be gentle. I love you,” He whispers and he means it. He hates to do it but it’s all he is. All he was and will be. The angel of death.

A flick of his hand, a cold flash of steel and he’s staring at your lifeless body. With a pained sigh he takes you in his big arms and pauses for a second, watching your beautiful face. A part of him is glad that he gave you rest. But deep inside he wants to cry. A lone tear fallls on your soft cheek when he plants the last kiss on your still warm lips. He starts his journey, together with you but completely alone. Always alone.

****

Thank you for reading!🌺

Please consider commenting and reblogging if you enjoyed the fic!♥️

Masterlist

Tag list: @milla-frenchy @harriedandharassed @survivingandenduring @missannwinchester @iamasaddie @nervousmumbling @bbyanarchist @stevie75 @puduvallee @auteurdelabre @mountainsandmayhem @senoratess @flamingochick55 @theoraekenslover @schnarfer @littlemisspascal @mermaidgirl30 @staywildflowahchild @yesjazzywazzylove-blog

If you'd like to be tagged in my future fics, let me know! 💕

[whereserpentswalk]

Is there a heaven for dragons after they are slain, a place of endless skies to fly through and endless gold to bathe in? Do the goblins have a place of endless caves when they die, with bugs to eat and no humans to hunt them? Do the vampires and ghouls have a place of endless night to go to when their false lives are laid to rest? Are the golems and minitours given a place to guard forever?

When a dragon is slain do the other dragons know? Do they visit its lair to find it empty? Do the trolls take count of the dead when they return from a battle with humanity, do they burry the ashes of those who are burnt by the morning sun? Is there something for orcs to pray to before battle, is there something to give them hope?

What do monsters feel before they die? What is the look in their eyes when we kill them? Is it fear? Could it be anything else?

[space-robinhood]

// dsmp spoilers

Thinking about c!crimeboys sending eachother letters (ignore how idk how). Them getting to keep in touch and bond and recover but from a healthy distance. Wilbur asks how Tommy is holding up and how the others are doing. Tommy frequently asks him what Utah is like, and occasionally is sent back a polaroid that he keeps at his bedside.

But eventually, Wilbur picks up that Tommy isn't doing so well. Tommy isn't so much like Wil, who makes up some web of lies to convince Wilbur that everything's dandy. He's fairly honest about what's going on, but insists that he's got everything under control and to not worry about him, because he's a BIG MAN who can TAKE ON ANYTHING.

Until the final letter arrives. The letters are hastily scribbled, the page stained with tears. It cuts straight to the point in its first line:

"im sorry. im dying tomorrow."

He read through the rest of the letter two, three, four times. Tommy's entire detailed scheme to use Tubbo's nuke to finally end everything. It wasn't until the fifth read that it hit him.

"tomorrow." No, that can't be. By the time Wilbur gets these letters, its already been a few days, a few weeks sometimes.

He swore he'd never return. Should he even? If this is true, then he doesn't think he could bear to see it himself. He could very possibly make it worse anyway. No, no, Tommy could never do something like this, that isn't him, so there's nothing to worry about. He should just wait for the next letter and he'll know he's okay. But... He couldn't imagine sitting there for weeks and nothing ever arriving. He's not sure he could survive torment like that.

He wasn't conscious for most of the trip. He doesn't remember packing his things, or setting sail. Even as he arrived at the shore, none of it felt real. But when he ran up that hill, there was no denying it.

He was the brother of a crater.

[raiiny-bay]

but I can't wait until I see your face and my brain thinks that it's looking at a stranger

[desultory-novice]

[D]earest

a[D]eleine...

how [D]are you

die die [D]ie die

justifiable ***ci[D]e

-

A while ago, the discussion of an "Ending D" (aka, everyone dies ending) for Apologies came up. I sketched this many months back and randomly got the inspiration to try and finish it tonight. (Maybe, just maybe I needed to relieve stress with some dark art...)

The concept behind this ending is that Adeleine returns early, in time to see Dark Matter Swordsman at the height of the invasion, recognizes Noir within him, tries and fails to get through to him only to die by his emotionless blade, much to the horror of Dedede, Kirby, and the others. But before they have a chance to do something about it, the Swordman's Blade almost instantly turns on him and does the job itself, guided by ghostly, grieving hands...

[codfanficedits]

Final tribute

If you're looking for a sign to stay alive, this is it.

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x fem!Reader

Summary: Suicide.

Wordcount: 4968| Rating: E (18+ only!)

Warnings: SUICIDE, mentioning of self-harm, mentioning of shoplifting, mentioning of a fucked up childhood.

A/N: Today (third of November) marks the 9 years anniversary of my best friend killing herself. It has taken me years to come over the guilt, and even 9 years later I still wonder if I could've prevented this. But I couldn't and she is gone. In a way I hope she'll live forever through me and my stories. We were teenagers, having to cope with shit that adults couldn't even cope with. I love you and even though you'll always stay 19 you're still my best friend. Until we meet again. A/N 2: If you're struggling yourself. Please know that life will be worth it, the sun will shine on you too one day, and you'll find the joy in life once more. I've struggled with suicidality and sometimes I still do. But. It. gets. better. I promise.

The silence lingers in the air as he sits on the chair next to your bed. You’re sleeping, getting some much deserved rest, but he can’t help but be angry at you. Angry for attempting, angry for not sharing what was going through your mind, angry at the professionals, for just letting you go again. But his anger gets replaced by guilt as he watches you sleep. Because if you were to die, it would’ve been his fault, at least to Simon.

Except that it wasn’t his fault. You just weren’t made for life and you knew it. Depression had been weighing you down since your teenage years, following you like a ball and chain into adulthood. No matter how much you tried, how hard you tried to fight it, it was a losing battle. A cruel dance with fate. Simon’s eyes wander around the self-harm scars that cover your body, a reminder of your battle, a reminder of every time your mind won the battle against your will to live.

As Simon’s guilt deepens, tears fall from his eyes. You always used to tell him “a cry a deep keeps the demons away.” So, he cried. You had always used your humour as a shield to cope, as a shield to keep people out of the dark abyss of your mind. No one would suspect a thing if you just kept joking about it.

It was a painful realisation – the guilt, but also the truth in those words. It was what he missed most about you, your smile, your warmth, your kindness. He misses your wisdom the most. Maybe if he had tried to understand you more, none of this would be happening. His heart ached with regret and longing.

Simon felt lost. He remembered your humour, but he could never make the thoughts leave his head. How you were always so lively and funny, but had suffered in silence for so long.

This had worried you the most. Not the dying alone part, you had made peace with dying alone a long time ago. But the failing of your plan, and how it would hurt the people around you.

He knew you hadn’t meant to hurt him, but he didn’t think he could find the way to forgive you yet. As for himself, he felt he could never forgive himself for not noticing earlier. How close you had been to death. How far he had allowed this to go, without a single moment’s notice. Not that this would’ve changed anything for you, you would’ve done it either way. With or without him noticing. The depression that had been brewing in you for more than a decade was a ticking time bomb, being set off without anything mayor happening. But this had been a messy attempt, your mind too crowded to think properly, the pain of being alive too much to bear. So you had made mistakes, mistakes that caused your attempt to fail. Mistakes that would make you hate yourself even more. Mistakes that would be carved into your skin the moment you had the chance. Simon couldn't help but feel your attempts to hide your depression had been his fault. Had he not made you believe you had to? Or was this merely some cruel trick his mind was playing on itself? He wanted to hold your hand so badly, to feel your warmth, to tell you he loved you. But you were sleeping. His guilt consumed him. He began thinking of every moment you had been depressed, every instance he hadn't helped, every time he hadn't noticed a thing. But truth be told, you would never had let him help you, your depression had been weighing you down, pulling you under the surface while you desperately tried not to drown.

But drowning is a silent thing to do.

And you, you felt as if the whole world had to be carried on your shoulders. Professionals had failed you, and friends were not made to carry such a heavy load. So you carried it all by yourself, allowing yourself to slip under the surface of the water. Simon was terrified. The idea of you suffering in silence hurt him more than he ever imagined it would. He wanted to tell you how much you affected the lives of those around you. How he had looked up to you for your wisdom, your humour, your honesty. How you had brightened his days just by being there. He also wanted to say how sorry he was for not noticing your depression sooner. But you weren't awake. So he stayed beside your bed, waiting. Hoping. Praying that you would live.

The disappointment of being alive would wash over you soon enough, and you would have to live with that disappointment, a disappointment to yourself and your friend. Your eyes flutter as you begin to wake up, the sunlight burning through your closed eyelids, the pain you feel a reminder that you’re alive. But you don’t want to open your eyes. You can’t face reality, not yet. A wave of relief washed over Simon as he felt you stir. He was still angry, worried, confused, but he couldn't keep the smile from his face. He reached for your hand, wanting to hold on to the life he had thought he lost. Wanting to hold on to you. Wanting to let you know just how much you meant to him.

"Don't leave me again."

You can’t answer him, not yet. You have to deal with the disappointment of being alive first, before you can tend to him.

Fuck

How you wished you were dead, how you wished that you had succeeded, how you wished you had finally found your peace. You turn to your side, curling up as a ball, the sobs that leave your lips are raw, violent even. As if your soul got broken open and you can’t stop your feeling from pouring out. As Simon watched you curl up into a ball, his heart ached. He could feel your hurt, your anger, your pain, and wished he could take it away from you. And he felt you needed this, this release, this raw feeling. But he also understood how much you disliked your existence. How unfair this life had been to you. How many times you had been disappointed by it all. By other people, probably. But he hoped in the end, you would know how much he appreciated and cared for you. Your tears didn’t stop, by all means they just poured harder, more violent. Fuck, fuck, fuck! Why did you have to be alive? Your feelings turn into anger, angry at yourself for failing, for staying alive, angry at the universe for playing these cruel tricks. “Fuck, Simon.” You sob. “I can’t do this.” Simon felt his anger dissipate, replaced by worry. He couldn't see you this way. So hurt. So depressed. So angry at the world, at life. That anger had always been the first thing he thought of when he pictured you, but not like this. Not the world's anger. Your own. "Hey hey, it's alright." He sat down next to you. "We can get through this together. Just me and you, like always." And that was when, for a moment, he almost believed it.

But you can’t, you don’t want to. You had been trying to get through it, with him, without him. But you’re tired. Tired of trying not to drown when the world is pulling you under. So, so, so tired. “I don’t want to, Simon.” You whisper and your voice sounds tired, as if you’ve been up for days. “I can’t fight anymore.” "Stop." he whispered, his heart aching. This wasn't the reality he wanted to admit, but it was one that was hard to deny. "Please, can't you see how many people care about you? I'm not talking about friends and family, I'm talking about me. Don't you think seeing you like this hurts me?" He knew you were tired. He knew you wanted to just disappear from the world of pain and suffering. And so he tried one last time. "Don't disappoint me." You squeeze his hand, to the point that your own hand starts to hurt from the power. You could see the pain in his face. The pain you had caused. And the guilt hit you like a ton of bricks. You feel so selfish, like you always have been.

“I’m so sorry for putting you through this.” "Stop... stop apologizing." He felt you squeeze his hand, and took it as a sign of hope. Perhaps there was still a chance, even at your lowest, to fight for life. "I'm your friend. I'll always fight with you, even when you can't fight anymore. Especially then. Maybe we can learn how to fight this together." He hoped it wasn't too far gone. He didn't want to lose you to the darkness. But what would you do if it wasn’t apologizing? It was all you did. Apologizing for existing, apologizing for not being good enough, apologizing for being depressed. For being alive. You give his hand a softer squeeze. “Thank you, Simon.” You mumble. “Thank you for being here, and I’m sorry if I’ve let you down.” "You've never let me down," he whispered back. His eyes were soft, and his expression gentle. All the anger, guilt and disappointment had vanished. He was thinking of you, how hard you had tried — harder than most would. He knew this. He felt this. He couldn't blame you for wanting an escape. An escape he wished he could provide.

"Don't you see? You're the strongest person I know. You're the last person to need to apologize."

His words. No matter how kind they were. They didn't register. You understood them, they were words you could even tell to others. But those words weren't meant for you. Not to someone like you.

So you laid there, curled up in a ball, the disappointment of being alive weighing on you. But they were meant for you. They were for you. Because even when you felt broken, he saw you as strong. When you were tired, you were resilient.

"Let me come a little closer." Simon shifted closer, trying to place his hand on your arm. He wanted to hold on. He wanted to feel you. Your warmth, your touch, your comfort in his hand.

You were hurt, but he wanted to hold that warmth, hold on to you. Because it felt like a treasure to him.

"Rest," he told you. And he meant it; he wanted you to take a break. You were so tired, so full of self-destruction.

He stayed with you in that bed, even as he felt your strength slip away. He wouldn't leave you until he was sure you could fight back. You would fight back, and he would do whatever he could to help you, to make the world a more bearable place. To give the light inside your soul room to heal.

And so your first attempt ended like this. With Simon holding you.

But you were broken, broken beyond repair, and one attempt turned into two, turned into three. All while Simon's life just continued. His missions, his deployments. And there you were. Feeling like a burden again. Simon felt his heart sink with each attempt, his anger growing with each disappointment. It made him feel powerless, unable to help you get better. To show you how much the world needed you. How much he needed you. "Not again..." His voice trembled with tears, a look of desperation on his face. He wanted you to recover, but felt hopeless. He felt that maybe he had already failed you, but didn't dare think it. Because if there was a chance for you to survive... he wanted you to take it. It must've been exhausting for him too. Not knowing if a call from you was just to catch up, or if he would hear just sobs, and rambling about how you couldn't take it anymore. How he had spent hours and hours talking to you. Unable to cope with the guilt of something would've happened to you.

But he was only human, and humans can only take so much.

You look at your phone. Tears streaming down your face as you had called him. You could hear the exhaustion in his voice.

"I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing..." He sighed. "I can't take this anymore. You can't keep doing this. Can't keep hurting yourself, can't keep hurting others, can't keep hurting me."

He didn't want to shout, but for the first time his anger began to surface. He wanted to see you get better, but his hopes were dwindling. "Just... please." Simon was at a loss of words. "How can I make you feel better about all this? What do you need?"

His anger was justified. In your attempt to stay longer on this earth you were dragging him along your misery.

"I'm sorry!" You repeat again, as the tears roll down your cheeks. "I don't know Simon." You hated that you had called him, once again. He was on deployment, unable to help you.

"Can you let me go?"

Simon felt his stomach knot. "Absolutely not." He knew his anger could hurt you, but had to hold on to his hopes of saving you. Because he had promised himself he wouldn't let you escape like this.

"No. No way." He let his voice raise, his anger making him feel stronger. "I am not letting you go." He would not hurt you further, but he would also not let you give up. He had to try.

A decision was made.

And you took a deep, deep breath. "Right." You mutter. "I'm sorry, again."

You wipe away your tears. "I know you're busy. And I really don't want to bother you. But can we just talk? Talk about our time at high school?" "Always." Simon smiled softly as the knot in his stomach disappeared. He felt more hopeful now that he had gotten your attention, and felt his anger melt away. "You know you're never a bother. How I wish the only thing I had going on was to speak to you." He tried to joke, but his concern for you clouded his humour.

"Tell me the first thing that comes to mind. High school. Any memories."

A soft sigh left your lips. You could hear his concern. You could hear your heart crumble when he joked about all the things that were going on, and how you were just another add on to that pile. But you pushed it away. This phone call had to turn into a light one. One without more worries.

"Remember how we met?" You ask. "In our self-defence class. You were brand new and I was a black belt. We hit off immediately, and then it turned out we went to the same high school." A smile formed on your face. Better times.

"I remember us secretly smoking behind the building." You snicker. Simon's smile broadened, the memory coming back to him as if they were there a second ago.

"I've always wondered what would have happened if I didn't go to that class." The smile faded again, replaced by thoughtfulness, as Simon considered how different his life would have been. He likely would have never met you. "I wasn't as tough as you remember, I was just taller." He chuckled. "I remember my first day, and you told me about your past. And you asked me about my life — which I was very quiet about then. What else do you remember?" You can’t help but chuckle. "Yeah we definitely did some trauma bonding. Two people with a fucked up childhood."

You clear you throat. "I'm glad we both managed to escape our homelife."

At the mention of trauma bonding, the smile dropped from Simon's face. It was true, it was how you had bonded. And it was one of the worst ways to bond. But he knew you were still thinking about it, and didn't want to change the mood of the call. "Don't think about that," he said. "Come on now, we can't let a shitty childhood ruin our lives." He was one to talk. Running away at eighteen to join the military. You both knew that your childhood would haunt, till the end of times. But you dropped the subject. Not in the mood to ruin this phone call. "Yeah yeah." You mutter.

"I remember you sneaking out of school to shoplift a can of coke." You laugh. "I was so goddamn worried you'd get caught." "Not as worried as me." Simon laughed. "I didn't get caught, though. So my criminal record is still clean... for now." "Although it is a miracle you never got caught. I don't think I've paid for a single can of coke in my last year of high school, thanks to you."

Simon felt his spirits lift, as he recalled all the stolen sodas you and him had split. It had gotten harder to sneak them in as you went up the year grades, but you had enjoyed those stolen moments of sweetness together.

For a few moments, it was as if you were still in those high school halls. Stealing drinks, telling each other about your past, and trying to escape your family life by spending all your time together. But now you were far apart, and there were other problems in your lives. Life had changed. "God. We were idiots." You sighed. "The amount of times we skipped school just to hang in the park and smoke."

"I still don't get how we graduated." You add with a smile, the phone call was helping to take your mind off things.

"We were almost too late for our math final." "We were extremely late for our maths final," he corrected. "But it got us through, didn't it?" He chuckled nervously, thinking of how close you came on several occasions to being kicked out.

"We weren't idiots. Life was just hard." He sighed, his eyes growing softer with each word, "We just needed to find ways to escape. And somehow, we made it." He knew you were feeling better, and thought for a moment. Perhaps he did want to push you a bit, to help you heal.

Of course you remembered, life had been hard for the both of you, yet somehow he had managed better.

"Somehow we made it." You repeat. "Thanks for staying on the phone with me, Simon. I know you're busy, and I'm feeling better right now. I'll keep you updated through text, okay?" "The day you don't call me on your lowest is the day you stop being my friend." Simon tried to joke. He wanted to lighten the mood, but also make you feel wanted. It was important to him that you did not feel like a burden.

"And don't apologize. Your emotions are the most important to me... don't push them away. I just wish I could be there to hold you through it all."

"You don't have to rush." Simon added, a sense of finality to his words.

"You staying on that call meant more than you'll realise." You said. "I'll text you soon okay? Take care Simon."

You ended the call, with a soft smile. Outgoing call: 57 minutes and 26 seconds. It did you more good than you had expected.

Simon sighed. Although it had been a long call, it felt like it had gone by in a flash. He kept thinking about that joke he made, about the day you stopped calling him on your worst days. And how he didn't want that day to ever come.

He knew you had been hurt too much in your life, so he was happy to keep being with you. To keep talking, to keep lifting you up again. He thought he had succeeded, too. Maybe you wouldn't try to hurt yourself again.

"I'll talk to you later." He muttered to himself.

You did feel better. Your house got cleaner, you started going out more. No longer calling in sick to your job that often.

You snapped a pick of a sunrise, sending it to Simon. "Made me think of you." You texted before you went on with your day. A little check in to let him know you were okay. He smiled as he read the message, feeling his heart lift as he read it. It was more than just a little message to Simon. It was what he needed to see, to know you were recovering, and happy. To know that all of the time and effort he put into helping you was paying off. He wanted to tell you right now that he was proud of you, that he was happy for you. But maybe you didn't need that yet. So, he kept it to himself for now. He responded with a simple "Thanks" message.

You did it every day. Usually in the morning. Sunrises. A flower. A dog. Anything that made you happy. And he usually responded with a "Thanks." But that was enough for now.

Your therapist applauded it, and that made you happy too.

You crouched down during one of your walks. Making a picture of one of the first fungi you had spotted during her walk. You send the picture to Simon.

"First one! When is your next deployment?"

Simon was glad for the daily pictures, and did his best to keep it up. He wanted you to feel like you were important to him, so he had to try and be more attentive to your messages. He stopped in the hallway as he read your latest message.

"Uh, this weekend. For three weeks." He texted.

He wondered if he should say more, but did not want to overwhelm you. He was happy already. You were alive, and looking at flowers and fungi. You were feeling better.

Ah. Three weeks. You knew he didn't have any service while deployed. Something with safety and all that. But you didn't mind. The cold November air hit your face, and it made you feel alive. You took a deep breath, letting the crisp air fill your lungs.

"That sucks :(. I'll keep sending you the nice things I find on walks, even if you can't see them right away." You texted back.

Simon was glad you understood, and didn't want you to think he didn't care. He tried not to think about the length of the deployment, or the fact that he would likely not be able to talk to you for three weeks. But it didn't matter, because you were recovering.

"Send whatever photos you want, I won't be able to respond, but I will love looking at them." He texted. "Three weeks go by faster than you'd think. I'll be home before you know it."

You did the math. He would be gone on the first of November. And he would be back around the 22nd.

"Do you think you'll be home for Christmas? It’s been a while since we celebrated together." You texted him back.

Your text felt like a punch to the gut. It was true, it had been a while since you had celebrated Christmas together. Your last Christmas together had been two years ago, and it had been an awkward one at that.

Simon tried to put on a brave face. "I'm going to try." He texted. "If I'm lucky, I'll be back late December... maybe even early." He wondered if you would take these answers well, or if he had just made things worse.

"That's great. We'll work the details out when you're back from deployment, no worries." You texted back. There was a light spring in your step as you walked to your job. As if the weight of the world had fallen off your shoulders. "I'll text you tomorrow before you leave for your mission :)"

"Sounds good." Simon was glad to see you in high spirits again. "Talk to you soon."

You and Simon continued to exchange photos for the remainder of the week. He sent you images of training exercises, and you sent him photos of birds, and flowers. It was the highlight of both your days. On Saturday morning, the day before Simon was to depart for the mission, he sent you a voice message. He was standing in his room, as he talked.

"Hey. How are you today?" Some days you just exchanged pictures. The others you had whole conversations. But that was okay, you understood he was busy, and you didn't need his attention all of the time. You smiled when you got his voice message, it was nice to hear his voice again.

"Simon! I'm good, best I've been in a while." You answered through a voice message. "How are you? What time are you leaving?"

"I'm glad." That was always Simon's response, when he heard you were doing 'well.' He had grown to love seeing your photos, and the few conversation you had together throughout the week kept him going. He sounded excited when he spoke, and you could hear a little of the anticipation in his voice.

"Leaving in 20 minutes." He sent. "I'm feeling pretty good, to be honest. A little nervous, but I'm looking forward to the mission."

"You're a good soldier, Simon." You responded through your voice message. "Those three weeks will be over in no time, and when you're back we can go plan Christmas. In the meantime. I'll send you my daily pictures, so you have something to look at when you get back." You added in another voice message

Simon smiled when he heard you call him a good soldier. It felt nice, to be recognized. And to be seen.

He sent back one message that simply said, "Thanks."

He got ready for the mission, grabbing his gear and getting into his squad vehicle.

As he drove in quiet, he thought about planning Christmas. It felt nice, looking forward to things. Maybe you and him could go on a little trip, or do something fun together.

He was optimistic, and couldn't wait for the next three weeks to be over.

On November first you send him a picture of a sunset.

"Reminds me of you. I miss you :)"

But you got no answer, knowing he was out in a mission and had no reception.

On November second you send him a picture of a dandelion, a cat, and the moon.

"Even though we're apart we're looking at the same moon."

And again you got no answer, but you knew he had no reception.

On November third you send him a selfie, a smile on your face.

"I will miss you Simon. Take care. I will always love you. You've been a great friend. You've been my best friend."

On November third you put your phone back on your desk before you left your home. The walk to the train station was short. You had led them all on, but it was your time to leave.

You had held on to life as long as you could. But you were done. You were tired. You couldn't live another day, but at least he would have some good memories of you.

"I'm sorry." You mutter as you saw the train approaching.

One deep breath.

You and Simon always had a habit of sending photos to each other. Especially of the sky. Simon felt a sinking feeling come over him as he saw your last pictures. It was a beautiful sunset, but the words you chose had taken away much of its beauty.

"God damn..." He whispered as he read your message. "Is this what I think it is?" He started getting a thousand thoughts at once, all flooding through his brain.

What could he have done?

Should he have said something different?

You were going to be okay. You were getting better.

Nothing. Nothing could've been done. It wasn't his fault. It wasn't the fault of your therapist. No one was at fault.

Some people just weren't made to grow old, and you were one of them. Your depression had haunted you and had finally taken you to the dark abyss. You were finally at peace.

Simon tried to push away the thoughts of all you were going to miss. All of the life you were going to miss. He could not believe it. He simply couldn't. The person he tried to cheer up, was gone. It wasn't his fault. It wasn't his fault... He kept repeating that to himself, but deep inside he knew that had always been true. He had done all he could. All he had been able to. And that would never be enough to make you stay. Simon's eyes were growing red, but he tried to keep himself strong. It had only been hours after you died, and he was already questioning everything.

"I'll remember you." He said, to no one. He thought of all of the times he tried to help you, the pictures you sent him. The jokes. the little conversations you shared. He couldn't believe it. Simon tried to dial you, to call you, to call for an answer. But he knew that there was nothing he could do now. Nothing but hope that heaven was real. Nothing but hope that he would see you again. Nothing but hope that this was all a horrible joke, a sick nightmare.

The photos of the sunset, the cat, the moon, all lay in front of him. They looked like a cruel joke. Like reality's cruellest and sickest joke of all.

You weren't supposed to end.

[shallyouobeyme]

Dream

Yandere!/Dark!Wanda Maximoff/Scarlet Witch x reader

Summary: Left alone with nightmares and pictures of your loved ones dying when you close your eyes, you're trying your best to leave the woman you had secretly loved and who had turned into an evil witch and died behind you, but maybe - just maybe - she doesn't want to let you...

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT Warning: Dark content, mentions of previous murders, MoM Spoilers(?), Blood (Mentioned), Yandere, _This is all just fiction, I do not condone this!

Bea: Okay, so this is loosely based on a scene from a fanfiction I abandoned when I was like 15. It was honestly a giant cringe-fest, but this one scene never left my mind for long so I decided to recycle it into something my current messed-up self will enjoy. This is also day one of my writetober so check it out. Enjoy.

Falling asleep had become a chore for you. Every time you closed your eyes you saw death. Either the death of Pietro back in Sokovia, the death of Vision and of so many other Avengers. Rrecently the death of the only person you had ever truly loved had joined the list. Wanda was gone and a part of you knew that it was better this way, that everything she had done to Stephen, to the people of the other universe, after what she had tried to do to America, you were well aware that she hadn’t been the woman you’d secretly been in love with for years now anymore. But that part was frighteningly tiny. Most of you still felt agonizing grief. You had decided to stay with Stephen and America, after all, they were the only ones who had been with you when you had seen that other universe. The only one on your trip that you had been sad to leave behind. A universe where you and Wanda had been happy together. In love. Married.

A universe that you had wished for for many years. One that Wanda destroyed in her attempt to get to America. You had seen with your own eyes how she had taken ahold of that Universes Wanda and ripped the heart right out of your universe-equivalent chest when she tried to talk some sense into who she thought to be her wive. That was probably the death that hunted you the most. Not because you had seen yourself die, but because you had realized then and there that this woman wasn’t Wanda anymore, that this woman was the Scarlet Witch and that she seemingly had no emotions left for the friendship you had once shared. America had known immediately what you were thinking because she took your hand and shook her head as if to tell you that it Wanda anymore, that it wasn’t Wanda who was trying to - who actually kind of had killed you. This understanding only increased when you finally opened up to her about your feelings for the witch, she encouraged Stephen to let you stay with them and did her very best to cheer you up every single day to get you to crawl out of the dark hole you had found yourself stuck in.

That doesn’t help with the sleeping issue though. Lately, you had resorted to letting Wong put a light sleeping spell on you that would keep you from experiencing any dream-like state and basically made you just fall asleep and immediately wake up about six hours later. Which is why you were especially confused when you woke up in a sunflower field. You immediately knew that you must be dreaming because this wasn’t just some random sunflower field, as you looked around you could see the little cabin beside a lake, the mountain range opposite it and the tree with the swing. Obviously, there were some biological reasons why this couldn’t exist in real life, but the more obvious factor was that you had seen this from a different perspective a hundred times. Every single time you had walked into your room in the Compley you had seen this landscape on your wall. Wanda and you had been lazily hanging out in your room one weekend back when everything was still okay (or as okay as it had ever been) when you had told her that you had been thinking of painting something on the wall to make the space more personal and she had immediately loved the idea. Two days (and 500$ of Tony’s money) later there was a definitely amature made, but exceptionally beautiful in your eyes with Wanda and your name intertwined in the corner. You had joked that one day you’d live in a cabin there and the people in the town nearby would think the two of you were an old married couple. Just that you hadn’t really joked, you had hoped. You had dreamt of it often back in the day, but ever since Thanos, it had turned into a nightmare sooner or later, the flowers rotting, the cabin burning, the lake filling with blood, etc. This is why you were doing your best to try and wake yourself up again, not mentally stable enough to live through another nightmare like that. Just that none of the tactics were working. You had to try something else, or at least you were planning to do so, but when you stood up to look around, suddenly something changed. You looked down at yourself where before there was your pyjamas, but now there was the exact outfit you had worn on a night out years ago before you had known Wanda and Vision had a thing going on where you had planned to confess your feelings to her but had chickened out. “Hello, Darling,” a voice called out from behind you. A voice you’d recognize anywhere. You turned around and saw her. She looked exactly as you remember, wearing that beautiful maroon dress that she had already worn that night. For a second it was like nothing had ever happened, but then reality caught up to you. This was a dream. She was dead.

Since you knew that this had to be a dream you tried to use whatever lucid dreaming tips you had heard in your life and clenched your eyes shut, repeating “This is all a Dream” again and again. “Love-” you hadn’t heard her coming closer, obviously, it was a dream no logic had to apply, but the hand that cupped your cheeks still startled you, “-please look at me.” Against all reasoning you obliged her and when you looked into her beautiful eyes you couldn’t help but want to kiss her, just to have one last sweet memory of her left. As if reading your mind she leaned forward and put her lips on yours. She pulled you towards her and stole your breath. You were melting into her and it felt so, so, very real that the fact that all of it was a dream became hazy. At least until you saw her kissing Vision in your head in what seemed to be a last-ditch attempt of your brain to make you wake up. You pulled away and shook your head frantically. “No, no, this isn’t right, you’re with vision, just because I love you doesn’t mean you love me too… Or loved me, I guess because you’re dead, I saw it-” “You’re wrong.” “-with my own eyes. You died and you didn’t love me.” “Princessa, you’re wrong,” Wanda raised her voice slightly and you turned to her automatically. “I saw you die, Wanda, you’re dead.” “That’s not the thing you’re wrong about,” she sighed and came closer to you again, you wanted to step back, but found yourself unable to. It was like your feet were cemented onto the earth below you, “I might have died, but I loved you, I always did, I just didn’t realize until I saw that woman in that parallel universe, their version of me married to their version of you, living the life I wanted, not only having my children but also the spouse of my dreams. It wasn’t vision, vision was what I thought I deserved because you were always so pure, so fantastic, too good for me. But that fake-me made me realize that it’s not about what I deserve, it’s about what you need, you need someone to properly love and protect you. You need me, so how fortunate that you love me already.” Not quite able to process what she was saying you tried your waking-up tactics again before this turned even more nightmarish. You were distracted though when Wanda took you into a dancing position, putting your head against her and your body suddenly started dancing in sync with her without any input of your own. “Too bad that Stephen was already after me, I knew that he wouldn’t let me keep you safe in peace. He was a threat. But he would stop as soon as he thought he’d been victorious. He had to think I died and so I did. For a while at least-” you would have grown stiff in shock and fear if your body had still been listening to you, instead, you kept slightly swinging through the flower field with Wanda, “-It cost me a lot of Magic, but it was worth it. I’ll recover and then I’ll be able to get you into an actual little cabin at a lake, just like we always talked about, until then I’ll still be able to be with you in your dreams, where it’s just us two. Maybe we can start on making you actually believe that I love you, hmm, once we manage that we can move on to helping you accept me as your protector, okay? For now, I’ll just keep the bad dreams away, just you and me and the sunflowers.” Your body stopped swinging and even though you felt the control returning to your limbs you wouldn’t be able to do anything, frozen in shock. Wanda kissed you one more time before you suddenly shot up in bed, drenched in cold sweat. It took you a few minutes to calm down your heart from the excessive fear that was still lingering. You decided not to go back to sleep and made a note to ask Wong if he had an idea why his spell didn’t work as you made your way into the library where you assumed Stephen was wasting the night away over books, trying to ignore the fact that you could still feel the kiss on your lip, feel the stiffness in your joints that you had only ever felt in the afterwards of Wanda controlling you and the fact that you still felt her presence in your subconscious.

[selfshippingquotes]

F/O: This weapon is bubblegum-scented so the last thing people realize before I kill them is how cute and fun I am.

[audhd-nightwing]

i don’t get ppl who think real life serial killers are attractive or cool or whatever. like those are Real People. if you wanna call a serial killer babygirl just find a fictional one

like. there’s so many fictional murderers and such that people make edits and fanart/fanfic of and it’s a billion times less problematic than doing that with Actual Real Life Killers. go draw patrick bateman in a maid dress. make some edits of (matthew lillard as) stu and william afton.

have fun with it bc at the end of the day, they are fictional characters and doing that stuff doesn’t hurt anybody. however, doing that with real life killers? that does hurt people.

basically: don’t romanticize actual serial killers when it’s so much less fucked up to just call hannibal lecter your babygirl or draw the riddler as a catboy

[duaghterofstories]

Okay everyone, you know the drill, I posted a proshipper tiktok, here are some comments and my responses.