#the night terrors go brr

[impossible-rat-babies]

obssessed with the suite eyrie has in radz-at/han that I’m building in my mind

[ngwun]

Dropping the stinky here

[lokislytherin]

IDEAS TO DROP BEFORE I FORGET THEM

1) teacher!seok x parent!jae

kind of inspired by this one wangxian au i read with a yuan being a preschooler but hyungseok is a primary school teacher, jaehye is The Problem Child (read: she never shuts up even when she's not meant to be talking) of his class of 7-8 year olds, jaeyeol is jaehye's older step-brother turned parent.

the jae sibs have a 20 year age gap so jaeyeol is around 28, jaeyeol's mom passed away years ago and he and kitae (blood bros) drifted away, hye is from another woman and after steve hong also passes away hye's mom is like Aight i do not want to deal with raising a child. and jaeyeol hates his father being absent all his life but he doesn't want hye to grow up in the foster system so he adopts jaehye even though he's a postgrad psych student (therapist jae!!! he doesn't talk much because he has the hex haywire voice and it's so deep it scares people but in reality it's just hot)

teacher!seok meets jae at a parent conference and he's like oh. Oh. this is the yeol-oppa jaehye adores so much. they start chatting purely bc jaehye is so chatty she's getting kind of behind in class and jaeyeol just sighs bc he's so busy at work he really wants to spend more time with jaehye but he doesn't have time and there's no butler in this au so it's just jae who's crazy busy and crazy rich by inheritance and hye who is a little demon and terrorizes every nanny bc she wants to spend time with her oppa!!

hyungseok is like if you don't mind... i could look after her until you finish work (school ends at 3pm, jae is a 9-5er) and jae's like Please. i'm so glad you said that

so they get a lot more private interaction time and they also coincidentally meet every now and then bc jaehye's harp class is close to the park where hyungseok walks his dogs so suddenly they have a whole routine where on the weekdays it's like

jaeyeol sends jaehye to school

jaehye picks jaehye up after work

sometimes hyungseok eats dinner with them bc hey, they're all going out to eat anyway, if nobody minds then they could all go together!

jaeyeol drives hyungseok home they say good night and they both kind of linger because nobody wants to say goodbye

and on the weekends it's like

jaeyeol sleeps in bc he finally gets a day off!!

jaehye smacks him until he wakes up bc wake up stupid oppa jaehye has harp class

jaehye goes to harp class and jaeyeol hangs out at a cafe and gets stared at for being the hot loner dilf sitting in the corner working on his computer

jaeyeol picks jaehye up from harp class

they meet hyungseok at the park bc he just finished going on a run with his dogs

they get lunch together because jaehye loves hyungseok's puppies LOOK AT THEM THEY'RE SO CUTE

jaeyeol's whipped the whole way through bc jaehye tells him Everything that goes on at school and he has never seen her so happy to go to school until her old teacher left and 'park seonsaengnim' took over as homeroom teacher and 'park seonsaengnim' is so nice to everyone and jaehye is actually Learning Things she just likes talking and when jaeyeol meets hyungseok for the first time he's already like Oh He's Hot

hyungseok doesn't realize he's pining until the very end where kouji's dad!gun (kouji is hye's classmate + 'archenemy') asks him out very bluntly and hyungseok's like wait. Wait. WAIT I'M SORRY I CAN'T ACCEPT YOUR CONFESSION I'M IN LOVE WITH JAEHYE'S OPPA

all the other parents (mijin and jinsung, sinu, etc) have a group chat without jae bc he looks so intimidating (the sheer businessman daddy energy is too strong) and they thought he and hyungseok had a Thing going on since the very beginning but no hyungseok is oblivious as hell and jae is shy as hell

2) winter olympics athletes au

if ao3 user agaybigay is here: hi. snowboarder jay go brr

in this au literally Everyone is there except for yujin's squad so you have

figure skating:

mijin + jinsung: pair skate, in love with each other but not dating, they've never medalled bc they're always 4th place, they beat japan's pride mitsuki and ryuhei out for third place in the fic

hyungseok: men's figure skating, aka south korea's national treasure, gold medalist

jaehye: women's figure skating, aka joy of south korea, youngest of the whole team

gun + dg: former multiple-time gold medalists, both retired now dg bc he didn't want to compete anymore and gun bc he injured his leg, they train the whole sk's figure skating team but mainly they just fight over daniel

gun used to compete for japan as yamazaki yuzuru but he moved back to korea to join korea team

snowboarding:

jae: silver medalist, the One Mysterious Guy who nobody knows anything about until his younger sister joins the team and she is number 1 oversharer. has a massive fanbase bc he's talented and his helmet hair is hot

haneul: gets a bronze medal in the year of the fic and it's her first medal, known for her very high jumps and flips like she's part of the sky

others

burn knuckles: luge. yeah. it was either this or curling and idk what's funnier actually

big deal + samuel seo: ice hockey, samuel is best attacker, jake is best defender, jerry is goalie, sinu is coach, lua is team manager

it's kind of like yoi with hyungseok pulling jaeyeol into a drunk pole-dance during the last national winter sports competition and jaeyeol being so gay for this gorgeous, sexy, absurdly flexible creature who fits against his body perfectly and hyungseok barely remembering anything bc he was so drunk he only remembers the person he danced with had warm hands and he remembers making a promise to that person but he doesn't remember what he promised

hyungseok has already admired jaeyeol for a while, jaeyeol is almost four years older than him here and it's jae-hyung's third olympics (he's 24 now and this is probably his last olympics), and hyungseok's always like wow... look at him... he's so cool 🥺🥺

they get to know each other as the olympics goes on bc they have to share the same hotel room, and ofc i have to bring the There Is Only One Bed trope in. they end up accidentally cuddling multiple times and then after watching jaeyeol snowboarding and ranking 1 hyungseok has a flashback like wait. Wait. he's the one i basically did a drunk strip-tease to. i promised him i'd kiss him if he won gold. he's now world champion. which means i have to kiss him. actually i have no problem with that

after jaeyeol wins gold they end up purposefully cuddling on the hotel bed. maybe they do Other Things too since the figure skating and snowboarding competitions are both over

3) he was a punk she did ballet but it's skateboarder hyungseok and ballet dancer jae bc hyungseok is too poor to afford after school clubs and jae is a rich boy forced to learn Rich Kid Things ie piano, ballet, violin, swimming, etc

[genuineformality]

I am not, when it comes to it, a particularly "woo" person. My religious sensibilities are informed heavily by a Jewish-come-cult-member parent (who, over the course of my childhood, joined 2.5 cults in a desperate attempt to find belonging) and a catholic-come-wiccan other parent, and all of the various and varied religious trauma that came from that upbringing*.

For various reasons and through various mechanisms, I started reading tarot** and discovered that I'm both pretty good at doing readings for other people and also that I find a certain amount of meaning in reading for myself - not as a fortune telling mechanism, but as a method of stepping outside myself and getting some additional perspective.

Because of that, I started collecting novel tarot decks, backing interesting looking decks on kickstarter and indiegogo, and occasionally frequenting little headshops where one might peruse and acquire more and more weird decks. My current collection numbers around 70ish decks and I bought a little bookshelf just for them.

I don't often admit this to people I know socially, because when people hear that you're into tarot, they will make certain assumptions about you that, in my case, are so far from the truth as to be laughable, but I live in terror that a certain type of Woo Person will learn that I'm into tarot and I will regret ever letting anyone know that.

ANYWAY.

One of the things that I find tarot useful for is as part of a mindfulness/journaling practice to get my brain out of its current (very difficult, problematic) ruts.*** Having little flash cards with cool art that hits Some Archetypes to contemplate is good for making Good Brain Chemicals and Brain go BRR-BRR over outside stimuli that isn't just How Angry I Am About a Situation.

I've had a number of favorite decks that I tend to go back to, but for this current situation, I wanted something I hadn't really worked with before. So I cracked open my Fifth Spirit Tarot Deck (backed on kickstarter awhile ago) which is super fucking queer, ethnically diverse, has a bunch of disabled rep - and is the most gently direct deck I think I've ever worked with. It's a deck that says, "Hey, you're not okay. But maybe you could be?" with the loveliest, kindest, most direct tone. It reminds me of the best therapist I ever had.

I'm not terribly woo. I don't vibe with a lot of woo stuff. I'm not about a Deep Connection to My Inner Goddess or whatever. I'm really here to get some extra perspective. I'm sure this deck would probably be good for nonbinary woo people. It's probably not for everyone. It's probably not for most people.

But gosh, this is a good deck for me, right now, in all my woo-less, nonbinary, needing perspective-ness. Thanks Charlie Claire Burgess. You're helping this queer, jewish, atheist enby a lot right now.

-=-=-=-=-

*If I were to describe my current religious tendencies, I would describe myself as a Jewish atheist who has a chavurah and davens on friday nights only, throws a rager of a party for passover, tolerates a lot of christmas, likes yule, and occasionally remembers when the other holidays are, while eating pork and shrimp, preferably together. So... take that with as many grains of salt as you like.

**It was for a LARP. And then, like many LARP related things, went wildly out of control.

***I am actively mad at how well my brain responds to this. I had stopped journaling for awhile because I was in a good spot, then was in a Very Bad spot for a bit, and when my therapist asked, "how's your self care routine going?" I was like, FINE. I'LL START DOING MY STUPID JOURNAL AGAIN. And then within two days my brain stopped being an asshole to me. What the fuck.

[inkwell-and-dagger]

·{†}· Fallen ·{†}·

A/N: uhhhh.. fallen angel au time ig!! I dunno if this is gonna end up canon we'll just have to see lmao I want Zuriel to suffer- ngl most of the descriptions of Zuriel in this (especially the first paragraph like MMMM YUMMY) is inspired by @demondamage (so sorry if you're uncomfortable with me mentioning you!! /gen) ocs Aziphem and uhh- I think post!fall Kotarou I'm pretty sure? anywho another inspiration go brr

CW: body horror perhaps?? pretty much yeah, a. a lot of blood, violence, slight wing whump, hair. whump? hair pulling ig, implied dehumanisation, uhh I dunno lmao this is very off the hook where was I going with this, whumpee wishing for death

DYNAMIC(S):

(fallen 👀) angel whumpee (Zuriel Damaris) — it/its

demon whumper (Kore Orion) — he/him

{†} · {†} · {†} · {†} · {†} · {†}

It was unlike anything Zuriel had ever felt. The pain, the guilt, the terror in realising that the once gorgeous wings laid upon its back, a shade of beautiful ivory matching its freckled skin, was now nothing but scorched black bone, ripping out from its back leaving large gashes in its wake. The blood pouring down from said wounds was a horrid red; a warm and unfamiliar sensation that Zuriel hated the feel of. Bloodied horns sprouting from its forehead replaced its now fading halo, a dull ache in Zuriel's head being the only sign something had changed. Zuriel didn't like what it looked like, its demonic features reminding it distinctly of Kore; and that fact alone made it nauseous.

But there was more than just a dull ache now. Pain bloomed in its head as Kore struck the fallen angel there, a strained cry following. Zuriel acknowledged that Kore had every right to be upset with it; he did just lose his prized possession, his most used bragging right.

One gloved hand wound through Zuriel's white, glimmering hair, yanking its head upwards which earned another pained noise.

"You are a sick creature now, Zuriel." The demon snarled, grip tightening almost instinctively on his captive's hair. Zuriel whimpered and kept its honey toned eyes on the ground, but its third one — a lighter amber but still beautiful, positioned horizontally on its forehead — betrayed it, watching every little movement Kore made. It almost made him laugh. Almost.

Another hand, disgustingly soft compared to how Kore usually handled Zuriel's wings, glided across the smoky black bones of its remaining appendages, before pulling on it with a soft grunt. The action was met with another agonized cry.

Kore's hands loosened and then were removed entirely, a fleeting sense of solace wallowing up in Zuriel's chest before a boot was pressed to its lower back. It pinned the angel to the ground with ease, and the angel writhed; though its attempt at escaping from under Kore's strength was futile.

More pressure was applied, before Zuriel just began wishing that Kore would kill it and be done. Move on and capture another angel, to be kept as yet another decoration and possession.

Zuriel knew that it had done something, sinned in some way to become a creature like this. It just didn't know what it had done. Was it for never calling for help, for choosing to stay in the grasp of the demon because of thin lies about what lay behind the even thinner walls of Kore's abode? It didn't know. But it was sorry. So, so sorry.

{†} · {†} · {†} · {†} · {†} · {†}

Halos and Horns Taglist: @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night

[lesserknownwaifus]

It’s October. Time for spooky waifus.

This month, it’s going to be all about the spooky, scary waifus. Submit and suggest lesser-known ladies who are creepy and kooky. Ladies who go bump in the night. Monstrous ladies of mayhem. Terror and horror. Boo and Brr. Trick and Treat.

Basically, Halloween waifus. What do you have?

[modgirlyreposts-revamped]

hm. yandere hyperfixation go brr. do u have any facts or headcanons from ur yandere!millie au u could tell me abt? i could provide prompts for that kinda thing if needed. sorry if this is weird yandere stuff has been a sorta dormant hyperfixation of mine for a few years & just randomly hit hard today lol

OHGHSGHSFD EXCUSE TO TALK ABOUT ONLY ONE OF MY FAVORITE AUS-

I have a lot of headcanons about Millie's family in this AU, and a few facts about how this world works since I've developed it a lot more from when I first started writing it

-Millie's entire family is made up of yanderes in this AU, including her grandfather and even her cousins, they just haven't fixated on anyone yet

-Since Millie's grandpa is the oldest of the family he is considered to be the most dangerous out of all of them

-It is unknown what exactly causes the yandere tendencies because of how consistent it is through the family, whether it be a curse or something else

-Millie didn't "snap" when she met Dylan which is why she didn't just immediately kill Brooke after finding out that the two were a couple, but the rejection still hurt and definitely did not help her obsession when she met Sarah

-The only member of the Fitzsimmons family that had no yandere tendencies was most likely Millie's grandmother, who didn't notice any of the yandere tendencies of Millie's grandfather allowing it to spread throughout the family

-Millie's grandpa is much calmer nowadays due to his old age, and the fact that his partner is gone

-This doesn't mean that he no longer poses a threat as he is extremely protective of his family, and his wife's grave in a tragic twist

-While Millie is much more dangerous in this AU, that's not to say that she still is kind of an idiot

-Dylan and Brooke found out about her secret when they spotted her kicking a bag, suspiciously shaped as a human body, into a ditch in the woods one night

-She was somehow still quite casual when confronting them about what they saw

-Millie to Dylan and Brooke, who are utterly traumatized and screaming in terror: "Guys. GUYS. STOP SCREAMING, IT'S JUST ME! CALM DOWN-"

-Millie simply threatened the two into silence since she didn't want to kill them because 1. she actually likes them as they are the only other kids in the school that didn't treat her like garbage before she met Sarah, and 2. they knew too much

[howlingday]

So just saw your stealth armour post and thought I might offer up the SPI (Semi-Powered Infiltration) armour from Halo that the Spartan III's use

"Talk!" He barked again, striking her across the face. She hissed at the pain, but only gave a glare as her answer. "You can't hold out forever. Once the Captain gets here, you'll sing like a canary!" He laughed at his own pun.

They always did.

To say the mission was a failure would be premature. Not too far from being true, but just a hair enough away to not call it quits just yet.

Blake's mission was simple: get in, take pictures, get out. A three step plan within a 3,000 yard, underground, paramilitary, terrorist base. Nothing Blake was unfamiliar with, but also not like her usual marks.

Getting in was easy, since they always put the juniors and rookies in charge of guarding the exterior. Her options were front gate, back gate, chimney, or waste disposal.

Front gate was the least guarded, but also whe the most experienced guards would be placed; the ones who recognized everyone.

The rooftop chimney was a solid option, so long as the furnace wasn't operational, and the billowing smoke she as she approached 1,000 yards away told her it was in-service. The last thing she needed was to slip down a chute into a literal Hell.

The waste disposal piping spewed steam and other fluids that at make her sensitive to Faunus noses at best, and steam-cooked meal for the Grimm at worst.

That left the back-door; an obvious choice many think to use, which was why it was also the most heavily guarded. As she scanned the back entrance, she saw supply trucks and shipping containers. There were eight guards in total; two at the personnel door, three patrolling the exterior, one in each of the two towers, and one patrolling the interior, moving between the containers. The trucks were all parked close to warehouse loading entrances, and the shipping containers stacked two high and about twenty feet of free space between each stack.

Blake watched the guards carefully, shifting her focus to each one through her binoculars. She was right to assume they were inexperienced. The two at the personnel door were laughing and palling around instead of standing guard. The one in the left tower was sleeping, and the other was on his radio, the smile and laughter from her mouth told Blake that this wasn't an actual report. The one wandering between the containers slumped against them as he patrolled, no doubt from being forced to patrol in the middle of the night against his sleep schedule. The three continued to dutifully patrol the exterior.

She nodded as she developed her plan. She knew she would have to improvise, but she planned for that as well. Worst come to worse, she'll Yang it. She slowly lifted herself off the ground from her prone position.

Knocking the back of her head into a shotgun muzzle.

One long, drawn-out, and overall futile struggle later, she was here: tied to a chair, brandishing a red mark on her face, and a surly captor standing in front of her.

"Who sent you?!" Said captor shouted. "Atlas? Menagerie? Where did you come from?!" Blake smirked. He didn't like that. She could tell by the way he hit her again. After this, she was going to need an ice pack. He growled as he waved his hand in front of him. He must have hit her cheek bone that time. "Screw it! The boss'll make you talk," he turned away, revealing a dog tail, "and if he doesn't, he'll definitely make you scream." He laughed as he walked through the door.

Blake sighed, then looked around her temporary cell; there was a glass mirror in front of her, though she doubted it was a one-way; a table against the right wall held a dossier that probably had her information in there; and a door to her left with no window.

This would be a challenge.

The door to her left opened, and the dog faunus entered again. He was holding a billy club, and wore a wicked smile on his face.

"Hey, kitty-cat!" His voice oozing venomous saccharine tone. "I just got some bad news. The boss says he'll be late, but don't worry, because he said to go ahead and start without him. I just gotta leave your pretty face untouched." He laughed as he lifted his Billy club, and Blake watched her reflection flinch and shut her eyes.

She opened them to the sounds of the Billy club, thunking against the stone floor and gurgling, and saw her captor levitating off the ground, clawing at an unseen pressure against his throat. She saw terror in his eyes, then nothing as his body went limp.

The body fell to the ground with a crash, and felt a blade to her throat, and an unknown force pulled down on her wrists, forcing her neck up. The would-be assassin phased into existence, revealing a gray suit of armor with a mirror bowl of a mask, and a long serrated dagger pressing on her carotid artery.

"Kunoichi," her new captor spoke, "One, six, four, three."

Blake strained to speak as his pulling on her wrists forced her shoulders back. They felt like they were going to pop out, but she growled as she spoke.

"She mewled under his titanic frame, her senses giving way to her blazing passion as her-"

"Alright, enough!" Blake was released from the suit's grip, breathing easier as the knife found a new purpose cutting the ropes binding her, before being sheathed. "Why do you have to make me read your smut before a mission?"

"It's not smut," she defended, "it's a passionate romance novel with suspense, action, and-"

"Hardcore BDSM. Seriously, I feel like taking a shower after reading some of that stuff."

"What about the other stuff?" Blake teased. The savior turned away, probably to save face.

She decided to ease off the teasing and get back to business. She approached the desk and quickly flipped through the dossier. From what she skimmed, these new White Fang members didn't have much information on her, only a few photos and even fewer accounts that were more akin to rumors and heresay. Bottom line: not what she was looking for.

"Huh," her phantom spoke as he peered over her shoulder. "I figured they would have gotten your good side."

Blake scowled. "When did you show up?"

"Just now. You just walked over to this table and- Oh, don't give me that look. You know, I'm only joking!" The scowl that deepened didn't recede. "I'm here as your back-up."

Blake raised an eyebrow at him. "And?"

"And also guinea pig for this new armor the doctor whipped up." Blake walked past him and examined the room as he continued. "It's a light-weight, photoreactive, camouflage-combat suit designed for infiltration missions."

"Does it come with a mute button?" Blake asked as she approached the mirror.

"Uh, no, it doesn't." Blake reeled back and punched the glass, revealing an empty room with video screens, microphones, and speakers. There was a door in the back, and it was swinging ajar.

"Then shut up." Blake ran through the door, chasing the footsteps she could hear in front of her. She didn't hear any footsteps behind her, so she turned her head to glance at her partner, who was following her by about ten feet behind her. She faced forward and continued chasing her quarry.

She turned the corner, where she came face to face with a rifle butt. She bent backwards to avoid the strike, the ambush failing to connect. She placed a hand in a claw position balanced her upper body on it. She then watched as her backup ran around her and shoved the guard into the wall as he attempted to defend himself with his own rifle, pressing it against his chest.

"Please, don't kill me!" Stealth-bot responded to his plea by pressing harder.

"Equipment! Now!"

"Down that hallway, first door on the right!" Pressure was relieved, but was doubly applied before he could sigh in relief.

"I came from that way." The guard began to sweat. "There was nothing in there but three guards and a kitchenette. Do you think I'm stupid?"

"No! No, I swear to the Brothers!" The rifle body was slammed into his chest three times, taking a breath with each strike.

"SWEAR TO ME!"

"ON THE LEFT! IT'S ON THE LEFT!" The poor kid was crying now.

"Thank you, and I'm sorry." The interrogator let go of the rifle and stepped away.

"Fuck you!" The guard swung his rifle, aiming for the mirror face of his former captor. The rifle was caught midway and he was punched with enough force to launch him backwards, the impact into the concrete wall behind him knocking him unconscious.

"Your stealth could use some work." Blake criticized.

"Eh, I'm more of a ground fighter, anyways."

Blake hummed in acknowledgement, then looked down the corridor the guard pointed. Was that really the right direction? And why didn't he sound the alarm? Blake noticed there were no alarms activated in the interrogation viewing room, yet the button to activate the alarms was present. "Any guards coming?"

"Nope." The armored suit pressed a button in the back of his helmet, near the base of the skull, and a click was heard. The click was soft enough that it required her faunus ears to hear it. The helmet was removed, and Blake finally saw the face of her backup, and boyfriend, Jaune Arc.

"Brr! It's cold!" He said with a shake. "Feels nice, though. But there's no guards nearby. Wanna see? I gotta warn ya: it gets stuffy after a while."

Blake looked at the helmet staring at her, then to the man towering over her in his armor. This was the man she chose to give her heart to; the one she chose above all others to not only save her life, but die for her as well. She sighed as and donned the helmet as he shook the sweat from his hair. The faint, sour scent clung to the internal cushioning.

She looked down the hallway as the digital and holographic visor details came to life. In the bottom right corner was a map, complete with the base schematics and red dots; in the top left was just, "DISCONNECTED" in big, blocky words, fading in and out softly; in the bottom left was, "EMPTY" is the same size and font as the top left, but this one didn't fade.

"How do I activate the camouflage?"

"Oh, that's easy!" Jaune reached above her crown and pressed a button. Blake saw the world ripple for a moment, but nothing changed overall. She turned to her boyfriend to ask if there was a malfunction, but didn't speak once she saw his face.

His cheeks were puffed, his eyes teary, and a hand covered his mouth. She scowled at him. She probably looked ridiculous. She removed the helmet and handed it back. "Take it." Jaune felt around for the invisible orb that was his helmet, and after finding the hole, he donned it, causing his entire body to disappear with his head.

"Way to not lose your head, Blake!" Blake groaned at his pun work. Why were "blondes who think they're funny" her type? "Aw, cheer up! The mission is almost over. On my way here, I took pictures of their plans. Nothing too impressive."

Blake raised an eyebrow. He did her job? That's not good. Good for the mission, yes. Good for her reputation and credibility, no. "I still need my gear, then it's time for evac. Which way is out?"

"That way." Blake was silent for a few seconds until he caught on. With a click, Jaune reappeared in front of her, nervously chuckling. He then cleared his throat and pointed down the hallway they came from. "Uh, that way."

"Good." Blake nodded. "We know what way is out, then." She started walking down the other hallway to where the guard said earlier.

"Wait, are we really going to trust him? He could have been lying to me."

"No, he didn't. He was at first, but then he changed when you threatened him."

"Was I really that scary to him?"

"You were pretty convincing." She couldn't see it, but she was pretty sure Jaune was blushing. "You got my back?"

"Nope." Jaune then phased out of sight with a click. "Now I am."

Blake nodded and hugged the corner behind her, peeking around it. With the coast clear, she ran down the hallway to the door on the left, flattening herself against the wall by the doorway. She shimmied until she was next to it.

She couldn't see or hear Jaune. Was he there? She swallowed the growing anxiety back down, and gripped the handle, slowly and carefully opening it. She immediately let go to let the door open itself.

A gloved hand grabbed her retreating wrist and pulled her into the room. She hit the doorway and was thrown onto the hard concrete floor on her back. The sudden events winded her, and as she recovered, she looked up to see a bulky White Fang member in a gray coat, wearing a Grimm mask with horns decorating it. In his right hand, he gripped a chainsaw-sword.

Blake recognized him instantly. He was Adam's right hand man, the most loyal to the White Fang's cause. She hadn't seen him since saving Weiss from him on that train under Mt. Glenn.

"I found you." His chainsaw-sword roared to life in his grip as he stepped forward. Blake crawled backwards, not taking her eyes off him. She felt her right hand touch something soft and glanced down to see a black ribbon flowing out of a box. She yanked on it, spilling the cargo within and revealing Gambol Shroud. She yanked once more, pulling her weapon to her and pointed it at the beast of a man.

She pulled the trigger, and was disheartened to hear a click. "Shit!"

"What, did you think we would leave it loaded?" He laughed as he stepped closer. "I told Adam I would bring you to him, and now I am. Mission complete."

"Not yet." The White Fang whirled around, only to have his leg swept out from under him by an invisible force. Or it was until his assailant phased into view. He landed with a thud, but immediately thrusted his sword forward and upward into his revealed foe. Only air was rended as the assailant juked aside, then stomped on his shoulder to force him to let go.

No such luck as the attack then shifted to behind him towards his assassin's leg. Another dodge resulted in a miss, but free him in the process. The White Fang Captain rolled forward and leapt out of the storage room. He then held out his free hand to taunt his opponent.

Jaune looked behind him to Blake. She was slightly injured, with only a mark on her left shoulder to show for it. "You okay?" She nodded, which was enough for him. Jaune nodded in response and withdrew his knife, running out into the duel.

Jaune leapt out of the room, staring down his chainsaw-sword-wielding opponent. Both masked men sized each other up, their masks denying view to their expressions.

Blake watched from behind the wall of the doorway, shifting Gambol Shroud to blade mode. She wouldn't intervene unless absolutely necessary.

The Captain made the first move with a downward swing, which Jaune avoided. However, the Captain then struck him with his left fist against his helmet. Jaune was slightly dazed, but shook it off. The Captain charged again, swinging his sword wide from the left. Jaune ducked low to avoid it, then launched himself forward, imagining he spring-loaded his calves, and cut the left thigh of his foe with his knife.

The Captain grunted at the pain, then jumped away a few feet, then stomped down into his prone foe. Jaune rolled onto his back and jumped to his feet. The Captain retreated his used leg to rebalance, then lunged into Jaune with thrust, then grabbed Jaune by head when he dodged. He swung his blade aside and smashed his helmet into the wall.

"Now hold still." The Captain growled as he stepped back and gripped his chainsaw-sword with both hands like a bat. He took a wide stance as readied to swing. In that instant, the battle was decided.

The Captain swung his chainsaw-sword wide, but was stopped mid-swing by a black ribbon. He turned his head to the source and found Blake pulling back with Gambol Shroud with all her might, using the doorway wall as leverage.

"Wait your turn, traitor!" He indulged her by charging to her and swung into the wall she was hiding behind. Chainsaw teeth chewed and rended their way through stone like paper, sending sparks flying everywhere and Blake leaping back.

The roaring died as his blade found a new home in the wall. The Captain struggled to free it, yanking this way and that. Blake saw this as an opportunity and walked towards him with Gambol Shroud in both hands. She regretted this, however, as a well-placed kick to the wall demolished it and freed his weapon.

"So impatient, aren't we?" The Captain drew forward, raising his roaring chainsaw-sword high above his head. "Very well. I'll grant you your death wish."

Blake looked to her sides. The room was tall enough to accommodate height, but not width as she saw no feasible way to escape. She would have to gamble on her speed and go for a forward strike to his stomach. Blake crouched low and charged. If she didn't make it, at least Jaune would be able to escape.

The roaring engine of the chainsaw-sword died to a low hum as the Captain stood there. He looked down to see the traitor with her sword in his belly, and his assassin put a knife in his right lung from behind. Both removed their blades, causing the air to leave him as he collapsed, his blood splattering onto the traitor. So this is how he went out: at the hands of a traitor and an assassin. He closed his eyes and let the darkness swallow him.

"You good?" Jaune asked. Blake panted, letting the adrenaline die before answering.

"Yeah. Can we leave now?"

"Yeah." Jaune nodded. "Yeah, I think that sounds good. Just one thing first."

"How is his condition?"

"He's wounded, but he'll survive. A minor laceration to the thigh and scuffed knuckles will heal in days, at most."

"And his more grievous injuries?"

"A punctured right lung will heal, but it'll be months to a year before he's field ready again."

"And his lower torso?"

"Luckily, it only cut part of the large intestine. Still debilitating and could have been lethal, but still better than his stomach."

"Hm, I see. Thank you, doctor. I will send someone to check on him every day."

"You're welcome. If you don't mind me asking, what happened to him?"

"He got involved in a fight that could have been avoided. Nothing to gain, but pride to feed his ego."

"And the base?"

"Nothing of value lost."

[mxliv-oftheendless]

Night Terrors (Deadly Game AU) Chapter 1

And we are back with the Deadly Game AU!! Oh boy, I have missed writing stuff with Heather. It is so great to be back! Hope you guys enjoy, and I hope y’all had a great Christmas!

In this spooooooky holiday special, Heather gets invited to come on a skiing trip with Mystery Inc. But when the Mystery Machine breaks down, forcing them to stay at a creepy old mansion, some of Heather’s past comes back to haunt her...

Christmas was an odd holiday. It was a Christian holiday, with many parts of it stolen from pagan holiday traditions, that celebrated the day a prophet was born but not on the day he was actually born. It seemed very odd to Heather. But a lot of people celebrated the holiday—that or they were in it for the commercial appeal of it. Heather personally hated the commercialness of the holiday. But then again, flowers didn’t sell themselves, and she always sold clean out of poinsettias during the holiday season. So the only way she bought into it was for her flower shop.

Luckily though, Christmas and all other holidays were over, and they had settled into January. It was the few times of the year Heather could close the flower shop and just focus on her nursery, growing more flowers for the coming year. She was already growing flowers for May when graduation season started.

She was in the greenhouse tending to her flowers, with Guns N Roses blasting over the built-in speakers, when her phone vibrated in her pocket. She went over to pause the music, then pulled out her phone. “Hello?”

“Hey, Heather!” It was none other than Fred.

Heather smiled. “Hi, Fred. What’s up?”

“Are you doing anything this weekend?”

Hmm, let’s see, what did she have on the calendar? Oh yes: a whole bunch of Absolutely Nothing. “No, I’m not,”

“Awesome! The gang and I are going on a skiing trip this weekend. There’s a really nice ski resort in the mountains, and we thought we’d ask you to come with us!”

For a moment, Heather was too caught by surprise to speak. “Uh…”

“I mean… you can say no if you don’t want to. But we just thought it’d be fun if you came with us.”

“Well… alright. I guess I can close the shop for the weekend.”

“Awesome! We’ll pick you up tomorrow at four, okay?”

“Sure thing,”

“Great! See you then!”

Heather smiled and hung up. She glanced at the clock; 4:30. She might as well finish up now so she could go home and pack. She would need to dig her winter gear out of the closet… she hoped it still fit.

But she still felt… apprehensive. She would be going on a trip with Mystery Incorporated, out of Crystal Cove. There was always the hope that leaving the town would get them away from the mystery-creating energy that always seemed to surround them… but Heather doubted it. But she could always hope. Besides, it was just a skiing trip. What could possibly happen on a skiing trip?

Famous last words, Heather thought as she left the greenhouse. 

-/-

The next day, the gang and Heather were all piled into the Mystery Machine as Fred drove the van down the snowy mountain road. The ski lodge they were going to was high up in the mountains, meaning for the first time since coming to Crystal Cove Heather was seeing snow. She herself was in the backseat with Shaggy and Scooby. In contrast to the gang’s brighter colors, Heather was wearing a dark purple jacket, black pants, black winter boots that looked like combat boots, a dark purple beanie hat, and black leather gloves. And as always, her purse was slung around her neck. Snow blew in massive flurries outside the van, and Heather could hear the wind howling as they drove.

“After everything we’ve been through, gang,” Fred said cheerfully, “this little ski vacation is just the thing!”

“Like, Scoob and I aren’t as crazy about hittin’ the slopes,” Shaggy piped up, “as we are about hitting the massive all-you-can-eat fondue bar!”

Scooby licked his lips. “Fon-dooby dooby doo!”

He and Shaggy burst out laughing. Heather cracked a smile and chuckled at them. “You goofs. Just don’t eat too much, all right?”

“But like, what if they have chocolate fondue?” Shaggy asked.

Heather paused thoughtfully, then nodded in concession, laughing a bit. “Okay, you got me. If they have chocolate fondue, go nuts. Just don’t go skiing immediately after you eat—I don’t want you puking on the slopes.”

Shaggy gave a thumbs-up through his mitten, with Scooby following. “Got it!”

“Rot it!”

“I’m so glad you could come with us, Heather,” Daphne said to her. “Have you ever skied before?”

“No,” Heather admitted. “But I’ll be there with support and hot chocolate.”

“Good; I’m horrible at skiing anyway,” Velma remarked.

Eventually they came to a fork in the road. The right fork was marked by a “DEAD END” sign that was somehow visible through all the snow.

Velma, who was in charge of the map, said to Fred, “Take the left fork, the right’s a dead end.”

Suddenly Heather heard a rumbling sound, and looked out the windshield to see an avalanche of snow tumbling down on the left fork from the mountain slope beside the road. Fred quickly hit the brakes, and the van skidded through the snow towards the left fork. Heather yelped as the van jerked to the side. The van finally slid to a stop just beside the snow. Heather gave a sigh of relief, her heart pounding. That was far too close for comfort.

The gang and Heather all stared at the caved in road. “I dunno, Velm,” Daphne said shakily. “That left fork seems pretty dead too.”

Fred got out of the van, and they all followed. As Fred got down on the ground to inspect the van, Velma shivered and rubbed her arms, shifting from one foot to the other. “Brrr… it’s freezing.”

Heather put her hands on her hips and gave her a pointed look. “Maybe if someone hadn’t decided to wear a skirt instead of pants, they’d be warmer.”

Velma gave her a withering look. “Thanks, Heather. When we get to the ski lodge, the first I’m going to do is warm up by the fireplace.”

“Oooh, a warm fireplace sounds amazing,” Daphne agreed. “And a hot shower, that’d be great too.”

Heather shrugged. “I do agree with that. Nothing like a nice warm fireplace.”

“And hot chocolate!” Shaggy piped up.

Heather smiled and nodded. “And hot chocolate.”

Fred crawled out from underneath the van. “The old Mystery Machine’s a little banged up down there,” he reported. “We’ll need to make some repairs.”

Scooby suddenly trotted over back the way they came and looked up. “What’s that?”

Heather looked up, just in time to see the clouds of snow clear away. Left behind was the silhouette of a large, nineteenth-century-style mansion with lit up windows. But at the sight of the mansion, Heather immediately wanted to shoot down any thoughts of going there. There was a prickling sensation on the back of her neck, that she knew wasn’t from the cold. She did not like the looks of that mansion.

But right on cue, Daphne said optimistically, “That terrifying mansion looks warm and inviting,”

Heather sighed quietly in resignation. She knew she’d be outvoted, even by Shaggy and Scooby. No matter how accurate they were in knowing a place was bad news, they still wanted to get out of the cold just like the rest. I guess we’re going.

“Well, it’s our best option,” Fred said. “C’mon, gang. And Heather.”

They all piled back into the van—Heather very reluctantly—and set off back the way they came. Heather still didn’t like this at all. But to be fair, she could see the need to stop for repairs. The van sounded like they needed them.

Daphne looked at the clock on the radio. “Oh boy, it’s pretty late. I wonder if we can stay the night at this place.”

Of course they will, Heather thought rather cynically. You just asked if they would. So of course they will.

As they pulled up to the mansion, Heather began to hate the idea even more. It towered over them, frowning down on the tiny van like a looming giant.

“Does anybody else think it’s strange to find a huge mansion up here in the middle of nowhere?” Velma asked aloud.

Heather sighed in relief. “Oh good, I thought it was just me.”

“At least the lights are on,” Shaggy pointed out happily.

“Good enough for me!” Scooby agreed.

Fred turned off the van and they all got out, and they crunched through the still-falling snow towards the front steps. There was a cord by the door that Heather assumed was to ring the doorbell.

Scooby shivered, jumping from one paw to another. “Brr… I’m freezing my paws off. Brrr.”

Heather sighed. She couldn’t put this off any longer. She reached out and pulled the cord. The doorbell rang out. And after a second, the door opened, revealing…

[marvelousbirthdays]

Happy Birthday, laternenfisch

April 21-natasha/frank castle, being competent bamfs together.. soulmates would be nice... maybe them surprising/ scaring the sh*t out of somebody/ unnerving them by being themselves, for @laternenfisch

Written by @ozhawkauthor

Author’s note: Well, I already wrote these two as soulmates. So now I guess it’s time for someone else to find out about them…Continued from https://archiveofourown.org/works/4167942/chapters/22842350

Clint had noticed Natasha disappearing regularly for almost two weeks before his curiosity finally overrode his common sense and he decided he wanted to know where she was going. 

He wasn’t stupid enough to follow her, of course, though he was probably the only person alive who might have a chance at following her without getting spotted. Even Barnes didn’t know as many of her tricks as Clint.

No, he just planted a tracker on her and watched on his computer screen while laying back on the couch with his feet up and Lucky snoring beside him. Three nights running she took a meandering route, different each time, only to end up at the same location in Hell’s Kitchen and stay there for hours.

The fourth night, Clint headed out before Natasha left the building. It didn’t take him long to find a great vantage point, on the roof directly opposite the location where she’d been going to. It looked like a normal apartment building. Settling down with his scope, he examined some windows, wondering exactly which apartment Natasha was visiting.

A slight vibration of his phone in his pocket let him know she was approaching. He trained the scope on her as she walked along the street to the front door, waited and watched to see if any lights switched on or off.

All of a sudden, the hairs on the back of his neck prickled, and he knew he was no longer alone. Rolling to his back and drawing his pistol in one quick move, he froze even as his thumb landed on the safety, because he was massively outgunned.

“I’m gonna put this down now,” Clint said.

“Good call.” The man holding the submachine gun aimed squarely between Clint’s eyes didn’t so much as twitch. “The one in your ankle holster goes too.”

Clint moved very, very slowly. The guy was rock-steady and about fifteen feet away, much too far to try and jump or trip, but close enough he couldn’t possibly miss if he pulled the trigger.

“I’m not here looking for you, whoever you are,” he said as he tossed the two guns well out of his reach.

“I know who you’re looking for, and I’m gonna let her decide what to do with you.”

Clint blinked. “Are you the one Natasha’s been coming to see?” he asked, startled. Somehow, he wouldn’t have thought the guy was Natasha’s type; big, dark, an obvious former soldier with a rugged, lived-in face and quite a few visible scars.

A thick finger tightened on the trigger, a muscle twitched in one cheek, and Clint stared in fascination. Who the hell was this guy, and what was he to Natasha?

“What’s going on?” Natasha’s voice asked, and then the familiar sound of her laughter floated across the rooftop. “Oh, Barton. Curiosity killed the cat, remember?”

“You’re a fine one to talk,” Clint grumbled.

“Stand down, darling. It’s just Clint. He obviously noticed I wasn’t around and got nosy.” Natasha placed a light hand on the man’s arm, and the gun muzzle lowered.

“That’s Barton? Huh.”

“Gonna introduce your friend?” Clint asked, as Natasha bent to pick up his guns and tossed them back to him. The man smirked and put his arm around Natasha’s waist, and even more astonishing, she let him.

“This is Frank,” Natasha said. “Frank Castle.”

Clint kept up with the news. He recognized the name immediately. “Aw, Nat, no,” he said. “The Punisher? Steve’s never gonna let him join, even if you have put in the hard yards to recruit him…”

Natasha laughed, and so did Castle. “I ain’t interested in joining your little band,” Castle said. His voice was a deep, gravelly rasp. “I’m not interested in any of you but Nat.”

She was smiling and leaning against him, and Clint couldn’t figure out what the hell was going on. He got to his feet, careful not to make any sudden moves in case he set off Castle’s obviously hair-trigger reflexes again, and said plaintively “Nat?”

“Frank’s my soulmate,” Natasha said.

Clint’s jaw dropped so hard he actually heard a thunk. “What?”

Of course, it made total sense when he thought it over later, but right at that moment, watching Natasha look up at Castle with an expression on her face Clint had never, ever seen before, he was totally flabbergasted.

“Couldn’t quite believe it myself,” Castle rasped. “Until we bonded, that is.”

“Bonded?” He’d have put good money on Natasha never bonding with her soulmate even if she found him. “Okay, who are you, and what have you done with Natasha Romanoff?”

She laughed at him, her body angled into Castle’s, though being Natasha she made sure not to impinge on his gun hand. “I was going to tell you soon anyway, bring you over to meet Frank. And his dog.”

“You’ve got a dog?”

“Pit bull. Used to be a fighter,” Frank said laconically.

“Until you took him away from the Kitchen Irish. Now he’s practically a lap dog.”

“In your lap he is.” He looked as though he’d had all the softness ground out of him long ago, but his expression was almost goofy as he looked down at Natasha.

“Well, aren’t you two just adorable.”

They both looked at Clint.

“Adorably dangerous murderpeople, that is,” he added hastily. “Look at me, shaking in my boots with terror. Brr.”

Natasha laughed at him. “You’re not fooling anyone with that. Come on. Come and have dinner with us.”

“Are you cooking?” Clint checked.

“I haven’t changed that much, Barton. Frank cooks. He’s really good at it, too.”

In Clint’s experience, ex-soldiers turned vigilantes tended to be absolutely terrible cooks. He was, after all, a prime example himself. Still, he reasoned as he followed the couple down the stairs from the roof, he could always order pizza later. He wasn’t about to be so dumb as to criticize Frank Castle’s cooking to his face, anyway. Especially not with Natasha giving him that warning look over her shoulder that said be nice or you’ll regret it.

[scaryscarecrows]

Gotham Ghosts

Or, Scarecrow in the Gotham by Gaslight 'verse.

Tim is one thousand times more paranoid to be alone with his older brothers than he is dealing with Gotham’s unsavories. The unsavories might kill him, but his brothers (Jason, he’ll be honest, it’s mostly Jason) will make his life a living Hell.

Like now.

“Quiet night, baby bird.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Aww, you’ll miss it someday.” Jason jostles him, pushing him closer to the edge of the roof. Tim does a quick check for any questionable devices, not-so-hilarious notes tacked to his cape, or Clayface slime, and comes up with nothing. Good. “When you’re old and grey and trapped in a wheelchair, with noisy grandkids running around, you’ll look back and miss me.”

“No,” Tim says blandly, “I won’t. I’ll be grateful you’re not there to shove my wheelchair into a wall.”

Mask or no mask, he can feel Jason’s Done Look against the side of his head. Whatever.

“Really.”

“Really.” Jason flops down, head hanging over the side of the roof. Tim kicks his boot. “If you fall and die, I’m telling Dick you were doing the can-can and lost your balance.”

“What did I do to you, huh?”

“Salting my coffee was a poor life choice.”

Tellingly, Jason has no response. Tim settles down cross-legged and leans against a chimney. It really is a quiet night-it’s cold and there’s been…incidents. Horrible deaths, or people driven mad by terror. Bruce is trying to see if they’re related, but so far they can’t even find out if there’s someone behind it or if it’s an environmental problem.

It’s foggy tonight, and Tim can’t help but remember this time last year, when a man with a meat cleaver came after them for seeing too much. Jason’s not helping-slack-limbed as he is right now, he doesn’t look so different then he did when he had a knife embedded in his chest. Not that Tim’s going to admit it-his idiot sibling would return from the grave to mock him for being worried.

“I’m bored.”

“Go pester Dick.”

“I don’t know where he is.”

Great.

Clip-clop, clip-clop.

No wheels. Single rider. Tim would say police, but those horses are heavier, and their riders jingle a little from their equipment. This is a lighter animal, built for speed rather than brute force. Who’s out at this hour?

The fog is doing an annoyingly good job of hiding them, whoever they are, and Tim reluctantly straightens up to go a little lower and find out. Jason’s already on his feet.

“There’s a balcony straight down.”

“I know.”

“Then go. Unless you’re scared.”

One day. One day he will push him off a roof and say it was an accident.

He sticks his tongue out and promptly dodges the grasping thumb and forefinger. Humph.

Going lower doesn’t really help. The lights cut through the fog a little more, but the rider’s whereabouts are difficult to pinpoint.

They’re moving slowly, anyway. No great hurry-there!

The wind and the light clear away the fog just enough to make them out. It’s a grey horse, and the rider is of indeterminate gender-the cape is also grey, and the hood hangs down to hide their face.

That’s both suspicious and irritating.

The horse stops, ears pricked forward, and the rider’s head looks both ways. Tim frowns. Are they waiting for someone?

Perhaps, perhaps not, but it doesn’t matter-a constable rounds the corner. Good. This will be resolved very quickly, he’s sure.

“State your business!” He moves up towards the horse, hand on truncheon, and tilts his head back. “What do you-”

Things happen too fast for them to do anything. A sword slices through fog, skin and bone and the constable’s head falls to the cobblestones with a terrible thud. Then the rider is gone, the ringing of hooves the only sign they were there at all.

They give chase. There’s clearly no helping the constable.

“The hell?”

“I don’t know.”

They catch up to the horse two streets over, though Tim’s getting the feeling that was intentional-it’s just standing there again, not even really out of breath. The rider appears to be looking at them, hands folded loosely across the animal’s neck. The sword is nowhere to be seen.

One hand lifts and beckons and oh. Oh, dear. This is bad. This is a situation that Bruce would not approve of.

But Bruce isn’t here and there’s a dead man (decapitated…brr) two streets away and this is the one responsible.

There’s two of them. They can manage.

“Dismount and keep your hands where I can see ‘em!” Jason warns. The rider does not comply, merely wags the finger and drops the hand.

Smoke pellets are not going to be helpful, not in this weather. They might not even work.

“Last warning! Dismount, hands up! Let’s go!”

The horse tosses its head. The rider is motionless.

But they do whistle, a long, clear blast that skips down the street before being swallowed by the fog. A second later, there’s an answer.

And the sound of another horse.

This one’s bigger, Tim thinks. All right. So there’s at least two people in on…on whatever this is-WHAT IS THAT.

It’s a horse, it’s definitely a horse, but it’s. It’s glowing, like some sort of escapee from Hell, and the rider…

Logically, they have to be human. But Tim’s gut response is that they’re not. That face, dear God…pits for eyes, and stitches forming a monstrous grin…

He can’t really complain when Jason shoves him back a few inches.

“Come down to the ground, little birds,” the monster rasps, eyes glowing yellow in the streetlights. The horse rears up, pawing at the air. “Come down and say hello to Scarecrow!”

Stall. Bruce will make his way over here eventually, they need to stall. But carefully-that’s a scythe the new one has.

“Why don’t you come up here?”

That is not what Tim had in mind.

The stitched head tips upwards, looking like it’s falling off, and from this angle the stitches look like teeth.

“Such bravado…I expected nothing less.”

Tim sees her first-a flash of red, plunging neckline-but before he can gesture her away, Scarecrow has turned his horse. The woman gasps, backs into the alley, and Jason-

Every goddamn time. Jason has the self-preservation of a toddler.

He’s swinging down before Tim can stop him and he has no choice but to follow. Unfortunately, this ends exactly as well as you’d expect.

But not in the way you’d expect.

Scarecrow twists (and twists and twists-how?) and the next thing Tim knows, there’s a cloud of bitter white gas in his face, stinging his mouth and nose and making him cough. He falls, landing hard on the stones, and looks up into…into…

The eyes. The monster’s eyes are gleaming yellow, slicing through the dark like lanterns, and something with long legs moves behind the stitched mouth.

“Hello!”

Beside him, Jason’s deathly still and when Tim tries to reach for him his hand lands in a puddle of blood.

No no please no-

The horse-wreathed in flames, Tim sees that now, it wasn’t glowing at all-neighs, a hellish sound that grates against his ears and Jay’s still not moving and there’s so much blood-

The grey rider looks impassively down at them, a black hole where the face should be, before turning away. Scarecrow cackles.

“Tell Batman I want to meet him!”

And then he’s gone. Tim struggles to his knees, trying hard not to vomit, and gives Jason a hard shake. His neck’s at a horribly awkward angle and he can’t tell where the blood’s coming from and Jay no wake up you gotta wake up-

Something big lands in front of them, claws reaching forward, and Tim swings his staff, hits them with a satisfying crack!

“Get back! Get away!”

They lift a hand and there’s a prick at the side of his neck.

Then the world falls away.

THE END

[theghostofohio]

what kind of things would you like to write about? :3c

o man, prepare for a small novel as a reply >:3

i guess because this is my brides themed blog, the five of them in some capacity. cheesy? sure. am i grown and should maybe grow out of my 13 year old hyper fixations? probably. am i going to? hell no.

the thing for me, sweet anon, is that it’s too hard to both come up with a character and flesh out their emotions in a singular form small bodied text. by that, i mean, if i haven’t had time to form depth - a personality for my character, how can i adequately in any form explore their emotions?

i lack oc’s, and i lack interest in anything besides the all consuming knowledge of my current fixation. mental disorder go brr *finger guns*. but, in the same nuances that i would like to explore myself, i would like to explore others. self enlightenment by observation, if you will. how can i chalk any attribute up to myself if i know not what makes me unique?

and in that very same notion, how can i explore what makes others unique? well, my chosen method is wear their shoes, literally. at any rate, i’m not needing to come up with entire designs and histories and quirks on my own - they already exist! with that, it’s easier to explore their emotions. slightly creepy in some avenues, i understand, but it is what it is. i am a face behind a silly little fan blog, and the sun continues to crash behind the horizon each night.

one of my first posts on this hellsite was a piece called abstemius; the piece still gets likes. it’s about discovering one mr andy biersack after having relapsed. i personally have never battled alcohol addiction, so i wanted to explore how that may feel in one’s perspective.

i suppose the answer to your question would be strong emotions. angst, fluff, anger, the blind rage of bumping into the person who ruined your life in the subway one day, feeling every emotion come violently flooding back.

i’ve written adult content. frankly, there’s no room for growth, both within your characters and as a writer. it exists in a box - the same idle scenes over and over. it’s exciting of a read, sure, but much as a one night stand, it leaves you feeling emotionally without.

does that ramble make the slightest sense to you, anon? i just want to explore the sheer depths of human emotion, connection, psychology. of the things that do make us human. the ability to feel empathy, the heartbreak of relapse, the terror of cruelty, the thrill of the sun kissing your skin for the first time in weeks.

so i guess. that.

[diamondnokouzai]

scanlan, from baton rouge, louisiana: brr! its forty-five degrees out, so chilly!

percy, a bitter northerner from la crosse, wisconsin: Oh You Think You Know What Cold Is You Piece Of Shit? You Think You Fucking Understand The Absolute Fucking Terror Of A Dark Winter's Night When Papa Has Not Been Able To Go Ahunting For The Past Month Because Of The Bitter Cold Winds? You Fucking Think You Know What It's Like When You See From Your Window Far Off In The Distant Frigid Night The Face Of Your Dead Grandmother, Still Wandering Through The Snow? You Fucking Think You Understand Anything You Idiot Bastard?