#tw descriptive imagery

[sweetie-peaches]

You know, despite purgatory being run by a literal evil eyeball there is a concerning lack of eye related fanart

Tw eye imagery and realistic eyes

[bendysinitiation]

(Image ID: Henry Stein turned completely into an anthro cartoon sheep / goat. He has black wool, a devil’s tail, four horns, cloven feet, and a wide smile. His undershirt hangs loosely over his shoulders. End ID)

Idea for fully toon Henry! His form resembles the old concept art he used to make for hell’s ruler, Papa Pluto. I imagine, if this au has multiple endings, that this could be one of the “bad” ones. Or, hey, maybe it’s good.

[shmorp-mcdurgen]

Mandela Prophet AU: Confrontation

After a couple of months of dealing with, and being controlled by the parasitic alternate living in him, Adam decides to confront the being that cursed him.

CW: Body horror, religious imagery, blood

Notes: around 4′300 words. I’m actually decently proud of this one, and. stayed up late making it but either way hope you enjoy!

-----

Adam awoke on the cold, damp asphalt of a parking lot.

His back stung, feeling as though it had caught fire, the barely healed wounds pressed against the ground, the small stones digging into his skin. Adam slowly opened his eyes, gasping as he glanced around the empty lot he found himself on. He looked down at himself, seeing he was missing his shirt, and that his pants and parts of his pale skin were stained with crimson; he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know if it belonged to him or not. Either way, he hated that he was used to the sight of blood.

He attempted to sit up, only to let out a quick yell, immediately falling as he felt the muscles in his back cry out in pain at the motion. Adam grimaced as he curled his hands into fists, suppressing more cries of discomfort as he forced himself to stand on his feet, stumbling as a wave of dizziness hit him at once. He took a few steps back, his bare feet cold as they pressed against the asphalt. His breathing was uneven as he steadied himself, trying to ground himself by grasping and running his hands through his ratty, pale brown hair.

He grasped his head, groaning as he shook his head, as if he was trying to literally shake off the migraine that was developing. The rising sun shone from just under the horizon, with even the dim light from it making Adam’s dilated eyes sting. It was as if his eyes didn’t work as well in the light as they did in the dark anymore, like an owl, or a bat. The night vision would’ve been nice, if it meant he wouldn’t tear up during the day sometimes. Though, the feeling of dry tears on his face proved that he had been crying anyway.

Adam reached behind him, his cold, clammy hands lightly pressing against his back, the action making him wince. There were deep, pale reddish pink indented parts of his skin, just barely healed over so it wouldn’t bleed out. Dried and coagulated blood was stuck to his flesh, trails of it running down from the large blotches on his back. Every muscle and bone in his body ached, his spine and ribs popping and cracking with every motion he made, the ligaments and cartilage burning from stretching and bending in ways they weren’t made to bend. Adam simply sighed, his voice growling slightly before he crossed his arms and hunched over, beginning to walk down the sidewalk, hoping to get back to the BPS HQ without being seen; he needed some fucking clothes.

He stumbled down the sidewalk, his eyes darting around erratically as he hoped that the people in the cars passing by didn’t pay much attention to him, nor his haggard appearance. He could only imagine being mistaken for an alternate due to his pale skin, sunken eyes and the blood staining his clothes, and though the person wouldn’t necessarily be wrong, he didn’t want to be shot by someone due to that, instead trying to stay in the shadows, taking any shortcuts he can to get him to his house quicker. His legs felt wobbly, and his head was foggy, though nevertheless he continued, the thought of sleeping being far too tempting for his own good. Hell, he would’ve felt fine falling onto the grass of a random person’s yard, sleeping for a few hours, not being able to feel the overwhelming soreness that overtook him. However, he didn’t think of the idea much further than that, deciding to walk the last few blocks instead of having the cops called on him.

He trembled uncontrollably, rubbing his shoulders as he walked in an attempt to comfort himself, telling himself reassurances under his breath:

“It’s over, it’s alright, it’s not going to hurt you for a while, you’re okay.” Were among the statements he told himself, feeling comfort over the fact that the parasite within him wasn’t moving in the slightest; no twitches, no shifts, and no prodding. It was asleep, and hopefully it would stay that way. Despite the lack of motion in his torso however, Adam couldn’t help but feel the pressure in his chest, and the feeling of dread that clouded his thoughts. He felt like complete shit, in and out, physically and mentally. He shut his eyes, letting out a shaky breath, getting his thoughts together before he flinched at a sound nearby.

“Are you alright?”

Fuck.

Adam looked to his right, seeing a woman on her porch, staring at her with a look in between fear and concern. Adam didn’t even realize how haunting his crazed stare was until he looked away, swallowing the lump in his throat as he attempted to speak. “U…u-uh…I-I-I…” Adam could do nothing but sputter words unable to create a story to explain his state.

“Do…Do you need a doctor?” The woman asked innocently, though Adam couldn’t help but think she was stupid for asking; what would a doctor do to help him at that point? He didn’t need a fucking doctor, he needed a priest.

“N-No…no, I d…don’t.” Adam stated. “I’m…fine.”

“Hold on, I’ll call an—”

“DON’T!” Adam shouted, immediately regretting doing so when he saw the woman flinch. “Don’t…I-I…fucking hell��”

Adam glanced at the woman before running down the sidewalk until he was out of view, ducking behind another house as he shook; fucking shit, what if she called the cops? How the fuck would he even begin to explain his situation? He felt the fear coming from her, and he hated it. He hated that he could sense fear towards him, coming from a woman that only wanted to help out. He leaned against the outer wall, putting his hands over his face, staring through his fingers with wide, crazed eyes. He slid down the wall, sitting on the cold, dewy grass as he crossed his arms on his knees, curling into himself as he held his head low.

Such a fucking moron. Took a deal from the devil just because he wanted to know more than his mind could handle, finding out he was never human in the first place. God damn it, even his harsh breathing and crying sounded inhuman. Why couldn’t he have lived as a normal kid? Why was he chosen to be this stupid prophet? Why him of all people? Why him? Why him? WHY HIM?

“Why…me…?” Adam squeaked under his breath through the tears.

Sarah opened the door to see Adam leaning against the doorway, his stare vacant and fixed on the floor before he slowly looked up at Sarah’s face. He looked like death; a look that had become the norm for him. Sarah let out a breath, glancing towards the ground in a mutual understanding before stepping out of the way, muttering a defeated “Get in” under her breath before Adam walked inside of the apartment.

“Is that where you’ve been all night?” Sarah asked as Adam fell onto the couch, lying across it with a wince as the fabric pressed against his back.

“…Yeah.” Adam sighed quietly.

“It’s only been…what, a week? Two maybe?” Sarah said. “It seems like it’s been…especially irritable lately.”

“Yep.” Adam rubbed his face with his thin, bony hands.

“What haven’t we tried yet?” Sarah asked. “Antibiotics do fuck all, bullets work but…only if we hit you square in the chest with them; Surgery maybe?”

Adam scoffed. “What would a doctor do?” Adam said softly, a slight, disingenuous smile on his face. “They’d cut me open…dissect me. Gawk at the fact there’s a new species of alternate living inside me.” Adam pressed his hands against his face. “I’d rather take my chances with the stupid thing than be some…science experiment in a lab.”

“Okay, then what?” Sarah asked, her shoulders tensing. “Nothing seems to work, so…” Sarah gasped. “…exorcism.”

“No.”

“…Hey it’s worth a shot, isn’t it?”

“Since when have fucking exorcisms worked against alternates?” Adam sat up slightly. “You hold up a crucifix to them and they laugh at you. If anything, that would probably just piss the thing off more.”

“Come on, I’m just trying to help.” Sarah sighed.

“Whatever…” Adam groaned as he stood from the couch. “I need to take a fucking shower anyway. I’ll figure something out myself.”

As Adam walked down the hallway, Sarah glanced at the floor, grasping the sleeve of her jacket as she thought to herself. There had to be some way to get rid of the parasite…right?

That night, Adam laid on the couch, dressed in a pair of ripped jeans and a black hoodie, its hood covering his head. He had his hands folded on his stomach, absentmindedly staring at the wall as Sarah sketched something in her notebook. He glanced over towards her, seeing a blank, yet focused expression as her pencil scratched across the paper. “…What’re you drawing?” He asked.

“Oh…” Sarah said, her eyes glancing around before making brief eye contact with Adam. “Just…thoughts.”

“…What ‘thoughts?’”

“I don’t know.” Sarah sighed. “Just doodling stuff I guess.” She glanced down at the drawing she was working on, being a diagram of what she believed the parasite looked like inside of Adam’s body, with its own “heart” under his sternum, and “veins” reaching through his limbs. She stared at it before shutting the sketchbook entirely. “Nothing important.”

“Right.” Adam looked away, sighing before leaning his head backwards to hit the armrest of the couch. He barely even fit on the couch anymore, with his legs seeming to be longer than he remembered. He stared at the popcorn ceiling, brows furrowing as he thought to himself. “…You think…I’ll ever be cured?”

Sarah paused, staring at Adam with uncertainty in her eyes. “…I don’t…know, maybe?” Sarah said. “There’s got to be a way to get rid of it, if it works like other parasites—”

“But it doesn’t, Sarah.” Adam stated with a half-lidded glare. “It works nothing like other parasites. It’s alive, it’s…able to make its own decisions.”

“Doesn’t…seem like that to me.” Sarah said. “Always seemed like it ran on instincts from…you know—”

“That time I almost killed you?” Adam said, despite the sour feeling in the air when he said it. “I get it. I don’t know it sometimes acts like…this dumb animal, and other times it feels like it’s being—”

Adam froze, his eyes widening as his mind began connecting the dots. He sat up, planting his elbows on his knees and covering his mouth with one of his hands. Sarah looked at him, feeling pressure building in her chest before she spoke. “You…alright?”

“I’m fine.” Adam shut his eyes for a second. “Don’t worry about it, just…figuring some things out.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah…” Adam sighed. “Just…thinking.”

Adam sat on his bed, still in his normal clothes before he glanced at the clock on the wall: 1:00 AM. He stood up, walking towards the door before slowly opening it, glancing at Sarah’s bedroom door, his eyes gleaming in the dark. Seeing that it was closed, Adam turned to the other side of the hallway, seeing the moonlight pouring into the living room through the window. He sighed through his nose, walking down the hallway and into the living room, grabbing his boots and slipping them on, tying them up quickly and quietly. He grabbed a flashlight from the coffee table, taking one last look around the room before shaking his head and walking through the front door.

Adam drove down the dark road, passing by the last home on the edge of town as his piercing gaze fixated on the road illuminated by the headlights. His throat felt dry, feeling the mandibles curled up next to his jaw scratching at the flesh in his inner cheek. The Parasite seemed to be slumbering, though he couldn’t help but feel as though the mandibles were scratching at his jaw and cheeks, trying to get him to turn back despite him having no desire to do so. He ran on intuition, following the road towards where he knew he needed to be, trying his best to ignore the faint blood stains on the dashboard and the fact that he was sitting in a car that belonged to someone…Adam preferred not to think about. It made him sick just thinking of him.

He drove silently, seeing a fence to his left, stretching on in front of the forest beside it until it ended at a large metal gate. Adam parked the car on the side of the road, sighing deeply before shutting it off and opening the door. Despite the darkness, he could see clearly, reading the metal lettering above the black gate: “ST. GABRIEL’S CHURCH”

Adam stared at the sign before looking down at the gate itself, seeing that it had torn police tape draped across the rusted metal. It swayed in the wind like ribbons as Adam pushed open the gateway, hearing the shrill squeaking and screeching the hinges let out as he passed through, walking down the gravel road as he turned his flashlight on, seeing the two large bell towers of the cathedral above the tree line.

He walked into the large opening where the church sat, his boots echoing off of the parking lot pavement as rain sprinkled down from above. He looked up, his determined gaze fixed on the larger-than-life church that sat before him, staring at the tall doors that led inside. He felt his heart beat hard in his chest, the mandibles in his cheeks scratching even harder, to the point where he could taste blood. Despite it and the intense dread building within him, he took in a deep breath and walked towards the doors. If that angel was anywhere, it would be here.

Adam pushed open the doors, seeing that it was nearly pitch black inside of the building. He looked forward, seeing the rows of pews to his left and right, the large pillars on the left and right walls reaching for the tall, vaulted ceiling. Steel, tall candle holders lined the walls, the candles unlit. The only light aside from Adam’s flashlight in the entire great hall was the moonlight shining from behind the giant stained-glass window behind the elevated stage, depicting an angel in white garb and long, flowing hair, holding their hands out with their eyes closed, along with a faint smile on their face. Their wings were pristine and perfect, and the background of the piece was made of blue, green, and yellow shards of glass.

There was a large pedestal in the middle of the stage, around the size of a desk but made of what seemed like carved stone. There was writing on the front of it, though Adam couldn’t make out what it was due to the staining covering it. Adam walked down the red carpet in between the rows of benches, his eyes fixed on a shadow in front of the stained glass window, hearing the faint clinking of metal as it swayed in an unfelt wind. Adam pointed his flashlight at the object, finally making out what it was; an analog television, being hung up by the chains wrapped around it, suspended above the large stone pedestal.

Adam’s expression turned to one of confusion as he pointed his light behind him, seeing nothing aside from the empty benches and unlit candles, despite the feeling of being watched. As he looked around, a bright white light hit his back, with the sound of static filling his ears as he swung around. The TV had switched on by itself, despite the cord hanging loosely underneath it, not connected to anything around it. Adam stared at the TV, swallowing hard, unable to help but notice that the mandibles abruptly became still.

Adam switched off his light, the static reflecting off of his dilated eyes before he saw random cords begin to appear from behind the screen, hanging from inside of the screen and spilling out from it. Adam stumbled back a few steps, staring at the TV as he saw something come into view from behind the glass; a thin, bony hand. It pushed through the screen, grasping the side of the television before being followed by the other, cool grey colored hand. Soon, a head appeared, along with a thin torso, both being concealed by a black hoodie. The beings head faced down as its hands gripped onto the sides of the TV, all before he looked down at Adam, his face finally being visible to Adam as his breath hitched. It was the man in the TV; the one who took him away.

Six’s right eye appeared to have been gouged out, dark, thick blood running down his thin cheek and staining the patchy facial hair below it. His remaining yellowed eye was fixated on Adam, seeming more surprised than anything else. His hoodie appeared to be stained and torn near where his torso was protruding from the TV, with cords seeming to be attached to the skin in his arms and his torso, attaching him to the television. Adam didn’t even let himself wonder what happened to him before he clenched his fists and grimaced.

“It’s YOU.” Adam stated through clenched teeth.

“…The…prodigal son…returns.” Six wheezed, his voice deep, and as rough as sandpaper. “How…stupid.”

“You…you’re the reason I’m here.” Adam stated. “You made me into this fucking THING; I COULD’VE HAD A NORMAL LIFE IF IT WEREN’T FOR YOU.”

“Adam…you don’t understand…the…mistake you’ve made by coming here.” Six continued, glancing around the room. “It…knows you’re here now.”

“I don’t care!” Adam shouted. “Why?! Why me, of everyone you’ve taken, why me?!”

“Adam, LISTEN TO ME! You’re a FOOL for coming here.” Six snapped, leaning down as more of his torso revealed itself through the static, Adam finally being able to see it fully. He didn’t have any legs or even hipbones; his spine was all there was, wires and cords wrapped around the bones, forcing him to stay inside of the television. He was trapped.

Adam stared at the exposed spine before Six caught his attention yet again. “What I did…was for a reason.” He continued, his voice going back to the wheezy, out of breath inflections it was in before. “A reason RUINED by…it. The false shepherd.” Six spoke that statement with pure distain, staring off into space before fixing his gaze back onto Adam. “I…am not to blame. They…are the reason…you’ve been made into…this.”

“I know that…” Adam stated. “But I wouldn’t be in this situation if you didn’t replace some poor kid with ME.”

“I am just as stuck…as you, Murray.” Six stated. “Yet you refuse…to see what is right in fr—”

Six was interrupted when the TV began to short circuit, sending shots of electricity into his body as he screamed, his voice distorting and stuttering before he quickly retreated into the static, the screen flickering off soon after. Adam stared at the TV before he noticed faint orange lights appearing behind him. He turned around, seeing the candles lighting themselves, illuminating the dark hall as Adam’s flashlight shut off. He looked at his own torch, smacking it to get it to work, only making it flicker on before shutting off right after. As he looked forward, the flickering light caught something on the pedestal, Adam’s breath hitching when he saw it. A blackened, bony hand pressed against the top of the stone, soon followed by a thin, grey arm.

A figure emerged from behind the pedestal, standing tall above Adam, her long, black cloak covering her skeletal body. Her head was partially covered by a hood, along with white coif which was wrapped around her long neck and forehead. Her mouth was wide open, slack as if her jaw was dislocated, Adam only being able to see yellowed teeth in it. Large black eye sockets were situated high on her face, with two eyes being visible from inside of them, sunken into the void. Her skeletal face stared at Adam as she stood up straight, walking around the pedestal, her cloak flowing as her sharp, pointed legs silently walked across the floor, with her long arms moving to fold her hands in front of her.

Adam stumbled back from her, recognizing the haunting face from the home he and Jonah were investigating, shocked it wasn’t just a figment of his imagination. He tripped over his feet, falling backwards onto the ground as his flashlight clattered against the white tiles. He stared as the figure looked at him, her head tilting slightly as if she was waiting for something. She only looked away when everything went eerily silent and see looked right behind Adam, her head lowering as she kneeled on the ground.

“Coming here…searching for answers?” An echoing, raspy, choked voice stated from right behind Adam, making his hair stand on end as it chuckled. “How stupid. For once, I must agree with the tulpa; you’ve made a mistake coming here to see me.”

Adam scrambled to his feet, swinging around to see the tall “angel” in front of him, their gaze trying to be soft and inviting, though it gave the stark opposite feeling looking at it. The monochromatic entity stared at Adam, folding its hands in front of their chest as their giant, half-formed wings spread out across the church, blocking off any exits. Adam stood his ground, standing up straight and trying to shake off the overwhelming dread he felt growing within him.

“Y-You…you’re the one to blame for…all this, huh?” Adam stated.

“So…it’s a blaming game?” Gabriel asked, pressing their palm against their cheek as he tilted their head. “How fun! I suppose I can play it as well. First off…you are the one that took my deal, Murray. You were free to walk away.”

“That’s complete BULLSHIT!” Adam shouted. “You told me I’d learn everything I wanted to know, not that I’d get this…this fucking PARASITE!”

“Every deal comes with a price.” Gabriel leaned down towards Adam. “I told you to follow me…that was your end of the deal. I’ve given you everything you needed to know, yet you seem to resist holding your end of the bargain.”

“No.” Adam growled. “Never.”

“…Really.” Gabriel cackled, the sound drilling itself into Adam’s ears as he reached for something attached to his belt, covered by his hoodie; a pistol. “You think you have a choice in the matter anymore, Murray?”

Adam swung up his pistol, pointing it up at Gabriel’s smiling face, their all-too-wide smile not fading despite it. “Get. It. Out.” Adam commanded. “The deals off. Let me live my fucking life…and we’ll never see each other again.

Gabriel let out another loud cackle, Adam’s stern and determined expression fading slightly before he regained it, moving his finger to the trigger. “Oh, Adam.” Gabriel laughed. “The deal has already been made, there’s no going back now. However…I am capable of following one of your demands.”

Gabriel’s distorted laugh continued as Adam stared up at them with fury, all before the brave expression on his face disappeared in an instant as he felt a sharp pain in his torso. He shook, dropping his pistol before falling to his knees, loud ringing piercing his ears as Gabriel’s laugh and crazed, impossible expression taunted him. Adam could feel the parasite wriggling inside of him, awoken despite just having gotten out the night before. The pain seemed worse however, as if he was in the late stages of the parasite taking over instead of going through the discomfort and droning on and on he was used to.

“Adam…you have yet to follow your end of the deal…” Gabriel said calmly as Adam convulsed and shook, the parasite prodding at his skin and one of the mandibles pushing out of his mouth. “You disappoint me. I hope you won’t end up the same as the previous prophet; such promise…disappointing that his mere human form couldn’t handle the task.”

“F-F-Fuck…y…y-you.” Adam stammered through the pain, choking each word out.

“I’m giving you the option to start simple, Murray.” Gabriel continued as Adam slammed his fist against the floor, inhuman whining and screeching being audible from deep within his form. “You see…your friend, Sarah…she’s beginning to get in the way of your tasks. Still stuck in the past…thinking about her poor brother, as if he isn’t rotting underground already.”

Adam wanted to yell at them, but found himself being unable to.

“Or…perhaps that girl you were with…you don’t like her much anyway, do you?” Gabriel smiled. “Oh…of course; the cop.”

“I…I w…I won’t…” Adam growled, yelling right after as he felt the parasite jab itself into his back.

“Won’t what, Murray? Don’t you remember?” Gabriel said. “You’re mine. You are under my control…I’d recommend you don’t forget that…lest you regret it.”

Adam shut his eyes tight, clenching his teeth before he suddenly felt the parasite stop moving, as if it abruptly fell back asleep. The mandibles retracted, the sudden lack of pain making Adam fall onto his side, lying on the ground as he gasped and coughed. Gabriel stood up straight, the tall “nun” approaching them and standing by their side, her gaze also fixed on Adam’s form. “Tick tock, Murray.” Gabriel said. “My patience is waning. If you refuse to uphold your end of the deal…I’ll make you do it instead. You have so much potential…don’t waste it.”

Adam shook, drenched in a cold sweat as he watched Gabriel and the “nun” disappear, the candles blowing out and plunging the church in darkness. Adam couldn’t make himself move, curling into himself as tears ran down his cheeks. He wanted to tear Gabriel apart; limb by limb. He wanted to tear the smile off of its face and see its wings pinned to the wall. However, despite the rage in his heart, he wondered if it was worth resisting. He shook off the thought, shakily and weakly pushing himself onto his feet, stumbling a couple steps before he looked down the hall, his breathing harsh. His brows furrowed, his fists curling up tight enough to make his knuckles pop.

As long as there was time on the clock, there was time to fix things. All he needed was help, and soon. Tick tock, Adam. Tick tock.

[steam-powered-chaos]

SPG Villain Au (Chapter 4)

{Tw: corpses, puppet imagery, descriptions of death}

"Hold this." The golden automaton hands Violet some fabric, as they avert their eyes from the corpse. Its head rolls down to rest on its chest, almost as if it had simply fallen asleep, and if they didn't know any better and it didn't have an axe in its back, Violet would say the 'puppet' was asleep, or a very convincing doll. They took the dark green fabric without thinking, staring away from him. The Puppeteer frowned at their reaction, grabbing their chin to force them to look at the corpse, their pupils dilating slightly in panic. He laughed at their reaction as they started to gag, taking in the full features of the corpse. The Puppeteer snapped his fingers at Violet, and they shook their head, giving him a hateful glare as they gripped the sheet of fabric. "Focus on the task at hand, little birdie! We should make some clothes for this darling little puppet before I start painting it!" He began to laugh harder, and they flinched. He was completely mad, that was clear, or at least, as crazy as a robot could be.

Violet sighed, holding still as he measured, hmm'd and ah'd, before the golden robot slowly brought out a large pair of scissors. Noticing Violet's fear cross across their face, he chuckled quietly to himself, before The Puppeteer swiftly cut the fabric, taking the pieces from their trembling hands. He paused, a look of concern crossing his face as he gently placed his hands on Violet’s. He tilted his golden head, his curls falling to the side. “What’s wrong, my delightful little assistant? Cant have you trembling whilst I work, can I?” The Puppeteer laughed, although it quickly trailed off as they stared away, and he reached out, cupping their chin to force him to look at them with a freezing cold hand.

“You’re sad, why?” Violet shoved him away, staring down again. He released their chin, crouching to look at them. His optics dilated slightly upon noticing the tears in their eyes and he stood up, walking away into a cupboard, returning after a few minutes with a soft teddy bear in his hands, dropping it into their lap gently. Violet hesitated, before glancing up at him, as he turned away quickly. “His name is Bronzey… I suppose you can hug him until you feel better.” They nodded, wiping their eyes and wrapping their arms around the toy. The Puppeteer continued to work, occasionally asking Violet to help hold some fabric, once the shock of being so close to a corpse had somewhat faded.

The workshop door swung open, and Violet spun around to stare as The Spine walked in, his feet making a loud click as he walked towards them. He paused at the sight of the teddy bear tucked in their arms, and he glanced at The Puppeteer, who had his back to his silver companion. Was that… a smile, that just crossed the automaton’s face? “Puppeteer, have you finished with them?” He asked , with the golden automaton giving a small nod, obviously engrossed in his work. The Spine gestured for Violet to stand, and they followed his direction, knowing it would be futile to resist. They left the bear on the chair, giving a backward glance as they were led out the workshop.

[yellow-computer-mouse]

gonna get kinda dark here so tw gory intrusive thoughts under cut

like i am not kidding it is bad /srs

i just. have been having really shitty intrusive thoughts lately? like so bad i can feel a ghost sensation of the aftermath and it's uh. it's fucked up.

it's like- so it started with my little train of thought blah blah blah, using a lil mini-scythe to scrape the excess nail polish off my thumb

then it escalated to the scythe DETACHING all my fucking fingernails and leaving them flopping around

and the bloody fleshy underside is just left exposed

and like the nails getting pressed into my joints and falling off n shit

idk it's fucked up. not like affecting me too negatively or anything but. realllll fucked up.

so ya! teehee

[starrynightyokai]

Her eyes ached, not used to her using them this much or for this long. She kept stopping the skin from growing back over them, rubbing at it or cutting it away if it began to grow. She wished she could stop though. She didn’t want to see any more.

How will I ever look at him the same way as before?

Willa didn’t think she could fear anyone like this.

His muscles rippled underneath scaled skin. Unclean, unkempt skin that was covered in dirt and dried and wet blood from new and old wounds. And victims. Many, many victims. He lost an arm, but the one that remained still ripped the body on the ground apart with a wet squelch using claws longer and sharper than her own.

Her lungs constricted and her heartrate picked up.

Leatherhead snarled around the halved human corpse in his mouth. His eyes were narrowed. He kept looking around wildly, an animal out of his element, as he continued his rampage. His tail whipped around harshly, almost a weapon in of itself.

She wished she couldn’t feel the flecks of blood and flesh and bone that occasionally hit her, even from this distance. She wished she couldn’t smell the copper and the remains of old victims stuck under his claws. She wished she didn’t hear the roars, the screams, the sounds of what caused the screams.

She wished she couldn’t see the images that put it all together.

He was on the move again. Wild, feral. More like an alligator than she’s ever seen him. For a moment, her feet were rooted to the ground. Her pulse loud in her ears as she considered, for a single moment, if she should follow.

She always ran from things that scared her. She’s always been a runner, not a fighter. Even now, her legs itched to run. To run away from the blood and rot and wounds and growls and roars and screams. To never return to this nightmare.

But that would mean leaving him here. Leaving him completely alone in his pain and suffering, leaving him to wake up from his grief with no one to help.

Willa set her jaw.

She followed after him, as she had for the last few days. She wouldn’t stop. Even if the violence and gore got worse, she’d keep following.

I’m going to help you.

[lavendersartistry]

Note 61% of you asked for this-

Also another note: This AU has two protags! You get Rich and a self-insert for Poppy's Angel! This writing is more Rich-focused!

Eve's Form.

(CW/TW: gore, descriptive creepy imagery, blood, jumpscare, beheading (by eating), suffocation/choking, vomiting)

Rich was lost. He didn't expect to get lost, being separated from the rest of the Voyagers. Of course, finding necessities was no easy task. Rich knew that, as to why he was such a hard worker for the fucked up factory-company.

Despite so, he kept his guard up as he roamed through the Playhouse. DogDay always told him that the place was dangerous, even without the little hungry Smiling Critters. Rich payed no mind, he felt he would survive just like the other times with the other toys and messed up creatures.

CRUNCH

Rich suddenly stopped at the noise. It sounded... loud, gruesome. Like something was eating another like a rabid animal. He kept himself quiet, slowly walking closer to the sound.

He heard more of gruesome eating, making it difficult for him to drown out by his thoughts. He wondered if it was CatNap, wondering if that monster finally grew teeth and able to move his creepy grin to eat something to build up from his lanky appearance.

Rich turned the corner. His face became pale instantly.

Eve's signature Smiling Critter grin was unhinged, long and big and through it were rows and rows of sharp teeth. Her eyes weren't the same either; big and dull with small red dots for pupils. Below her were pools of blood and beheaded CandyCat toys.

Rich nearly screamed but covered his mouth before Eve could hear him. He continued to watch her, but couldn't help but look down at the blood everywhere.

He watched Eve go into the light, seeing her form. Her Hour of Joy.

She looked like a feral demon; horns large and curved close, sharp claws that could tear anything apart, her face devilish like as if the Devil possessed her. Her hair was wild in curls as it trailed down to the floor and it getting dirty by the blood.

Eve slowly approaching a CatBee hiding and grabbed it firmly. Her grip on its neck was tight as she choked it and made it suffocate. And in a quick fashion, she unhinged her jaw further and used her teeth to rip the CatBee's head from its neck, the toy's neck spurred out blood by the sudden movement.

The ewe carelessly dropped the toy and walked away with the toy's head in her mouth to finish her meal later.

Rich felt sick, he leaned against the wall of the play structure and held his hand to his mouth. But it couldn't stomach it. He turned, letting himself vomit out the disgust of what he saw.

As if on cue, KickinChicken found him and helped him to his feet.

"The hell... the hell was that?"

The bigger bodied chicken seemed surprised by his answer but realized what the man saw. He stayed quiet but helped Rich get out of the placed. But the man was quick, grabbing the chicken by the shoulders.

"What is she? Whatever that was... it's NOTHING like what Huggy was! Kickin... the fuck was that?!"

The chicken sighed heavily and looked away for a moment. He took a second before speaking.

"At first, none of us knew. Then.. well, any notes the initiative have is your answer. But a lot of us know that whatever they did wasn't something normal. Like.."

Like a demon controlled her. As a instinct, as a hunger she can never control.

[arecaceae175]

Whumptober Day 10: Adrenaline Crash (Time)

Read on AO3 or here. Alternative prompt 10 today bc the actual prompt was scary. Trigger warnings: violence, description of injury, bloody imagery

His chest heaved, breaths coming out in measured gasps. His grip on the Biggoron sword was strong and sure. Black blood ran down the blade in rivulets; it coated his clothes and puddled around his feet. 

Time scanned the carnage before him, searching for enemies still alive. Blood, guts, and severed body parts littered the field, painting the otherwise scenic landscape in harsh, dark colors. Dozens of bodies were piled around him. Some were beginning to fade into black dust, some were still choking on their own blood. 

Time swiftly stepped through the piles, driving his sword hard through each monster’s chest. Breathe in, stab down, pull out, next. He repeated it until every monster fell away into dust. Twilight’s pained cry reverberated in his mind, spurring him to move faster, hit harder, leave no survivors. 

A stick broke behind him. Time whipped around, sword slashing at the sound. It clashed against metal, the sound ringing in his ears and bouncing around his head. Time blindly pulled his sword back and slashed again.

“Woah, Time, stop!”

There was no stopping, he couldn’t stop. Not while Twilight was bleeding out behind him with a sword through his stomach. He had to eliminate the threat. 

The Fierce Deity mask sang. Time’s vision swam, but he resisted its call. Not this time, not again. Adrenaline surged through his body, and Time brought his sword down hard.

“Sprite, stop!”

Time paused. Sprite. He hasn’t heard that name in years. Not since…

“It’s me! It’s Warriors!” 

Time’s vision cleared through sheer force of will. He blinked rapidly, then Warrior’s face swam into focus. Warriors had his sword held in a defensive position. His eyes were wide, locked on Time’s face. Time felt himself swaying on his feet, so he readjusted his stance. This wasn’t over, yet.

“Twilight,” Time choked out. Warriors’ brow furrowed in confusion. He looked over Time’s shoulder, and his eyes widened. 

Time spun on his heel and hurried over to Twilight. He heard the clank of Warriors’ chainmail close behind. Time crashed to his knees. Warriors knelt down beside him, hands immediately going to Twilight’s wound. Four and Sky knelt down, as well, and Time blinked in surprise. He hadn’t noticed their approach. Had they been there the whole time?

Four and Sky quickly set to work. As Four pulled potions and bandages out of his bag, Time let himself fall back on his heels. Twilight was safe. 

“Hey, Old Man, why don’t you drop the sword,” Warriors said softly. 

Time blinked, and let his gaze fall to his sword hand. It was shaking, and the sword clattered against a rock. Warriors’ hand closed around his, and guided him to set his sword on the ground. 

“Are you hurt?” Warriors’ asked. Time’s mind raced, his blood felt like it was vibrating inside his body. Everything looked out of focus, and Warriors’ voice sounded like it was coming through water.

“No, Twilight,” Time said forcefully, shaking his head. Wasn’t that obvious? Warriors nodded, frowning.

“Sky and Four are taking care of him right now. He’ll be just fine. Are you hurt?” Warriors asked again. 

“No,” Time said. No, Twilight had taken the sword meant for him. Twilight, his successor, his family, had taken the hit and was bleeding out, and Time had to protect him-

“Twilight, he was stabbed, I have to make sure he’s safe,” Time said.

Warriors’ frown deepened. “He’s right there, Time. Look, he’s safe. You did it.”

“Is he okay?” Four asked, glancing between Warriors and Time. Twilight wasn’t okay, that’s why they were all kneeling here, wasn’t it? Time had been sloppy, Twilight had taken the hit, and Time had to make sure he was safe-

Warriors snapped his fingers in front of Time’s face. Time flinched, blinking up at Warriors’ face. Warriors peered into his eye. 

“Does he have a concussion?” Four asked. Before Time could answer, Warriors held up his hand. 

“Follow my finger with your eye,” Warriors instructed. Time did so, easily. He felt his irritation rising.

“No, I think he’s just crashing. He probably had an adrenaline rush,” Warriors said. 

“I’m right here,” Time added. He wasn’t completely sure, as his head was swimming and his body felt miles away, but the others didn’t need to know that. 

“Okay, Twilight’s going to be fine. Just needs to rest, now,” Sky said. Time started at Twilight. The sword was gone, his midsection was wrapped, and some color had returned to his face. Four was holding two empty potion bottles, and Sky was wiping down his hands. 

Time’s gaze found the pool of blood beneath Twilight’s prone form, and stuck on it. His body shook with the need to move, to protect, to make it better.

“Hey, look at me,” Warriors said. Time didn’t react. HIs hands clenched into wobbly fists.

“Sprite,” Warriors said quietly. Time’s gaze shot up, emotions he couldn’t bring himself to place surging through his body. Warriors met his eye and leaned his head down, blocking Time’s view.

“He’s fine, you did it. Now let’s get back to camp so you both can get some rest,” Warriors said. Time blinked, hesitated, then every so slowly nodded. Warriors flashed his signature smile, the one Time knew was a sham, then helped Time to his feet. Time swayed slightly, feeling incredibly light-headed. Warriors held his upper arm with a strong grasp. 

Sky grasped Time’s other arm. Time blinked at him as his legs shook.

“The captain’s carrying Twilight back to camp,” Sky explained. Time tried to move forward, but Sky’s grip on his arm pulled his back.

“I can do that-” Time began.

“Yeah, that’s not happening,” Warriors said as he deftly lifted Twilight into his arms. He grunted, and flashed another smile.

“See? Nothing to worry about,” Warriors said. Four shook his head and moved to the front of the group, sword at the ready. 

Time closed his eyes, trusting Sky to lead him. He took a deep breath to calm his racing mind, his rapidly beating heart. Everything was fine, now. Twilight was safe. All his boys were safe. He could calm down. The Fierce Deity mask gave one last whisper as Time turned his back to the battlefield. 

Sky gave Time a gentle nudge, and then they were on their way.

[peafowl-arethe-best-birds]

Everything burned.

He tried to inhale sharply but heard the air exit through one of the stab wounds in his torso. He sobbed. Everything hurt it hurt so so much it burned.

He kept closing his eyes every time he opened them. The sight of his skin wrinkled and loose and without its feathers made him want to puke. Maybe he already had. Maybe that’s why his throat hurt.

Or maybe it hurt from his screams.

Blindly, he crawled. Every movement jostled broken bones. Skin peeled and wind hit places underneath that should never see the light of day. Only one of his lungs was intact, working overtime to help him breathe through the sobs wracking his body.

Would this ever end? Would he bleed out, skin peeling and red and raw, feathers ash around him? Would he ever see his sister again?

Maybe he didn’t deserve that luxury.

All at once, the world went black.

-o-O-o-

Sochai lurched out of bed, panting and shaking, clutching the blanket to his chest. He pressed it to his mouth to muffle his sobs.

He hated remembering that. He didn’t want to remember that.

He looked at his arms and legs. The magic healing helped. His feathers regrowing helped too. But he could still feel the scars underneath.

He still remembered what it felt like to have his skin fall off.

He pressed his lips together and shook his head. He didn’t want to remember that. He had to try to think about anything other than crawling away from where he should have died.

Sochai sobbed silently, whole but not really. Maybe he left some pieces behind.

When his sister woke up, he’d be fine.

She didn’t need to know about the memories.

[livipode]

Deep breath in. Deep breath out

In the palm of her hand, she had nothing. Yet in the other, she could hold nothing. There was a sense of unresolved tension between limbs. From the one she still had, to the other so brutally ripped from her, torn to shreds and devoured. An experience she would not soon forget.

Yet the others cried out and filled her mind, the ones so connected to her spinal cord and mind like wire melded to metal.

Deep breath in. Deep breath out.

It was enlightening, shatter bones and a scream that mixed with the laughter of sanity being drained out of her. To allow more of them to consume her mind as she leaked so profusely with red and metal so imbedded in her body. Incapable of removing, only embracing. Membrane that scoured her lungs and screamed for more. More. MORE.

All it took was a push, was the right move to take it in, and release it. Or in this case, to let go of what was hers, to be embraced, to be evolved past what she might be capable. Perhaps she should thank it.

Deep breath in. Deep breath out.

She had been getting better and remaking limbs, enhanced and not quite the same...better. humanity was flawed in it's inability to evolve at such a fast rate. There were exceptions, of course...those with superpowers, born, given, or created. Mutants.

Yet some, with intelligence, enough to be considered a power in and of itself. It was, in a way, god or the universe's own thought experience. Humanity. Weak and feeble till proven otherwise.

Cellular membrane, aritifical, digging soon into the barely healed stump. She had thought of trying it sooner, though found it would be better to give it time, wait and see. Results were always better when the body was at it's highest, not when it was panicked and bleeding out.

Deep breath in.

It would more harder, had she only one limb, alone surrounded by bright and overly luminous LEDs...but she wasn't. Machinery with minds of its own both imbedded into her back, her spine and nervous system, as well as around the lab itself.

Some found it unnerving, she found it to be enlightening. Surrounded by technology that had learned to think, to be human.

Deep breath out.

How she felt the strings attach, like a puppet being carved open, her skin peeling back and fusing together with silicon and nanotechnology. It was enlightening, how it felt.

How it hurt. How her bones were being eaten away at the stem which had been nipped at the bud. Roots regrowing and heading towards the rest of her nerves, like a weed being purposefully thrown amidst roses. To be replaced, to be reorganized. The pain a rushing of adrenaline that made her shiver.

Deep breath in.

Becoming umbearable, like locusts biting and eating away at her flesh, the green-transparent colour filling with pale skin cells, replacing, becoming, duplicating. Red and white mixing so elegantly, then ugly...then beautifully. Pieces being laid into place like a puzzle being concluded and snapped together.

Hold.

Her lungs, her heart, it screamed to breath, it screamed yet was caught in her throat. Tentacles of her back moving out like serpents wrapping and curling as they felt it too. Her entire body a system of multiple, all feeling so excruciating. As if she would explode. As if layers of her skin were being peeled back to reveal the rudimentary yet so complicated surface of a human body.

A willing vivisection, by the creation of a symbiotic relationship. A parasitic one turned mutually beneficial.

Hold.

Skin and body trembling while nerves connected, replaced and made her eyes widen. The hue of her irises becoming so briefly vibrant and the brightest of green before reverting.

Hold.

Hold.

A growl, the release of breath soon forming from snarl and grimace of teeth to the laugh of a woman who's feeling had returned. Phantom limb so temporary now physical. How in the empty lab, her laugh echoed, tentacles splayed across the floor--how even technology could not handle the resolve of pain.

Deep breath in. Deep breath out.

But she could.

[arthurtaylorlester]

asunder, a malevolent ficlet

crossposted on ao3

warnings: major character death, graphic depictions of torture, murder, just like. stabbing someone, across their whole body and like their bones from inside and stuff. you should be fine if you've listened to malevolent, i think.

inspired by this post

“Don’t you fucking dare die on me— stay with me, you fucking asshole—”

Everything was falling apart far too quickly. John knew they were doomed to suffer this fate, but he didn’t expect it to all come crashing down so quickly. His tears still stained Arthur’s face, who had fallen quiet, almost as if he were falling asleep to the melody of John’s incoherent babbling. 

“Arthur, no, wait please, don’t you fucking do this– you didn’t have to go through with it, you didn’t need to do this to yourself, to me–” John pleaded, “We can find some other way to get me a body, I never wanted this, just please listen.” 

Arthur giggles, reeling and raising a hand to wipe John's tears away. 

His face was stained red, redder than it had been previously from the blood rushing to his face. His hand had been clutching his ragged shirt, pressing desperately on the wound the King had opened again, attempting to stop the bleeding. 

Out of nowhere, blinding pain, again, and this time, John felt it too. 

His eyes went next. 

Multiple dagger-like fingers dug deep into their eye-sockets, reaching the roots of the eye and tugging, carelessly pulling to remove every single inch of the organ, depriving John of sight. 

“You fucking idiot, why did you agree to his deal, Arthur, why? Why would you do this to yourself, you don’t deserve this.”

“Shh, John, be quiet, ah, it’s ok, you’re gonna be fine, you can go back to Arkham with your new body, and– fuck," Arthur shushed him as though comforting a child being left at kindergarten for the first time. “You can live back at Arkham, no one will recognise you and you can go to the movies, ha, John, you can go to the movies whenever you want, just a few more moments.”

“Stop,” sobbed John, “stop talking, why are you doing this to me? why couldn’t you just stay?” 

Another stab, through the arm this time, John’s arm, pinning them to the top floor. 

The King laughed, but his words escaped the both of them. 

He was gasping now, worse than in pain, unable to keep any blood from flowing out and soaking his already stained shirt. 

Unable to wipe away John's tears. 

He was still talking, still begging Arthur to stop this madness, to tell the King he didn’t want this, even if he knew there was no stopping him now. 

He asked, not pleading, why? Why did you agree? why did you agree to kill yourself? Why are you doing this for me? I don't need a body, I never have, I need you.

“Shhh, shut up, John, just listen? listen, ok? I have to–“ he winced, “I have to tell you something, fuck, something important.”

He was struggling with every word now, the King piercing through his flesh faster and more often, and the blinding, searing, pain–

“What? what, Arthur, be quiet, stop talking, we can still get out of here, we can make it somewhere else, I can see an opening, a small covering–“

Arthur hushed John again, and for a second, the world stilled. 

The King was still tearing Arthur's body apart, breaking bones and tearing organs apart, twisting them, but keeping Arthur alive, to make him feel the pain of having a part of you ripped apart from his very being.

Arthur took a breath with what was left of his lungs. 

Breathing burned, or perhaps it always had. He couldn’t tell anymore. Had he always been blind, perhaps? Had John, had the madness of it all, always been there? Maybe it had been lurking, in the corners of his mind his eyes had never reached. Maybe it was all in his head, a dream,  and he would wake soon. 

No, Arthur thought, his (John’s) left arm having gotten free and reaching erratically to keep Arthur’s guts inside his (their) body, No, no, I’d miss him too much, he’s real, he’s real, he’s real, he’s real–

He could vaguely feel the King smashing his hands, his pianist's fingers, piercing through the thin flesh with impossibly sharp fangs. He felt the muscle of his legs loosely cling to his bones, his tibia being fractured, bent almost entirely bent the wrong way. 

At the same time, he felt multiple of his ribs crack, one by one. But not by any physical object, the King was using his mind to contort, snap, every single shard of Arthur’s body. 

He gathered John must have lost all vision, as his eye sockets felt empty, rendered useless cavities. 

He looked much like a rapidly decaying corpse, being feast for mycelium and bugs alike. But he felt like one too, he understood, slowly, why the King was doing all this. It wasn’t necessary, not in the slightest to mutilate, no mangle, someone’s body like this, to free them from a mere fragment of a god.

The King was doing this for wretched pleasure. 

But Arthur had agreed, with reckless bravery he’d agreed. Yes, consume me, if you must, to free John, he deserves this. 

Deserved what, to be exact? 

To witness his best friend be torn asunder by his former self, to weep and plead and beg for Arthur to do something, to stop it all, to pull through a last time. 

Arthur knew he was selfish, but he tried to chuckle, this was a bit much even for him. He couldn’t feel the pain anymore, perhaps the King was near to finished, bored now of playing with his food, it becomes a mess very quickly, after all. 

He was lying in a pool of his own blood, guts and gore, still pinned to the rock beneath him by John’s arm, but moving would’ve been unimaginable either way, he was shattered. 

He found himself far too numb to care. He felt like sand, threading loosely through the hands of what he dared to try and comprehend. He just let John know, let him know the truth, before he slipped away for good. 

“I love you. Now say it back.” 

“Please— stop talking, save it till we get you help—” 

“Say it back—”

“I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you so fucking much, please don’t leave me—”

[sebs-anxiety-and-insanity]

Not Just Another Bloody Mary,

Analogical, zombie apocalypse au, mute!Virgil

TW: religious imagery, blood, vague description of injury

__________________________________

Virgil himself had never been one to believe in God. After all he had seen, it's hard to not become a cynic. At least that was the general consensus. He preferred the term 'realist'.

But, he was ready to get on his hands and knees to thank the god who had given him this vision-

There Logan stood, lab coat and all, covered in blood.

It wasn't the type you might see Janus or Remus in. If they were covered in blood they ranged from happy to psychotic. But, Logan just seemed his normal self. Well, apart from the gut wound.

For the first time, Virgil had found himself unable to move. The man before him was slumped against the wall now, chest heaving with labored breaths, and Virgil knew he should move quicker, but he couldn't bring himself to.

Logan had his eyes shut, muttering about needing attention, and only then did he break out of his stupor.

Virgil rushed to his side, unsure of what to do, Logan had leaned on him instead, noting that Logan was close to limp in his arms. Logan, bloodied and heaving, leaving blood on his own hands and he felt just about ready to pray to this man.

"Hey, Virgil, do you still have those bandages from the east building-?" Patton gasped upon turning the corner. "Oh my god-" Virgil nodded along with the statement. For entirely different reasons.

"I uh- set him on the table, alright?" Patton rushed, turning to yell for Remy.

Virgil did as told, albeit in a daze, but still. Logan had basically lost consciousness, although Virgil was admittedly right there with him on that aspect.

Patton calmly told Virgil that he needs to leave and got to work.

Virgil had taken a seat outside the small corner Logan had found him in, and he noted the trail of blood that had went unnoticed on the floor. It reminded him of the virgin Mary statues that would litter monasteries. One in particular came to mind, a bronze virgin Mary in Guadalupe, but instead of picturing the virgin weeping olive oil, he pictured Logan weeping blood.

He had long forgone the many aspects of religion, but he would glady wear it all out and start traditions all over again.

He never went far from Logans side, worrying about him most of the day. He thought that when Patton came out and said he should be fine that he would feel better, however that was not the case.

He sat beside Logan until he came around. If he was cold, Virgil would give him a blanket, if he was hungry, Virgil would fetch him food; anything of which he had the slightest notion of want, Virgil gave to him.

He knew that he was gonna be Logans personal follower till the end of his days when Logan started asking him to eat, warm up, and take his medicine.

He was an absolute goner. Not that he minded anyway.

_______________________________________________

Hope you enjoyed! 💜

Tag list {you can ask to be added or removed}:

@reiney-weather @helloidkwhatimdoing-0 @hedgiehoggles @autumnpleaves @from-the-gall0ws @skylar-pansexualnerd19

[bendysinitiation]

I was trying to find more eerie old films for this au and THIS one is a goldmine. It’s a film for the encouraging of asbestos in products and it is extremely creepy. There are many, many shots of places supposed to be made “safe” by asbestos, and shots of asbestos itself, while the narrator talks about how great a material it is. If you’re in for shots of burning houses with jaunty music, seeing just how much asbestos was used in everyday products back then, crashing cars, or whatever, watch this. This is really what I wish BATIM felt like.

CW: Fire, Burning homes, Very loud sounds at beginning and end (skip to 00:12 seconds and skip from 16:03 to 16:17), Car Crashes, Death Mentions

(The description also has its very own ID for every shot!)

(Image ID: White text that says “WHY ASBESTOS?” with an asbestos cloth behind it. End ID)

Here are some shots I found creepy that I’ll probably use for the au later!

[meme-id-templates]

Mom Come Pick Me Up I'm Scared ID Template

[ID: A Mom Come Pick Me Up I'm Scared meme in one panel. On a blank white background is the text "Me after doing another internet deep dive for research and discovering Agony in Pink" in Impact font. Below that is an image of Patrick Star in a violet sweater donning a blank smile. On the sweater is the text "Mom come pick me up I'm scared". End ID]

Fair warning for those who wish to find and read it, its content is very similar to Dipper Goes to Taco Bell, except much worse. It has caused the site hosting it to be shut down by the Australian government. Content and trigger warnings will be in the tags. You have been warned.

Source: imgflip.com

[cxrrodedcoffin]

Dead of Night - Spencer Reid

Likes are always appreciated but reblogs and feedback keep artists going!

Summary: Spencer stumbles upon a secret dark fantasy of reader’s and does everything he can to be the one to fulfill it.

Word Count: 3.1k

A/N: This is the first time I’ve ever written anything with themes like this so feedback is definitely appreciated. Not proofread cuz this is long and I’m tired ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I fully understand if the themes included in this are not for some of my regular readers and I encourage you to scroll if you’re not comfortable with any of the following warnings.

TW: perv!spencer, dom!spencer, mask kink, knife play, blood, dubcon, kind of cnc but it’s emphasized repeatedly that reader initiates and is in control of what is taking place, unprotected sex, penetration, creampie, degradation (slut), pet names (doll, angel) religious imagery, gun mention, std testing mention, fem + afab reader, soulmate talk

Rating: R, 18+

——

You knew it was wrong, you’d seen just how easily Penelope was able to track someone down through their “anonymous” profile on websites just like this one, but your desires got the better of you, and you just had to try.

Your profile was nondescript, your age, a vague physical description of yourself, and a link to a meticulously detailed account of your wildest fantasies. After weeks of back and forth, chatting with a few equally nondescript profiles, you found the one that you really clicked with, the stranger you decided you’d let sneak into your window and do whatever he wanted with you. After an std panel and the agreement of your safe word, you decided to fully commit, sending this complete stranger your address and logging off for the night.

Even though you knew this was a stupid idea, you weren’t a complete idiot, you had plans in case anything went south, including placing your handgun in your bedside table for easy access if you, god-forbid, had to use it. Placing yourself in a high-risk situation was the whole point, and you couldn’t wait to see how it turned out.

You spent the remainder of your afternoon preparing, doing every grooming ritual you’d usually do before a date, but this time felt somehow more important. You didn’t even know what this guy looked like, and yet, you wanted to be the picture of beauty for him. It was silly, but you always pictured yourself the prettiest you’d ever been when you daydreamed about being ravaged by a stranger. You wanted to be completely irresistible in every way, and you were doing everything in your power to accomplish that.

As the sun finally set, your excitement levels began to rise, anxiously awaiting the arrival of your masked suitor. You opened the bedroom window just above your fire escape, the cool night air drawing goosebumps over your exposed skin, only a thin lace slip and matching panties adorning your frame. You crawled into bed, double checking your bedside drawer before pulling your comforter over your body, eagerly drifting off to sleep.

—

Spencer had been keeping a secret, one that he did not want you to know about, until today. A few weeks ago he’d stayed late to finish up some paperwork for the last case you’d been on, when his pen ran out of ink just as he was about to sign off the last document. He walked to your empty desk, reaching across it to grab a pen from the cup next to your monitor, when his arm brushed against your mouse, causing your display to light up.

He knew he shouldn’t snoop, but curiosity got the best of him, scanning through the title of each tab open on your browser until a certain website caught his eye. He went against his better judgment and clicked the tab, his jaw dropping upon viewing your profile, and with it, the graphic description of your sexual proclivities. His brain immediately cemented that information in his mind’s eye, fit to torture him for days after the encounter.

He couldn’t stop picturing himself fulfilling all of those desires for you, having to excuse himself to the bathroom several times a day to take care of the bulge in his pants just from being around you. He eventually bit the bullet, creating his own profile on the website and messaging you as an “anonymous” suitor, beyond pleased when the two of you hit it off. He felt bad not telling you, but this was a means to an end that would surely leave you both satisfied, and the devious part of him won out this time.

He did everything you asked, getting tested so he could fuck you raw, he was apprehensive about the risks of a potential pregnancy even without the fear of std transmission, but the way you begged so beautifully in your messages for him to creampie you was more than enough to convince him. The moment he got your message with your address, he went out and purchased a mask to conceal his identity just like you asked, and anxiously waited for nightfall.

—

The graze of fabric against your skin gently woke you as your bedding was pulled down off of your body, your mind clouded from the deep sleep you’d been sunk in seconds before. You rolled onto your back, starting to lift your head until a large hand clamped over your mouth, forcing your head back down onto your pillow. Your eyes widened, darting around the room before settling on the masked figure on top of you. You tried to scream against his palm, but the sound simply reverberated back against you, muffled by his strong grip.

His free hand made quick work of cutting off your slip, the thin fabric splitting easily against the blade of the knife in his grasp. You struggled underneath him, weakly pushing at his strong shoulders, feigning defense as the heartbeat in your cunt grew stronger by the second. You couldn’t believe this was actually happening, the adrenaline coursing through your veins making you feel almost high.

“Don’t fight it.” He hushed, holding the knife flush against your neck. You slowed your movements, settling for shifting your legs against his. He removed his hand from your mouth, freeing it up to gather your hands to pin them above your head as well as give you an opportunity to use your safe-word if need be.

He trailed the knife down your body, your chest heaving with shaky breaths as the blade scratched a small cut between your breasts, warm droplets of blood forming in it’s wake. He followed the curve of your body, leaving shallow kitten scratches until he reached your hip, using the tip of the knife to carve a heart into your skin. The sting of each movement set every nerve ending in your body on fire, the wetness pooling between your thighs increasing by the second.

He pressed his thumb to the wound, smearing the blood down to the waistband of your panties, using the digit to pull the fabric before letting it snap back against your skin. You gasped, your labored breaths growing more desperate as he brought the blade to slice the fabric, exposing your embarrassingly wet cunt.

“Look at how wet you are, you love this, don’t you?” The condescension in his tone felt almost half-hearted, and the more of his voice you heard, the more familiar he started to sound, but you couldn’t quite place why. You looked down at him, watching his every move as you tried to place him.

He set the knife on the bed, using his now free hand to yank his pants down, his hard cock slapping against his thigh. Your eyes went wide at his size, looking just long and thick enough to have you a little worried about being able to take him raw, but the thought of being stretched to your limits sent another wave of arousal straight to your core and helped quell that fear ever so slightly.

“If you don’t want this, just say the word.” His words dripped from his lips like honey, sickly sweet, and in that moment you had never felt more sure of your desire for anything in your life.

—

Spencer wondered if the way he was feeling was akin to that of religious psychosis, so engulfed in your very being that he ought to worship at your altar for the rest of his life, fit to carry out any act you requested of him.

His brain kept your description of your fantasy scrolling in the back of his mind, catering to everything you had written to a T in hopes of making this a night you’d never forget. The only thing at the forefront of his thoughts, however, was the intoxicating sounds you made every time he gripped or marked your skin. Each note sought to pull his focus, threatening his plan as it tempted him to lose control all together. He couldn’t do that, his conscience too righteous in its goal to keep you as pleased as possible.

He took his time, marking you just the way you’d requested, his cock twitching with every whimper that flowed out of you until he finally reached your core, the lace of your underwear glistening under the moonlight cast through your open window from how wet you were. He wanted to sink fully into you without a care in the world, but he had to make sure this was absolutely what you wanted. He was, to your knowledge, a stranger after all, and the last thing he wanted was for you to be uncomfortable in any way.

—

You frantically shook your head in acknowledgment, spreading your legs wider for him, ready for this tall stranger to finally be inside of you. Your eagerness spurred him on, a surge of confidence washing over him as he let go of your wrists, his large hands gripping your hips and pulling you further down the bed. He lifted your legs so your knees rested atop his shoulders, his rough movements making you gasp.

He brought his cock to your core, running the shaft through your slick folds before slapping the head against your clit a few times, the repeated hits making your hips jolt ever so slightly. He hummed low in the back of his throat, lining up his tip with your entrance before thrusting forward, bottoming out inside of you in one fell swoop.

“You’re so tight.” He grunted, one hand holding an iron grip on your thigh to hold your leg up, the other digging fingerprints into your hip. You gasped once more at the intrusion, feeling more full than ever before as he set a steady but unrelenting pace. Your gasp turned to crying moans, brows furrowed in awe at the way his cock stretched you so deliciously, prominent veins rubbing against the contours of your sensitive walls.

Each snap of his hips had his balls slapping against your ass, the lude sound mixing with his grunts and the wet squelching where your bodies met in the most intimate way, the decibel level in the room reaching an all-time high.

You bit your lip, trying to quiet yourself to at least somewhat lower the noise and not disturb your sleeping neighbors, but the absence of your desperate moans was not lost on him. His pace slowed, his left hand firmly gripping your chin to force you to look at his masked face. His eyes met yours through the thin slit in the dark fabric.

You knew those eyes, those big, soft brown irises, so comforting, yet darker than you recognized, pupils far more blown than you’d ever seen before. You knew him, but there was no way. Your mind must have been playing tricks on you, because there was no way that Spencer Reid would do anything this perverse, let alone with you.

“Louder, slut.” He squeezed your cheeks, forcing your lower lip out from under your bite.

“I-I’m not a slut.” You mumbled, barely above a whisper.

“Only a slut would leave her bedroom window open, practically begging a stranger to come in and fuck her.” This was far too brazen to be Spencer, you thought, a level of blunt confidence you’d never in a million years expect from him.

“I-I didn’t mean to.” You stuttered over your words, raising your voice in an attempt to half heartedly defend your actions.

“Well then, you should really be more careful next time.” He laughed, releasing his grip on your face before playfully slapping your cheek and increasing the pace of his thrusts, his now free hand finding your clit. His calloused thumb drew broad strokes over and over and over against your sensitive bundle of nerves, a knot tightening in your stomach as you drew closer and closer to your release. You turned your head, trying to bury your face in the pillow as you writhed underneath him, your body frantically looking for relief.

“Oh don’t be shy doll, let me see how much you’re enjoying this.” His tone was almost sing-song, clearly enjoying this just as much as you were. He pressed his body down closer to yours, almost pinning your thighs against your stomach, the change in angle forcing a borderline scream from your lungs, crying out strangled ‘uh’s with every stroke. You looked him in the eye, desperate to know if this deity above you could possibly be your nerdy coworker, and every interaction you’d had with him flashed before your eyes.

Every fleeting glance he took at your chest or your ass, the way he lingered behind you in the field, feeling his presence even when you couldn’t see him. You couldn’t think of a time he wasn’t around a corner when you turned it, always near whenever you needed his help on a case. You always secretly hoped he'd make a move sooner or later, but you never thought it would be anything like this.

He was omnipotent, knowing exactly how to make you feel things you’d never felt before, pushing your body to levels of pleasure you never thought possible. You thought you might disappear, your brain short-circuiting as you tried to make sense of everything, finally understanding why the French refer to orgasms as the little death.

Your walls fluttered around him, the sounds leaving you reduced to pathetic whimpers as your vocal chords grew strained.

“That’s it, cum on my cock, angel.” He groaned, his thrusts growing increasingly desperate. The pet name surprised you, but if he saw you as an angel, how fitting considering how godlike he felt to you in that moment. You could tell he was close, and if your orgasm was what would get him to cum inside you, then so be it. Your eyes glazed over, your hands clawing at his back as you chanted ‘fuck, fuck, fuck’ like a mantra, wave after wave of euphoria washing over every nerve in your body.

—

Spencer was a man possessed, his primal urges leaving his mind completely uninhibited, so lost in your body that he thought he might need divine intervention to ever leave you.

He didn’t quite understand where the sudden dominant urge coursing through his veins had come from, but he didn’t care to dwell too much on the thought, content to fuck you into the mattress until you screamed his name.

He knew that wouldn’t happen, but he secretly hoped you’d realize who he was, wishing for nothing more than for you to want him for him. His heart felt like it may burst at the thought, the desire to be wanted as he was ever-lingering inside of it, that being the very motivation behind his lingering tendencies from the start.

As your heat contracted around him, he felt an embrace like no other, hoping the myth of twin flames to be true. If this connection wasn’t proof of it, how could he rationally explain anything? He knew the scientific reasoning behind it, but it didn’t feel like enough, such a finite explanation for a feeling so sempiternal.

He wondered if you felt the same way too, so lost in his every desire that he let himself dive into the delusion, using the pet name he wished he could call you every day for eternity.

Your chants and cries as you came set him free, his hips stuttering as he finally filled your aching cunt to the brim with his seed. He hovered above you, catching his breath, watching your expression soften as you rode out your orgasm, practically glowing.

When he finally snapped out of his lust-fueled haze, he fully remembered his role, pulling out of you and quickly scrambling to stand, fixing his pants and underwear. You had agreed to his departure after, and as badly as he wanted to hold you until you drifted off to sleep, he respected your wishes more than his wants. He walked to the window, lifting his leg to climb out of it when you cleared your throat, drawing his attention. He turned, seeing you sit up, hazy smile on your face.

“Thank you.” You sighed, and he gave a nod of acknowledgement before slipping out of the window and into the night.

—

When you awoke, you had a couple minutes of doubt in which you thought the events of the night before had all been a dream, until you moved to get out of bed and winced at sting from the shallow marks adorning your body and the dull ache between your legs. You smiled to yourself, before looking at your phone and realizing what time it was. You were going to be late, and panic set in when you realized you’d have to go to work in the makeup you’d fallen asleep in last night.

You rushed out the door, checking your makeup in a compact mirror in your car, wiping a small bit of smudged mascara off of your brow bone before walking into work.

“Fun night?” Derek quipped as you walked through the doors, always the first to poke fun at your perceived escapades.

“You could say that.” You laughed, setting your handbag on your desk before joining the team to walk to the conference room.

“What happened?” Penelope asked, almost panicked, taking your arm in her hand and pointing to the only visible cut on your body.

“Oh that’s nothing, I just scraped my arm on my car door.” You reassured, smiling at her. As much as you loved your best friend, she didn’t need to know the truth of your little white lie.

“You should really be more careful next time.” Spencer’s voice came from behind you, his hand gently resting on your hip before squeezing right where the heart shaped cut from the night before was inlaid in your skin. His words reverberated in the space between your ears as your brain processed what he’d just said.

Realization hit you like a semi truck, your lips parting in shock. Your suspicions had been correct, and you almost wanted to turn around and kiss then interrogate him right there. You couldn’t do that though, having a full work day in front of both of you.

Now you just had to figure out a time and place to broach the subject with him without completely humiliating yourself.

——

part 2 can be found here

tag list: @pleasantwitchgarden @lover-of-books-and-tea

DM me or send me an ask if you’d like to be added to my general or spencer reid taglist :)

[jomamaofficial]

The Chronicles of A Hero's Daughter pt.2 (Father!All Might and Daughter!Reader Angst Oneshot)

A/N: SO, THIS WAS ASKED IN MY ASK BOX. BUT I STUPIDLY REPLIED TO IT SO I DON'T KNOW WHICH ANON ASKED FOR IT SO I'M JUST GOING TO TAG EVERYONE WHO LIEKD THAT POST HERE AND HOPE IT'S THE BRILLIANT ANON WHO WANTED ME TO WRITE A PART 2. @dark-magic-phoenix @crystal-freak24 @observaureium @justtovi3w62. As always, my Ask Box is open for any requests or just a conversation. Please remember to take care of yourselves, and enjoy. As always, I would love to see your thoughts in the comments :). TW: Graphic descriptions of blood (coughing blood), graphic imagery of crushing a heart (doesn't happen, just explained) CW: difficult father-daughter dynamics. Taglist: @thatcatladywrites @smikys-stuff @kimberlyfletcher @dawnwriterimagines Masterlist Word Count: 1951. Summary: One argument led to another– the foundation of your family was built upon suffering and sacrifice. Secrets were unveiled, revealing the true intentions of your father, the lingering wounds of the past stinging harder than any cut has ever. With tension reaching a breaking point, what happens when you confront your father, searching for the harsh truth, even if it leads to a devastating decision– you will never be the same again. He will never be the same again. 

——————————————————————————————————

Toshinori’s chest rose and fell. 

“You don’t mean that…” 

A pang struck through your heart as your father’s laboured breaths increased, tailing off in steady wheezes that only grew louder. 

“Dad…” you whispered, closing your eyes. “Dad, I didn’t m-”

Your voice cracked, succumbing to the hot tears which burned against your cheeks. Emotions flooded your head, as though they had been waiting to escape from the dam of truth that you had to silence to protect the peace in your family. The pressure had built up and that dam had finally broken in the most irreparable way possible. 

Shame hammered your mind, delivering blunt throbs as you watched your dad clutching his frail chest in agony. 

Guilt drilled poison into your veins as your father struggled to stand up– his sickly body unable to bear this pressure. His airways had been restricted, thus his once strong and proud chest had nothing to show but a vacant cavity, struggling to hold itself up. 

This living room had always been small– enough space just for the two of you. Dad and his little hero. It had always been you two, but today, this room was longer and narrower, as though mocking your sanity which had become a battlefield. 

Would you protect your father and carry on living in this dollhouse family, of which the  foundations were built off of your suffering.

Or would you protect yourself and destroy your relationship with the only family that you ever had.

The struggle had refused to forsake– silence had become your greatest enemy. It had left you alone with your screaming thoughts of doubt that deafened your conviction, leaving you straggled, naked, and vulnerable in the vast depths of your fears because what if. 

What if Midoriya truly was better than you? 

What if you truly were not worth it?

What if you had lost your rights to call yourself his daughter. 

Forever. 

You had lost everything to the ravenous beast which ruined everything you touched, and it wanted more. It wanted more, so it began making more noise, howling over the whispers of the wind, it howled over the ticking of the clock. It howled until nothing could be heard. 

Silence. 

Silence. 

Silence.

It had become silent. 

As though you were the only person in the room. 

A sudden thud drew your attention to the floor. 

Toshinori collapsed on the ground, and his eyes had gone blank, jaw slack. His ribs stuck out from under his skin, showing through his thin white t-shirt as his brassy cough filled his mouth with blood.

He urgently covered his mouth with his hands, forcing it shut but to no avail. It had already slipped past his hold, travelling down his neck, staining his shirt. A constant offender.

Your father began developing bloody coughs over three years ago. Yet every time you saw his chest heave and bleed, surges of nausea would creep up your veins, forcing you to leave. 

“Dad!” 

This was too much blood. It wasn’t meant to be like this… The doctor said a few drops or so, maybe a teaspoon, but that was ‘highly unlikely’. You watched as his white shirt became saturated, dizziness threatening to blur your vision.  

But you could not see him like this. You didn’t think twice before rushing to help him– but you were stopped. 

Toshinori raised his shaking hand immediately. You were halted, frozen in disbelief. 

He put his hand back on the floor, taking a few breaths before pushing himself, warranting another step forward from you, another cry, but he just stopped you again. You could only watch as your father relied on his bony wrists to push himself up. 

You could hear his shallow gasps for air, and his repressed coughs– and all you could do was watch your father’s face contort in fatigue and ache. Toshinori had finally gotten up, but that look had not left his face as he pushed past you. You watched the limp in his leg as he hobbled towards the couch, slowly lowering himself onto the cushioned couch. His head slumped onto the head rest, limbs unfurling in exhaustion. 

You were suspended in your head, unable to move past the questions which rung bright sirens. 

You shouldn’t have raised your voice at your own father– the doctor had told you. He’s injured, he’s getting older. He can’t process such shocks like this anymore.

What was wrong with you? 

But it couldn’t have been just your fault… right? But then he pushed you– maybe he didn’t just notice– but what if he did it on pur-

“Y/N”, your father had called for your name, but his eyes did not meet yours. 

Instead, they looked past you. 

Toshinori Yagi adopted Toshinori Y/N when she was five years old. 

A decade after the first quirk was discovered, many adoption agencies in Musutafu began sorting children based off of a ‘ranking system’. 

Official documents stated that this case was first brought up in the Supreme Court due to an incident that had occurred in an orphanage near Musutafu, 26 years ago. It was a heartbreaking case of manslaughter that had taken place when six year old Chihiro Onodera– Quirk: Lava, accidentally murdered eight year old Honoka Sugo– Quirk: Bubbles, during lunch time as they were play-fighting. 

It did not take much convincing as this case had reached international news, thus the court immediately passed a bill on the separation of quirks preliminary based off of their strength and danger levels, which were to be evaluated on a scale of 1 to 5. 

Nevertheless, this bill had struck a controversial match, becoming the largest contemporary topic that was disputed over in the past years. 

Demonstrations, protests and violent public outrage reached its peak when leaked intel revealed that a lot of children began to go missing from Adoption Agencies under the radar– they no longer had papers, as if their identities had been erased off of the face of this Earth. 

Nanami Tomoda, Sae Ojima, Makoto Kanezaki– these were some of the household names that had garnered petrifying national and international headlines: 

Heartbreaking Tragedy Strikes Japan: Devastating Attack Leaves Communities Reeling 

Japan in Shock: Deadly Assault Rocks Nation's Sense of Security 

Aftermath of Brutal Assault Leaves Nation Grieving Chaos and Carnage

Not much was known about these young adults. 

Apart from two things. 

First. 

They were not independent contractors. All of them could be traced back to some of the very few established, powerful, underground organisations. 

And second.

They were all orphans, rated 5, who had been declared missing for ten or more years.

Toshinori Yagi adopted Toshinori Y/N when she was rated 5. 

Toshinori Y/N lost her quirk at age ten. 

You are rated 0. 

Zero.

Toshinori took a deep breath before he spoke. 

“I have raised you since you were five years old.” He still did not meet your eyes. “I raised you in hopes that you would become a strong, and powerful young lady.” 

He drew a breath in– it was laced in disappointment. 

“But why does it feel, as though it has had no influence on you?”

Toshinori shifted both of his arms onto the couch rests, sitting tall. 

“One does not become a hero by winning every fight. Not everything is about a hero’s physical strength. A hero is made when they understand that retaliation only makes them the real villain.” 

Your father’s voice had deepened, and so did the dreadful pit in your stomach that sunk your resolve. 

“A true hero understands that strength lies in the ability to rise above the pain. Because those who focus on what has been lost”, he continued, lips twitching, as a faint, uncontrollable tremor laced his words in indisputable venomous contempt, “are either insane, or desperate for attention they know they will never get.”

Small muscles in your face began to twitch despite the heaviness that had been pulsed through your body, holding it in place, as you just stood there. Your eyes, once red and exposed, had no inhabitant, no focus. 

A ghost town. 

“A true hero is grateful. And recognises every bit of effort someone else put in order to get them to where they are now.” 

His gaunt eyes found yours, casting an unfamiliar chill in your body. They were sunken in, casting his gaze in dark shadows– an abyss impenetrable by light. 

“You got your quirk stolen, Y/N. But you cannot get that back anymore. But it’s been years, I expect at least some gratitude considering I did you a favour by adopting you.” 

He had left a clot that blocked your heart.

“Because no one else would have wanted you.”

It is always the one closest to you that hurts you the most. 

The man you called your father had waited until the last second to take the satisfaction of crushing your heart, flesh against flesh. 

Humans evolved to gain resistance and immunity against everything that threatens their survival.

Therefore, living with this man only meant that you had to gain immunity against pain and humiliation, because that was the only thing that could guarantee your survival. 

So when you shook off the heaviness in your lid and focused onto your father’s face, you could only lift the corners of your lip.  

“If you didn’t want me. Someone else would have adopted me instead. Like you did. No papers, no nothing– I’d slip under the radar, at least I’d still have my quirk, and end up on those headlines.”

“How dare you?” he uttered, face contorted in malice.

“I was five. That’s why you adopted me. Don’t deny it” 

Toshinori stiffened, his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. His shoulders, broad and hubris, had become small and meek. You watched him contemplate: his eyes, vindictive and daring, were cast down, hiding amongst the Tatami flooring. 

“My child…” he began, his voice softer. “After your quirk had been stolen, I could not risk making you the target again. That’s the reason I don’t come to your events. It’s because you’ll become the target everyone goes for because they know you’re my daughter”.

“They’ll know?” your lips had pressed into a thin line. “Like how Midoriya knew I was your daughter? Like how the media knows?” 

In the stifling air, your dry laughter bounced off of the discomfort. 

“Don’t act like you aren’t ashamed of me.” 

Your face had settled into a stone. 

“It’s not about me being a target. It’s about protecting your image.”

“My daughter-”

“You have lost the right to call me your daughter. If I was such a disappointment after my quirk was ripped away from me, why did you keep me? You could have sent me back. Why did you keep me, dad, why did you keep me!”

Those closest to you, leave irreparable wounds. 

But there was a reason they were close to you. A reason that subsided in love, care, and hope. 

Your crushed heart was surviving on its last breath, waiting to hear something that could revive it. 

Toshinori lifted his head again, his eyes flickering behind you. 

It locked onto an object that somehow gained more attention than you ever had in your entire life. You risked a look over your shoulder, only to see the picture of your father and Midoriya, smiling–almost mockingly– back at you. 

You knew what the answer was going to be. 

“I’m beginning to question the same thing.”

A flat-line. 

“Well if that’s how you really feel, I have no obligation to stay here anymore.”

You drew your breath in, words suspended at the tip of your tongue. 

“I wish you and your student the best of luck, All Might.”