#he's free to mangle anyone else though

[cypaira-the-skeleton]

Trick or Freak!

I know Halloween has passed, but it's still spooky week for me so enjoy this story I whipped up!

Fair warning, I really did my best to interpret one specific character that I started to like, and I must say I enjoyed writing his role as well.

Anywho, enjoy!

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T'was the night of Halloween. The streets were filled with Spooky decorations, Carved out Pumpkins, and almost an army of dressed up children going Trick or Treating with each passing house. Some where dressed as classical monsters, while others got creative; even a couple of not so scary characters roamed around. This year's spooky season was also being celebrated by a certain "Living possessed doll" with red ruby eyes, who goes by the name of Raven; Which decided to dress up as Annabelle. She roamed House by house excitedly exclaiming 'Trick or Treat!', receiving many kinds of sweets into her plastic shaped Skull bucket. Of course she wasn't alone, but was accompanied by her fathers.

Victor had dressed up as Michael Myers. Unfortunately, he spent a month or so searching for a mask that could fit him, but all of them where too small so instead of a mask he resorted to painting his face white; at least he was fortunate enough to find the jumpsuit he needed, albeit a bit sour for the lack of mask. As for Roger he decided to dress up as Freddy Krueger. Luckily for him he knew someone that possessed the iconic glove and borrowed it, his hat was taken from his own personal collection, and he coincidentally already owned a red and green striped sweater. Surprisingly enough they both got the attention for their costumes and some adults and teenagers even requested photos with them. Victor was quick to decline, but Roger took pleasure in posing in Krueger's creepy poses and malicious grins.

While walking to the next available household Raven has heard of an abandoned house, not too far from the neighborhood they're in, from a group of grown up kids. They described it as being maybe Fifthy years old, slowly falling apart, and presumably... something or someone is living in it. Upon hearing such details, Raven was pretty much eager to go visit this creepy old house. It is Halloween after all, it's the perfect occasion for the perfect month! There was only one small problem; neither of her fathers would probably allow her to go visit it. Why? Many of the reasons she presumed would be: A) It's Dangerous, B) It's probably a waste of time, C) Ghosts aren't real, and D) She doesn't need any sleepless nights over some "spooky house". She can ask, but what's the point if she knows the answer?

Now usually she never disobeys but an exception has to be made sometimes, even if it means that by the end of the night she'd probably have all the candy she collected revoked. By some strike of luck a couple of adults stopped to talk with Roger and Victor. Generally she'd be forced to wait for them to be done chatting, but instead she took the opportunity to slowly walk away, and bolt her way to the direction of the house. She just ran, not looking back once, knowing that at some point they'll notice her absence. It felt tempting to just turn back and not to worry her parents, but exploring a possibly haunted house was more intriguing! Raven kept running for maybe a minute or two, until she arrived at a dimly lit neighborhood. Not much houses were around, which made the street she's in more creepy, until at the end of the road she saw the infamous abandoned house.

The other kids were right, it really does look fifty years old and falling apart! It only begs one question: Is there really someone or something living inside? Although eager to find out, she couldn't help but shiver in fear of what could be in there. Raven was thought that Monsters and Ghouls are mostly fiction, and the real threats she's aware of are dangerous adults; but to think that some other wordly creature is actually roaming the place makes it a worthwhile experience. After gaining some courage, she roamed around the building finding for an entrance, since the rest of the house is boarded up. Thankfully she managed to find a hole on the side and crawled in.

Upon standing up from the dusty floor she was instantly met by a pitch black room. Good thing her fathers convinced her to bring a small flash light incase of an emergency. Reaching into the half filled bucket of sweets she found the flash light and turned it on, revealing a creepy, white sheet, cobweb coverd furniture of what seemed to be a living room. "Oh great, cobwebs! The last thing I want is a creepy spider crawling over to me" she sarcastically exclaimed to herself in displease of the discovery. The exploration was on. Slowly and carefully she walked around the room, discovering all sorts of forgotten items like creepy dolls and statuettes, and torn out books. The next room she stumbled upon seemed to be a kitchen. Similar as the previous one, run down and coverd in dust and webs; luckily no knives were around, but she did see a few innocent rodents!

The floor creaked with each step she took, debris floating in the air, and the sounds of rats scattering around made the experience even more ominous. A child her age would have already ran out in fear, but being used to living in the streets and forced to search for run down places for shelter, this experience wasn't as bad. Once the lower floor was scouted for good, her eyes trailed to a staircase. Pointing the flashlight upwards, a sudden chill went up her spine. Usually that's a sign of danger to her, but she blamed it on fear. The steps groaned loudly while making her way upstairs, despite that shes very light. As soon as she got off the last step, a shadow suddenly ran past to a room. Raven yelped in surprise, holding her only source of light with both hands, "Hello? Is someone there?" Her voice quiverd in fear. At this point she could feel the hair on the back of her neck stand straight, and goosebumps quickly formed as well. Something felt off.

Gaining more courage, the little girl cautiously walked to the direction of were the shadow went. She peaked inside before slowly walking in. It appears to be an old bedroom, devoid of a bed, wallpaper and nightstand, the dim light of the moon soft glowing through a somehow intact dirty window. Maybe it was just her imagination, she wondered; that's until she heard rattling coming from a closet. Her body jolted in shock, freezing as she stared at the enclosed compartment. She practically had to force herself to even move from her spot and to very carefully approach one of the closed doors. Her hand trembled as she went to grasp the handle. Just as she was about to turn it, the doors flung open, and out emerged a horrifying being roaring at her. That instantly sent Raven to the floor screaming in fear and backing away. All of a sudden, she heard laughing. A dark sinister, and sadistic laugh. She scrambled for the flashlight she dropped and pointed it at the being, revealing it's appearance.

Infront of her stood a...man? He looked human but, apart from his almost ginger coloured, long and greasy hair and humanoid shape, he looked almost like a living creepy doll. The forearms, lower legs and around his lower jaw seemed to be skinless, revealing it's fabric looking Dermis. Screws seemed to be attached to his joints, toes and fingers seemed to resemble more like claws, holes almost littered his whole body, his teeth baren with laughter were long, thin, and sharp, but what was more odd was the fact that he seemed to have two black buttons for eyes. His clothes looked tattered; light blue shorts and a faded green shirt with what seems to be a hole in his thorso.

The creepy man's laughs started to lessen as he straightened himself back, releasing a deep satisfied sigh as he composed himself, "Ahhh~ I haven't laughed this hard in such a long time!" His voice sounded deep like a man in his early thirties and a bit raspy. Raven couldn't help but just... stare. The living "doll", after turning his attention back to her, approached the little girl with a toothy grin, "And what do we have here~?" He asked with a dark, intruiged tone. It was quite a surprise for him to see a child enter this old decrepit building without turning her heels back out. He had to admit, she had the guts to even follow him. Without warning the small girl sprung back to her feet, inspecting his presence with wide eyes, "Oh...My....God.....That's so cool!"

".....Eh?" The creepy man confusedly exclaimed at the sudden enthusiasm of the red eyed girl, "That is the coolest costume I've ever seen! How did you make it? It's so creepy!" Raven said as she circled around the creepy living doll, impressed at his appearance, "Wait- what!?" Now he was truly confused; costume? Did she really think he was wearing some scary disguise? "You're not....scared of me?" He asked. Once addressed with the question, Raven replied, "I mean, you did scare me quite a lot! But I obviously know you're just wearing a costume! Who are you supposed to be though? Is it someone from the movie 'Coraline'?" The man quickly replied back, "Okay okay okay! I have no idea what you're talking about! But for your information, I, am Robert! The god of Chaos!...and you are?"

" 'Robert god of Chaos'? Never heard of that! Oh, I'm Raven! I'm dressed up as-!"

"Yea yea yea I don't really care what you're dressed as" Robert rudely interrupted, "Sooo...You think I'm...fake?" He asked as he slowly came face to face with her. Truthfully, Raven couldn't understand why he asked that, "I know you're real as in... Living! But I know monsters don't exist! I'm well aware you're an adult trying to scare me! My parents always tell me that whatever I read or see on TV isn't always real. So no, I'm not scared of you!" Raven finished off confidently.

Interesting, Robert thought; this little girl is either bold...or really stupid. The toughts in his head were quickly silenced as Raven kept awing at his appearance, "How do you manage to see through the buttons? It must be difficult! And those teeth! Wow...how did you manage to make them look so realistic?"

Let's be honest, Robert stationed himself in this rotting building just so he could maybe aquire the perfect victim, especially since it's Halloween people would think it's a costume, thus gaining confidence and trust until he attacks. So far, all of the above has actually worked! But a child? The most supposed gullible and cowardly being? He expected some silly ghost hunters or a bunch of teenagers talking to their cameras. Instead he's met with a weird looking girl with the courage of a lion, and possibly the naivety of an idiot. Although, he could use her huge interest in his appearance as an advantage. She might not be enough, but he's up for a quick snack, "I impress you that much, huh?", the creepy man aksed, to which Raven quickly agreed. "How flattering!~ You see, it sure wasn't easy to...make this up" The god of Chaos played along, "and hearing you compliment my efforts makes me truly happy!".

He crouched down to her level, getting as close as possible to her, "Say, how about a hug as a sign of my gratitude?" He offerd with a not so convincing innocent smile. At this point on, Raven's instincts started to kick in pretty hard. His behaviour had changed from sadistic, to rude, to suddenly really kind. She also noticed how close he was getting to her. His arms positioned in a supposed 'hug', but his claw like hands seemed to be in a snatching position. She didn't know this man, and she should probably find an excuse as quick as possible, "Uhh... Sorry but... I'm not really a fan of hugs". Robert could feel she's starting to avoid him, so he pushed on, "Why not? You seem like the kind to love hugs~ Just a quick one, I promise" His voice was getting more sinister than ever as he kept playing innocent, "I'll even let you take a feel at my 'costume'! Especially my teeth....~" he finished his sentence as he idly licked his fangs with his slender long tounge.

Red flags blared in her head as her fight or flight instincts starting to kick in as well. Cautiously, she started to back away, "L-look, Mister Robert, I'm not really supposed to be here! I'm supposed to be with my parents so...I think it's better if I leave". She did manage to walk away from him, but the god was faster as he blocked her path, "Leaving so soon? You've just came here! Why don't you stay over for a quick bite?". She had to leave, fast! "I'm being serious, sir! I have to go back out before my parents become more worried sick!" In the blink of an eye she was suddenly pushed to a wall right beneath the window, with Robert having a good hold of her, "Alright little kid I guess that's enough games now.." he dropped his facade as he glared down at her, "Do you know how long I've been in here waiting for some schmuck to walk right into my trap? Long enough that I was tempted to eat the rats roaming around!"

"I-I'm sorry t-to hear that but could- coud you please let me go? You're really scaring me now..." although confused at his statement, she couldn't help but fear for her wellbeing. "Ohhh~ Now you're scared? I thought you where impressed by my appearance! Did you change your mind?" And once again, he's back to his condescending behaviour.

What does this man want from her? Her mind wondered. Having to unwillingly stare at his face she now noticed the huge stitched scar around his neck and more stitches around his lower jaw, almost seeming as if he was stitched together from separate parts. A part of her desperately wanted to believe that they're fake...but they looked so real. At this point, Raven was doubting if she was even facing a human.

Being already screwed up, she decided to tempt luck one last time, and clawed at the stitches on his throat; at least in hopes of escaping. Two audible pops were heard as her fingernails grabbed onto the couple of thick strands keeping his head on his shoulders. Robert automatically recoiled as he held onto his throat and hissed in pain, "Arrgh! That hurt you little shit!". Now she's definitely done it. Why the hell did she do that?? While keeping her pressed against the wall with his left hand, Robert used his right hand to practically "sew back" the loose stitches. Thankfully no blood was spraying about, but that definitely confirmed that what she's facing, was never human. She watched as he gruesomely poked his claws into his skin and tied back the loose strands. The skin looking overly stretched, almost threating to rip apart, "You're..... you're a real monster..." Her voice barely heard while her little frame shook with immense fear.

"Well not a 'Monster' per say...." He replied with a smug grin, "But I'll definitely be the last thing you'll see~" A deep dark chuckle emerged as drool started to drip from the corners of his mouth and almost drenching Raven, "Please.... don't hurt me", her soft voice begged. "Ohh don't worry I'm not gonna hurt you..." He paused, "I'm going to eat you!". That was even worse. She looked around for any means of escape, but she was cornered. "You might be skin and bones..." He pointed out as he trailed his thumb over her collar bone and the base of her neck, " and you're probably not gonna be filling enough..." Robert kept pondering as he slightly tapped his finger like claws over his stomach, "But! You should satisfy me enough until the next idiot that comes through this place. Now before I dig into you I need to remove whatever crap is on your face. I want to taste flesh, not pigments and chemicals" he mentioned at her make up as he tore a piece of Ravens costume revealing red shoes and a pair of jeans underneath the gown, and started to roughly remove the colours off her face.

She groaned in discomfort as he wiped off her blush, lipstick and eyeliner with a very harsh manner. Once done he creepily smiled as he threw the fabric aside, keeping a good hold to the back of her head and her shoulder while drooling with anticipation "There we go. All ready~". All that Raven could do now, was stare. Her body was too frozen to react, her voice was restricted, and life started to flash before her eyes as tears slowly trailed down her cheeks, probably going to serve more as additional taste to her flesh, "You don't need to cry, little Raven, I'll make sure they'll at least be able to find your bones; unless I "accidentally" eat those too" claimed the twisted god in a narcissistic tone. That was it for the girl, her life was over. She wondered if she said ' I love you ' to her parents that morning, if she had a chance to give them a hug as well, letting them know she's glad to have them in her life. The row of yellow stained teeth parted ways as a cavernous maroon maw was revealed. Spit flowing as it drenched her even more, the slick sound of the slithering tounge was just sickening to hear, and she swore she could spot more teeth on the back of his troath. It got closer...and closer...her head almost engulfed...the tounge trailing around her face....waiting for the bite to happen....

"RAVEN WHERE ARE YOU?!"

A familiar voice suddenly pierced the eery quietness of the neighborhood, halting the living creepy mannequin mid way from his task. Hope suddenly rushed through Raven's soul, recognising the voice of one of her beloved fathers. It was Victor, and it sounded like it came right outside the house! Robert growled as he retreated from the girls skull, hissing out a curse, "Ohhh for Fuck Sake!". The little girl didn't hesitate to call for help, "Da-!", but was quickly silenced as the man's hand wrapped around her mouth, "You shut your trap!". To avoid being seen he peeked out the window as he kept a hold of Raven.

Once the absence of Raven was noticed, both fathers instantly got into panic mode. Was she abducted? Did she get lost? Did she stray away with another group of children? The options were endless, and waisted no time looking for their daughter. Minutes into the search Roger started to have an odd feeling of were Raven could be. It might have been a distance, but he could feel that 'someone' was lingering in the human world, and she was headed to 'their' direction; which now brings us to the moment Raven was temporarily spared as soon as Victor called out for her, "Are you definitely sure she's here? It's not like I'm doubting due to your blindness but..." The giant man expressed his worries to his equally worried partner, "No offense taken...I just Know she's here, and she's very close", Roger claimed with a concerned expression. While Victor took the opportunity to search on the other side of the street, Roger just stood there... evaluating his surroundings.

"What the fuck is 'he' doing here?" Robert silently aksed to himself. He looked at the blind man that he somehow seemed to know, and the blind man, stared back. Once his blue eyes met with Robert's button ones a sharp chilling feeling crawled up his spine. The sinister smile had long faded away, and was replaced to a worrying look. He instantly turned his attention to the little girl as he uncovered her mouth and tugged onto the collar of the dress, demanding some answers, "How the hell do they know you?" Although confused and still scared, she replied, "They're...M-my dads...". Her answer seemed to have stunned him, "Even the blind man?? How's that possible??". It's really odd how all of a sudden he seems to be scared, "Roger ....he...he adopted me".

"..... Fuck this!" Suddenly Robert stood up, forcing Raven onto her feet, "I am NOT in the mood to fight, or get into a quarrel, or even be punched around!" He grabbed Raven from her arm and forced her to walk downstairs, making sure he doesn't dislocated a shoulder or else there'll be consequences. Once arrived at her point of entrance, he let go, "You're right. You are absolutely not supposed to be here! So you should get the fuck out, Never come back, and if we meet again, YOU. DONT. KNOW. ME!". So many questions flodded Raven's head, but wasted no time to crawl back out from the hole and sprint to her fathers, "Ddaaaaadddd!" She yelled as she hurled herself onto Roger, almost knocking him over while simultaneously knocking the air out of him as her little frame wrapped tightly around his thorso. Victor quickly noticed as well and made his way to them, "Raven we've been looking for you all over the town!" He exclaimed with relief as he approached.

Even if she was busy crying, she looked to them both with tears just running down here face, sobbing loudly as she spoke "I'm s-sorrryyyyy *hic* I shouldn't have do-done thiissss!!". Personally, Victor wanted to hug her, at least to show he's glad she's back. As for Roger, he hasn't really said or did anything, he just let Raven cry, waiting for her to calm down. Once the cries lessened, and the girl finally decided let go; leaving Roger's sweater drenched in tears, she aksed, "Are you...*sniff*..mad at me?". Victor wasn't sure what to answer despite it being a resounding 'Yes', but Roger spoke up first, "I'm not mad.... I am beyond Livid!" His once gentle voice soon turned brash and loud, "Just what on earth did ya think ye where doin' walking off from us like that?! Do ya even realise how irresponsible of you that was?? Of all places you wanted ta be it had to be here! What if you where taken hostage or worse killed?? And what if that house decided ta crumble over? Ya would ave' been stuck under the rubble! I just can't believe you would have the guts to get yerself in danger like that! I don't care if you're just a kid, yer old enough to know what's wrong from right! And THIS was NOT Right!!".

Both Victor and Raven were left speechless. How was it possible for a man like him to be This mad? Roger huffed with exhaust for how much he yelled, and Raven was hesitating if to cry again at his sudden outburts or avoid getting him more...livid, "I said I'm sorry..." She replied with an obvious guilty tone as she avoided his eyes, " 'Sorry' won't save ya from getting in trouble, Missy!" He sternly replied with crossed arms. At this point Victor felt to intervene as he lowered himself to Roger's level and whispered, "Look Roger, I know we're both upset at her for disappearing on us, but don't you think you're being a bit too harsh right now? I mean, she came to us crying! We don't even know what happened to her!". Although he's got a point, Roger made it clear that to love, you sometimes have to be cruel, "Just because she came ta us crying doesn't excuse the fact she risked her own life. You shouldn't let tears make you too soft in situations like this". He was the one with more experience in raising a child after all, and Victor, despite having the role of a father as well, still had more to learn.

"Once we're home, you're in for Loonng lecture of why you should never walk away from us". Raven just knew this would happen; maybe not as much but still! She knows it's her fault that she risked her own safety just because curiosity took the best of her. She was almost eaten alive, and all because she thought it was a costume! Disguise or not, she should have left the moment she spotted Robert's shadow running by. "First things first..." Roger chimed in as he reached out to Raven, pulling her into an affectionate tight hug. The red eyed girl was puzzled at first, that's until her father continued with a softer tone of voice, "Don't you ever do that to us ever again. Do you understand?" He almost sounded like he was about to cry. Yes, he acted a bit harsh, but it doesn't mean he didn't love her! As crazy as it may sound, if Victor was worried, Roger was twice as much! He feared to never hear her voice again, he was scared that she'll never come back. He wouldn't have forgiven himself if they didn't show up in time! He's been with her the longest, did everything to give her a future and life she truly deserved...all his attempts would have went to waste, and his wish to be a father would be short lived.

Raven slowly hugged back, and shyly asked, "You still love me though.... right?" The blind man redirect her gaze to him as he gently pressed his forehead to hers, "Ohh you can't Even imagine how much I love you. And just because I'm upset doesn't make me hate you or love you less". It felt relieving to hear him confirm it, but she just couldn't forgive herself to worry him like that, "I truly am sorry...I mean it" she repeated. He knows she is, but further discipline will come later. He gave her a long kiss to her forehead as he shortly stood up a moment later, "Let us go home now. It's getting late". That was Victors cue to pick up Raven and give her a big hug as well as carrying her back home. While Victor walked off, Roger gave one last glare at the window, were Robert was looking through with now raised arms as if saying 'I swear I'll never attempt to hurt her again'. With his hand, Roger pointed two fingers at his blind eyes, to then pointing them to the god of Chaos, simply warning, 'I'm keeping my watch on you', and went to join the rest of his family.

Once gone, Robert rested against the wall as he finally let out a sigh of relief, "shhiittt what a night! Guess I will be forced to eat rats after all" he claimed with a grudge. He barely took four steps as he kicked something plasticy and spilled it's contents over. Looking down he realised it was the girls bucket of sweets she came in with! He kneeled down as he picked up a bar of wafer covered chocolate. He barbarically tore off the top wrapper with his teeth, and proceeded to take a bite. He slowly chewed as his taste buds received quite the new flavour that wasn't raw meat. He sat down, and proceeded to take another bite, "Eh, much better than the rodents" He shrugged to himself. Although he never got to have a new prey that night, he at least wasn't going to spend it hungry.

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Ngl it was a blast writing this story 😁, and I also did insert references to Roger being The Impossible God and obviously being aware of Robert, I just wanted to make it interesting.

Lill Robert, Roger Willington, and Victor Bellman, all belong to @horrorartist23

[senualothbrok]

Enough

Summary: You agreed to help Astarion with the Rite of Profane Ascension, but you can't watch him go through with it. You interrupt the ritual, and Astarion turns on you. Now, you must deal with the aftermath of your actions.

Word count: 3.6k

Disclaimers: Non-18+. Astarion x female Tav. Angst. Trauma and recovery. A very angry Astarion.

AO3 link

This is the first fanfic I have written for about 20 years. I should be working on my novel, but this story honestly possessed me. I hope someone out there reads and enjoys this! If not, it was therapeutic and cathartic to write it.

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You have heard it a thousand times. The tales and the histories, all the songs you have sung. You are a bard, after all, and this story is as old and worn as your heart. Power corrupts. Absolute power corrupts absolutely.

You know this, and you have seen it. You have seen it twist kind men into savages, transform wary women into beasts. Your own family had suffocated you under its clutches, leveraging your gifts and talents for ever more power and influence. Stripping you bare, squeezing out every drop they could get from you. You were their very own song bird, pushed about and paraded until your fingers were raw and throat was hoarse, to grant them entry into the best parties and social circles. But you were never enough. You never sang sweetly enough, or got large enough crowds. Not enough people knew you. You should have been prettier, more alluring. All the things they made you do, but you never did enough. It was never enough.

When you had escaped from them, you had vowed you would never be like them. You had promised yourself you would never become the thing you fought against. You would be different. Better. You would be good.

And yet.

You are standing in Cazador’s palace. Blood spatters the smooth ivory of Astarion’s skin. In the nightmarish hue of the ritual chamber, he glows a strange green. His crimson eyes are all fear and desperation.

“I can do this, but I need your help.”

In that moment, you cannot say no. If it were anyone else, you would refuse. There have been many conversations with Astarion - around the campfire, in his tent, even as you walked around the labyrinth of Cazador’s living hell. You have talked to him at length about this moment. You have listened as he has confessed guilt and need and hesitation and rage. You have been kind and patient, always careful not to criticise him, not to push back too much, not to hurt him. You have been good. He must make his own decision, you have been telling yourself. He has suffered enough.

So you open your mind to him, because he asks you to. You feel his frenzied hunger as he devours the sight of every scar on his back, as though their cruelty is now beauty. You watch his features which you have come to know so well. You have seen them in sleep, in battle, in laughter, in pain.  You have seen them shrouded and masked, bare and open. You watch now as they contort into something that you recognise from so many other faces and times. And as you watch, you can barely hear Cazador’s deafening screams, or register the way his mangled mess writhes and gushes. All you can see is Astarion’s widening smile as he carves at Cazador’s back, his eyes dilating like sinkholes.

You think it, even as he whisks away Cazador’s mutilated body like a rag doll. Even when Astarion slams the staff on the ground and everything around you blazes red as the blood of his convulsing siblings and the seven thousand spawn about to be slaughtered. Even when Gale and Karlach cry out at Astarion to stop, that this is a mistake, that the cost is too great. Even then, you think to yourself: this is what he wants. It is his choice. It is his right.

But in the scarlet haze, you are remembering. You are thinking of his trembling voice when he promised a broken husk called Sebastian, just moments ago, that he would free him. You think of the way his soft eyes glistened when he had thanked you and clasped your hand, stunned with the realisation that he was not just a thing to be used. You feel the crushing weight of Vellioth and Cazador and the decaying dungeons and centuries upon centuries of madness and terror. And you remember the tenderness with which he had looked at you, not days ago, believing the power of the ritual would keep you both safe. That he would protect you with it.

“I can feel their power flowing into me!”

You stare at him, spreadeagled, monstrous.

Something has begun to well inside you, like a cracking of ice, a convulsion of tears. In that whispering, you remember the promise you made yourself all those years ago.  And you know, from a deep and tattered place within you, that that promise is greater than your yearning for his love.

The blade springs from your hand on its own. You watch it sing through the air and hit its perfect note in Cazador’s maimed gut. Astarion and his siblings crumple to the floor. The crimson mist lifts, and in the silence you know, with the certainty of death, that you have lost him.

You say something, but you know it is meaningless. Nothing can repair the mistake you have made. You could have refused to help him when he asked. You could have reasoned with him, urged him to stop and think. You could have told him, from the start, that you could not go through with it. And now, you have kept your promise to yourself, but not to the man you love.

When he rises from his knees and turns to you, it is the face of a stranger that you see.

“I was so close. I could have had it all, but you took everything from me.”

Hatred hardens in his every word. And then, a tide of despair.

“Cazador won after all. I’ll never escape the hell he built.”

You cannot bear it. Your failure rips through you, and you want to reach out to him, to beg and plead and weep. But you just stand there.

He looks down at the staff in his hand.

“And if I can’t escape, then no one can.”

He splits the staff on his knee. It makes such a small sound as it splinters, but it echoes through you like an avalanche. It is the sound of seven thousand spawn being condemned to death. It is the sound of their eternal suffering. And it is all because of you. The horror and guilt erupts inside you.

It happens so fast after that. There is no time to think, to feel, to act. There is the glint of a dagger raised. You are knocked back, and a searing pain slices through your shoulder as you stare up at bared fangs looming over you. Your limbs are heavy with shock, and suddenly you feel a surge of heat and the great arc of Karlach’s war hammer over you. You hear Gale shout out a spell, and you watch as Astarion topples to the side, frozen except for the furious twitching of his eyes.

“Don’t!” you hear yourself shout. “Please, stop!”

Karlach and Gale rush to your side, cradling you up, fussing over your shoulder. But you do not feel it. You do not really feel anything. All you can do is look from them back to Astarion, pleading, but you are not sure what for.

---

“You can release his hold now.”

You are back at camp, and you have recovered your voice. For a long time, you could not speak. Shadowheart and Halsin tended to your arm, speaking soothing words over you. Gale and Karlach came to sit with you, their faces creased with concern. Wyll, Lae’zel and Jaheira stood at a distance, arguing in hushed voices. All the while, you stared into the distance, thinking of the hatred in Astarion’s gaze, and everything you had done to deserve it.

“I really don’t think that’s a good idea,” Gale says, frowning.  

“We can’t keep him like that forever.”

“The man turned on us. He tried to kill you.”

You look into Gale’s eyes. There is warmth there, streaked with pity.

“Can you blame him?”

Gale scoffs. “Yes, I can.” Then he pauses. His voice softens. “Well, perhaps in the circumstances, in the heat of the moment…” He shakes his head. “But he truly would have killed you, had Karlach and I not intervened. And that is inexcusable, after everything you – all of us - have been through with him. After everything you have done for him.”

Your vision blurs and stings.

“I fucked up, Gale. How could I have fucked up so royally? I should never have let him start the ritual. I should never have agreed with it. I’ve broken him. Seven thousand innocent people will die in agony because of me. Because I was…”

You are not used to burdening others with your emotions. You give and not take, even when you have nothing. When you are nothing. But now, you are afraid that you will break.

“…Because I failed.”

Without hesitation, Gale lays a hand on yours. It is a such a kind gesture that it chokes you. You have always been the one to look after others, to give them what they need. That is your role. It is what you exist for. If you cannot do that, what are you good for?

“Those things were never your responsibility, my dear friend. They were never your burdens to carry.”

“But he trusted me.”

“That does not mean that you must give him everything, or watch him destroy thousands of people and himself.”

You ball your fists. “Then I should have told him that, from the start. But I went along with it-”

“Because you love him.”

You have not spoken about this with Gale or anyone else. You know it is common knowledge that you and Astarion are entangled, but you have always wanted to hide the love you feel for him away. You have always known that whatever it was that lay between you was fragile. Astarion himself was not sure what you were.

Attachment does not come easily to you. You know that if you give people what they need, there is a chance that they will stay. But there is also a chance that they will snap their heads one day and no longer want what you have to offer. And then, they will go.

You have always tried to guard yourself against the pain of that departure. Even with Astarion.

“Many a mistake has been made for love,” Gale continues. “I understand this better than most.”

“This is a monumental fuck up,” you breathe. “Not a simple mistake.”

He arches an eyebrow. “Do you really want to start a competition about the magnitude and impact of our mistakes? Because if so, I believe that I would be a clear winner, and some others in our camp may also be worthy competitors.”

You are too weary to laugh. Too broken.

“Besides, I am sure if we knock our considerably enriched heads together, we can find a way to open those dungeons and release those prisoners. Especially with such a range of talented and well-resourced allies to draw on.”

You can see the questions taking shape in Gale’s head already. You give him a weak smile.

“You are only human, my friend. I know you try to be better than any of us, but even you are permitted to make mistakes.”

When he clasps you tightly to his chest, you let yourself rest into it. You want so badly to believe he is right, but you are not sure you can.

---

As you approach Astarion, you gesture behind you. You know the rest of them are all watching, wary and ready to strike at the faintest sign of danger. But you stand them down, and they linger at a respectful distance.

Released from Gale’s hold, Astarion hunches over slightly, like a cat backed into a corner. He knows he is outnumbered and vulnerable. He does not lunge towards you. His arms lie flat against his sides, his hands free of weapons. His fangs are hidden behind the tight line of his lips.

“What you did to me is worse than staking me. You might as well finish me off now.”

Every word is a cut. You flinch at each one, but you do not avert your gaze from his. Any gentleness, affection, and truth in those eyes is gone, locked behind blood-red walls. And in his abject contempt, you find a kind of freedom.

If he has already left, then you need not please him. If you are not enough, then it does not matter what you say. You have lost him already. He does not love you.

So you say what you wish you had said, from the moment that he showed you who he was, the moment you fell in love with him.

“The ritual would have killed you, your siblings, and seven thousand innocents.”

“Spare me,” he snarls. “You nodded and cooed at me, like you understood me, like you would help me. ‘I’m here for you, Astarion. I’ll help you Astarion. Tell me what you need and I’ll be there, Astarion.’ You fucking liar. You godsdamned hypocrite. You never understood me. You never wanted to help me.”

His fury is like a lash, but the pain is sobering. You brace yourself against it.

“I never said I would help you become Cazador, or let you kill thousands of people for power.”

“Please.” His laugh is vicious. “I told you from the start what I wanted. If you didn’t see that, then you’re blind. Delusional. A self-righteous idiot, living in a fantasy.”

“You wanted to be free, Astarion. To be safe.”

“You never wanted me to be free,” he seethes. “You liked me weak and broken, so I could come to you on my knees, and you could nod and smile and promise to fix me. Your own personal project, kept on a leash like a little puppy. Cuddly, harmless Astarion, healing from his hurts, all thanks to you. My saviour.”

Behind you, you can hear voices erupting and subsiding, a scuffle of shifting feet. You are grateful when no one interjects or rushes forward. This is for you and Astarion alone. It is your punishment to bear, and his truth to hear.

“You took all that power away from me,” he hisses. “It wasn’t your choice to make. It was my decision. You’re worse than Cazador.”

The words wound you like arrows, but you half expect them. You have called yourself worse things.

“Cazador would have just compelled me not to do the ritual. But you gave me a taste of what I wanted, then ripped it away from me. You’re the cruellest bitch I’ve ever known.”

You do not care that hot tears stream down your cheeks, and that your voice trembles. You let yourself say what needs to be said, not what you think he wants to hear.

“You’re right.” You take a step towards him. “I should never have let you do it. I went along with it, when I should have pushed back. But I wanted you to feel you always had someone on your side. Someone who understood. I wanted you to feel loved.”

His disgust does not deter you anymore.

“You think that this is all you are. You can’t see beyond it. What was done to you. What he made you do to others. But it isn’t. It never was. You were always strong. You can be more than what happened to you. You are more than what happened to you.”

“Like you?” he sneers. “A hero? Someone so chained to other people’s approval that you’re lost without a saving mission? That’s what you so desperately want to see when you look at me, isn’t it?”

“No.” You are surprised by the strength of your voice. “Only someone who won’t let thousands of people suffer just because you did.”

Jolts of anger course through him. “You have no idea what I suffered,” he growls. “No idea what I am owed. If you had the faintest idea of it, if you truly loved me, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. You would be burning the world with me.”

You have listened silently before, when he talked about this. What he deserves after two centuries of agony. His comeuppance. You did not challenge him because you were afraid. Afraid you would offend him. Terrified that he would leave.

“Look around you, Astarion,” you say now. “Look at everyone here. We have all suffered. No, none of us have suffered what you have suffered, and I am so deeply sorry for that. But Cazador is dead and no one else will have to suffer under him. And now, no one will have to suffer under an Ascended either.”

A snide sound of disbelief. “You are so full of bullshit I can hardly breathe from the stench.”

Your tadpole rages, ramming into his mind. You expect the resistance of loathing, but he does not fight. He allows you in. And for the first time, you show him. You let him see him your parents, and your pain, and everything that was done to you. You open yourself up, the masks you put on that you recognise in him, the performances you too are familiar with in the economy of survival. You show him your promise to yourself, and your choices, and the failures you carry around with you like a noose.

He glares at you after it is over, but you think there may be less hatred in his eyes than there was a moment before.

“Why did you show me that?”

It is easier, now that there is nothing to hide.

“Because if we all burned the world because of our suffering, there would be nothing left. And because you said you wanted something real.”

He seems backfooted that you mention it. His first moment of honesty. Your first moment of connection. The beginning of your love.

“This is real, Astarion.” Your gaze is a waterfall. You cannot stop it. “Real love, messy and painful, with a real person who makes mistakes and tells you things that you don’t want to hear. Someone who sees who you really are and who you can be, the worst and the best of you, and still loves you anyway.”

He steps back, his features clenched in spasm. You think of how his hands felt on your skin, cold as ice to the touch, yet warming you inside out like summer sunlight. You remember the lilt of his laughter as you traded jibes and jests under the furs of your tent on cold nights. You breathe in his scent on the air for the last time, those hints of bergamot, rosemary and brandy that you could recognise anywhere. You are already mourning their loss.

“Then I don’t want it,” he spits out. “And I don’t want you.”

And then he leaves.

---

You are alone. You are lying in a clearing a short walk away from camp. It is spring, and the smell of earth and grass hangs around you as the sun streaks through the trees above you. Your ears are drunk with birdsong.

It has been weeks since he left. You would be lying if you said you did not miss him. Sometimes you feel his absence like a presence. It haunts and stalks you, and when the darkness comes, you cling to your pillow in your tent and weep through waves of grief that surge through you like labour pains. But at other times, you find a kind of solace in your solitude. You are not shackled by a desperation for love from a man so broken he is not capable of giving it. You are not trapped by your own brokenness in this yearning, this ache to fill the holes in his heart. And this freedom is worth the pain.

When you had asked Astarion what he wanted, he had never known. And perhaps that had struck you so deeply because you had never known either. You had never truly known what you wanted, who you really were outside of what you could do for others. You thought you were only a thing to be used, a tool to fill someone else’s need, whatever that may be. You could be good at that. You needed to be good at that. If not, you were nothing.

But you are learning. Since he has left, you are learning that you are more than that. You are learning that you can live with your mistakes. That you are enough, just as you are.

You find that you sing now, even when there is no one around. Even when it is not for a performance, or for support in battle. You sing for yourself, and you take pleasure in it, even when your notes are off key and you cannot remember the right words, even when no one is there to praise you or reward you for it. For the first time, you are enjoying your gift for no other reason than that you wish to. It is a gift, and it comes without dread or shame or conditions.

You are humming softly as you stroll back to camp. Scratch greets you with a frenzied tail, and you roll around with him, kneeling as he plasters sloppy kisses all over your face. The simple joy of this dances over the cracks in your heart. When Scratch suddenly stops, you are almost disappointed. You glance in the direction where he has bounded, an ecstatic flurry of delight. Then your eyes catch on silver shining in the sun, two bright rubies on white silk. Your breath halts.

There he is. He is different, but the same. You look at each other. And in that moment, it is enough that there is no hatred in his eyes, which flicker with uncertainty. It is enough that his mouth is not curled into a sneer, and his brow is soft and even. It is enough that you have both survived. You have shown each other who you are, and you are still here.

He reaches his hand out to you, and you take it.

---

Liked this fic? You can find more of my work here.

[icarusignite]

An Eye for an Eye Masterlist

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Fem! Velaryon!OC

Summary:

Lucerys Velaryon was a coward who did not wish to die, but die he did, with all the bravery his young heart could muster.

A true dragon rider's death.

With his death, the war of ravens and envoys came to an end, and the war of fire and blood began in earnest.

Daenys Velaryon no longer knew the difference between sacrifice and self-slaughter, nor where the violence against oneself ended. A Kinslayer, a rabid dog; such creatures had no use in a world of peace. Such creatures did not deserve peace. She was a tall child with no lap to crawl into, for who would wish to hold a thing like her, shame clotting in her blood like a curdling sickness. She, with the incessant need to apologize to everyone who ever knew her, for the inconvenience she caused them by making her existence known, walking into a room and searching for an empty seat so no one had to go through the painful act of sitting with her. Velaryons were supposed to be of the sea, but she was a burning ship, a vicinity one had to always flee. If anyone deserved to extinguish themselves in a kamikaze blaze, it was her, the one who would be missed least of all, who was needed least of all when the realm finally knew peace.

Aemond Targaryen was not the same person he used to be. He couldn't possibly be, and yet a part of his very being still belonged to his wife, as it always would. Though he had been absent too long, and the graveyard of old bones and lost kin that spanned between them was far too vast, he still held onto the memory of her, cutting into what he meant to only hold. He was a hunter whose trap had mangled the wrong creature, but it was the law of the world, for a knife and a wound to seek each other out, because they spoke in a language of damage no one else did, and now he owed her a debt. 

An eye for an eye. 

A brother for a brother.

An Eye for an Eye: ao3/wattpad

Before the Sky Falls (prequel): ao3/wattpad

Aesthetics

Fanart 1

Daenys Velaryon fanart

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Epilogue

A/N: I posted this fic for the very first time here on tumblr, and now that it's almost complete (46 chapters have been posted on ao3/wp) I decided I should probably repost it on here because it has been given a complete rewrite since the first version yall saw. I will try to have all the parts posted on here eventually.

This fic has a prequel that explores Aemond&Daenys's childhood together and it is fully complete on ao3/wp.

If you wanna be added to the taglist, feel free to let me know!

Taglist:

[stnexus]

come a’ knockin’

general audience

jason todd x reader

summary: jason makes a promise you just hope he can live up to.

word count: 510+

small mentions of injury and bl**d, angst, fluff

if you had a dime for each time jason todd had shown up at your door, mangled and bloody, you’d be rich by now. even though that wealth would be one that would come with regret. seeing as you hated seeing him in such a state. his lips somewhat parted as he let out a hiss of pain, grabbing at your wrist softly to stop you from cleaning the wound on his upper thigh.

“could you try going a little easy?”

“you shoulda’ asked your sparring buddy the same thing,” you snapped slightly as you pulled away, refusing to look up at his face. you had seen a glimpse of it when he had hobbled through your front door, sitting on your couch. which, lucky for you, was black in color and hid anything that you would have to wash away for the time being. his lip was bloody and there was definitely a cut on the bridge of his nose.

it wasn’t the worst you’ve ever seen, but you were worried that one of these days would be the last time you would see him. you had already lost him once. the image of him bruised and bleeding was not something you’d want to remember him by. so as you sat on the floor between his legs, you didn’t dare to look up at him as he sat before you on the couch.

“(Y/N)? doll look at me,” he coaxed, grabbing at your wrist once more. jason was rarely ever soft with anyone, but for you? he’d do anything. his free hand drifted, trying to tilt your head up to face him. though, with a huff, you shook yourself free from his grasp yet again. the action only caused his brows to furrow in slight annoyance as he peered down, “what the hell…?”

“just…just let me finish helping you jason,” you spoke lowly. to which a lapse of silence followed; although, it was broken soon by you. a small sniffling sound flowed through room. it was so quiet it could’ve gone unnoticed by anyone else, but not jason todd. it especially couldn’t have gone ignored when he felt a drop of something that wasn’t alcohol hit his bare thigh.

his palm went to cradle the back of your head slightly. his hand was met with the intricate details of your long braids as he let his hand drift to the hair at the nape of your neck, making you look up at him once again. his position ensured you that if you tried to pull away again he’d just pull you right back.

there was no hiding the tears that fell slowly from the corners of your eyes. but he didn’t say a word as his free hand reached up to wipe them away. his lips soon meeting with yours for a lingering kiss.

his apology of sorts. and as he pulled away he let go of your hair to cup your face,

“i’ll always come back to you,” he spoke, his voice dark and laced with promise. a promise that you hope he would always live up to.

[sehtoast]

The Art of Worship (Homelander x OC Smut)

18+ | 2.6k words | Webweaver, gore, dismemberment, display of a corpse, blood, face fucking, choking, rooftop sex, p in v sex, blood as lube -- yes, you read that right, multiple orgasms, Homelander is his own warning, spidersona oc | Fic Directory

Homelander was fucking furious. 

Rage and indignance burned in his gut, igniting a flame that scorched anyone and everyone that dared cross his path or, worse yet, cross him outright. 

The only person safe from him was Benjamin.  His sweet little Benjamin. So calm and collected, patient and kind in the face of this– this slight.  This brazen fucking insult. 

Vought wanted publicity. Demanded it. Spectacles and events, mountains of money, free advertising from all the social media hype. Of course they'd want to pit their beloved Spider-Man against Webweaver, just as they'd done with A-Train and Shockwave. There was money to be made. They’d dangle his precious little spider over a lion’s jaw for a penny if the opportunity came about.  What did he expect?

They were to have a bundle of competitions, each one specially designed to determine who was the better Spider. 

Who was more fit for The Seven. 

Of course Homelander had gone nearly ballistic when he found out. 

Benjamin, though… He simply wasn’t taking it seriously.  Subject to rants and raves every morning and night as the competition neared, the bug simply always said, “It’ll be what it’ll be.”

But this couldn’t be.  Homelander wouldn’t fucking stand for it.  He didn’t believe for a second that the wall crawler would leave him were he to lose his place on the team, but to see someone else sit in his seat?  To tolerate some airheaded jackass, some cheap fucking knockoff thinking he was better in any capacity?  Absolutely not.

He wasn’t going to allow it.

He’d worked himself into a frenzy by the time he tackled his lover’s competitor out of the sky.  Completely consumed by rage, by fear and anxiety– but, more than anything, the burning need to protect.  He zips through the city, dragging Webweaver’s face across building after building, smearing pulp-like blood across the surfaces.  

“Did you really think,” he sneers, “I’d ever let someone like you into The Seven?  That I’d let you replace Spider-Man without putting my fucking foot down?”

He can hear the whimpering.  There’s still time to play, he decides, as he lands upon a skyscraper with two antenna towers that would be just perfect for what he had in mind.

He drags Webweaver’s limp form between the two, fiddling about with his hands and wrists to figure out how to fire his webs.

Imagine his surprise when it turns out to be a mechanism rather than the organic method by which Ben produces them.  No bodily-intent needed to make sure the webbing’s consistency and tension would be just right.

With a roll of his eyes, Homelander begins to craft his masterpiece.  He’s seen his little spider do this tons of times; so, really, how hard could it be?  He works, eventually deciding it’s far more convenient to remove Webweaver’s arm than to lug his dead weight around.

Once it’s perfect, he has his fun.  Picks him apart piece by painful piece, starting at the legs.  Webweaver is in and out of consciousness as Homelander dismembers him, but what fucking fun it was to see the look of horror on the face of the thorn in his side when he snapped that first length of bone and ripped his flesh clean off.  

“Like picking the legs off a bug,” he mocks.

Homelander mounts each limb in the web, creating a work of art piece by piece, topping it all off with a dripping, mangled, decapitated head.  He doesn’t even bother pulling the mask off– it’s shredded perfectly.  In his satisfaction of a job well done, he can’t help but feel his work of art is enough to rival Da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man.  Surely, after this, he’s an artist in his own right.

When he arrives home to find his Benjamin waiting on the couch, he has to stop the bug from attempting to drag him into the shower.

“It’s a surprise,” he tells Ben when the origin of the viscera is questioned.  “C’mon, I made you something!”

The look of abject horror on Ben’s face when they land on the rooftop tickles a mote of fear in his gut.  He’d done this just for his little spider.  Declared him the victor before the competitions could even begin.  Painted the city red just for him.

“D’you like it?”  He asks, the mixture of excitement and anxiety stirring in his gut.  “I did it for you.”

Ben’s chest rises and falls with each heavy breath.  He plucks at one of the tight strands of webbing, listening to the twanging vibration as he takes it all in.

At first he’s scared.  It’s like seeing an alternate version of himself in that web.  If things were different, would Homelander have done this to him?  He doubts it, but… somehow, some way, it stirs something in his core.

Homelander had killed– no, slaughtered a man for him.  It wasn’t even the first time John had killed for him, but this..?  This was something else entirely.  This was more than protection, more than retaliation.

It looked like a fucking offering to a beloved god from their most devout follower.  The care and creativity that had gone into it… Benjamin would be a liar if he said there wasn’t something alluring about the fact Homelander had done this.

In fact, the more he thought about it, the more his horror was replaced with something else entirely.  Something wicked.

He turns to Homelander, who stands there looking like a kicked puppy.  Ben had spent too long in thought, and his poor, darling Johnny began to feel rejected.

“John?”  He whispers, drawing his blood drenched lover’s gaze away from the ground.  “You did all this… for me?”

With big, blue, scared eyes, Homelander nods.

It’s as if Ben’s body moves on its own.  Each step forward barely registers, the hands rising to Homelander’s face are numb to sensation, cupping his cheeks as if they had a mind of their own.  Before he can even realize, Ben is leaning in to take Homelander in a searing kiss, gasping and breathing in lungfuls of the iron-laced air and each of John’s little breaths.

He can taste the blood on Homelander’s lips, and something sinister rears its head inside.

“You,” he gasps between kisses, tongue laving into John’s mouth for more, “are so…”

He backs Homelander up against one of the antenna towers, taking a fistful of his suit, other hand gripping his red-stained undercut to angle him deeper into the kiss.

“So fucking hot,” he breathes as they separate.  

A sick grin spreads across Homelander’s blood splattered face.  That swell of pride bubbles within him once more, particularly when he sees just how bloody his little spider’s lips had become from their kiss.  More than pride though, he feels himself twitch in his pants.

Benjamin looks gorgeous covered in that worthless fuck's blood.

He grips him by the jaw, pulling the web-head back in for another kiss, slipping his tongue between his lips.  Homelander takes him fiercely, overcome with a deep, desperate hunger that demands appreciation for his work of art.  

How goddamn thrilling to not hear a single complaint as he tore the t-shirt clean off Benjamin’s body.  He spins the bug, pressing his bare skin to the cold metal, relishing the opportunity to be had in his gasp.

He takes control. 

“Mine,” Homelander growls as he marks Benjamin with more blood.  He extends a hand, catching a few dribbles from the stray limbs above, moving back to claim his territory.

With a red right hand, he paints his name over Ben’s chest in big, bold letters.  The crimson blends with the leather of his glove, appearing as if his very essence was what smeared onto his little love bug.  He finishes it off with a bloody grip at Benjamin’s neck, leaving behind a perfect print.

“So, you like my handy-work, huh?” He smirks, trailing the tip of his nose up the corner of Ben’s jaw.  Homelander hears him gulp in response, feels those hands grasp at his forearms, and all he fucking wants is to put him on his knees and mmm… 

He has such delicious ideas in mind.

“Maybe you should show me how much you like it.”

The glint of excitement in Ben’s eyes doesn’t go unnoticed before the web-head is falling to his knees, just like he wanted.  What a fucking sight he was to behold, too.  The way he nuzzled against Homelander’s clothed cock before undoing his belt.  He mouths over it and, despite barely being able to feel it through the fabric and cup, John’s entire lower region twitches in excitement.

He sighs in relief when his cock meets the cool night time air, engulfed in heat near immediately as Benjamin swallows his length.  Throat training the boy had been the best decision in the world, truly.

“Ohhh…” Homelander leans his head back, stained hands threading through those unruly chestnut locks.  “That’s it– fuckin’ take it.”

John grinds into Ben’s mouth, burying himself deep and staying there until that hot, needy throat clamps down around his cock in a gag.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he tuts.  “Hold it.”  He hears the sound of Benjamin sputtering below.  Homelander looks down with a grin.  “Thaaaaat’s it, keep it in there.  Atta’boy, Benny.  My little spider– mine!”  Homelander pulls out to the tip, watching his precious Benjamin choke and gasp, grinning wickedly at the threads of saliva still connecting them.

He tips Ben’s head back to gaze up at him.

“I’m going to fuck that pretty mouth of yours, and you’re gonna behave yourself.”  He orders.  In the background, faint drips of blood can be heard splattering against the ground.  “Show me just how grateful you are that I saved your bacon, babe.”

Ben nods obediently before swallowing him once more.  Homelander swears he sees stars once that tongue swipes his tip, and galaxies as he sinks further inside.  He begins to thrust, hand directing Ben’s head with each motion to maximize his bliss.  

He really likes the sound his little spider makes every time the head of his cock beats the back of his throat.

“Fuckin’ whore,” he chuckles through his teeth.  “You couldn’t wait to suck my dick when you saw what I did for you– I just know it. You wanted to thank me so bad!”  

Homelander pushes in until Ben’s lips are wrapped around the base of his cock.  He holds there for a moment before setting a faster pace, thrusting blissfully into that hot, wet mouth that was just so perfect for him. 

“You wanted to get on your knees the second you saw it,” he continues. “You know I deserve this for protecting you. Fuck… suck that cock, baby.” 

He tilts the bug’s head back to rest against the metal frame, admiring the tears painting his cheeks and those gorgeous swollen lips.  When the hands gripping his thighs clench, he pats Ben’s cheek sweetly.

No, he thinks to himself. This is my masterpiece.

He gives his little spider ample opportunity to breathe once more as he pulls out, gripping his cock to smear spit and precum across his lovely little Benjamin’s face.  

Van Gogh only wishes his brushes stroked such beautiful swirls.

When that tongue juts out to beg for more, John wastes no time at all in burying himself all the way in one smooth motion.  This time, though, he leans down to grasp Ben's neck.  With a light squeeze, he’s overwhelming even himself– and yet he still fucks into that impossibly tight heat.

Ben’s eyes water even more, and he grips Homelander’s thighs with all of his might as he fights his gag reflex.  He can’t breathe, he can’t speak, and the hand squeezing his throat is pressing perfectly against his carotid arteries. 

His vision swims into blackness.  

Over the deafening thrums of his own heartbeat, Ben hears Homelander cry out his release, feels him thrust forward impossibly closer, pushing his head back against the metal frame with each motion.

“Good boy, good– ah!  Good fucking boy!”

He’s buried too deep to spare even a taste of come in Benjamin’s mouth, and the bug fights to not pass the fuck out from lack of oxygen.  By the time Homelander pulls out, Ben's almost confident he’s turned at least a few shades of purple if his desperate, heaving gulps of air were anything to go by.  He slumps onto his side before rolling onto his back, uncaring that he now lays in a puddle of his rival’s blood.

The sky is clear and the moon smiles back at him, but there’s no time to bask in it when his jeans and underwear are being dragged off his body by his voracious lover. 

Homelander spreads Ben’s legs with little patience before plunging into his cunt, groaning through clenched teeth as the soft, velvety walls practically pull him in.  Beneath him, Ben whines and squirms.

“Too mu– w-wait a sec!”

But he doesn’t care.  Not when that heat beckons him forth all the more and consumes him whole.  He ruts without care, fucking into his little spider like an animal.  Fuck, maybe that’s exactly what he was, all bloodstained, fangs bared, eyes swirling red in his frenzy.  Each snap of his hips caused them to slide around in the slick remains of Benjamin’s foe.

His little spider looked so fucking perfect in a halo of vengeance.

“Mine,” Homelander snarls, nails biting into the softness of Benjamin’s hips.  Below, his little spider whines and keens, eyes rolling back despite all of his attempts to steady his vision.  His pussy lips are parted like flower petals, and thrusts at just the right angle cause his swollen bud to slide against Homelander’s cock.  The more Benjamin writhes, the more blood stains his body.

He’s a sight to behold, especially once one of his slicked hands reaches between them to slide over the base of Homelander's cock.  Each stroke drags a little more of the thick liquid from his fingers and each glide of his cock becomes smoother until Homelander realizes just what his little love bug had done.

Benjamin used the fucking blood as lube.

A thought that, as soon as it fully manifested in Homelander’s mind, had him thrusting harsh and deep before spilling his load inside his lovely little Benjamin.

“Fuck–” he mewls, rutting through the waves, cock twitching with every little spurt.  “Oh fuck, fuck, fuck… You little fucking slut!”

Ben had hardly realized what he’d done.  In truth, he just wanted something to ease the friction.  Wet as he’d been, he just needed more– and, without that godsent bottle of lube usually within arm’s reach at home, he had to take what he could get.

By the time Ben opens his eyes, Homelander is engulfing him in a kiss that is far more tongue than lips, and he’s only able to whine once he feels his love start moving again.  This time, though, John is a little slower, a little more gentle.  Enough that Ben found himself falling over the edge of bliss without fear of being fucked through the roof.  As he came apart, so did Homelander.

Again, and again, and again. Each round requiring more and more of the crimson liquid to keep things comfortable.  

By the time they finished, the rooftop had dried and the corpse no longer dripped.  Both Ben’s clothes and John’s suit were completely ruined, but a naked journey home is much less humiliating when the sky is the path taken.  They looked like a scene straight out of a horror movie, drenched from head to toe in dried blood.

Homelander holds Benjamin tight in the shower.  Trails his fingertips over the bruises on his throat, on his hips and legs.  He wants to apologize, but he earned this.

Instead, he kisses him– softly, this time.

“I’m never letting you go.” He states firmly, as if that’s all the explanation he needs to give for everything he has or ever will do.  “I’m never fucking letting you go.”

Benjamin, on wobbly legs, leans his weight against his beloved Johnny.

“I love you, too.”

[ask-fazbearnfriends]

WELCOME!!! (NEW PINNED)

Welcome to Ask Fazbear 'n friends! A FNAF Ask account ran by a rando who is nostalgic for the early fnaf nonsense-furry era!!!!! Account originated on Deviantart in 2019. CLICK HERE TO READ ALL THE ASKS IN ORDER (or here if you just wanna see the new (not DA) ones) CLICK HERE TO SEND A SUPER FRIENDLY UNSUSPICIOUS ASK!!!

No instructions needed, but if you're unfamiliar with ask accounts, just click the button and send in anything you want to say or ask or dare the characters! Can be LITCHERALLY anythang.* I try to get to as many asks as I can, but feel free to send in multiple asks, or even re-send the same ask if I don't get to it after a while! (give me a week at least though.) *(ok i say anything but nothing NSFW)

As for the characters, we accept questions to ALL canonical fnaf characters! There are some that we haven't gotten to yet, but that doesn't mean you aren't able to! This ask account is also story-interactive, so you can sway the direction it goes in just by engaging! The right question can give the right answer. good luck. (Below for disclaimers + etc)

Some disclaimers (as previously stated.) I started this ask account originally when I was about 16 and drew a LOT for it in 2019-2020 specifically. Because of this, there are some things that are either silly or may come across incorrectly. Here are sum clearer-ups: (Only specifying because I used to get dumb questions on DA a lot from people who ignore the possibility of context) -I don't ship william afton x mangle/mangle's "kid/dog soul". I ship springtrap (the furry animatronic) with Mangle (the furry animatronic). No soul business involved in that context. Theyre just two angsty furries thats it. think tony crynight. -I USED to ship Vanny x William Afton. I started this account before security breach came out and revealed the two to be father and daughter and I didn't think it was possible bc William was a dead corpse for longer than however old vanessa looked. My version of vanny (like everyone elses at the time) was nothing at all like canon vanny anyway, so I consider her more of an OC than of the character Vanessa. I'll likely try to bring back the "Vanny oc" character, her current changed name is Penny until I decide what else to do with her. Any asks to Vanny/Vanessa will go to the canon version of her -I had a whole ask arc about characters wearing "femboy clothing". and have had drawn responses implying suggestive/sexual things. It was always just a joke to me but I think the lengths I went were a little uncomfortable for me to be drawing as a teen and posting to a large audience. I want my content to be appropriate for anyone to enjoy so consider that type of humor incredibly toned down now. All of the characters are physically asexual bc they are robots made for kids.

Also genders of the "unconfirmed" characters in my au just cause I assume thats faq Shadow Bonnie: Agender. no gender. slime creature. accepts he/they/she Mangle: girl. she/her pls <3 Funtime Foxy: boy, but is fine with she as well as he. Marionette: ghost. they/them most accurate (but she/he dgaf) Golden Freddy: Boy. he/him. He's fredbear. (admittedly his design was originally female though I barely changed it) Spring Bonnie/Springtrap: Boy, He/him. Spring Bonnie/Scraptrap: Boy He/him (As William Afton (most of the time)) Girl she/her (As Spring Bonnie/her original self)

[litrumi]

(Main Story FINALE Spoilers) "A Drop of Light in the Night"

*(Note: These are VAGUE, ambiguous spoilers for my fanfic. But I couldn't stop thinking about it, so I absolutely just needed to write this down. Even if they might not be part of the final product, which is an EON from now. Only time will tell.)*

Any of these tracks fit: Machine in the Wall (Mausoleum) or Innocence Mangled (Depths)

Italics = Inner thoughts "Quotes" = Talking aloud

Enjoy!

--

Even though we walk on and on, it almost feels like no progress is being made whatsoever.

I just can't shake the feeling we're in another one of those instances...

But the pup behind me doesn't seem all that worried.

"You're not even a little scared?" I ask as we keep going down the dark, cramped, and rocky path.

I hear a small chuckle from him. "We've gone through how many whacky and dangerous adventures now?" He replies. "Besides, we've known about this place for almost a year by this point. I'm surprised this is the first time we're exploring it."

"Only because that research-obsessed elephant wants to know what's down here..." I sigh. "Why didn't he tag along?"

"You could've asked that same question about literally every other time," the dog tells me with a sheepish grin. "Does this place really make you that anxious? It's not nearly as crazy as everything else. And we haven't even heard about a single thing happening around here until now."

"I just have a very intense sort of bad feeling about this place..." I admit, focusing on keeping Dogday's hand held in my own as we venture further, with me taking the lead.

And even though I look at these cave walls, no matter how they all look the same and formed as one would expect the innards of a rocky formation to be, some of these spots give off a familiarity to them.

"Well, when we get back, maybe we can just tell Bubba that we don't wanna go exploring anymore," Dogday suggests. "We'll make this our last expedition, if you want," He smiles at me. Then he looks at a pocket watch he holds in his hand. He examines it, and tilts his head when he notices something funny. "That's weird..."

"Hm?" I sound out, stopping us in our tracks and turning myself to look at him. "What've you got there, Pup?"

"Oh, didn't you hear that last part of the page he found?" He asks me directly.

I muse on the thought. "All I remember was him saying that the page hinted at 'letting reality guide us to our destiny' or something like that," I explain.

"Well, he also said something about wanting to know how long we've been in here once we got started, so I borrowed this from him before we left," he looks back at the watch, shaking it a bit. "But maybe this thing is just broken... I swear it's gotta have been at least thirty minutes by now."

"Let me see," I say, as he then gives the pocket watch over to me. Holding it in my other free hand, I look at it closely.

The canine rubs the back of his head with his other hand. "It's at the same time from when I checked, you know, as soon as we started walking around," he says.

But even as I look at the watch, I notice that not a single hand is moving. Not even the hand representing "seconds passing."

Then, my eyes widen.

Oh no...

Frantically, I look around us.

"Huh? What is it?" Dogday curiously asks.

With so many sudden and worrying thoughts running through my head...

This just can't be. This doesn't make any sense.

I don't see anything or anyone out of the ordinary, but I tense up because the atmosphere now feels so much more sinister than before.

I don't like this.

I really don't like any of this...

"Catnap, what's wrong?" He wants to know what I'm thinking.

It is another one of those times...

Where time means nothing.

"Dogday," I look at him instantly.

"W- What is it, Kitty?" He looks at me with a little concern.

"No matter what," I begin, my body shaking a little. "Stay close to me and don't let go of my hand. Never let go," I plead.

"Huh?" His eyes widen a little.

"And please, please promise me," I gulp, feeling a lump in my throat. "Promise me... that you'll watch your back."

"What?" He seems unsure yet saddened. His own brain is trying to comprehend my fluctuation in emotions. "Don't you mean 'our' backs?"

I shake my head vigorously. "No," I tell him. "No matter what, please, watch YOUR back."

He doesn't understand. He seems more perplexed and worried than anything else. We stand in silence as he tries to process my request.

But I mean exactly what I said.

And even though he would usually try to lighten the mood and calm the tension, I could tell he knew exactly what I was feeling. He could sense just how deathly terrified and serious I was.

"..." He blinks, looking at the ground only for a moment before letting our eyes meet again. "...G- Got it..." He nods.

I grip his hand even tighter in my own. "...Good," I nod in return, believing he understands the situation better.

Without another word, we press on. But now everything just feels heavier. And it's a mess we no longer can just leave behind so easily.

Please... I'm begging whoever's out there... If there's really anyone at all...

I hope and pray, marching on into the darkness with the one I care about most.

...Just let us get out of this, together, in one piece.

That's all I ask.

--

Anything's subject to change when I get to this point in the story. Just thought I'd leave that out there. I definitely wanna give this portion the vibe of "This is it, it's almost the end... There's just one last thing to do."

And all that. Yup! That's it! Take care~

[theoddcatlady]

There’s a Seam in Everything

Seven years ago I met the girl who could find the seams.

“You’ve got to see what Dani can do.”  

I let myself be dragged across the park, passed the swings and to the big oak tree, where a girl with long black hair sat with a pile of books beside her. She looked up at the small crowd of fellow children surrounding her, sighed, and set down her book.

“Can I help you?”  

My best friend at the time, Jacob, beamed and plopped a stuffed bear on her lap. “Do the thing! Luca hasn’t seen you do it yet!” He said.  

Dani looked at me and my gaze immediately went to my shoes. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” I murmured, feeling embarrassed about all the fuss my friend was causing.

Jacob scoffed and crossed his arms. “You don’t even know what she does yet! Come on Dani, show him!”

“I don’t mind showing you,” She said before picking up the bear. She brushed her fingers against its face and she smiled before she took her middle finger and ran it from the top of its head to its tummy. Like she’d taken a sharp knife to it, the bear split open, revealing white stuffing and the red heart that had been stuffed in there when Jacob got it. She lifted it up to show it to all of us, before plopping it back on her lap and running her finger along the tear. When she pulled her hand away, the bear was whole again, like she’d never ripped it open.  

Jacob scooped the bear back up and turned to me. “Cool, right?” He asked.

I shrugged. “I dunno. I guess?” I said, knowing I probably looked less that convinced.

Dani smiled then and got to her feet. “Okay. What do you want to see the inside of?” She asked.  

I glanced around the playground before pointing to the swing set. “That. Can you cut that with your finger?” I asked. I might’ve only been a kid, but I was definitely not convinced by just cloth.  

Dani nodded and walked over, the crowd of kids following her in awe. She patted the chain of the pink swing before her finger sliced right through one of the links. The chain came free and then she proceeded to slice open the plastic of the seat. She picked up the mangled swing, spinning around to show how it really wasn’t attached at all, before she reattached it. All with the touch of her finger.

Now that convinced me. I probably looked like an idiot, just standing there with my jaw dropped while everyone else just clapped. “How do you do that?” I asked in wonder.

Dani shuffled her feet, a small smile on her lips. “Everything has a seam I can pop open. I can do it to anything,” She admitted.  

I dug through my pockets and managed to pull out my 3DS. “Can you open this up?” I asked.

For the rest of the afternoon, Dani demonstrated her unique and bizarre powers to us. She did open up my 3DS, showing off all the electronics inside, and once she fixed it back up it booted up just like nothing had happened. She opened up a Rubix Cube, part of a branch, the monkey bars, whatever we asked she would demonstrate. Only if no adults were close though, one of the other kids suggested she open up one of the cars in the parking lot and she refused.  

One by one we all went home for dinner until it was just me and Dani. I was pretty awkward at that age, so we just stood in silence for an uncomfortably long time before I finally piped up with the question on my mind:

“What do you want to open up?”  

She stared at me in surprise for a bit before she shrugged. “I… I don’t know. I don’t really do it for myself anymore. I just do it so everyone else likes me,” She said.  

I plopped down on the ground and pulled out my 3DS. “I don’t have to be home for a while longer, my parents are working late. Want to play some games with me?” I asked.

I don’t think anyone really asked Dani to do something with them before that didn’t involve her cutting some random object open. But she slowly nodded and sat beside me, and until it got dark we played games. I probably would’ve stayed out longer if the red light signifying red battery didn’t start glaring at us.  

“I’ll come back and play with you tomorrow, okay?” I said, sticking it in my pocket.

Dani was grinning from ear to ear, her smile filled with joy. “I’d really like that, Luca,” She said.

That summer I spent a lot of time in the park. Of course it was fun watching Dani cut open whatever object we brought her, but it was more fun just…. Talking with her. She was a really nice girl, after all, just quiet. There were several times I’d be playing my 3DS while she’d watch and she’d end up falling asleep on my shoulder. She told me most nights she spent wandering around her home rather than sleeping. She never slept well.

Then one day I came to the park while it was raining. I had the stomach ache of a lifetime but I wanted to see Dani. And she was there, as always. The rain was more of a mist in the air rather than a downpour, but I was more than glad to take a seat under the tree.  

Dani, of course, immediately picked up that something was off. “What’s wrong? You don’t look so good,” She asked, pulling her knees up to her chest.

“Stomach ache. Mom said there’s a flu going around, so don’t get too close,” I said.

“What, or you’ll barf all over me?” Dani giggled before something clicked in that head of hers. “… Luca, you know when you asked me earlier this summer what I’d really want to open the seam of?”  

I nodded.

“I lied… I… Kinda want…” She blushed a little and murmured the next sentence so quietly I could barely make it out.

“I kinda wanna see if a person has a seam.”

I responded by wiggling out of my t-shirt. “Sure! Maybe you can see what’s wrong with my stomach!” I said. I know, what kind of dumb ass move is that, but I was a kid and what kid isn’t a little curious about what goes on inside them?

Dani clearly didn’t expect my enthusiastic consent, but she did a little dance in place before glancing around. “No one else is out here, but let’s go behind the bushes. Just in case,” She said.

Excitement brimming between the two of us, we hid behind the bushes as I laid down on the ground, staring up at the gray sky. It was peaceful back here. “Okay, just start checking,” I said.

Dani knelt above me and her cold fingers ran over my chest. I tried not to squirm since I was so ticklish. For several quiet seconds I just laid there, wondering when she’d start. “You can start whenever,” I said, thinking she was losing courage.

“I’ve already started…”

I glanced down and sure enough, she had. I hadn’t felt a thing but my skin over my torso had been opened right up, cut down from the top of my sternum to below my belly button. Skin, muscle and ribs were just pulled open and to the sides so Dani could dig around in my guts. She slit open my stomach and I saw remnants of digested food, the pancakes I’d had for breakfast. She sealed that back up quickly so nothing was disturbed as she proceeded to run her fingers through my intestines.

“That’s so cool,” I whispered, afraid if someone caught us now the little spell she had over me would be broken. “I’m not even bleeding.”  

It was true, there was not a single blood drop lost. Nothing seemed desperate to pop out of me either. It was just… there. I could see my heart beating, my lungs inflating and deflating with each level breath. I should’ve been afraid, but I wasn’t. I was just fascinated to see what was going on inside of my body.

“There’s something wrong.”  

Dani scowled as she continued to prod and then I felt a bit of hot pain. “Careful!” I hissed.

“Sorry! I don’t really know how, but I think something’s really wrong in here. Hold still, I’m putting you back together.”  

I stayed still as she finished zipping up my chest. I sat up and poked at my chest as if I expected my seam to burst open and everything to come spilling out all at once. “What do you mean, something’s wrong?”  

Dani shrugged. “I don’t know. I really don’t. I just looked around in there and something doesn’t feel right to me. Go talk to your mom, I think she needs to take you to the doctor. Did you really not feel anything? When I cut your seam?”  

I shook my head and got to my feet, grimacing as that pain from my gut flared up. “Not a thing. You’re awesome, Dani. I’m gonna go home now though,” I said.

“Please hurry.”

I went home and somehow managed to nag my mom long enough into taking me to the doctor’s office about my stomach ache. Course, I’m sure you guessed by now it wasn’t just a stomach ache. Appendicitis. Luckily it was all taken out before anything bad happened, but I was bedridden for two weeks.

When I was finally well enough to play, I couldn’t find Dani at the park. Asking around revealed she hadn’t been back since that rainy day.  

She was gone. And she didn’t come back into my life until the beginning of this school year.  

I barely recognized her at first. I’m not really a tall guy, but even compared to your average guy Dani was practically a tree. She cut her hair short and she’d grown up, but I saw her face and I knew.

“Dani!”  

I ran up to her and nearly plowed her over in my eagerness to get to her. Dani nearly jumped out of her skin as she looked down at me, then she realized who I was. “Luca? Is that you?” She asked.

I nodded eagerly, probably looking like an idiot. “Yes! Oh my god, Dani, you’re tall!” I said.

When she smiled, I felt like I was a kid in the park, all over again. “… And you’re still Luca. I’m so glad… I’m so glad to see you,” She said before giving me a quick hug. “Do you have lunch next period? We can talk then, catch up?”

I barely touched my food because I was just too excited to talk to Dani. She was on the girl’s basketball team, was already saving up money for college in a few years. She wanted to be a vet. Meanwhile all I did was join the school’s anime club and still have no idea what I want to do for a living, but she still listened.

We didn’t talk about seams. It was a silent agreement between us not to. I knew it happened, it wasn’t something I made up. But the seams were something from childhood. We didn’t need to open them up again… well, we didn’t. Until Dani was hit by a car and left to die by the side of the road.  

I only heard about it the following morning, one of her team members actually tracked me down to tell me. Apparently I was the only person outside of the team that was really friends with her. Dani always worked late, and while she was walking home some drunk joyriders plowed her over. She was found hours later, somehow still alive, and taken to the hospital.  

Several bones including both legs and one arm were broken. Ribs cracked. She was concussed and she lost a lot of blood. She’d be okay in the end, but there was a lot of recovery ahead of her.

I nearly cried the first time I visited her in the hospital. Gratefully she was sleeping at the time so she didn’t hear me sniffling, but I left her a card. It was sitting in her lap when I visited her the next day, and she was awake. But along with her body, her heart had been broken too.  

“… I’m never going to play basketball again.”

“Don’t say that,” I tried to soothe her.

Dani snorted. “Even if I can walk again, I’ll never walk without a limp. And running will be flat out. It’s not a big deal.” The way she shuddered when she said ‘not a big deal’ gave away quickly that it was, in fact, a big deal.

I held her hand and she squeezed her eyes tight as she struggled not to cry. “I don’t know… what to do. They have no fucking idea who hit me, I just know it was a black truck. That’s all. They ruined my life, and they’re not even going to pay for it,” She said.  

“… Dani, do you remember the seams?”  

Dani jolted like I’d hit her with a bolt of electricity. “What about seams?” She asked cautiously.

I pulled up my shirt to show off my appendectomy scar. “You were right that day. About what was wrong. I might be dead by now if you didn’t find my seam and look inside. I remember them, but do you?”  

“I’ve never forgotten.” Her good hand stroked mine and I watched as the skin split over the back of my hand. Another touch and it sealed right back up, good as new. “It’s… it’s why I want to be a vet. You know how animals I could save with my gift?

“That’s amazing,” I said, flexing my hand. “That day in the park. You didn’t come back after that.”

Dani nodded. “I… I scared myself a bit, after I cut you open. And when you didn’t come back the next day I started having nightmares that your chest exploded and all your organs slid out of you. I couldn’t want to go to the park if you weren’t there, anyway.” Her brow furrowed. “Why are you bringing this up now? I can’t heal myself, I can only close a seam I opened.”

I swallowed before leaning in close and lowering my voice. “… Does opening a seam have to be painless?” I asked.

It took a second for Dani to get it, but she shook her head. “It can hurt as much as I want it to,” She said, her gaze turning cold.

“Then leave the rest to me. You work on getting better, and I promise I’m going to find out who did this to you.”

It did take months to track them down. But I got help- the girl’s basketball team. They want to help Dani, and all I said was I was going to get her justice. They put their feelers out, and we got something.  

Cory. I never really knew Cory, he ran in a different crowd. But he had a black truck, drunk like a fiend, and rumor had it he bragged to a few close friends that he ‘ran over that goth bitch’. AKA my friend, Dani.  

My first initial instinct was to just go up and punch him in the face, but I knew that wouldn’t work. I’d just get expelled. So I did the next best thing. I knew Cory was a shitty student, and we take the same bus to school. I waited until I heard him bitching about struggling with last night’s math homework, and then I turned around.

“Hey man, if you need a bit of help, I can double check your work. Fill in all the right answers if you missed any.”

He looked baffled but handed me the paper. I did my best not to cringe at how god awful his handwriting was, but I corrected his work and handed it back just as we got to school.  

The next day Cory slung his arm around my shoulders and said, “Pal, buddy, I got a hundred percent on that last assignment. I think this is the start of something beautiful.” 

I smiled back at him. “I think it is,” I replied.

So yes, for the last month I became Cory’s personal slave. I finished his homework and in return he was somewhat nice to me. He also blabbed, a lot, and it was so hard not to just wreck his face when he told me about the night he ran over ‘the goth’.

But I just thought of Dani in physical therapy, doing her damn best to walk again, and I just smiled and laughed.  

I got the names of the two other guys in his car, his closest friends Jay and Thomas. I waited. The waiting was the hardest part, and I’m pretty sure my own grades slid a bit while I was doing both Cory’s homework and my own. But it was all worth it for tonight.  

Because tonight Cory and his friends were at a party, and I swung by at around midnight to see them stumbling out of the house, laughing their drunk asses off. I rolled down my window and called out their names, offering them a ride. They’d no doubt get pulled over in their condition, and hey, I had some more booze in my car. They could keep the party going in the back seat.  

Me, I was just the ass kissing nerd that had been doing Cory’s homework for the past month. They never even considered that I drugged the beers I so happily handed to them in the backseat. One by one they passed out, and I went onto phase three of my plan.  

I’d planned ahead. I’d let three members of the basketball team know that the kind of justice I was looking for wasn’t by getting them arrested and have them serve a nothing sentence while Dani was going to struggle for so much longer with the injuries they gave her. I knew these three would go with it.

They’d set up the perfect place. A basement in an abandoned building. I was impressed by how much effort they put into it, plastic was rolled over the floor and part of the walls, there was a pile of zip ties and three chairs set up in the center of the room. The hard part was dragging their unconscious asses down there, by the time I got the last one down there I was sweating like a pig.  

But oh, it was all worth it when I brought Dani there and she saw all three of them, tied up and just starting to stir.

She softly gasped as she looked between them. “And you’re sure these are the guys?” She asked quietly.

I nodded and gestured to them. “Do whatever you want,” I said.  

Dani grinned ear to ear before she walked up to them. Cory was the first to really come to, his eyes fluttering and he groaned before saying, “How much did I drink last night?”  

“Too much,” Dani chirped, pacing back and forth in front of her prey.

That woke him right up. Cory’s head shot up and all the blood rushed out of his face as he recognized the girl in front of him, still walking with a crutch to support herself. He of course, immediately tried to play dumb. “Do I know you? Cuz I’ve dated a lot of girls so I can’t really keep track of them-”

Dani slugged him across the face. “I’m the girl you ran over with your truck,” She said, still smiling.

Jay and Thomas had woken up from their beauty sleep by this time, Cory spat out a mouthful of blood before looking up and smirking at Dani. “Sorry, don’t remember you,” He said, smugness oozing out of the creep.

Dani circled around the trio of hungover morons, watching how Jay flinched every time he heard the sound of her crutch hitting the ground. “I think he remembers,” She hummed before she paused in front of Jay.

Jay swallowed before glancing over at the others. “No. I don’t,” He mumbled.

Dani cocked her head to the side before she lifted up her hand. She waggled her fingers and then caressed the middle one right up his jawline and over his cheekbone.  

Jay barely realized that his cheek was hanging from a last inch of connecting flesh before Dani just grabbed it and ripped it right off. Jay screamed at the top of his lungs, blood pouring down his mangled face and down his neck. I could see his teeth and gums.  

The others looked on in horrified silence as Dani dropped the piece of flesh onto the plastic. “Let’s fucking try again! Do you remember now?”  

“Yes!” Jay wailed, tears sprouting at the corners of his eyes. “Shit! It wasn’t me dr-driving, it was Cory! I thought we’d just hit a deer or something, but in the morning we heard about you! I wanted to tell someone, I swear, but they wouldn’t let me! I’m so sorry! I’m so fucking sorry!”

Dani hummed and nodded as Jay continued to babble his desperate apologies. “I believe you. So you won’t suffer any longer,” She said right before she drew her finger right across Jay’s neck.  

So much blood poured down the front of his shirt, a waterfall of blood splattering against the plastic as Jay’s head lolled down. He certainly didn’t suffer, he was dead in minutes. And all during those minutes, Thomas and Cory were screaming in terror, any of Cory’s smugness had vanished when Dani ripped open his friend’s face and cut his throat.  

Dani turned her murderous stare onto the other two, still smiling from ear to ear. Thomas glanced down at her hand and realized it first. “Where’s… where’s your knife?” He stammered.  

All she did was raise her hand into the air and waggle her fingers. “These are my knives. I’ve always been a bit special,” She carefully avoided the blood puddle as she limped over to Thomas, “And even though I’ll probably never play basketball or have my full mobility again… you can’t take away my gift to find the seam in everything.”  

With just a brush of her fingers she sliced through Thomas’ jersey, and although he begged for his life she just slowly dragged her hand from his stomach up to his collarbone while he howled in agony. Watching his skin just split by her touch was mesmerizing, the cut so precise it was like a surgeon’s scalpel. Another slice over the gut and everything just… spilled out. This was nothing like letting her find my seam in childhood, where everything just stayed perfectly still. I never knew how really long the intestines were until I watched them plop on the floor, still twitching and alive.  

Thomas stared in horror at his disemboweled guts until Dani dove her hand into his chest and I heard the loudest squish. Thomas’ eyes rolled back and he almost immediately expired. Dani pulled out the remnants of his heart before throwing it on the ground.

Cory was crying now, snot dribbling down his lips as he pulled frantically at his zip ties. “Please… it was an accident… It was just an accident, you crazy bitch!” He yelped as she trotted in front of him.

Dani had been smiling until Cory called her a crazy bitch. The smile dropped and she sighed, crossing her reddened arms across her chest. “Was it an accident that you drove drunk? Was it an accident that you just drove away, didn’t even attempt to call 911? Was it an accident you’ve spent all your time up until now laughing about running me over? Maybe I am a crazy bitch. Maybe I am. But if I’m crazy, then you’re a downright sociopath. And odds are you’ll kill someone else the next time an ‘accident’ happens.”  

She knelt down to his level and flicked his nose, watching the tip go flying off and sticking to the wall. Cory crossed his eyes to see the damage and promptly pissed himself, I could see the stain in his jeans.  

“Hey Coryyyy,” Dani giggled, her smile returning and bordering on maniacal, “You ever hear of a torture called death by a thousand cuts?”  

I’m just taking a break, Cory and Dani are still in the basement. Last I saw him though he barely even looked like a person anymore- she’d removed his nose, lips, ears, and eyelids. He’s bald, cuts covering his entire scalp. Dozens of surgical cuts are decorating his arms, legs, torso… and he’s still alive, staring unblinkingly, someplace past begging and tears.

But she’s not going to let him die just yet. After all, she’s been suffering for months because of that accident.  

He can take a few days before she finally lets him go.

[s-coquette]

Please, Feel free to ignore this if it makes you uncomfortable as it is fairly dark.

Damn, that Three’s a crowd ghoap fic got my emotions all mangled in the best of ways. It makes me wonder though just what would happen if the reader did manage to cut ties and run away for good? Like… its unclear how much Ghost actually cares for the reader - if at all and pretty much made reader out as something necessary purely for Johnny’s happiness. The reader is effectively trapped in this admittedly toxic relationship with dangerous power imbalances.

I’m an absolute sucker for tragedy and angst when it comes to this kind of unfair dynamic. With that said I am kind of curious what would happen with ghoap if for whatever reason the reader just…dies? Maybe reader felt like giving up or got into some sort of accident? What would change with ghoap without the reader? Would anything change at all? What would Ghoap or what would Johnny do when faced with the consequences of his actions?

hi i was in the middle of answering this ask and my phone died and i did like a whole ass drabble

ghost has been interested in the reader since the beginning, johnny’s been telling him about her from the first time they bumped into each other. of course he’s going to show affection differently to someone he’s known so long and cherished as opposed to someone who hates his guts and he’s just met.

he likes anything johnny likes, and she is his type, but he just needs time. of course if it’s further along into their “relationship” ghost would show his affections in similar ways he does to johnny. caressing his fingers through her hair, putting his arm around her when they watch tv, planting little kisses on her forehead when she’s peacefully asleep.

now if reader were to die in some way, i’d imagine they’d both take it extremely hard. they’d fight all the time, johnny would be out almost all night probably at a bar, simon would be outside or on the balcony smoking his second pack that day.

all of that would lead to a massive argument between them that leads to separation. they’d cut contact for a few weeks before realising how hard it is without one another. they’d promise themselves they wouldn’t look for anyone else in their relationship, not wanting to replace readers place.

[ilguna]

☼ before he cheats (Draco Malfoy) ☼

summary; ' I also have a angsty request based of before he cheats by Carrie Underwood like maybe there is a talent show and reader says she has a song dedicated to draco or some thing in u are the angst queen so I have no doubt u can do it but obviously take your time and no rush!! ‘

warnings; swearing, might be a lil cringy tbh

wc; 4.3k

notes; READER IS SLYTHERIN. this is a songfic.

–

Well, if there’s anything that Draco should’ve learned about you, it’s that he can’t embarrass you in front of the whole school and then expect to get away with it scot-free. You were dating for two years, friends for years before that. Draco’s parents loved you, and vice versa for yours.

So, you’re not exactly sure what went through his mind for him to think that it’d be okay to cheat on you with Azolia Biscus, and why he thought he’d be able to get away with it, too. The whole school was talking about it, they were snogging in the stairwell, he’d have to be invisible to get away with that type of thing.

That’s not where the whole situation ends, though. Besides the fact that they were trying to act like they didn’t know each other—even though you’re all in the same potions class—she then tried to claim that she didn’t know that you and Draco were dating. It wasn’t hard to miss the way that Draco grimaced when she said that.

Did she suddenly have amnesia or has she been living under a rock for the past five years? Draco’s been your best friend since you were children, it’s the whole slytherin-pureblood-heritage bullshit. He asked you out two years ago. He’s the one that took you to the Yule Ball, and made a whole show out of it. You wouldn’t believe her, even if she was telling the truth.

You had to teach her a lesson, right there, in the middle of the hallway. If Draco was going to proclaim his love for Miss Azolia Biscus, then you’d also share your feelings about the matter. And get a message across while you were at it, because no one else was going to catch you off-guard for the rest of the year. Not even if they tried.

In the few minutes between passing classes, the best you could do was break her pretty little nose and knock out a few teeth. In all honesty, you should’ve kept punching her until the professors came around, but you weren’t entirely prepared for detention for the rest of the year. You won’t let either of them destroy the rest of the year at Hogwarts.

You have a reputation to uphold, and parents to impress. 

You told Azolia that if she even breathes a word of who kicked her ass to anyone, you’d make sure that she’ll never be able to speak again. You’ll kick all of her teeth in and break the parts that make her human until she’s a mangled mess of meat, skin and bone.

Before you left, you’d turned to Draco with this wide smile on your face, and all you had to say was, “What will your mum think of this one, Malfoy?”

If Draco’s allowed to make all these promises and break every single one of them, then you’re going to, too. He made you swear—not magically—that you wouldn’t ever go to his mum to tell on him. If there’s someone he’s more terrified of his father at times, it’s Narcissa, because she’s the gentle parent, and Lucius is the aggressive one.

Narcissa loves you like one of her own daughters.

You can still imagine the way his face turned bright red the moment his howler let loose, screaming at him in front of the whole Great Hall during lunch. If he could take your heart and break it into pieces, the least you can do is make sure that he won’t do it again, even if it’s in the favor of Biscus. 

You’re not quite done with him, yet. You’ve let these past few days go by without any real issues, letting him assume that he’s finally in the clear to date Azolia. They’re all cuddled up on the other side of the table, her head on his shoulder, batting her eyelashes like some moron. It’s a good thing that she’s slytherin, which makes it easier to keep the affair in some confinement.

However, you don’t doubt that at least half of the population at Hogwarts knows about it. And while you’d love to make sure that the whole school doesn’t know that you were stupid enough to let Draco cheat on you, he’s got this whole thing about making sure his business stays his business. It’s one of the things you two had in common, neither of you wanted to air your relationship super publicly.

You suppose it’s not like that now with Azolia, but you made it that way by screaming in the middle of a packed hallway. They have to prove that they’re actually in love and he didn’t ruin his whole future for a quick snog in the stairwell.

What you’re saying is; it would be perfect if you got the last laugh by spreading the news to the rest of the school. You just have to find a way to do it.

“You look like you’re going to murder someone again.” Vixen, your best friend, murmurs. She briefly glances up from her notebook, quirking an eyebrow, “You wear your emotions on your face.”

“I see no problem with that.” You tuck some hair behind your ear, “I’m planning my next move.”

She makes a face, turning a page. Since your break up with Draco, most people in the slytherin house have decided to try and stay out of picking sides. There’s Draco’s friends, on the far side of the table near the entrance and exit to the Great Hall, and there’s your friends, on the other side by the teachers. Everyone else chooses to sit in the middle.

It’s hard for them to decide who’s more dangerous to mess with.

“You know that the longer you wait, the more it’ll seem like you’re hung up on it.”

“Rightfully so.” You mutter.

You catch sight of Dumbledore rising from his seat at the long table, coming around the side, heading for the podium. Judging by the way the teachers all seem to straighten, preparing for the announcement, it must be something important. The last time you saw them like this was when he was going to tell you about the Triwizard Tournament.

This has to be good.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” He shouts, a hush falls over the Great Hall, not wanting him to use the voice amplifying spell—sonorus. It’s loud, and never fails to give you a pounding headache, “I have been working hard with some of the professors to create an event for you all to enjoy.

“It has not been easy by any means, but with help from the Prefects in each house,” He motions to the tables, “I have come to the conclusion to allow an opportunity to show off your talents.”

“A talent show!” A girl squeals across the room, must be a gryffindor.

“Yes, exactly.” He nods, “I will allow five acts from each house, you must perform your talent in front of your Head Professor in order to be allowed to participate. The show will be taking place an exact week from today, the tryouts will begin tomorrow afternoon.”

You can feel the smile twitching at the corner of your mouth, listening to Dumbledore explain how it’ll happen exactly. At dinner a week from now, the area where the teacher’s sit will be cleared and made into a stage to ensure that the student—or students if it’s multiple people—will have the spotlight all to themselves. There is no limit as to what a person can try out for.

“I can see the gears turning in your head.” Vixen says, watching you.

“They’re done turning.” You look at her, a wicked smile on your face, “I know what I’m going to do, Vixen. And Draco will never recover from this.”

You lean back slightly, looking down to the other end of the table, curious as to how Draco and Azolia are reacting to this news. She can’t have anything that she can show off, besides her ability to put her foot in her mouth. That’s the only talent she seems to have.

Draco catches your eye for only a second before you’re turning away.

“Any questions?” Dumbledore asks.

Hands shoot in the air, too many for each table, yours being one of them. He answers a few gingerly, trying to be fair on who he calls on. His eyes finally catch you, patiently waiting.

“Yes, Miss (L/n)?”

You lower your hand, “What will be the order in which the houses go? Is there a certain slot I can request?”

“That’s two questions!” Someone shouts, you send them a nasty glare.

“We will start with the hufflepuff house, then gryffindor, ravenclaw, slytherin. In order of the way the houses are presented from left to right.” He says, “As for the slots, we can make that possible.”

Perfect.

—

You can’t say that you were surprised when you came out of the slytherin common room and found that the line to the potions classroom for tryouts was already reaching the staircase. A chance to earn reputation among peers? That’s right up a lot of your guys’ alley. 

Of course, the first person standing in that line was none other than Azolia Biscus herself, hair curled and makeup done. She was loudly talking to her friends about how some people are never going to get a slot, and she doesn’t know why they’re even trying. Her eyes were dead on you when she was saying it.

You ignored her, there’s no need to start drama with her at the moment. She’s still bitter that you broke her nose, which was easily put back into place by Madam Pomfrey. As for her teeth, that was a new story that Vixen told you between fits of giggles.

Professor Snape must’ve been in a bad mood, though. She was only inside the classroom for a good five minutes before she came out in tears, cheeks red, eyes puffy. It was a clear indication that Snape wasn’t exactly thrilled about having to sit around and endure the different talents that everyone had to offer.

And if that’s how he felt with the first person in line, you couldn’t imagine how he’d feel toward the end. You still joined, though, firmly planting your feet on the cobblestone, patiently waiting your turn. You weren’t going to cut the line or convince others to get out of it.

You had time to waste, and revenge to plan.

It took less than an hour before you’d finally walked through the door, head held high. The first question that Snape asked you was whether or not there was anyone else behind you in line. The second question was if you actually had a talent, and you weren’t in there to cause trouble.

“I have a song I’d like to sing, Professor Snape.” You told him, pulling out one of the stools to sit on, “And I want the last slot of the show.”

That was a couple days ago, and from what you’ve heard over these few days, you have a general idea on how it went in the other houses. Everyone’s got their suspicions on who’ll end up in the show, based on the pacing and personalities. No one knows for sure, though. The names of who made it in will be posted on the bulletin board in the common rooms by the Head Boy and Girl.

There wasn’t a specific time that was said about it showing up, which means that the people that have been sitting on the couches all day have gotten comfy enough to leave their butt prints on the leather. You, on the other hand, couldn’t care less about the chance of you not getting inside.

The look on Snape’s face alone was pretty telling that you’ve secured your spot in the talent show. 

You round the corner, stopping in front of the slytherin door.

“Password?”

“Variantia.” You murmur, reaching for the handle. It audibly unlocks, allowing you to go inside. You hold it open for a couple of slytherin students heading in after you.

The slytherin common room is packed full, there’s not a single path available leading to the staircases. There’s pushing, shoving, and a lot of shouting going on, all facing the bulletin board. You watch as the Head Girl begins to wave her hands, shooing people back, face turning bright red in color out of frustration.

You’re not exactly sure what her and the other Prefects expected. It’s not often Hogwarts gets to have fun like this, besides the Yule Ball, of course. It’s once a year, and sometimes not even that entertaining.

You wave your wand, murmuring, “Sonorus.” The tip of the wand glows pink, showing you that the charm worked. You point it to the underside of your jaw, “Please back up and give the Prefect’s room!”

There’s a few people that slap their hands over their ears, but for the most part, everyone takes a few steps back, and fan out across the room. You tuck your wand back into your skirt, nodding at the Head Girl when she thanks you. She blocks the Head Boy while he picks the spot for the paper on the bulletin board, pins it, and then they dodge the students that come rushing in.

She lets out a loud huff, smoothing her hair down, “Animals.”

“It is Hogwarts, after all.” You laugh, she smiles.

The two of them stand post at the door, answering questions that the students have to ask. You find Vixen somewhere in one of the private rooms, feet propped up on a table, reading a book. She glances at you once, and then has to look again to realize that it’s you.

“The names are up.” She says, “Have you seen the order yet?”

“No, I’m going to wait for the crowd to die down.” You sit next to her on the couch, looking over her shoulder, “Are you reading a herbology book?”

“I got bored.” She shrugs, “Do you want to go to the astronomy tower later tonight?”

“Sounds good to me.”

The two of you wait until dinner to finally leave the room, by then the common room is practically a wasteland, except for a certain girl crying on the couch, dabbing at her face with the cuff of her shirt. It’s Azolia, blabbering about how Snape is unfair to her and he obviously picked favorites.

You walk up to the board with Vixen, reading down the list of names. You recognize most of them, there’s a few grey areas where you can’t put names to faces. You see Hannah Abbott, a hufflepuff girl. The Weasley twins, naturally, you can guess what they’re going to do. Seamus Finnigan, one of the gryffindor boys that can’t brew any potions correctly for the life of him. Luna Lovegood, she’s a friend of yours. Pansy Parkinson will be taking the first slot in the slytherin house.

And at the very bottom, in pretty handwriting, is (Y/n) (L/n).

You smile, “I can’t believe you couldn’t go through with your idea. I’m sure Snape would’ve enjoyed it.”

“Listing all the potions, and then the ingredients to them in alphabetical order in the form of a song? He would’ve stopped me before I hit B.”

“Still would’ve been hilarious, might’ve gotten you a couple extra house points for paying attention in class.” You snort, she rolls her eyes.

“Shut up.”

—

“(Y/n), we’re going to be late.” Vixen says, “And I heard that there’s an opening speech by Snape, we can’t miss that.”

“We won’t.” You say, rinsing the green glitter eyeshadow off in the sink. There’s a few sparkles that stick to the bowl, but you don’t care all that much. You cleaned off the black eyeliner mess that occurred a few minutes ago. They can deal with glitter.

You turn in the mirror, checking yourself out in the mirror. The low-maintenance makeup, your curled hair, the way that the loose dress perfectly fits on your body. Vixen’s holding your heels in her hands, shoving them in your face.

“Okay, I get it.” You take them from her, pulling them onto your feet and securing the straps around your ankles.

Normally Vixen’s taller than you by a good inch or two, but with the heels, you can see clear over her head. You place your hands on your hips, tilting your head at her. She looks you over, nodding her head.

“Draco will wish he never broke up with you.”

“I bet he already does.” You smirk, and then break out into a squeal, “Okay, let’s go!”

The two of you are far from being the last to show up in the Great Hall, plenty of people still lurk in the hallways, waiting to see who’s going to be on stage. It’s not a huge prestigious thing, it’s the fact that you’re all wearing varying outfits.

Hannah Abbott’s wearing a yellow dress made out of tulle flowers. It’s in a teacup shape, so whenever she spins, it flattens out and allows you to see the shorts she’s wearing beneath. She’s got a whole flower headband on too, keeping her blonde hair from falling in her face.

The Weasley twins are wearing suits, you heard that Professor McGonagall had to clear out an area in the corner just to pile what they’ll be using during their part of the show. It can be anywhere from a minute to ten, they’ve been cryptic about what they did during their audition. Seamus Finnigan is wearing his regular clothes, but he’s wearing a grin on his face.

Luna Lovegood is wearing a holographic dress that ends at her calves. She’s sitting in a group with the other ravenclaw performers. You’re not entirely sure you’ve seen her talk to this many people at once before.

And of course, you’re wearing a deep green dress that would be floor-length if it weren’t for the heels. It’s off the shoulder, and it’s covered in sparkles that are embedded in the dress. If you run your hand over the fabric, it doesn’t transfer. It’s perfect when the light is shining on you only, you made sure that you’d be the most eye-catching person in the room tonight.

You walk to the end of the table, by the stage. There, a few spots have been reserved for you and Vixen by your shared friends. The moment you’re closer, they give out a few whoops and whistles, you laugh, and then shush them as you sit down on the bench.

It’s a few minutes later when Snape appears on the stage, sighing into the microphone before giving a speech about how this should be a new tradition for years to come. He delivers that line through gritted teeth, probably picturing himself in the potions classroom every year, going through forty talentless slytherin students, having to pick five that aren’t the complete worst.

The monotone voice makes tears appear in Vixen’s eyes, lips pressed together, trying to keep from crying laughing in his face, especially since he’s less than ten feet away from where you are. Once the speech ends, he’s immediately off the stage and walking to the teacher’s tables by the front doors of the Great Hall.

Dumbledore clears his throat at the podium, and announces the first student that’ll be performing tonight.

You have to admit, it’s entertaining watching the different talents everyone has to offer. One of the hufflepuff girls pulls a ravenclaw on stage and draws a perfect portrait of them in five minutes. There’s not a single stroke out of place, and she gives it to them as a gift.

There’s a group of boys and girls from hufflepuff that do a brief classical ballet show that no one dares to speak during. A muggleborn boy sits on a stool in front of the microphone, strumming away on his guitar, singing songs that every student knows. He has the brightest smile on his face when people begin to sing along.

The Weasley twins perform a comedy routine that lasts fifteen minutes long, that has everyone in stitches by the end of it. Even Professor Snape is stifling his laughter into his sleeves, shaking his head. They have a natural talent for this, instead of the prank business that they’re trying to start up, you think they should invest in this.

From the moment that Seamus Finnigan steps on stage, he continuously blows up anything he touches. Dropping things into the cauldron, turning water into wine, trying spells that you haven’t been taught just yet. It’s got half of you trying to turn away and hide from the sight.

The ravenclaws are by far the most interesting. One of the boys calls up a group of volunteers, hypnotizes all of them, and gives them a series of tasks while talking to you guys about how it works. When someone in the crowd tries to be funny and do it themselves, he rolls his eyes and says the kid has no experience.

A girl comes up and does a series of impersonations of people from the school. Dumbledore, McGonagall, Filch, Malfoy, some of the paintings, the ghosts. She even turns to the slytherin table, starting to say that she’ll impersonate Draco, and then makes a face, “Never mind, I couldn’t stoop to your level even if I tried.”

Luna Lovegood does a ventriloquist act. She has this doll sitting on her knee, and no matter the words she says, or the facial expressions that should cross her face, she’s got the whole dead-eyed smile on lock. And when it’s her turn to speak, it’s like a switch is flipped in her head. Like the doll is the one controlling her.

Finally, the slytherin table comes around. A group of three boys breakdance all over the stage, one of them rips their pants wide open at the crotch and doesn’t bother to stop to cover the area. Even the gryffindor students are chanting and clapping along to the music.

A girl creates a ten minutes game show for people to compete on. This is when Vixen decides that she’d like to participate in some way. She hula-hoops, tries to balance cards to create houses, singing the alphabet backwards. It’s a bunch of meaningless tasks but she manages to win at the end, placing the silver toy tiara on her head with a shit-eating grin.

Vixen sits down across from you, gently pulling it from her hair, “I won this for you.” She says, securing it in your hair, “Are you ready?”

“As much as I’ll ever be.”

“And our final performance of this evening will be Miss (Y/n) (L/n).” Dumbledore announces.

When you rise from your seat at the slytherin table, your friends begin clapping, making everyone follow suit. You walk up the few steps, readjusting the hair on your shoulders and taking a deep breath before you stop in front of the microphone. The candles dim, except for the few that hang over where you are.

You wrap your hands around the stand, leaning into it, smiling, “Well, as it turns out, he doesn’t have a lick of common sense in that peanut sized brain of his. I mean, he had to pay off Hogwarts to let him get on the slytherin quidditch team, talk about daddy’s money. His best friend slips him exam answers while the professors aren’t looking because his skull is too thick to penetrate. And he thinks that he can snog a girl in the stairwell and get away with it, assuming that I won’t make it the whole school’s business.

“Here’s to Draco Malfoy.”

You flip your hair.

--

“Right now, he's probably slow dancin' With a bleached-blond tramp and she's probably gettin' frisky Right now, he's probably buyin' her some fruity little drink 'Cause she can't shoot whiskey Right now, he's probably up behind her with a pool-stick Showin' her how to shoot a combo And he don't know

“I dug my key into the side of his pretty little souped-up four-wheel drive Carved my name into his leather seats I took a Louisville slugger to both headlights I slashed a hole in all four tires Maybe next time he'll think before he cheats

“Right now, she's probably up singing some White-trash version of Shania karaoke Right now, she's probably sayin' "I'm drunk" And he's a-thinkin' that he's gonna get lucky Right now, he's probably dabbin' on Three dollars worth of that bathroom Polo Oh, and he don't know

“That I dug my key into the side of his pretty little souped-up four-wheel drive Carved my name into his leather seats I took a Louisville slugger to both headlights I slashed a hole in all four tires Maybe next time he'll think before he cheats

“I might have saved a little trouble for the next girl A-'cause the next time that he cheats Oh, you know it won't be on me No, not on me

“'Cause I dug my key into the side of his pretty little souped-up four-wheel drive Carved my name into his leather seats I took a Louisville slugger to both headlights I slashed a hole in all four tires Maybe next time he'll think before he cheats

“Oh, maybe next time he'll think before he cheats Oh, before he cheats Oh-oh.”

--

You let the microphone down, the Great Hall is filled with the sound of clapping and whistling. You let a smile take over your face, covering your mouth with the back of your hand.

The candles brighten, signaling the end of your act. You find Draco’s eyes still on you, face twisted, jaw clenched. You can’t help winking at him, before looking away. You pull up the ends of your dress, giving a curtsy to the crowd.

Dumbledore’s coming down the aisle, “Please, everyone who performed tonight, get on the stage.”

Once you’ve all gathered together on stage, he counts down, making you all bow at the same time.

[timeguardians]

When Danger Comes Home

LibertyKingdom

Summary:

A blast takes out 51's Ambo bay and coat room "Call out!" There's a voice, interspersing with the still blaring sound. The annunciation of the words is so garbled, suffocated beneath the fierce grip of tinnitus, that Violet decides it's best not to bother attempting to translate them. It takes more effort than she can readily expend. Again, the voice presses urgently. This time, the sound emanates from somewhere above her. Then, it is followed by the most adoring iteration of her name she's ever heard. "Violet?!" Sam?

Work Text:

Chirp. Chirp. Chirp.

The incessant piercing whine permeates every inch of her form, until it becomes nearly intermingled with a strangled breath that tries to reach her lungs. Somewhere in her subconcious, she muses about burying her alarm deep beneath the cushion of her mattress. Horrifyingly enough, it's not the alarm her fumbling hand finds when Violet flails out an arm. No. It's fair too coarse and grainy. Since when did she had layers of dirt on her nightstand? She didn't. There has to be some mistake.

A piteous groan tugs free of clenched teeth as the ebony-haired medic tries to turn towards the sound. Her next inhale is riddled with a gravelly cough. She strains, trying to determine if the stench of smoke had set off the fire alarm. But that wasn't quite it. As irritating as a smoke detector could be, this pitch was different. Alarmingly different. There's a choir of Pass devices, all singing in unison. A fact she discerns far too late.

"Call out!" There's a voice, interspersing with the still blaring sound. The annunciation of the words is so garbled, suffocated beneath the fierce grip of tinnitus, that Violet decides it's best not to bother attempting to translate them. It takes more effort than she can readily expend. Again, the voice presses urgently. This time, the sound emanates from somewhere above her. Then, it is followed by the most adoring iteration of her name she's ever heard. "Violet?!"

Sam?

Hands, furnice-like, and all-encompassing, adhere to her face. It is the first tangible thing that resonates among the chaoses. Why? Why were his hands on her? The first swallow is air dry. Violet tries to push herself up, but finds one of his warm hands had diverted to press her back down.

"You're okay. Don't try to move." Sam carver insists, thumbing with great tenderness at the smudges of debris that littered her pallored face. Though his words are tinctured with relief, there is still an undercurrent of dread lurking in their wake. "Just try not to move. There was an explosion." The Ambulance bay and uniform room were GONE. The area was eradicated completely by the blast, almost as if, it had ever truly existed at all. Tentative eyes swivel about, searching for anyone else who may have been with Violet.

Bits and pieces of the now mangled emergency vehicle lay strewn about her, over her, and everywhere within her range of vision. It must have been that package. She thought it strange when she saw it seated upon the stretcher and had gone to inspect it. Sylvie hadn't mentioned getting more supplies which made it's presence there all the more curious.

"Violet? Carver patiently grits out for what may have been the twelfth time. She's not focusing. The brunette can tell from the vacuous expression her usually warm and attentive eyes gave off. He swallows down a surging sense of dread, uncertain if he truly wants her ask the next question or not. "Was anyone else in here with you?"

Showers of cotton-candy pink insulation continue to drift lazily down over them in small billowy clouds, like some feverish but fantastical snow storm. A fact that gradually registers to the paramedic. It takes her several moments to focus her hopelessly whirring mind. "S---Sylvie?" She again strives to sit up, finding the hand on her chest every bit as unmoving as it had been.

"Easy." The word is clipped, warningly enough. Sam's sharp eyes surveilled the room for any sign of the familiar blonde. A pit of apprehension forms, snaking like shattered glass through his intestines.

Gritted teeth beseech him. "Tell me what's going on, Carver." Her head tipping back to rest on parts of a blown tire. Worry laces through every coil of her eye. "Carver!" This time his name is spoken more adamantly.

He pallors at the request. Well, it was more like a demand. A demand that inspired his broad shoulders to bristle. "Can you feel your legs?" He diverts with the aim to distract.

"What?" She stares at him in bewilderment. That wasn't the update she thought she had asked for.

"Can you feel your legs? Violet? I need you to answer me."

[leandreandyael]

4

Now Deacon had found Yael and Leandre, and discovered her love for Tater Tots, it was time to fill them in on the events after they left...

TW - PTSD, Panic Attack, high level mention of past abuse, no specifics

Yael had been relieved that the ball had been canceled, it was welcome news for her.  Then Deacon had started telling them WHY it had been canceled and she was back to almost breaking the bones in Leandre’s hand as her anxiety and fear rose.  If someone would do something like that to a relative of Abriella and Cruz’s, would they dare to come to the Palace as well?  Were they secure?  Did they need to worry?  Without realizing it, she had stopped moving, stopped blinking, even stopped breathing and was just staring at Deacon.

“Sweetheart, you need to breathe.”  Leandre’s calm and deep voice next to her wove its way through the thick fog of her mind to reach her in the hidden recess where she had disassociated to, hiding from the fear that had come welling up from the depths of her.  “You’re safe and you’re going to stay safe.  No one can hurt you here.” More reassurances finding their way through the blanket of safety she had long ago learned to put up around her mind so that she could endure not only what Gabriel had sent her way but also the things her own mind could do to her.

“Yael, Leandre and I are not going to leave you alone.   You are safe.” Deacon now joined in, his voice dropping and a greater warmth coming to it.  He was looking forward to finding Gabriel and bringing about a reckoning and revenge, he’d have to train with Arioch and Raguel later, he was sure the boys could use a power boost.  But that would have to wait until Yael was doing better.  At the moment, all color had drained from her face and he was quite concerned about the Nephilim before him.  A born warrior, she had been so broken he wasn’t sure she could have even battled a hamster in her current state.

A breath in, a breath out, a breath in, a breath out, slowly Yael started to breathe again.  Each one required her to concentrate so she did not slip back into that safe room in her mind where no one and nothing could reach her.  The place only she knew about and only she could be safe when the world around her threatened to destroy her.  Gabriel had never been able to reach her there, the Heavens and Hells knew he tried though.  Leandre and Deacon though, their soft voices, the caring woven into the very ether that carried their words to her ears, they found her in that small and quiet place and slowly coaxed her back out into reality.  Were she to be asked in that minute, she would admit that scared her a little bit.  For them to be able to do that meant that they had a power that no one else did, and she had learned long ago that anyone having power over you meant that they could destroy you just as much as love you.

“That’s it, little angel, you’re going to be fine.  Damien losing his temper is nothing to be all scared about.” Leandre stroked her hand softly while throwing a glance over to Deacon that spoke far more words and a louder volume than he could have with his voice.  They were going to have to play this delicately.  “You know how Princesses can be.  Kaylin was just being dramatic.  Have to make an entrance.  Deacon, Olly, Cruz, and Luc are more than a match for Damien.  And the Palace has more protections on it than you can imagine.”  Managing to finally pry his now numb hand free of hers, he switched them out, and lightly stroked her back with the one where it felt like she’d actually mangled fingers.  Damn strong female.

Watching Leandre free his hands, Deacon had to try not to laugh.  He could only imagine how tight a grip she had on the male, and was glad it wasn’t him.  “It’s just a family squabble.  Nothing to worry about, dear.  I promise.  Just them showing up threw a wrench in Abriella’s plans; and like Leandre said, she and Asher were all dramatic about it.  I mean, who makes their entry in a fountain?”  Now he did give out a small chuckle and tried to give her a smile.  He had tried to be delicate in recounting the events, but apparently had failed somewhere along the way.  Navigating instances like this was going to be a learning experience for all of them.  No doubt this would not be the last such a time. 

Yael’s head dropped again.  “I’m sorry. I can’t help it.  I…” A deep sigh came from her and her head shook, causing her hair to fall forward, forming a chestnut curtain on either side of her face, thankfully blocking everything from her view.  Not having to see helped her to gather a little courage, which felt like a whole lot of courage to her.  “It’s not that I doubt either of you, or anyone here in the Palace.  I’ve just spent so long not knowing where the next blow was going to come from, when, or if I’d even recognize the face that delivered it because he was good at hiding.  Every event could lead to another…another…another..”

A deep breath in, a breath out, a breath in, a breath out, concentrate on breathing and slowing down her words, she could do this.  “Any time that there is upset like this, even if I’m not involved, I worry that I’m going to be blamed for it.”  Tears pricked at her eyes, she could feel her heart pounding in her chest, hear her blood rushing in her ears, and she felt the desire to get up and run.  It was a battle to stay seated, one she was winning only because of the soft feel of Leandre’s fingers against her back and the tight hold she had on his hand.  He was currently Yael’s anchor in the tempest of emotions swirling within her.  “Please don’t give up on me.” The last words came out as almost a whisper, a prayer.

“Little angel, I’ve told you, I shall not leave you alone.”  Leandre’s voice was deep and soft as he reassured her once more that she had nothing to fear.  He wanted her to have confidence that no matter what came in the future, she would not have to face it alone again.  Deacon was quick to offer similar reassurances as well.  Both men knew what it was like to feel alone in facing darkness, which is why Abriella had asked them to help Yael, and why they had agreed. “You have no reason to worry.”

[phvnthom]

Lately (and pretty much always) I keep coming back to the idea of Peter as a martyr, particularly sainthood and how that pertains to him— how that idea pretty much overtakes everything in his life and corrupts it into something that isn't his own, because the mantle requires so so much and Peter has so very little to give back. So, of course he does the more (altruistically) "logical" thing... which in turn, only traps him further into that vicious cycle because all Peter ever had to give away was himself.

And he pays for it. Over and over and over again. Forever. Until the end of time. Maybe even beyond it. That's his role. What he was made to be. To take on the burdens of everyone else and to take and say nothing in return— for him to just accept it and assume this larger than life role when (most times) all it ever brings him is anguish, and misery, and chaos, and destruction, and inescapable guilt, and even more sparsely, outright ridicule.

No one thanks him.

Peter is just the personification of this repeating notion that nothing is inherently owed to heroes, even when they sacrifice themselves and their personhood to save something that, at its core, is eternally unsalvageable. There is no end to that duty or sacrifice. He fights for something that will always outlive him. It's absolute devotion to the belief that humans— his people, and thus humanity as a whole— are worth saving and that that belief should be honored. It's his responsibility, after all.

So he honors it. Even when it takes everything from him.

Even when the cost is simply too much... the torment is worth it. The sense of loss and grief are worth it. Peter loses in innumerable ways, and it's never in the same way twice... and yet, it just doesn't stop him. Peter never lets that horrible realization keep him from fulfilling what the universe has demanded of him.

The act of being a martyr, the sacrifice, the turmoil, the sense of duty and the dead you feel indebted to. Your life— giving away your life for them— is the repayment of that oath and he can never escape it. Because if not him, then who?

Peter's entire life is just this over and over and over again:

And this picture below, while it initially has nothing to do with it, I immediately saw it and thought of Peter— of being buried and almost beaten down, mangled and dying from the role and life that was pushed on to him, and still trying to live and be a person through it. That he's trying desperately to escape and he still has some fight left in him. That even when he's broken and almost crushed underneath everything, he'll break free, and crawl, and dig himself out of his own grave... and he has.

Everything about Peter is so inherently tragic.

Something beautiful and powerful to be looked at and mourned in the aftermath of its slaying, but not worthy enough to save in life, because offering up the sacrificial lamb for slaughter IS the point.

He's the champion. The little guy. The underdog. Humanity's best. The saint among men.

And even more heart wrenching is the knowledge that hardly anyone ever tends to him both in and outside of the suit. In a way, his suffering is solitary in nature. It's his burden— to carry it, to experience the despairing loneliness that comes with it— and though many can lighten it for him, no one can ever truly take it away. The closest anyone comes to doing that is through MJ.

She surpasses what a usual love interest should be. In fact, at times, she's not so much a character than she is another narrative tool to convey how desperately in need of saving and understanding Peter is. She's the mortal woman, the only one who shows him unconditional love (besides May and even that, the love of a "mortal mother" upon a "transcendent holy son," and raising said son who is not truly hers, and guiding him through that duty) and all MJ ever does is stand beside him. She can't help him. She can love him, mourn him, be a pillar for him to lean on and seek relief/shelter, but she can never take what was given to him from him. She is the one who holds the saint's hand, but cannot divert him from his fate.

There's so much more in relation to this— too much— and this is all such surface level analysis, but it's just something that is so pervasive in all of Peter's storylines and so inherently tied to his character that it's pretty hard not to notice it. Peter is just continuously elevated to this... level that no ordinary man should ever be placed at. But he is. And it just drives me absolutely insane. It's horrifying, it's amazing. I love it and it pains me all the same.

[zenatness]

Minthara has adjusted well to the team. For an unspecified value of 'well'.

That is to say, she promptly assured my dark urge that she'd put him down like the mad dog he was if he got out of hand. She seemed to be under the impression that this was comforting. It kind of was. Everyone else took Ghaunafein's "I crave murder" confession too well.

Act 2 with Minthara and Halsin was amusing. Every time I got to camp there they were, looking like a little family with their mangled tree-son. Very cute. I hope they are happy together.

Less amusing was the bugged tiefling who kept getting involved in Every Single Fight. She was stuck at Last Light Inn and every round the camera would jump to her and what she was up to, before going back to the actual fight. Didn't matter how far away I was, tiefling lady had to be involved.

And then Halsin had to go have his solo portal adventure while the team held the line. Tiefling lady joined the fight, as usual, but this time she was close enough that she dashed over to join the battle. She arrived just in time to see us kill the last enemy and tried to arrest us. For defending ourselves. After pissing me off the entire act. Isolated and alone on the beach. With no witnesses.

So her corpse was promptly added to the collection. And it's an impressive collection at this point.

Withers gave Ghaunafein shit for having a bosom-companion. It was unclear who he was talking about.

I made the decision that it's a first come, first served situation. Whoever got their act together first and tried to make the relationship official would be the (questionable) winner.

Astarion promptly wanted to thank Ghaunafein for respecting his bodily autonomy, so that was that. Seeing how Astarion was being vulnerable, Ghaunafein made an effort to be nicer for once. I toyed with the idea that maybe we'd turn this around after all. Maybe Astarion could make us a better person.

Not better right now, of course, but in act 3. So, after killing Aylin we saved the few surviving tieflings in Moonrise tower, before doing Sceleritas' bidding and killing Isobel as well. Last Light Inn fell, Jaheira died knowing what we'd done as the remaining harpers and tieflings fell to the shadow curse. Having to kill Dammon was rough though. His Majesty might not have died by our hand, but his body was also added to the corpse pile out of respect.

I'm happy to report that my gnoll palls in Moonrise tower had left by the time I came to clean house. Less happy to report that Kar'niss was still alive in the final showdown, so I tried to banish him because that was a complication I didn't want to deal with at the same time as Ketheric. The game bugged out. Kar'niss proceeded to stand and weep loudly outside of the main room as we fought Ketheric, giving me the player psychic damage every time because I felt like a bully.

I opted to free Zevlor in the mindflayer pods. Astarion didn't approve. The "being nicer" was off to a rough start.

While Ketheric refused to tell me about my past there were some secrets to be found in the mindflayer mucus. Ghaunafein was Outraged that anyone would fail to murder him, chose to torture and tadpole him instead, and that his then would-be healer had instead kept playing with his organs. Finish the job, at least. Rude.

The team made it to Baldur's Gate and Orin instantly started trying to mess with our heads. Sceleritas revealed that Ghaunafein was a Bhaalspawn and told him that he had to murder Orin. Ghaunafein was confused at this point. The previous murders had been of people who hadn't really deserved it and Orin had already earned herself a place on the List. It was a weird demand to make.

At this point the dead tiefling counter is best described as: all but maybe 6. Rolan and his siblings left in act one (resulting in the death of all the children but Mol by act 2), Zevlor is still kicking, and one single survivor of the big group made it to the outskirts of Baldur's Gate.

I hope daddy Bhaal is proud of his murder son.

[suslocation]

🍖 :D (for the ask game)

🍖 free space! gush, infodump, add anything else you'd like to say!

aaaa OK I just. Love him so much. He was the best boyfriend and friend and companion and even coworker I could have asked for. He was so fun to talk to and even though his jokes were kinda stupid they still made me laugh, and he was so sweet, he was really good with all the kids at freddy's, way more patient than I could ever be, and he just cared so much. He cared about me, about his sister, about himself, about his hobbies and interests, he had so much love, care and passion in his heart. he loved scary movies, especially slashers. He loved the colours blue and pink, especially when they were really bright or pastel, he would stare at the sky a lot because of the colours and it made me appreciate the little things in our world more. he took good care of his hair, he wore protective styles or covered it a lot and usually wouldn’t let anyone touch it (even I wasn't allowed to touch his hair sometimes) and it smelled like raspberry. he liked wood carving because it calmed him down and one time he made me a wooden fox statue. he had a polaroid as a kid and took so many photos of his family, he made a scrapbook that he showed me. his favourite animatronics were mangle and toy bonnie. he thought toy bonnie looked cool, and mangle was always nice to him on nightshifts. he was an introvert but still really good at getting along with people, unless the people sucked. jerm<3

[wallflowerimagines]

Hello! Um... I don’t really know how to start this but say I love your hc! I think you do a fantastic job on them, there all very sweet but being the s.o.b I am I’m here to ask for some angst. How would you think the lords act if their S/O died?

...I'm feeling mean. 😈

Warnings: Angst, Death, Horror Game villains making bad decisions/not coping with tragedy, suicide.

Alcina Dimitrescu

Denial, Denial, Denial

You can't be dead. There has to be something, anything that she can do to save you. Alcina scrambles for a solution, attacking the problem from all sides, despite the reality of the situation staring her in the face.

Immediately injects your body with Cadou in a desperate hope to save you. Any possible chance that he has to save you she's going to take it.

It's not likely that your corpse reanimates, but it does mutate. At the end of the process, what's left of your body hardly even looks like you anymore, and she can't bring herself to look at it.

She builds a gilded crypt for your body-- it's stunning. It's inspired by you, all your favorite colors, styles and hobbies are incorporate to make the room feel full of your spirit. Alcina is an artistic woman, and she throws herself into the project like she's possessed.

It might take years, even decades to complete. It has to be perfect. When it's done she feels accomplished, but twice as empty. It might be one of the most beautiful dedications she's ever made, but it can't replace you. She has the room sealed off with no way to get to it, so she can't be tempted to visit. She just needs a piece of of you still in her home, or she can't get through the day.

...If your corpse does reanimate, it's actually worse for Alcina. Whatever she brought back was a shambling, horrifying mess of mold wearing your face. It couldn't think for itself, or even follow commands--it just wanders in circles and attacks anything that gets too close.

She keeps your reanimated corpse in a cell, unable to bring herself to destroy it completely. Sometimes, she'll go down to the basement and talk to the thing like it is you, telling it about her day, having one-sided conversations and thinking of all the wonderful memories the two of you shared.

When its dead eyes meet hers, her lungs seize in her chest and tears gather in her eyes. Alcina doesn't cry often, but when your corpse meets her gaze she starts to sob. Those eyes used to look at her with life and love and now...

Still, she can't stop herself from visiting it. It's a compulsion she can't stop, and it tears open the wound every time, but some irrational part of her deep, deep down thinks that one day, she'll descend those steps and you'll be there to greet her with a warm smile.

In either scenario, she will never have another partner. You're impossible to replace, and she feels truly, genuinely empty without you. Rest well, Darling. You'll never be forgotten.

Donna Beneviento

There is such a thing as a last straw, and this is it for Donna.

Please remember: this is a woman who has lost everything. Mother Miranda might have given her a new "family", but Donna is not nearly as attached to these new members as she is to her original family. And the loss of her original family has shaped her in such a way that if you died? She would be absolutely devastated.

It's not fair to put this kind of pressure on you, but in a very real way you were her last hope for normalcy. She had all these plans to fix her family with you. You were so instrumental to her hopes for the future that now that you're gone, it feels like she has no hope at all. You were her missing link, her one true love, and now that you're dead...

Donna screams until her throat is raw when she finds out you're gone. Angie can't help her, nothing can. She just can't cope with reality anymore.

She'll build a life sized Doll of you to try to help herself cope, but the minute she tries to implant of piece of her Cadou in it, she is filled with such a vehement hatred of the thing that she starts scream-crying before she takes an axe to it's face and hacks it to pieces. How dare it pretend to be you?!! It's not even close to the real thing, she shouldn't even have tried--

She might try to induce a hallucination of you to help her get through the day to day, but it's not the same. She can't perfectly mimic your laugh, or your smile, or the way you tuck her hair away from her face. It's so obviously not you, and Donna is... alone.

I do hate to say it, but she will absolutely try to kill herself if you died. You were the one person who understood her, empathized with her, and you were her best friend. You were her support system, the one person who could carry her through the worst times in her life, but you're gone. Donna can't believe that anyone else could be there for her like you were.

Salvatore Moreau

Absolutely, irreparably broken.

When the two of you were in a relationship, you busied yourself not only with smothering Salvatore in all of the love and affection that you could, but you also did a lot to help his self-esteem and mental health.

You made sure he knew that he was loved, that you could never hate him, and even on your death bed you make him promise never to forget how wonderful he is.

Once you're gone, though, Salvatore cracks.

He clings to every bit of you felt behind. All of your jewelry, clothing, pictures and sentimental items are preserved to the best of his ability. Your living space is transformed into a shrine dedicated to you.

It's not healthy, but he also deifies you in his memory. Mother Miranda is no longer the only person that he worships-- the memory of you is now sacred to him. You become something holy and perfect in his mind's eye. It doesn't matter how many flaws you had in reality, your death has turned even your worst flaws into traits to be admired and praised. His perception of you is totally twisted.

Speaking of Mother Miranda, he regresses a lot. His adoration of Mother Miranda was something you were helping him work through, but now he's right back at square one, and even worse off than before.

Moreau can't make a decision on his own anymore--from what to say, to what to do, and sometimes even what to eat. After all, it's his fault that you died, isn't it? You were his partner and he used to be is a doctor. How could he possibly trust himself with anything when he couldn't manage to save the most important thing in his life?

To the rest of his family, he's more pathetic than before. His obsession with his Mother was usually limited to when she was in the room, but now it's constant.

If he ever hears the quote "It's better to have loved and lost, then never loved at all," he gets supremely, violently angry. No. No, that's not true, it's bullshit, how dare you even say that to his face.

If he hadn't loved you, you would be alive. He would be alone, but you would be safe. You would be happy.

Now he's alone, and all you are is dead. He can't ever come back from it.

Karl Heisenberg

Rage. Unending, earth shattering Rage.

Whatever killed you better start to fucking pray, because Karl Heisenberg will not quit until it's suffering.

He doesn't kill who or whatever it was. He let's it sit there, mangled beyond belief, and uses his knowledge of mechanics and biology to keep it alive in constant, unending pain.

It's cathartic for him, but not in a healthy way. The more he hurts it, the better he feels, but at the end of the day, you're still gone, and he's still alone.

He's... lost.

Heisenberg should be angry, fuck he wants to be angry more than anything, but the longer he keeps the thing alive... emotions seem like they're too far away anymore. He wants to scream, he wants to cry, he wants... you.

He keeps something of yours in his pocket at all times, just to run his fingers over it and remember you. Your eyes, your laugh, your smile... It's almost like a stress ball, and these days sticking his hand into his pocket to wrap his fingers around the thing is the only way he can calm down.

Sometimes he turns to ask your opinion on something, or tell you a joke with a big smile on his face because this one is going to make you laugh for sure-- and then he freezes when the reality sets in once again. You're not here.

Remember, Heisenberg has idealized the two of you as this perfect partnership. You were the first person who looked at him and loved everything that you saw. You weren't just his first real relationship, the first person that he implicitly trusted, but you were also his very first real friend.

He wasn't the most friendly person to begin with, but he did get better because of you. He was still spoiled, a little socially awkward, and maybe his dark sense of humor would slip and get a little too much, but he grew as a person.

Now that you're gone, he can't even remember what it's like not being a cruel, empty shell of rage. All he has left is his hatred of Mother Miranda.

After a while, it doesn't matter if he's ready to take her on or not. He's going to face that bitch head on and kill her, or die trying.

If he wins, he's finally free. If he doesn't... that's not so bad either. Karl doesn't really believe in an afterlife, but there's something appealing about joining you wherever you might be.