#sinister writing

[aka-indulgence]

Moonlight

Been thinking of an au where Sans is a banished moon god and you’re the daughter of The Sun, in the form of Sunlight. You’re one of many, but you’re the only one who dared to visit the moon god…

—————

A lone twinkling light floats over the night sky, like a space firefly. Your silken dress trails behind you, catching your light, like a flickering flame.

You left the earth at sundown, along with your many sisters. But this was unlike your usual travels- you weren’t with your sisters. It feels weird, the sky feels empty without them. You should’ve gone with them, to go home towards the sun, your mother. Instead… you were flying in the earth’s shadow, towards the darkened moon.

You don’t know how it happened, it just… did. Maybe because as the sun started to set and you looked up at the stars, they remembered about the moon, his myths and legends.

“They said he tried to destroy the earth, once.” Loni said. “He failed and fled to the moon.”

“They said he hates life… he hates the ring of gods, at the very least.”

“Do you think he’s even real…?” Thea wondered, prompting the rest of them to look at her.

“Thea!” One of them cried. “Of course he’s real!”

“How do you know?” She prompted. “Have you ever seen a depiction of The moon? I bet the humans don’t even know he exists.”

“But-”

“Have you ever seen him directly?”

“...”

No one has seen the moon in eons. Persumably since he was banished.

“No one can go to the moon… of course we’ve never seen him.”

“They said mother chained him thousands and thousands of years ago. If he could escape, I bet we’d have seen him.”

“... Would you go to the moon to see him?”

The rest of the girls get a giddy look on their faces when Thea’s expression sours a little. She doesn’t say anything.

You look up at the darkening sky as your other sisters leave earth.

“... I would.”

Everyone’s head snapped to look at you. You’d stayed quiet during the entire conversation, you bet most had forgotten you were there as well.

“(Y/n)?? Really?!”

They sounded scandalous.

“I want to know.” You said simply.

“You want to go there?” Loni grimaces. “No way… that’s so scary… and it’s forbidden... are you sure you want to?”

“Yeah. I’ll go alone.”

Their jaws collectively drop. As you ascend into the sky, the look on their faces tell you that they know they should stop you, but they don’t. Like children who’s seeing a big no-no but want to know what happens anyway.

You just wanted to know. It was a good question. Presumably the last being to see The Moon was your mother. The other gods literally wouldn’t touch it.

Just a little peek. Then you’ll leave.

The distant stars are your only company. You don’t think you’ve been without your mother’s light for a long time. Or alone, for the matter.

Before long, you’ve arrived on the moon.

The dust poofs away when your feet touch the ground. Almost immediately you realize that it’s… too quiet.

In the sky it was quiet but serene. Here, it felt… dead. The moon was gray, dull. Barren and devoid of life. It was nothing like earth (which was basically your second home), bustling and loud. Even when you stood alone in fields of grass, the wind was there to accompany you. There was just… nothing, here.

Your mother’s light doesn’t reach here, in the shadows. It was just you.

The only sound was your footsteps on the lunar surface. You didn’t really know where you were going, but you could see something that looked like a temple in the distance. You’ve seen plenty of temples on earth, mostly dedicated to your mother. You’ve seen temples for the other gods too, and even a shrine for the sun’s daughters. But… you’ve never seen this one. It looks, fittingly, like no one’s been here for centuries, thousands of years even. There’s a symbol on it… a sphere with an arc in it.

You’re very confident that’s where you’re heading.

Entering it, you have an unshakable feeling that you’re not supposed to be here. You know that already, but now it feels like your body is screaming at you to run out. It’s somehow even quieter in here than it was outside- like doors and windows were just shut on you, the air being sucked out.

The temple would have been completely dark if it wasn’t for you. Where your light falls short, was a black void.

You couldn’t deny it, you were shaking. Your fingers trembled, your legs felt weak. You took in a slow, shuddering breath.

Even if he’s here… and the pit in your stomach is telling you that he is, he’s chained. Otherwise he’d already be running amok. Mother would know.

The temple itself wasn’t very large (and you wondered what it’d be used for if it wasn’t for the moon god’s rampage), and it didn’t take long before you’ve descended into a spacious room with some grim looking prison bars. You could hear your heart, it was so quiet.

Just a little bit ahead of you, on the far wall beyond the bars, you saw a hunched figure on the floor. You could barely see him, thanks to your light (which was dimmer, on account of the fear the moon struck).

You hold your breath- the figure moved. He wore a dark gray cloak that draped over him, keeping his face in the shadows. The shadows around your light cut deep. A chill runs over your spine when you see a skeletal hand extend out of the robe, touching your light.

It was like seeing a ghost.

He turned his hand over, like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. A hoarse voice, marred from years of being unused, calls out.

“... sun…?”

He sounds… slightly… irate.

You make a small gasp when two sharp, unkind glowing eyes looked at you from under the hood.

Then… you see a wide grin stretch out on his face, illuminated by your light.

“oooh….” He drawls, “what do we have here?”

His voice was dark and ancient. It somewhat resembled the voice of the ‘big’ gods- distorted. It sounds as if he’s whispering to you, yet you could feel the power in his voice hitting you like a hurricane wind.

You were stuck- frozen. Watching the moon god of myths turn to look at you better.

“hello there, child of sun.” He greets you with what you feel like is faux hospitality.

He was waiting for a response.

“H…. hello there, Moon,” you reply with as much respectful reverence as possible, bowing to him. He looks smugly pleased with your behavior.

“very good… what is your name, little light?”

You wanted nothing more than to flee. But you had a sneaking suspicion that doing so might give banished god a grudge on you.

“I-” your voice cracked. “I’m (Y/n).”

You sounded braver on the second try. You’re sure you look much braver than you are.

The god acknowledges you. “welcome, (y/n). let me introduce yourself- i’m sure i don’t need to tell you who i am… i hope?”

That was a rhetorical question if you ever heard one. Hastily, you shook your head.

“good… but i’m sure your dear mother wouldn’t want anyone to know my name. oh, she’s tried so hard to forget me…” he chuckles bitterly. “so let me introduce myself. my name is sans.

“so, (y/n).” Sans uttered. “what brings you here, to my lowly prison… one which was once my domain?”

“Uh…”

“did your mother send you? to check on this miserable joke of a god? shackled to his supposed land of power?”

His grin was becoming sharper and his voice started to get louder. You had to reassure- no, diffuse him.

“N-no, Moon Sans.”

He seems almost surprise to hear you say his name, enough that he temporarily forgets his anger.

“... i haven’t heard anyone use that name in years…”

His grin had fallen a little.

You look innocently at him. “That is what people call you, right..?”

His expression darkens. “that is my name, but… no.”

“they call me the ‘one cast in darkness’. ‘banished brother’. the ‘dark one’. … feh. the one’s in the light love to… throw shade. the ones i called my brethren. they can’t even look at me… they threw me in here and never looked back. ” He spits.

“so… what brought a sweet little drop of sunlight to the barren moon, hm?”

The way his voice switched from dripping with poison to dripping with honey unnerved you.

“did you come to see this hideous face?”

You almost reactively take a step back when the god leans forward, more of his face revealed in the light. Part of you were expecting it, but you’ve only heard of sparse descriptions of the moon god. When you saw his skeletal face, his eyelights set in midnight black sockets, it took everything in you to keep your face neutral, lest you offended the god.

You gulped. If his temper was as famous as his stories were (and you were sure you saw his fuse ignite), would he be upset with your answer?

“N… no.” You wouldn’t call him hideous. You’ve just never seen a god that looked like him before. “I… I wanted to see if you were real.”

A flash of red on his face.

“hahahahah!” He bellowed suddenly, harshly. “of course. i’m sure i’m just a forgotten myth by now, aren’t i? no one’s visited here since your wretched mother-” You flinched, “-chained me here, left me to rot. they all did. the joke is on them… i won’t fade away like they hoped- prayed i would. one day the light will die and i’ll be there to make them pay.”

A growl rips out of his throat at his last words- you couldn’t help it, you squeaked. The banished god’s eyes snapped to look at you, the snarl on his face turning back to a smile that was too soft after his burst if anger.

“oh…. you poor thing…” Sans coos. It was like his voice was caressing you in the worst ways. “i’m sorry, did i scare you? little light… you don’t deserve my ire, you had nothing to do with my entrapment.”

You’re clutching onto your scarf, enough so that you feel like it would rip. You’re quite surprised, actually- you were sure the moon god would have such a deep grudge for your mother that he’d hate her daughters just as much, but… no. You didn’t know how to feel about the moon god’s concern for you. Having his attention felt like a horribly bad thing.

The god brings a skeletal finger to his face, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “you’re a brave one, aren’t you?” he acknowledged, “bravery… or ignorance. not even the big gods have dared come near my moon. they know what i’m capable of.”

Instantly you find yourself looking down- you let out a quiet sigh. Your light illuminates his chains, glinting whenever you move. It must be your mother’s magic reacting to your sunlight, because it wasn’t just reflecting the light, it was glowing ever so softly. It looked ancient… old, but not rusted. You felt like you were looking at living history. Just like your sisters, to you, it felt like the story of the moon god was stuck in a fairytale. That he was the villain of a story that was just that- a story. Yet here you were, looking at him in his prison, the chains your mother put on him still brilliant for its age. Two were shackled to his wrists and two more went under his robe to his feet.

Despite that and the sturdy bars between you and him… it felt like you were the one who was cornered and trapped with him.

The moon was undoubtedly still his dominion.

His chains clink quietly as he shifted.

“come closer, starlight…” Sans beckoned, “i want to see you better. i haven’t felt sunlight in thousands of years. i may despise your mother but… oh, to see light…”

You hadn’t realized how far you’d gotten yourself from the bars, almost at the opposite wall to Sans’. You hd no desire to come close to this prison of doom but- you do.

You walk halfway towards the bars.

“closer, closer…”

You walk a little bit forwards.

“please, sunlight… i haven’t seen the light in so long. i want to see your brilliance…”

You’ve come as close as you could, just in front of the bars. The closer you got to the bars, the sharper the shadows looked. A chill fell over you- it felt like his prison was a dark hole that threatened to suck you in.

He smile was too wide-

A flash of movement, a roar. He was right in your face, four sets of claws outstretched before you, so close to your light you could see every detail in his horrifying expression, his bared fangs, the wild look in his eyes.

You screamed louder than you’ve ever screamed, your light flashing, staggering backwards. The chains shone- screeching and straining against the god- he falls short of touching you, collapsing to the ground.

“AHAHAHAHAH!” The moon god laughs cruelly, the sound the embodiment of evil. It’s depth shook the entire building- no, it was shaking the entire moon.

You’re on the floor, gasping greedily, looking like a fish that had just been unceremoniously dumped on land, your divine soul threatening to fly out of your chest. Your light flickers as you get dimmer than before, the darkness around Sans threatening to devour you.

You were about to cry.

Sans’ violent laughs started to quiet, eventually shifting into a satisfied sigh. This close, you could see him in more detail- his robe was gray, with the same symbol on his temple pinning it on his chest. You could see how your light flickered over his bones, his face.

He had four arms, two of which had been hidden under his robe. Unchained, they reached beyond the bars just shy of touching you.

“aw…. you’re adorable.” Sans growls. You watch in horror as a glowing silver tongue slithers out of his mouth, licking his fangs. He’s staring at you intently, a predator excited to see prey. “had you not stumble i would’ve had you against these bars…”

You look at his second set of hands. His claws reach out for you and you shuffle back, Sans following with another low laugh. It felt like those chains weren’t going to hold against him, that they were going to shatter any second now. That he’d bend the bars apart and bite you.

“oh…. lighten up, starlight.” He chuckles, as if he hadn’t just scared you half to death. His sockets crinkled, eyelights shining with a dark ‘pupil’ in the middle. They shifted ever so slightly over you.

“you must know that it’s so boring here, all alone in this pitiful cell,” He groans, throwing his head back in dismay, “i’ve been desperate to have someone to play with… and you look like a sweet little treat.”

You use your scarf to cover yourself more, becoming more and more convinced that maybe the moon god actually wants to eat you from the way he’s staring.

“i’m impressed… you haven’t run away,” He props his head up with one of his unchained hands. “why haven’t you?”

It was a genuine question. You looked at his room from top to bottom.

“There’s bars… and chains.” You say, trying to convince yourself that you were perfectly safe here.

“hm…” his other unchained hand was tapping the floor as he thought for a moment. “are you sure they’ll hold?”

“...” You weren’t convinced.

“heh… smart girl.”

His second set of arms moved again, reaching for the bars-

Ok. It was time to leave, right now.

“Th-thank you for your time, Moon god Sans,” you say hastily, standing up and dusting yourself off. “It’s been an honor to meet you. I see you are much more powerful than you already seemed in the stories. I must go home now, so… goodbye.”

You ran your mouth. Usually you’d leave a god with a bow or at most a word of praise. But that was when you were there with your sisters and your mother, with a god that didn’t have such a terrifying reputation.

You bowed as lowly as you could, pulling your scarves to the side. You didn’t want to look at him, disguised as looking at the floor. You wanted to get out of here as soon as possible, so you turned around on your heel towards the stairs-

“wait.”

Oh mother’s storm.

“please, starlight… won’t you come back? i’m so lonely…”

You looked behind you. He was as close as he could be to the bars, in sitting position like when he was against the wall. His eyes shone brilliantly. This… powerful, dak god… was pleading to you.

You don’t know how to feel about it. You look back at him sparingly, biting your lip.

“... if you do…” Sans says after you’re silent for a little longer, “could you… bring me some snacks?”

That makes you go huh? softly.

“something sweet preferably. like a cake.”

You’re on the fence of responding. You couldn’t just say ‘I never want to come back here because I think I’d die of fright first before I could humor you.’

“I… I’ll think about it.” is what you instead settled on.

Finally, you allowed yourself to climb up the stairs, starting to run as soon as you’re out of his eyesight, flying as fast as you could home.

…

…

…

“... my. what a delicious little thing…”

[movedtodykedvonte]

*Spidey and the Sinister Six having their usual fight*

Doc Ock, landing a hit: You’re getting slow Spider-Man! Age finally catching up to you?

Spider-Man: You wish! I haven’t even hit my 30s! From those costumes I can already tell I failed to save you guys from those midlife crises! Sorry by the way.

Vulture: Watch it wallcr- wait… Did you just say your not in your thirties yet?

Spider-Man: Surprised that this spiders so young and spry? Well-

Electro: Dude I’ve been fighting you for at least 5 fucking years! How old even are you?

Shocker, joking cause he’s the only one who picked up no grown adult acts likes Spidey: Don’t swear in-front of the boy you don’t want him to pick it up.

Rhino: Christ! You’re tellin me I almost crushed some 12-year-olds skull all those years ago?

Spider-Man, regretting his quipping: I was not that young! Like just starting freshman year but-

Sandman, horrified as he’s the only one with a kid and dad instincts(as of my iteration): I could’ve killed a kid…

Shocker, genuinely curious: Are you even old enough to drink? Cruel to kill a man who ain’t had his first drink yet.

Electro: Please tell us you’re at least over 25 as of this fight. Hell, I’ll take over 21!

Spider-Man:….

Sandman, realizing just how young he really is: Oh my god.

Spider-Man: My birthday’s coming up soon so I guess it counts?

Doc Ock, exacerbated: It. Does. Not!

Vulture: What would your mother think if she knew her son was out here risking his life telling poorly constructed jokes?

Spider-Man, offended cause it quips slap: 1. My jokes are great 2. She and my dad are dead so-

Sandman, hysterical cause holy shit he almost killed a kid orphan: OH MY GOD!

[sar-per]

Jmart became the sinister happenings in the archives and honestly? Good for them

[gio-cosmo]

We are livin our liiiivvvveeesss abound with so much informatiooonnnn

[sobeautifullyobsessed]

A Khan By Any Other Name

a prequel to Star Trek: Into Darkness

mystery, suspense, danger ~ romance & NSFW material to follow

summary: Seraphina DiPietro is wise in the ways of the world; she has to be, as she travels the California coast as a torch singer in pubs, bars, and nightclubs. She knows how to take care of herself and stay out of trouble--most of the time. When trouble comes, it's usually because she lets her kind heart overrule her common sense. Stopping to check on a handsome stranger stranded roadside in the Mojave Desert, her curiousity is piqued as much by his classic, mint-looking Mustang, as by its driver--a tall, dark, mysterious drink of water, whom she quickly learns is so much more than he appears.

characters: Khan Noonien Singh (aka: John Harrison), Seraphina DiPietro (OC)

words: 1.9k

Chapter Two

“Drop it now,” he repeated, with the sure authority of a man accustomed to having his orders obeyed, “And I promise I will not hurt you.”

Despite his iron grip, Seraphina struggled to pull her arm away, hissing through teeth gritted against the pain, “Won’t hurt me?  You’re hurting me now.”

Harrison’s hold on her arm loosened some; she was still tightly caught, but the pressure of his grasp, the pain, had receded a fair bit—although she knew she’d find dark, finger-shaped bruises there in short order.  If she even lived that long. “Forgive me,” he told her, his voice low and even, “I’d forgotten how fragile your bones can be.”

What an odd thing to say, she thought, straining for release from his clutch and realizing it was all too impossible; she was no match for his strength, and even if she could manage to trigger the mace, she had no sure way to aim it properly.  She felt desperate, frightened tears well up in her eyes, but squeezed her eyes shut against them—for she would not give her assailant the satisfaction of her despair, nor would she beg for mercy.

He must’ve read that quiet resignation on her face, for he tugged her fist close and covered it with his free hand, urging her to see reason, “You cannot win this struggle, Seraphina.  Your resistance is futile; surely you understand this?”  Harrison’s voice was silk persuasion, rich and dark and seductive—at complete odds with the very real threat he presented.  “I could easily break your wrist and prize your little weapon from your fingers—but I honestly have no desire to hurt you. Just let it go.”  And then, to her great surprise, he added, “Please.”

Blinking through the tears that fell against her will, tears that betrayed weakness when she wanted to be strong, Seraphina met his eyes again.  His beautiful, deadly eyes—and saw in them an unexpected sincerity that matched his gentle “please”.  She bowed her head and opened her fist, leaving her key and the can of mace to fall onto the passenger seat.

“There—that wasn’t so difficult after all, was it?”  Why was his voice so soothing?  Fear of what he might do to her next coursed through her veins, yet Seraphina thought she could easily crumple to the ground, curl up into a fetal ball, and let his voice see her into untroubled darkness.  The heat, the fear, the adrenaline, the struggle—all of it had sapped her of the will to face whatever might come next.  She’d always believed it wasn’t in her nature to fall apart so quickly, but she felt that way now, all the same.

True to his word, Harrison released her arm, but Seraphina remained in place, braced against the passenger side door, shaking in the aftermath and considering her very limited options. She might try to make it to her hovercraft, but the stranger now held her key; and even if she had the strength to run and the speed to outpace him, to flee into the desert at her back would be equally as brutal as anything he might do to her. She'd have to make her stand right here, then--and though she was no match for his size and strength, she knew enough to leave him hurting before he took her down for good.

Taking stock of her condition--mentally preparing to fight him off as best she could--Seraphina flexed her left wrist carefully, wincing as she explored her tender forearm with cautious fingers. Nothing broken at least, though she felt a bone-deep ache; but it would not be enough to hamper any effort to defend herself.

Strangely, Harrison was ignoring her at the moment; having retrieved her keychain, he had torn the can of mace free with no effort, before hurtling it carelessly into the desert. Seraphina had a vivid image of her own broken, half-naked body flung just as easily and left upon the sand for carrion-eaters to feast upon. She shoved the idea down deep, knowing such fear would only cripple her--and was immediately dumbfounded when he held the key out to her.

"Did I not say I have no wish to harm you?" Harrison's eyes bored into her own, searching for calm and reasoned understanding. "In spite of how it appears, we are equally vulnerable in this place and situation. We must find a way to trust one another. " Sera only continued to regard him warily. "Take this," he insisted, "If I judge you correctly, simple concern for a traveler in need motivated you to stop. And in keeping with your nature, I believe that you will not deny me the help that I need."

Sera studied his face, looking for signs of deception, skittish to trust him but accepting his peace offering nevertheless. "You lied," she said, defiant yet holding her anger at bay, "This car isn't yours..."

Harrison nodded, his full lips pressed together against a small placid smile, "I never claimed that it was..."

"It's stolen," she fumed, irritated with herself for allowing him to so easily mislead her when her first instinct had been correct after all.

"An act of desperation, I assure you..."

"Just as this was," she exclaimed, extending her bruised forearm to him, "I have to wonder what happens to people who truly stand in your way, Mr. Harrison. "

Unruffled by her outburst, Harrison closed his eyes a moment and breathed deeply. When he looked to her again, he was the picture of patience. "I swear I have no desire to cause you--or anyone else--harm. But you must understand, I am in dire straits and as we linger here, my family is in imminent danger." He paused, weighing the effect of his words upon her. "Such a thing will make a man act beyond the measures of polite society."

Seraphina narrowed her eyes, skeptical of his revelation of a family, but suspending her disbelief for the moment, "How then? What sort of danger is your family in?"

"Their very lives hang in the balance, threatened by a powerful man who seeks to manipulate me into working for him." Embers of hate flashed in his eyes, and he gave a bitter huff as he added, "Forcing me to work toward the most nefarious of purposes."

Sera shook her head, clearing the double vision that had crept up on her; she cupped a trembling hand against her forehead, which came away slick with perspiration. It was the heat getting to her, obviously. She felt parched, although the thought of putting anything into her roiling stomach left her feeling even more nauseous, and her head was pounding in time with her racing pulse. She needed to get out of the goddamn heat before she collapsed from heat exhaustion--while the man before her looked completely unaffected by the desert climate. "And...and I suppose this mysterious man is so powerful that you can't seek help from the proper authorities?" Sera leaned all her weight against the car door, wondering if Harrison had noticed her current state of distress.

If he did, he gave no sign of it, a mix of pain and rancor coloring his strikingly handsome features. "So powerful that it would be in your best interest to remain ignorant as to his identity and position." Anticipating her next question, he warned her, "Do not ask--for I cannot reveal that information."

Though stymied by his vague replies--and sensing a much more complicated tale behind what he'd already admitted to--Sera read blunt honesty in his voice and body language. And the fact that he had willingly returned her key while asking for--rather than demanding--her help, seemed a testament to some underlying truth. She realized that she likely had only a few more minutes until she passed out, leaving her completely at Harrison's mercy. "Then how...how did you end up here, stranded in the Mojave," Sera asked, panting softly, "How does any of this help your family?"

He was watching her closely now, so that he had to aware that she was fading fast. "That is a rather long and complicated tale, Seraphina." His voice had again taken on a lulling pitch. "One which I believe would outlast your capacity to remain on your feet."

She held on to the window frame, white-knuckled but determined to remain upright long enough to learn his hidden agenda. "I'm fine...I...I'm just a little light-headed..."

"Step aside now, Seraphina." Again, that tone of a man whose orders were obeyed without question. "You have little time left before you lose consciousness." His hand was already on the door handle, and she stumbled back in time for him to swing the door open.

Then he was looming over her, a tall, cooling shadow, reaching out to brace her. His touch this time was firm, while surprisingly gentle. "We need to get you out of this heat." Unexpected concern in is stunning eyes, calming concern in his voice. The man was a beautiful enigma.

"No...please...tell me. If...if you want me to trust you..." Her world was darkening around the edges, narrowing so that only his face remained in her field of vision. "If you want me to help...I need...I need to know..." Seraphina felt herself going, and as her consciousness fled, so did her fear and curiousity; only one need remained. She sobbed against him as he scooped her up into his arms, "But you promised...you promised not to hurt me again..." Her eyes fluttered shut as she slipped away from awareness.

Harrison strode swiftly towards her hovercraft, cradling her as softly as he could, knowing that the cool, dark interior was the quickest remedy at hand for what ailed her. "Oh, pretty little Seraphina," he murmured, brushing his lips against her dampened hair, inhaling the sweet scent of jasmine and honey, relishing how light and easy she felt in his arms. "Hurting you is the least likely thing I have planned."

(to be continued)

If you enjoyed this, please reblog ~ it's the only way others can see this work.💟

tagging: @icytrickster17 @ironstrange1991 @strangelockd @groovy-lady @aphroditesdilemma @stewardofningishzida @battledress @mousedetective @dearmrsstephenstrange @lorelei-lee @mckiwi @shinebrightlikeafanbase @cumberbatchitis @doctorhelm @strangeflashholmes221 @prulock @stargirl-designs @hajile10 @dancingmushu @iloveavengersblog @fireonmybones @osugahunnyicedtea @brayleigh14

(There were a few more blogs that I tried to tag based on the response to chapter one, but tumblr's messed up url search function kept telling me 'no blog found'🤨)

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

weee another fantasy au snippet <3 a little shorter than usual cause that's what the scene is <3 shorter <3

~

Something is wrong with Wally. 

It’s not serious, or at least Barnaby doesn’t think it is. If he didn’t pay such close attention to his buddy, he’d never know that anything was amiss at all - Wally has an excellent straight face. But not so excellent that Barnaby can’t read him.

There’s a different curve to his smile these days. It’s sort of pinched, sort of sad. It matches a look in his eyes that puts Barnaby on edge, if only because that deep, dark pensiveness is so wildly out of place on Wally’s soft face. 

It scares him. Something is off.

What is it?

Barnaby taps his claws on his middle as he stares at the tent roof, thin enough that firelight from outside bleeds through. Despite the late hour, his eyelids feel magicked open. The other side of the tent yawns empty, and that is precisely the source of Barnaby’s insomnia. 

Everyone is asleep except for two - and Barnaby is only awake because of one.

With a deep sigh through the nose, Barnaby sits up and clambers out of the tent. He shivers as he stands up and crosses his arms, rubbing at his fur. The night sky is clear, but the breeze cuts him through to the bone. It isn’t even winter yet, sheesh…

The campfire casts a fuzzy outline of red-orange around Wally. He doesn’t turn away from the embers as Barnaby shuffles behind him, and Barnaby doesn’t have to look to know that he’s staring directly into the low flames. He tweaks Wally’s raised hood as he passes, just to make sure Wally knows he isn’t alone anymore. He spaces out, sometimes. 

“Can’t sleep?” Barnaby asks as he takes the log next to Wally’s rock of choice. Wally just hums, and Barnaby frowns.

There’s that look again.

With how Wally is perched, his legs drawn up and arms folded on his knees, his smile is hidden. It’s unsettling. Barnaby scans Wally from the corner of his eye, taking in the tension in his shoulders and the nearly invisible pinch of his nonexistent brows. 

“Yeah, me neither,” Barnaby says. Another breeze, another shudder, and a quick glare at the stars. 

Should he press? The obvious answer is absolutely not, but… Barnaby isn’t sure how much of this - thisness he can take. He has no idea what to call it. A mood? It’s too serious to be considered a mood. All Barnaby knows is that when Wally is like this, something itches under his skin. 

Tonight would be a perfect opportunity to ask. Everyone else is fast asleep. Wally isn’t putting up the fronts he usually does. The knowledge that this Wally, the Wally all covered up and curled in on himself, is as vulnerable as anyone will never see - it makes Barnaby want to reach.

“Hey,” he murmurs, nudging his knee against Wally’s boot, “I’m starting to worry for the fire with how you’re glarin’ at the thing. What, did it emberass ya? Give ya the coal shoulder?”

Wally doesn't laugh, but his gaze softens. Barnaby curses himself.

“Not that there’s anything wrong with glarin' - I’m sure the fire deserves it,” Barnaby is quick to add. “But really… is everything alright, kid?”

“Yes,” Wally says, but it rings like an untruth. It's just something he’s saying because it’s what he always says. Everything is always fine with Wally. 

“You know you don’t gotta pretend with me. There’s somethin’ bothering you, I can tell.” Too far, too much, Barnaby is sure. He shouldn’t be so pushy.

But instead of clamming up, Wally’s eyes flicker down and away, guilty. The bloodhound in Barnaby perks up its ears. It’s all he can do not to point and shout AHA!, because that would assure that Wally would put up the same masks around him that he does with everything else. Vindication wars with his concern, as if he thought he might have been imagining the funks Wally has been slipping into.

Those too-long periods of silence that no one notices because Wally isn’t much of a talker. Moments of utter stillness that no one notices because Wally is always so stationary. The way he doesn’t drink in every new thing with a hunger like he usually does, as if Wally has been starving his whole life.

Those passing glances where his pupils seem too big, the blackness of them infinitely deep as if someone could fall into them. Maybe Wally is. Barnaby doesn’t want him to.

“You don’t gotta say a word,” Barnaby says, wishing the campfire log was just a smidge closer to the rock. “I just want ya to know that I see you, and I’m here. Whatever’s goin’ on in that pretty head ‘a yours, I’ll be right there for whatever you need. I got your back, Walls.”

Wally’s smile peeks over his arms for a moment - he always has liked being called pretty, or handsome, you name it. Barnaby preens over being able to coax him even the slightest bit out of the pit he’s slowly spiraling into. He’s winning big at the whole ‘best friend’ thing, Barnaby thinks - a complete natural.

For a long while, Barnaby doesn’t care to keep track, they sit in companionable silence. The fire cracks and pops when Barnaby adds a chunk of wood to it, coaxing it into a flame that actually takes the bite out of the breeze. Crickets chirp in the forest around them - something howls far away. 

The tension doesn’t leave Wally. In fact the longer they sit, the worse it gets. Barnaby keeps his mouth shut and eyes on the fire, the woods, the stars - anywhere except Wally. It’s the kind of tension that makes him suspect that Wally is gearing up to speak. Sometimes it feels like there’s a sinkhole of silence that opens up whenever Wally has something of his own to say. 

Reviving the fire was either a smart move, or a dumb one. It depends on how quickly Wally thinks of how to share. Without the brisk chill of night keeping Barnaby fresh-faced, sleep is finally starting to sink into him with the fire’s warmth. He briefly considers sneaking into Howdy and Sally’s tent to sneak an energy potion from Howdy’s pack. Pros, he’ll certainly be awake for Wally. Cons, he’ll be awake long past Wally’s spiel, Howdy will have a fit over missing an item, and Sally will have a bigger fit over Barnaby sneaking into her tent when he inevitably comes clean. Also, the potions don’t taste great. Or maybe he should fetch his pipe-

“I think. I don’t…”

For a second, Barnaby misses that Wally spoke at all. He double-takes when the half sentence registers, casting a quick look to Wally. Okay, no, don’t do that. Focus on the fire. Be casual - give him space. Barnaby nonchalantly pokes the coals with the fire stick.

Wally sighs - such a small sound that the crickets almost drown it out. But Barnaby has big ears, and they perk up. When does Wally ever sound frustrated? Curse him, but Barnaby finds it novel. Wally shifts on the rock, curling up impossibly tighter and turning his head away. Barnaby watches the back of his hood. 

“I don’t think I’m a good person,” Wally admits in the smallest, deadest voice Barnaby has ever heard. 

“What?” Barnaby says, or he means to. The air in his throat doesn’t quite form sound. He turns to Wally and clenches his paws on his knees to keep from reaching, floundering for words. 

How could he - why would he - who told him that he - 

“What do you mean?” Barnaby says, a disbelieving chuckle slipping out. “Wally, kid - you’re the best guy I know. You’re my best guy. Out of all the ways I could describe you, a bad person isn’t one of ‘em.”

Wally whips his head around, his eyes flashing - Barnaby tenses his entire body to keep from recoiling, though he can’t keep his eyes from widening.

For a second there he thought… he thought he saw… it must have been the firelight reflecting in Wally’s dark eyes.

Wally’s intense gaze pierces straight into Barnaby’s soul. He feels flayed raw and seen in a way that makes him want to run. But there’s something else. Something scared. Wally is searching for something, and Barnaby doesn’t know what or how to give it to him. His claws splinter bark.

As soon as it appeared, the look fades. Barnaby can take deep breaths again, and he lets go of the log. Wally blinks slowly and lets his sleepy gaze slide back to the fire. “I don’t know… maybe.”

Barnaby carefully lays a paw on Wally’s back. “You’re a good person, Wally. I don’t know who told you otherwise, but don’t listen to ‘em. You’re a fantastic friend, an even better best friend, and I gotta say - you make a pretty bang-up wizard. You’re the most.”

“I’m the most?” Wally murmurs, sounding surprised. He makes a sound that might be a laugh, might be a scoff. “No… you’re the most.”

“Tell ya what- we’re both the most.”

Wally casts him a sideways look, but doesn’t protest further. He hums.

“C’mon, lil’ wizard,” Barnaby says with a pat to his back, “let’s give the fire a break and turn in for the night.”

Just as he was starting to relax, Wally shies away from his touch, curling up like one of those shelled bugs Frank likes so much. “I think I’ll stay up a little longer.”

Barnaby swallows down the hurt and pulls away. “Alrighty. Don’t stay up too late - we got a day tomorrow.” 

“Ha. I know.”

With that, Barnaby stands. He gently squeezes Wally’s nape through the hood as he passes, and breathes a silent sigh of relief at how Wally leans into the touch.

All’s forgiven. Though he isn’t sure what for… whatever Barnaby said or did wrong, he’s just glad Wally doesn't mind.

Barnaby clambers into the tent and another shiver ripples through his fur. All the darn heat leeched out of it... He wraps himself in his thin, too-small blanket and shivers as hard as he can manage to generate some kind of warmth. It’ll heat up soon, he just has to wait. Wally usually casts a little sun spell on cold nights, but Barnaby can do without. Even if the tent gets comfortably warm, Barnaby isn’t sure if he’ll sleep.

Wally didn’t believe him. 

And Barnaby doesn’t know how to make him believe.

How could he think that he isn’t a good person? Barnaby meant what he said - Wally is the best person he knows. Wally is kind, patient, and just - just - him. There isn’t a single bad thing about him. Barnaby is so proud to call him his best friend. 

There has to be something that started this. A moment that made Wally doubt himself. Did someone say something? Not anyone in the Neighborhood, they all love Wally to pieces. He’s their wizard! He’s saved their lives and countless others, and their group simply wouldn’t be complete without him. He rounds them off with an artsy flourish.

So. There’s no reason that Wally should be feeling like this. But that look in his eyes… the guilt… there’s something else going on. Something deeper than just ‘I’m scared I’m a bad person.’ 

Something is wrong. 

Firelight flickers outside the tent, and Barnaby watches it until it goes dark.

[miekasa]

worst tropes

men dating women in the same career/field as them an get silent/bitter because she's having a big moment/is more accomplished than him

men dating women in time-demanding careers and then are upset that their careers demand their time

men with podcasts

men dating independent/emotionally unavailable women and then are upset that they are independent/emotionally unavailable

men who can't drive

best tropes

friends to lovers

men who can drive

love on purpose, love that's intentional, love that's not rotten work because it's you

[just-a-strange-boy]

ethereal

There aren't many beautiful things left in Stephen Strange's world, a vast and cold place. But at least he has you - the most beautiful person he had ever come across. He wants to make sure to prove it to you and worship you accordingly - not even letting sleep come between the two of you.

Pairing: Sinister Strange x Reader (GN)

Warnings: 18+ (Minors DNI), somnophilia, questionable consent, unprotected sex, Sinister being...not that sinister actually

A/N: I do like dark Sinister. But you know what I enjoy more? Sinister who would do anything for you, because he is a massive simp. And so damn horny for you.

Ethereal.

If Stephen Strange could have chosen one word to describe you it was that.

There was always something so beautiful about you. Often times he found himself entirely enamored with the sight of you, wondering how someone could be so mesmerizing, so enthralling, so infatuating. Catching a glimpse of you at the right moment, the whole world seemed to stop around him.

Whether it was in the soft, warm candlelight or in the scarce daylight of this world or like now, in the bright moonlight seeping through the windows and falling upon your sleeping form beside him. He had eyes for you only, addicted to the sight of you.

You were so unique.

He had always known. Ever since you had stumbled into his life and messed with it, he had known. There was something indescribable about you, it seemed impossible to fully capture your likeness. Words couldn't do your beauty - may it be your physical form or what was deep down inside of your soul - justice. One thing he was very certain of though: no one could ever be like you.

You touched him in ways that Stephen didn't think anyone ever could.

For so long he had been convinced of his own coldness, that he was simply unlovable and repulsive, that he was doomed to stay alone forever because he couldn't love anyone fully, truly. But then you had come along and chipped away at the hard demeanor bit by bit, breaking him down and building him back up, all with your love.

You had brought warmth to his coldness, love to his hatred, liveliness to his lonesome days.

Neither of you was doomed to live a life of solitary and anguish anymore. Just like he meant to give a purpose to you, you had given him meaning again.

And the best thing was that all of you belonged to him.

Sometimes Stephen couldn't quite believe it himself, to deserve someone as perfectly imperfect and wonderful as you.

Part of him was still oddly suspicious sometimes, afraid that once you were offered the chance, you would rather flee this world and leave him behind than stay with him, even in a world falling apart, forever. But you had proven him different so many times, because you were still there. You had remained right here, with him, and sworn to stay.

After all this time, he still couldn't really believe it. That you were here. That you were with him. That you had told him that you loved him and continued to prove it to him every day.

He often lacked words to proclaim his love to you. There was no way that shallow phrases would be enough to describe what he felt for you. It was easier to show, but even the little acts of service never felt enough to him. He would do anything for you and give you all. You deserved the world, this one and any other, if not the entire multiverse.

Even though he was only able to share what he had and there wasn't much left in this world, you still stayed around.

So he supposed there was a possibility that you did know after all. That his love for you went beyond the bounds of anything he had ever known, was a stronger force than any magic he had ever used, and that he would simply do anything for you.

Sometimes his love for you was overwhelming, left him restless, like now as he sat awake in bed, watching you, his wondrous partner, in the moonlight. It sent a soft glow to your skin, almost shimmering. You simply lay there, remaining in your deep slumber, breathing softly, the thick woolen blanket having slipped aside, now barely hiding your naked form, leaving most of you uncovered and for him to admire.

He would never grow tired of the sight.

He chuckled. So typical. You always preferred to sleep on your left side, one arm tucked under your head, body turned away from Stephen, displaying your back to him.

There were little reminders of your previous love-making, red streaks where his fingers had dug into your skin, bruises and bites where his mouth had latched onto you, and seeing them in contrast to the light tone of your skin made his heart swell with affection, and admittedly obsession.

You truly were his. And he would always make sure of marking you accordingly. You simply looked so pretty wearing his marks.

As Stephen's gaze traveled along the plane of your back, the expanse of your shoulders, limbs lax with sleep, he was surprised when you stirred slightly, curling further into yourself as you shifted your legs, an utterly adorable sound and soft breath slipping past your lips, before continuing in stillness.

Smiling down at you, Stephen carefully reached out to brush a hand through your sleep-ridden hair, carding through the soft strands that had grown longer and longer in time.

There was a relaxed sigh escaping you next as he began stroking the back of your head, fingertips softly grazing the scalp down to your nape. When you still wouldn't stir, Stephen thought it safe to assume you were continuing to soundly slumber. He didn't mean to disturb. But you had this magic over him, pulling him in, and he was entirely mesmerized with you.

In his profuse admiration, he couldn't help himself but touch more, marveling how the moonlight kissed your skin in this most beautiful way, your nakedness reminding him how perfect you were in every way, at any given time. How wonderfully submissive and pliant you always tended to be, for no one but him.

Certainly you wouldn't mind if he were to proclaim his affection and love, even in sleep. You never minded being the object of his relentless desire, all of his love focused on the wonderful creature that he thought you were, downright obsessed with taking you apart as he pleased.

Of course, you would allow him to do anything. You had little shyness, nothing ever seemed to be off-limits for you, and once again Stephen thought you were simply made to be his, suiting his every need, every little filthy plan of his.

But how, he wondered, would you react to this? Would you stir? Would you wake? Would you perhaps be responsive under the impression this was all a dream? Would you be startled to find out that it was not?

You looked so beautiful there and then, too good to be true, and he wanted to savor the moment, embrace you wholly and worship you accordingly.

Stephen smiled to himself, letting his hands slide lower and folding the blanket back, grazing the tender skin of your back, fingertips trailing the traceable ridges of your spine – cervical, thoracic, lumbar, where the trapezius muscle ended and the latissimus dorsi began – and further down, slipping the blanket lower – sacrum and coccyx, gluteus maximus.

He could have studied you for hours and hours, like a doctor tending to his favorite subject, and found himself incapable of stopping his hands from wandering, gently tracing your backside.

Making sure to not startle you awake, he slid down next to you eventually, carefully pressing up to your naked form, bodies perfectly slotting together like they always did, embracing you.

You always felt so soft under his hands, your smell was simply intoxicating, not too mention the beautiful sight, and being so wrapped up in all of you did a plenty amount of things to Stephen, his cock stirring with arousal as he rubbed it against the swell of your ass.

His hands slid further along the tender skin, fingers trailing your upper thigh, moving along the protruding hip bone, down to the pelvic area, only lightly grazing your inner thighs and eventually the apex in between.

He hummed and wondered if you would be easily aroused in this state too, unaware of the attention paid to you. But you didn't stir, remaining entirely calm, even as Stephen carefully shifted the position of your leg, skilled fingers tracing your sex with the gentlest touch, hand fully wedged between your thighs as he went on exploring, finding you still lightly loosened from your earlier love-making.

Stephen always considered it convenient to have magic at hand. His intention was not to harm or hurt you, never that. While you occasional sought out this wicked pain during sex, a primal rawness, the sting of bites or fingers digging into each other's skin, now was not the time.

He didn't want to disrupt you, wanted to worship you and have you fully, revel in your beauty, your soft sleeping form.

So with magical handiwork and quick lubrication, he eased into you with gentle fingers, opening you up in a way that would usually coax out the sweetest sounds and moans from you, though not tonight. Not even the rhythm of your breathing changed, ever so softly, relaxed and at peace.

Feeling you properly loosened, he went on to slow replace his fingers with his hardness, sliding into you so easily, finding his way home, pushing deep within you. Being with you always made him feel at ease, calmed his mind, quieted his restlessness and his thoughts.

Stephen reveled in your warmth, the comforting grip you had on him, taking him in so well, and he pressed up more to your relaxed body, circling one arm around your form, holding you tightly and securely.

He would never let any harm come to you. He would protect you forever. Love you fiercely. Until the world around you would finally cease to exist and the universe would swallow you both whole – and even then, he would be content because at least he'd been able to have you.

How could he ever let go of something as wonderful as you, of your perfect imperfection, your wholesomeness? It would be so foolish. You were his whole world.

Stephen gently began to move within you, slow and careful thrusts filling you out, enjoying the warm and smooth sensation around him, welcoming him in.

He buried his face in soft strands of your hair, taking in a deep breath, basking in the intoxicating smell that always clung to you, and feeling so much like he was truly at home.

The Sanctum had been his sanctuary, his residence for so long, but ever since the incursion and the extinction of life as it was, it had never quite been an actual home to him, more so a prison.

Not until you came along and made it a place worth living at again. Because you were his home, much more than any place could ever be.

Settling on a gentle rhythm, he brought your bodies close. Stephen wished he were able to read your mind now, wished he could look into your beautiful head, wished he could sense what you felt right now and if you perhaps found yourself enjoying it as much.

Closing his eyes and resting his forehead against your shoulder, pressing a soft kiss to your pale skin, he allowed himself to get lost in you and take his pleasure, rocking into you, pliant and relaxed and so wonderful.

His heartbeat quickened a little, he was breathing heavily against your back and perhaps it was that or his thrusts becoming so much more intense as he went greedy with lust, which caused you to stir in your sleep.

The relaxation seemed to ripple away from your body, muscles suddenly tensing and winding up, and Stephen could feel you clench around him, which caused a huffed moan to slip past his lips.

Then you simply hummed, inhaled deeply and pressed back into him.

The immediate response to his advances made Stephen shudder, more arousal surging through him, plunging deep into the tight hold that you had on him, until he was fully seated within you.

A small grumble, a little huff, stirring again. It was even more exciting for him to not know whether you would be waking up any second now. Perhaps you would stay in your sleeping state, thinking you were only dreaming. Perhaps you were pretending.

Whatever it was, it made Stephen want you even more and he continued thrusting into you shallowly, making use of your wonderful body, loving you whole-heartedly.

You mewled softly, whimpering even, small little sounds escaping you whenever he pushed deep inside.

A heat had fallen over the two of you, an unspoken and forbidden passion, whereas you still seemed to remain in your slumber, though not entirely unresponsive. Oh, did you know what was going on? Did you know what to await? How would you feel waking up with Stephen's cock nestled inside of you and the stickiness of your love-making between your legs?

His hands returned to travel your chest, front and center, feeling your heartbeat, which was quickening occasionally, but more so a steady sign of life that Stephen cherished so deeply.

With calloused fingertips he brushed lower, following the trail down to your navel, down to your crotch, and brushing over your arousal, finding you very responsive to the intimate attention. While there was no buck of hips, no pressing against his hand in return and you remained relatively still, you were obviously aroused.

In return, Stephen wondered how he could possibly get you to react. How he could possibly wake you up, pull you from your deep slumber with the element of surprise, if not even initial shock or embarrassment.

Then again, he was certain that you would have never refused his advances either way, enjoying to be used by him as he pleased, as it too was your hearts desire to fulfill Stephen's needs whenever you could.

He groaned into your ear, a noise of pleasure and indescribable lust, hips continuously rocking into you, sinking his cock into you and pulling back out and all over again, a steady but gentle rhythm that sent shivers down his spine, body filled with immense lust, and he wasn't all too surprised about his orgasm nearing, buried in your tight heat, pressed so close to you, his one and only.

Maybe it were his noises, the careful movements, the proximity, the intrusion or simply that you were wearing off sleep for another reason that made you stir beside him.

A silent gasp for air, the initial urge to pull away, before shuffling back to get comfortable in his embrace, realizing what was happening, but too heavily in this dream-like state that you wouldn't refuse him altogether.

"Stephen?", you muttered softly, your hand searching to reach for the one that had found its way to the apex of your thighs, carefully trying to bring pleasure to you alongside his thrusts. You placed yours above his.

"Yeah, my love", he whispered back, breath brushing over the delicate skin of your nape, "My darling, I just had to have you."

While others would have perhaps reacted in fear or immediate flight, you still didn't refuse any of his advances, pressing back into him in means to feel him deeper, to take him all in. There was a small moan escaping you, all too pleased with what he was offering, a part of you secretly enjoying he found you so hard to resist, flattered by his relentless desire and adoration.

"You're insatiable", you hummed drowsily, sleepy, your nimble fingers on Stephen's hand between your legs, drawing lines along the familiar scarred tissue as he was still keen bringing pleasure to you.

"You're all too beautiful, my love, and hard to resist. My sleeping beauty, my everything", Stephen praised you softly, feeling his orgasm approaching, especially now that you were soft and pliant and so very responsive. He didn't care about corrupting you, didn't care about the debauchery and potentially using you to his own pleasure.

It was all too late anyways, you already were a beautifully deranged pair, but of course he would never find the intention to do harm to you.

It was all worship.

To his surprise, he wasn't the first one to come.

There was something undeniably wonderful and fulfilling about you going rigid, a shudder going through you all of the sudden, breath hitching, an unexpected noise of pleasure escaping your throat, like you hadn't quite awaited to be brought all the way to the edge. You weren't as vocal as normally, not as passionate, weren't falling apart under Stephen's hands like you usually did – but it was still a beautiful thing to witness while you came.

So beautiful and admirable that Stephen couldn't help but fill you right up with his come in response, groaning softly as his balls tightened and pleasure surged through his body, rocking further into you, holding you in his tight embrace as he emptied himself within you.

He never wished for it to be otherwise, always wanted it to be just the two of you, forever and ever, for as long as your universe lasted.

"Sleeping beauty, huh?", you muttered after a while, urging Stephen to tighten his hold around your middle, before pulling the blanket back up over your forms, "Couldn't have waited until the morning to wake me up for sex?"

Stephen chuckled lowly, planting a kiss on your shoulder. "I could have, but then you and I would have missed out on this experience. I daresay it was worth it. You know me, my love", he responded quietly, remaining seated deep inside you, unfazed by the slickness and sticky mess between your bodies.

"Yeah, I know you all too well", you replied with a sleepy mumble, "And love you all the same."

[theriverbeyond]

Have you ever wondered what the original pool scene was like, when Harrow's parents took her to the little saltwater pool and told her the truth?

WONDER NO LONGER‼️ Featuring:

A pool of saltwater

Reverend Parents' A+ Parenting

GIDEON MENTIONED‼️

Some cursory worldbuilding

Terrible confessions

1k words | Not rated

[hedgehog-moss]

"Halloween didn't used to exist in France" girl, you keep llamas.

[incorrectsibunaquotes]

I have a theory that the reason we as an audience feel like Sibuna in Season 3b are making monumentally stupid choices is because the show doesn’t actually spell out for us that the kids don’t have all the information we have. In fact, they are operating with less than half of our knowledge. (This is gonna be a longgggg post, so read under the cut if you dare)

On my latest rewatch of S3 for fanfic purposes, i found myself really struggling to justify why the hell Eddie couldn’t put two and two together with his vision of Patricia and the “traitor” in Sibuna. I was frustrated with him because to me it was incredibly obvious! Like who else could it possibly be?? But then, I rewatched it again with a closer eye and everything suddenly clicked:

We, the audience, are watching the action from a completely zoomed out angle. We’re not just following Sibuna, but we’re also following Team Evil. We know Robert is capturing Sinners and what a Sinner actually is, before Sibuna is even fully aware that they failed to stop the eclipse ceremony. The kids metaphorically tripped at the starting line.

Furthermore, this is the first time in the show that the Sibunas have not had either the upper hand or were even on equal playing field with the adults. In Season 1, the Society was wholly unprepared for a bunch of adolescents to start foiling in their plans (bc why would they be prepared for that??), and Sibuna basically destroyed them due to adults underestimating their willingness to fuck around and find out. In Season 2, Victor/Vera and Sibuna were on equal ground; no one knew how to solve the tasks and it was a matter of a bunch of separate parties trying to figure it out before each other. They were all just throwing shit at the wall and hoping it stuck.

At the top of Season 3, we play a lot with both the S1 and S2 dynamics. At first, Sibuna is leagues and bounds ahead of the adults, and then they pretty quickly end up on the same footing. Then, in the second half of the season, that entire dynamic is flipped on its head, and it’s Sibuna who are wholly unprepared for the adults. I’ve talked about how the kids, especially our Sibuna veterans, got a little too comfortable with Victor and co’s ineptitude and cocky with their own intelligence… but that’s not even why they were so slow on the uptake.

None of the Sibunas even hear the word “Sinner” until they find that book in the secret room and read it while sitting on the stage. And the book does not explain at all what a Sinner actually is. It tells them that Ammut needs “the souls of five human sinners who embody the greatest flaws on mankind” and once she has five of them she can enter the human realm and cause lots of problems. Absolutely nowhere in the book does it ever say “Also, much like Robert, the soulless body of the Sinner is reawakened in service to the underworld.” The only other hint that could have possibly clued anyone in is “when your friends are not your friends”. But like, that clue was ages ago! Why would they even be thinking about that, when it had absolutely no bearing on their hunt for the secret room/answers up to that point? I cannot stress this enough, THEY HAVE ABSOLUTELY NO CLUE WHAT A SINNER IS! (I’m gonna repeat this sentence about 400 times in case you don’t get it now lol) Mind you, that atp in the timeline, this is approximately fifteen or so minutes before Denby captures Patricia.

But let’s rewind all the way back to when Team Evil devises a plan to kidnap Eddie. He’s in the crypt, right? It’s pretty evident to him that it was probably Denby, Victor, and/or Robert who trapped him here, but he’s got no real clue as to why. Of course, we all know that they’re planning on turning him into a Sinner, because we saw Victor get turned. But as far as Sibuna knows, Victor has never really been on their side, so all they think is that he’s being meaner than usual but of course he’s opposing them. That’s not strange.

Okay, so Eddie is stuck and distressed, but he’s not as panicked as he needs to be because nowhere in his mind does he think this could potentially end in what is essentially his death. Now, throw in the horrifying vision he has of Patricia getting dragged into a glowing sarcophagus. He still doesn’t know what a Sinner is, but he knows that whatever he just saw was really bad; it’s an incentive from the Osirian spirit (or the house, or the gods, or literally whatever) to actually try to get the hell out of there.

So we’re all sitting here watching going “Oh my god they’re gonna nab Patricia and make her evil! 😰” because we have context; Eddie has absolutely none. It’s also really important for later on that his vision ends when the sarcophagus door shuts. It’s framed as incredibly final, and for all Eddie knows, they’ve just stuffed Patricia in what he knows is a tiny cramped space and locked the door behind her. He thinks that at best they are going to kidnap her or, at worst, straight up kill her. Nothing in that vision indicates she’s walking out of there at all.

When Patricia ran off after the fake messages, Eddie is concerned for a lot of different reasons, but the two primary ones are the obvious “oh my god my girlfriend thinks I cheated on her what do I do???” and the other is “if she’s run off on her own, the adults could fulfill my vision!” But then she turns back up, which should be clear to us by now means that he thinks she’s safe. He’s waiting for her (for any of them) to disappear. But when none of them do, they think it’s fine. It’s not that Eddie doesn’t think Patricia is in danger of becoming a Sinner, he just doesn’t realize what that would actually look like.

Even when they’re all in the hallway morbidly joking about having to give up sinning, the language KT uses is telling of what they think being a Sinner means: “We don’t want to accidentally help out Team Evil [by sinning].” Of course, this statement works with the knowledge the audience has of everything, but if Sibuna actually knew what they were dealing with, KT would have said something more like “We don’t want to get captured/turned by Team Evil.” The jokes they’re making are still morbid, but because they think you just get put in the sarcophagus and that’s the end of it.

Let’s flash forward again to the phonograph getting smashed and Eddie’s second vision that prompts the witch hunt panic in the first place. The vision can be separated into three parts: 1) Eddie sees a hooded figure smash the phonograph (okay Sibuna already knows someone did it on purpose, not too crazy); 2) Robert approaches him creepily and has the mic-drop moment of “it was one of your little friends; you have a viper in your nest” (seriously what a raw line of dialogue… but also now Eddie is being told that there is a traitor. Pretty cut and dry); 3) he turns around and sees every other member of Sibuna mockingly throw up the Sibuna sign (uh oh!)

So here is where people (including me!) always got a little annoyed with Eddie for not doing the math. But upon several rewatches and actually listening to what everyone was saying, never once do any of the kids ever bring up the word “Sinner” during the entirety of this whodunnit arc. And that’s simply because it’s not even a thought that crosses their minds. The language they use is very telling: “traitor” and “betrayal” being the heavy hitters. If any of them actually had context for what was actually going on, the language they would be using would be more like “victim” or literally just “Sinner” as a noun. But they don’t, which is why they’re so hostile toward one another… and why KT was screwed from the moment Eddie had that vision.

Because the fact that they don’t know that a Sinner is an evil version of themselves (not just someone whose soul is being used as a power generator), means that on a subconscious level Fabian, Alfie, and even Eddie already assumed KT was guilty. And Sinner!Patricia knew that, and that’s why she was so easily able to pivot and pin it on her. KT was directly linked to Frobisher, and Fabian and Alfie had already been suspicious of her at the start of the season for other reasons. It’s why Fabian let Patricia help him with the finger printing in the first place: because he doesn’t believe it’s her. And Eddie would have no real reason to suspect Patricia for three reasons: 1) Because he’s in love with her; 2) Because he knows just how long Patricia (and Fabian, and Alfie) have been loyal to Sibuna and to each other; 3) Because he, like everyone else, was looking at this betrayal as a willing capitulation to the Team Evil.

The first time Sibuna becomes aware that a Sinner is an entity that they have to actually watch out for walking about (as opposed to just having to watch out becoming), is after KT and Harriet manage to escape Patricia in the Gatehouse. Harriet clearly knows what a Sinner is bc she has the presence of mind to actually explain (vaguely, of course, because she’s drugged to kingdom come) to KT what she’d just narrowly escaped.

And then when she confronts Sibuna and Patricia in the hallway after Miss Crocodile Tears is telling tales about KT trying to kidnap her, KT drops the bomb on the boys: “She was trying to make me a Sinner just like her!” Pause. Record scratch. Okay. Now everything they thought they knew about the situation is completely recontextualized as something much more sinister than what they initially thought. Because I’d always struggled with how cruel they were being to KT, especially if they thought it wasn’t her fault. But everything up until this point deeply suggests or rather expects us to understand that Sibuna only had two pieces of an 100 piece puzzle, and that them being mean to KT was because they thought she actually betrayed them.

With all of this in mind, Eddie is not stupid for not figuring it out right away. In fact, without knowing what a Sinner actually is, it would be an insane leap to assume Patricia had anything to do with the phonograph.

I’ve basically talked myself and all of you in several circles, but the bottom line is the show didn’t do a fabulous job of telling us that Sibuna had no clue what they were up against. It’s easy for us to sit back and go “what the hell is wrong with them are they stupid?” because we have all the knowledge of what’s going on eons before they do. This is a far more charitable read of the characters’ choices and thought process, and the only way any of their actions make any sense. In fact, this is less of a theory and more of what is… literally canon, I guess

[aka-indulgence]

H…. HI I MADE A BOB VELSEB DRABBLE HAHA IM WEAK (laughs nervously)

(Also click here for ao3 link)

I…. I threw my hat in the ring…… your honor i think he’s neat,,,,

This is jus. Meet-cute. In the idea that you get close to him before the fact that he’s a cannibalistic serial killer is known to the wider public.

Special thanks to @goodgollymissmeli for the meat facts /w\

(also another written work in a week? it’s a new year miracle ✨ ✨)

((CW: blood and murder, but only a little at the end. It’s not the focus of the story. Also for those of you don’t know he’s also a cannibal <u<;;;))

—-

Brr, that sure is the autumn chill.

You find yourself strolling down the quiet streets of Everytown, a bit late into the night. You’ve moved here less than a month ago, currently looking for some way of life. Other than the fact that you’re looking for a job… right now you’re hungry, and looking for some place to get an easy snack (you haven’t gotten into the swing of buying groceries. Fast food for you!).

You remember a burger joint a couple blocks down and decided to check it out.

So far you found the town quite charming, despite the rumours floating about, that it was a weird town. Lots of conspiracies, urban legends, paranormal reports. You don’t really know about all that. Maybe it can even add a lil’ spice to your life. Plus… halloween was coming up soon, and this town was famous for it! You felt like a kid again, excited for it to roll around.

Not sure about jobs yet, but you’re not too pressed about it. On account of it being a small town with weird rumors around it, there was a lot of job openings everywhere- it was apparent this town needed more workforce than it had.

(You went to the candy club a couple days back- they had some kind of halloween promo item when you visited, candy hairclips. You bought all the available colors. The guy at the counter also seemed nice- if a bit stressed. He seemed excited when you said you were looking for a job. You were seriously considering. You hoped they’d give out free candy…)

You stop your pondering when you arrive. Standing in front of the place, you smiled. ‘Boys ‘n Grills’ was a really cute name.

A bell chimed quietly when you entered, and you’re hit with the pleasant scent of fried patties. There isn’t a lot of people sitting in, maybe about… oh, three people. Only one person seemed to work here- the cook. No waiters? You thought to yourself. Everyone here seemed to be busy being… uh, tired. Of course, it was pretty late at night (your little gremlin self didn’t realize what time it was when you finally thought to grab dinner… whoops!). You’re suddenly acutely aware of how much you haven’t fit in to the crowd, awkwardly sitting down at the bar. Um.. so the cook didn’t have to bring your plate too far?

As soon as you sit, the cook turns around.

He’s a large man, hair long at the back, with stubble on his chin. His eyes were wide and looked at you with intensity that caught you off guard. When he faces you, you see a large outstretched grin on his face, like he was forcing himself to smile but went too far.

You find yourself intimidated- like you just intruded on him, even though… you’re a customer. You almost stammer and hop off your chair when he speaks.

“Well hello there. What can I do you fer, lil’ thing?”

O…. oh!

His face suddenly didn’t look quite as chilling when he spoke. He had a warm baritone, a southern drawl? And his expression looked bright instead of… foreboding. Hah- you don’t know what you’re even thinking. You’re just tired and paranoid.

“Oh hi! Yeah,” you respond too quickly, nerves getting to you. “Do you have a menu?”

The cook blinks at you for a bit, then crouches down under the bar to grab a menu. You flip through it, while he watches passively in front of you. Maybe he’s just… super attentive.

Damn… all of these look good.

“Do you have a recommendation?”

“.... Classic.” He answers, slowly. “Can’t go wrong with that.”

“Alright, then I’ll have that!”

He nods, turning around to the grill. He looks at the pre-made patties he made, looking at it for a while, then turning back to you. Then he grabs a patty and starts cooking it.

The sound, that ‘shhhh’ of patty in butter… the smell! Now you really notice how hungry you are.

“Man… that smells really good,” you mumble. “You must be an amazing cook!”

He half turns to you, smiling proudly.

“Thank you, very kind of ya to say.” He expressed, “I’m not just the cook, I’m the owner of this establishment.”

You practically make an “:o” face at him. “Oh wow, you’re running this whole thing by yourself?? Hah, I’m glad you’re also cooking because by the smell of it, it’d be a shame if others didn’t get to taste your cooking,”

He chuckles, “Now yer just flat out flatterin’ me.”

“I guess I’ll just have to see when I eat it myself!”

The meat sizzles pleasantly. You know it’s a given because he’s a cook… but you like the way how swift he moves, how he twirls his spatula before flipping the patty.

“I don’t reckon you’re from around here are you?” He asks, “Not a lot of new faces ‘round here, an’ not a lotta people ask for the menu.”

“Is it that obvious?” You giggle nervously, “Yeah, I’m new in town… sorry.”

“No no, ‘s a pleasure to meet ya.”

Soon after, he places the plate in front of you. Big, juicy burger and a side of fries.

“Excuse me,” you say awkwardly, taking a bite out of it.

Oh man… it’s good. You’re definitely coming back here.

“Name’s Bob. Bob Velseb,” he gives you his hand. You couldn’t help but notice the.. claw-like? Appearance to them. Nonetheless you shake it.

“(Y/n)!” You introduce yourself.

“So, how ya doing in this town?”

You tell him the summary. The move, cramming yourself in the truck, looking for a job. Some of the… weird characters you’ve met in town.

“A guy that… likes to imply he steals children?”

“Oh, Frank.”

“Uh. D…. does he steal children?”

“... Probably.”

“Huh?! Why hasn’t anyone stopped him???”

“Did you know… there are only two police officers in this town?”

You make a face. “Uh… huh.” Well that wasn’t very reassuring.

He smiles for a bit (still wide, less scary the longer you look at it), looking at your hair.

“Love yer hairclip.”

That surprises a shy little smile from you.

“Ah… thanks, it’s new! I got it when I arrived, actually,”

Girl… Why were you so giggly and nervous all of a sudden?!

He grins, more low-key and soft-looking. “It’s cute.”

… Ahem. You try not to hide your face and let it bounce of you. He’s talking about the hairclip, not you anyway. Nothing to get antsy about.

You talk to him a bit more, about how he runs this place all on his own (“Practically,” he adds. “From getting quality meat to getting food to the customer. Not a lot of people I can trust with the process.”

He starts drooling visibly, looking down at it and wipes it with a cloth from his pocket.

“Sorry. I get… hungry. ” He apologizes… somewhat insincerely, smile widening. He says it like it’s some sort of inside joke.

You aren’t sure why he said it like that.)

In the midst of your conversation, neither of you noticed the bell chiming or the customer that sat at the edge of the diner, in a booth, near the wall. Apparently he got annoyed enough that he shouts, startling the other customers, some of which were napping.

“Hey! When are you going to serve me, huh? You’re here to work, not chat. There’s barely anyone in this diner so don’t pretend you were busy- some of us are planning to sleep this night!”

You cringe, the automatic thought of Who told you to come so late anyway? bubbled to the surface. You say nothing, however- seeing the expression on Bob’s face.

He goes from his normal pleasant smile to frowning in an instant. His eyes go wide and a look of shocked hatred is on his face, gritting his teeth. He slowly, slooowly turns his head towards the rude customer, so slowly that you think you could hear a ‘creak’ in his neck. His mouth slowly stretches, wider than you’d seen it earlier, and a sick feeling settles in the pit of your stomach.

“Excuse me?”

Bob’s knuckles turn white from how hard he’s fisting his hand, and you see another hand reach for his kitchen utensils…

Sensing something’s boutta happen, you stand up and splutter “No no! Sorry. I was holding him up, had too much fun talking,”

You smile at them apologetically. Bob turns to you, surprised look on his face.

The customer huffs dismissively. “Then you should learn how to shut up and people do their job,”

Your look sours and your face clouds up. What a prick! Bob closes his mouth (huh, you just noticed he rarely hides his teeth), clearly still incensed, but put under better wraps. When he smiles it’s obvious to you that it isn’t like the friendly one he gave you, and his eyes are still wide. After Bob takes his order, he comes back and leans to you.

“You didn’t need ta cover for me…” He looks apologetic. “I woulda thrown him out the door… he stepped the line this time. Sorry about that,”

“Aw… that’s alright. There’s bad customers everywhere, and they take it out on people who least deserve it. At least I could shift the blame away from you. Plus… this way you’re still getting some good cash from him, right?” You rub your fingers together, showing off imaginary money.

“Plus, I’d rather not start an argument with stones.”

“...?” He tilts his head at you. “S… stones…?”

“... Cause. They’re rock-headed?” You shrug non committedly.

He stares at you, blinking like you just said the most ridiculous thing. Then he throws his head back and laughs, deep and full, his belly shaking with the force his laughter.

… :D

You didn’t come here with a plan to have a new crush! Stop it!! You think to yourself, rather helplessly.

“Hey… you’re pretty good at this,” He says, as soon as his laughs die down, rubbing a small tear off his eye. He waves his hands around vaguely, pointing to the rude customer. “Dealing with… people. And a funny lil’ thing, too.”

… ://D

“You said yer looking for a job right? Why don’t you come work as my waitress? Lord knows I need one sooner or later.”

Your eyes practically sparkle at him and his offer.

“R… really??”

“Sure, yer a charm to have around,” he closes his eyes, waving his hand in a circle, oblivious to your innocent look of admiration on your face, pink on your cheeks (Hey don’t blame you, this is one of the first really nice interaction you’ve had in this town, and you really weak to flattery!).

“Maybe there’d be,” he squints, glaring at the customer sitting behind him, “less crabby customers if there’s someone else helping me wait them out. If yer up for it.”

You’re beaming, practically a mini sun in that diner. “Yep, yes! I’d love to, thanks so much!”

————————————————

About 2 hours later.

You’re already home in your apartment, sleeping your worries away. You stayed around for a bit while Bob explained to you when to come, and how there won’t be much of a ‘training’, but that he’d personally tell you about the tasks you’d be doing.

“I don’t suppose you have an apron?”

“Um… no, but I can get one, if you need?”

Something to look forward in the near future, and he wasn’t even thinking about ‘hunting season’.

… Asshole from earlier fell asleep and had to be kicked out. By the time Bob was done closing up (and setting up), he was in front of his house. Didn’t take long to catch up.

Slow steps echo over the street. He can work with this.

The guy turns around at the sound, raising a brow. When he sees the devil smiling at him, he startles, stumbling back against the door.

“W-what, who-?”

“Did you know… ground up, human meat doesn’t taste that different to pork?”

The devil stalks closer, knife glinting as he takes it out of his belt.

“No… no wait!” The man pleads, one hand shuffling for keys in his pocket, the other rattling the doorknob.

Drool drips out the devil’s mouth, squinting at him.

The hunger.

“... Maybe you should learn to shut up and let people do their damn job.” He growls.

His screams are quickly silenced as the knife plunges into flesh and blood splatters.

[stripesdrawingadventures]

this has been spawned into existens due to an discord convo with @s-e-v-e-n-24

I LOVE THEM SO MUCHHH

also if I get enough attention I will write the complementary fic to it soooo

[ckret2]

Hey, do the Henchmaniacs actually consider Bill a friend and vice versa or just a means to an end, in Weridmaggedon it didn't seem like they were actual friends but more like he controls them through intimidation and they follow him because they have a similar goal. Does Bill just not know how to act towards friends in a healthy way but still consider them such? Love your fic btw.

It varies from member to member.

Most of them, if not all, did consider him a friend—often their best friend—when they joined.

Some still consider him a friend, some call him a friend because they desperately want him to be, some call him a friend because of the sunk cost fallacy ("if I've done this much and gone this far for him, and I CAN'T even count him a friend, then what was it all for??"), some call him a friend because they fear the consequences if they don't, some call him a friend because it's convenient and he wants them to but they solely consider him a resource, a boss, an ally, whatever.

He both does and doesn't see them as friends; he can change his mind twice a sentence without changing it at all. It depends on how he feels at any given time. Yes they're his friends because he's desperately lonely and he craves friends; no they're not his friends because he's above them and they're idiots and they're useful but he certainly doesn't like them. He loves none of them; but he loves how they love him. He tells himself they love him, except when it's useful for him to tell himself they fear him.

But: if they ONLY feared him, they wouldn't stick around. There's a mix of fear and admiration, fear and camaraderie, fear and affection. Something to balance out the arm-twisting, the feeling of always being watched, the ever-present psychological pressure.

Intimidation is a tactic of last resort. Intimidation doesn't mean he's lost his temper; it means the Henchmaniac screwed up. It's an effective punishment but it's a poor way to maintain long term control.

It's a lot easier to control people by convincing them you're the best thing that's ever happened to them and you have their best interests at heart.

You can see how he controls them in the last chapter. His power is laced through the entire scene.

A side-effect of growing up in the Henchmaniacs was that Paci-Fire regarded The Authorities as a nebulous bogeyman that was personally out to get him and all his family and friends. Do you think he picked up that belief accidentally?

"Oh, yeah, pretty much every world in my galaxy was still ground bound when Bill recruited me." Go after someone who isn't knowledgeable about the multiverse; who doesn't know Bill's reputation; and who can't call on the people he left behind to help him get home...

"But the rent's really reasonable for a place this size in this part of the Nightmare Realm." ...then minimize the resources he has to get out—finances included—and make him think you're doing him a favor.

"Bill Cipher was always a most droll prankster." Get the people around you to laugh off your cruel, controlling behavior as "just a joke." Do you think they'd call charging just one guy rent a "prank" if Bill hadn't done similar things in the past and gone "C'mooon, relax, it's just a joke!"?

"I mean—I was paying it to Bill. But I dunno who took that over, so I guess, kinda... no one?" "You were supposed to give it to me now." Keep people close by who will back up your bull. (Useful if they tear each other down; they'll be more likely to resent each other than you.)

"I don't know... Bill and I were talking about them once, and I realized they're as bad as Mom was. Bill said probably the only reason they didn't treat me as bad is because they never got the opportunity—" Make him believe you're the only one who cares about him. Cut him off from potential support networks.

"Face it: the only reason the rest of us didn't leave the Nightmare Realm millennia ago is because Bill couldn't leave." Keep them all isolated.

"Bill's not a liar!" The people who have been around him the longest have sunk so much into trusting him and following him that they can't afford to think it might have been lies.

"The only reason we've stayed so long is because everyone's too starstruck or too scared to ditch him!" 8 Ball's hit the nail on the head. To some extent, he's figured out how Bill operates and he's gotten past the stage where he tells himself it'll be all right if he just sticks it out...

8 Ball, he'd tried to split four or five times before crawling back, but Kryptos didn't care about him anyway. Bill had always been right about him: he was too selfish to care about the rest of the gang but too stupid to make it on his own. They'd taken in losers like that before. ...and, not coincidentally, Bill's been badmouthing and undermining 8 Ball to the others. "Selfish," "stupid," "loser." Also: 8 Ball, too, has been unable to make it out—do you think Bill offered any help any of those times he tried to leave?

The shapes were here because Bill had promised to make them a new home. He was the only one in all of reality who could do it. They'd held fast to Bill's promise for a trillion years. Who would they be if they lost it? Hell of a sunk cost. If you've been waiting one trillion years for somebody to fulfill a promise, any rational person would assume they'll never fulfill it; but, after waiting one trillion years, how can you possibly leave? When you've waited an eternity of eternities? Was it all just a waste? But it'll all be worth it, if—when—he keeps his promise.

Yet he was still here, and still waiting, because he didn't know what else to do. And who was it that convinced the shapes to pin their every single hope for the future on Bill?

You didn't get many chances to be the star of the show when you lived around a supernova like Bill. And what do you think being kept down like that so long does to somebody's sense of self-esteem and self-sufficiency?

Be their protector; keep them dependent on you; keep them isolated; convince them to give up everything (time, money, family, freedom) for you; ensure they have nowhere else to turn.

And that is how Bill controls the Henchmaniacs. His friends will never leave him if he's given them no other choice!

Because when he does leave them a choice, inevitably, they do leave, and it breaks his heart. They leave him quickly, and angrily, and never come back.

Gee, I wonder why.

(I've said before I headcanon Bill's backstory as a former cult leader. Honestly? I shouldn't be saying "former.")

[spoiledmilks]

I would love to see you elaborate a little more on your idea of William and Mrs afton :) I too have brainworms about them

SO

**clears throat and pulls out a whiteboard from my pocket**

First of all william is like the most annoyed grumpy person unless he’s with mrs afton (who im gonna call clara cuz i do like that time)

William the toughest guy around would melt when being with her and i think thats adorable

Clara on the other hand is a cheerful person and i like to imagine she’s actually the one who would fall in love first

Second of all DANCE!

clara is an amazing dancer and actually taught william how to dance and they’d dancee together a lot

Hence why william built ballora (not sure if she’s actually possesed by clara or nah. I switch between the ideas of her being ballora and ballora just being inspired by her a lot)

Also clara is pretty strong and would help william with some animatronic buildimg stuff

She doesnt know much about it so she would follow william’s instructions and do her best to help, she just wants to spend time with him ^-^

Lastly i think they were great parents, sure william was tougher and a bit meaner but i imagine he would build toys for his kids and stuff. Clara would be the more forgiving and kinder parent but they would still be great parents together

Things went to shit after evan’s death where william would slowly go insane and blahblah you know the story

Anyway those are my lil ideas about them thank you for reading

**puts the whiteboard back into my pocket and leaves**

[alucarddear]

Could I request a fic where yandere Alucard’s so starts to suspect that he might be making her sick to keep her dependant on him?

Hummingbird*

He’s learnt by now that wishes never come true, so he chooses to make them happen. Alucard drugs his lover and keeps her locked in his castle. She could never leave him.

[She/her]

*CW for Yandere!Alucard drugging and essentially imprisoning his lover. You asked for it. :p

Temples pounding in sharp, white-hot agony, she grabs onto Alucard's sleeve as he begins retreating, her pained whimper stopping him dead in his tracks. In the next second, he's by her side again.

Concern plainly etched on his features, he assists his lover to a more comfortable sitting position on the settee. "What is it? What's wrong? Another headache?”

You’re going to need your medicine again, aren’t you?

She's hissing in pain again, answering him only with a vague gesture to her temple, upon which cold beads of sweat now start to form.

Tut-tut. "Give me a second, my dear. I'll be quick," he says softly, quietly so as not to worsen her headache, then he props her against a perfectly fluffed pillow. "I'll fetch your medicine quickly."

He returns a minute later, a tray balanced in his hands. He lowers it on the small table next to the settee. Used to his treatments, she automatically sits up a little straighter, expectant. It makes him smile.

"Take this, love," he instructs her, bringing the goblet to her lips gently. "You'll feel better in no time now, no time at all,” he promises, and as always, she gulps it all in one go, hands trembling, weak from exhaustion.

My good, pliant girl. Obedient as ever.

Alucard puts the goblet away and sits right next to her. He guides her head to rest on his shoulder and they snuggle—her, disoriented; him, giddy and content. She’d gulped the sedative again with no questions asked. He hums a little, pleased, fingers combing through her lustrous hair tenderly. If he keeps her pumped full with drugs like this whenever she gets the silly idea of leaving, things will be well again, won't they?

Soon enough, the medicine takes its toll on her. He watches as sleep finally overtakes her, as she slowly slumps against his body, out cold.

Hmm.

It took a couple minutes this time. It seems she’s building a bit of a tolerance to his concoction. He makes a mental note to increase the dose next time. It’s a perfect little thing, truly. It’s a blessing that he’d found the earlier editions of his mother’s textbooks. This particular formulation, before his mother had refined it, can tranquillise a patient in no time indeed. However, many hours upon taking it, it induces agonising headaches that gradually build into disorientation. Enough to render one incapable of the littlest chores, enough to keep one immobile for a while, helpless.

He lays her head on his lap and continues his brushing through her hair, a soft smile plastered on his face.

How I love you, my darling. If only you could see that.

He observes as she whimpers in her sleep, face contorted in apparent displeasure. Wracked with a dream, perhaps? A bad one? Well, no matter, she gets to stay in it for now.

You've made your bed. Now lie in it.

He picks up a single piece of fallen eyelash off the soft skin of her cheek and rolls it in his fingers. If he were any other man, he'd have placed it on the back of his hand then brought it to his lips to blow it away, wishing for her to stay. But he's learnt by now that wishes never come true. He chooses to make them happen. He wipes her fallen lash on the hem of his shirt. She could never leave him. If he had to cage her like a bird, he would. If she behaves herself, he may even let her out once in a while.

It really shouldn’t be this difficult anyway. Not at all. If only she’d stop with her talks about going outside. About travelling or exploring or taking some time to go and be with her family. What for? What good would it do?

She'd already sworn herself to him long ago, whether she knew it or not. She needs to commit fully, like he had, like he continues to do. Her place is right here, with him, in his castle. Nowhere else. Allowing his lover to entertain ideas of moving, of going places… it wouldn’t do. He’d made that mistake before with his previous companions, and look what became of them, what he had to do.

It wouldn’t, it couldn’t happen to his sweetheart. It’s just a couple more weeks, perhaps, until she’s convinced that she’s too sick, too fragile to do much travelling or venture outside. Until she understands that she cannot be without him, without his support and guidance and care and... love.

Just a little more… and then no more pain, my love. This is for your own good.

Alucard hums a cheerful tune to himself, content. Her brows crinkle in her sleep. The thudding of heavy bolts clicking shut echoes in the quiet halls.

The next day, another headache looms in the back of her head, threatening to come on in full force again, just as it did the day before, and the day before that. She gasps at the realisation that it happens around roughly the same hour of the day each time, as if it’s on a schedule, as if manufactured. It has her reeling, grasping at her head. And as always, like clockwork, he’s by her side, medicine in hand, offering it up to her lips.

"It looks like it's time for your—"

"No!" she suddenly shrieks at him, eyes squinted.

Alucard's blood runs colder. Her racing heartbeat caws at him, pulsing in his ears. Is she truly defying him now? Doubting him?

He releases a shaky, shuddering breath and tries again—calmly now, softly now, there is no need to frighten her—"Darling, hush now and take your—"

She swats the goblet off of his hands, sending it hurtling in the air. It clatters noisily on the floor, spilling its contents.

Alucard takes another deep breath, closing his eyes, willing himself to be patient. He counts to three. When next he opens them, he's composed again. "No matter,” he murmurs, voice perfectly modulated despite the disgruntled look about his face or the scowl threatening to erupt from his mouth. “I'll go and get another. You sit there and wait."

"No!" she screams again, stepping back, away from him. "What's in it first, Alucard?! Tell me!”

Her heartbeat thudthudthuds in his head even louder now, like a beating drum that needs to stop. Why is she so angry now? She needs to fucking stop and take her medicine at once or else the headache will go away on its own and it will ruin everything he worked for! Everything!

He grits his teeth and advances towards her, grasping her by her arms, patience wearing thin. Before he has a chance to compose himself, his words are coming out hot, voice raised, mouth snarling. "It's for your own good!"

His volume makes her flinch. He’d never yelled at her before. He’d only ever been soft, kind, sweet. Who is this man in front of her? What exactly is going on?

His outburst hints at her something. He’s never been very good at lying. Why can’t he answer a simple question now?

Moisture starts gathering in the corners of her eyes. "What? What are you…? For my own good?! I’m only asking you what’s in it. What’s in—”

She gasps then, as acute suspicion hits her fully. “What have you been feeding me? Are... are you... are you imprisoning me? Are you—"

Suddenly, things click into place. The way he bolts the castle doors shut with a heavy mechanism she cannot undo by herself. The way he doesn’t allow her to go venturing out on her own, the way his eyes trail her every movement. How he shuts down any conversation about her going anywhere—anywhere but any room in his dark and desolate castle!

She trembles, seemingly shrinking into herself, flinching away from him.

He runs his thumb underneath her eye then, wiping at the tear that managed to escape, ignoring the way she’s paralysed with fear, the way it’s caused by him. He has the urge to lick away her tears, but settles for kissing her softly on her quivering mouth instead.

Somehow, it’s calming. Despite the truth exploding in his face, he feels …serene almost. There’s no point in hiding now, is there?

“You’re mine, in case you forgot,” he tells her, matter of fact, breath ghosting over her lips. “From the moment you told me you would stay and keep me company, I’ve been yours and you’ve been mine.”

As if to confirm his statement, the bolts of his heavy doors slowly start thudding into place one by one again, locked through his magic, shutting them out to the rest of the world. The silence that follows is deafening.

He smiles a toothy grin at her, his fangs a dark reminder of just who she’d sealed her fate with.

She’s sobbing now, crumpling down, and he catches her tenderly in his arms, shushing her, cooing at her. His little hummingbird.

She’ll come to realise soon that struggling is futile, won’t she? She belongs with him. They will be together forever. She will be his bride. One day, this castle will be populated full of her children, sired by him. Merry laughter will fill the air and he will never be alone again.

Love is a beautiful thing, is it not?