#(like despite everything - it's still you- and despite everything - the horrors persist!! but at least you have a cool dagger sword i guess

[agentark]

when the vibes have to be just right for your fernweh replay, so you spend hours on making collages instead of ...... actually reading

x / x

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Hello hello!! I was not expecting requests to be open again so fast, but i am DEVOURING your writing, so i shan't complain!

What about Dogday getting saved by a teenager who’s desensitized to the horrors of the factory? Like of course, they’re perturbed, but aside from initially seeing Dogday(because holy shit), the biggest reaction they’ll give is a cringe and a “eugh” or some other mild exclamation of “that’s fucked up.” Essentially just Dogday interacting with a kid who’s weirdly chill with the circumstances and tries to be silly sometimes despite the persisting horrors.

Thank you so much and have a wonderful day/night!!!

Awe thanks! Have a good day/night too!

.......

"You..you're Poppy's angel..come to save us-"

"Eugh..what the hell happened to you?"

While back in the day, Dogday would've scolded you for using profane language...he finds it understandable considering you discovered him in his....erm..current condition.

The initial shock of seeing him would have anybody from outside the factory deeply disturbed.

But he's surprised that you're not fully freaked out and didn't run away.

Instead you manage to get him out of the Playhouse (while curbstomping a few little critters who tried crawling into his body along the way) and found a safe spot to rest.

Despite his insistence that you should leave him, you point out that he mentioned you saving him earlier.

"When you said "us", I thought that included you, too."

"I-I meant the others. The ones who can still walk..and still have a fighting chance. Look at me, kid. All I'm gonna do is weigh you down."

"....I mean, you are kinda heavy. But I've lifted worse with this grabpack. I got you."

He's confused by how oddly calm you are about everything.

If you were able to get down this far in the facility, you would've had to cross paths with Huggy, Mommy, Catnap, and Miss Delight at some point.

By all accounts, you definitely should've been traumatized at least from seeing all the bloody toys laying around.

Yet you're cool as a cucumber as you try your best to fix him (with assistance from Kissy, Ollie, and Poppy, of course, who are stunned you came out of the Playhouse alive)

Dogday remembers how scared the children were during the Hour of Joy, comforting them as he helped them flee the terror...so to be comforted by a kid now felt strange.

Yet your calm demeanor helps ground him whenever he starts to have a panic attack over Catnap finding him or if he feels like a critter or two is already inside of him, trying to take hold and eat whatever organs he had remaining (but it's just a sensation he feels from time to time).

You snap him out of it by asking rather silly questions.

"What if I stuck a flare in your mouth? Would that deter them?"

"...what? Um...I-I suppose that could work, but hopefully it's not a theory we have to test anytime soon.."

Even if Poppy decided to show you the Hour of Joy tape (which he had to look away from and tried persuading you to do the same), your only reaction is a slight grimace and a simple "damn wtf....you guys think any of those workers were running late or didn't go in that day?"

Dogday is shocked you'd joke at a time like this...but she knows you better and tells him you're just like That(tm).

You do care about them. You do wanna destroy the Prototype and save whoever you can along the way--including him.

It just may take some time for him to get used to your personality.

[animeyanderelover]

What if Hisoka, Kurapika, Illumi, and Uvogin (separately) meet a darling who's nen is ridiculously over powered with very little drawbacks. For example she has full control of the sun and could easily incinerate a whole continent but instead just uses it to give her garden the best growing light or get the sun out of her eyes when driving. Ultimate power but a complete pacifist.

Tw: Yandere themes, possessive behavior, obsession, delusional mindset, overprotective behavior, manipulation, isolation, blackmailing, threats, isolation

Tags: @jamayah @chxxz @leveyani @cynniical @shenryu-sama @maggiequinn59

Ultimate power yet a pacifist

Kurapika Kurta

⛓️​Kurapika would probably have some mixed feelings about a darling as powerful as you. He's delusional in the sense that he believes that he has to protect you and isolate you for your own safety as he has made himself an enemy of the Phantom Troupe who would have no hesitation to target you for revenge or to use you as a hostage. Yet he is not delusional enough to fool himself that you wouldn't be able to fight all by yourself due to your ridiculously overpowered Nen. On the one hand there is most likely a sliver of relief, mainly because he isn't optimistic enough to believe that he can protect you all time which is why he is partially relieved to know that you would be able to defend yourself if worst comes to worst. On the other hand it is the sheer scale of your abilities that seems to rob him of the purpose of the provider and protector he would like to fulfill for you as you technically don't even need his protection. This is what is messing with his thoughts for quite some time to the point where he even sometimes considers using his Steal Chain on you to steal your Nen abilties though he probably would never steal your Nen ability forever from you even if he should snatch it away.

⛓️​He'd probably be more prone to use his Steal Chain on you during the first phase of his obsession where he is still quite paranoid and has to work through his suffocating feelings of infatuation and fear of losing you. It takes Kurapika some time before the worst seems to be over in regards of his paranoia and only then will he actually pay more mind to your own words. It seems somewhat baffling to him that someone with such immense powers as you would have no interest to use them for a fight or conflict which is why he will use his Dowsing Chain on you to determine whether you lie or not and only after he has confirmed that you speak the truth would he slowly consider giving your abilities back to you before eventually doing so. Additionally once he is aware that you hate using your Nen to fight and hurt others he finds a justified purpose for isolating you and protecting you. You have a pure and innocent heart despite your overpowered Nen and he plans to see it through that you will never have to endure the horror of a real fight though he also has you swearing to him that if there should be a time where he can't protect you that you will at least use your abilities to defend yourself.

Hisoka Morow

🃏​You can bid your peaceful days of living a normal and serene life goodbye the moment this clown finds out just how ridiculous your Nen abilities really are. Hisoka lives for the thrill of fighting strong opponents to the point where he will go through meticulous plans to fulfill his desire to fight the people he has chosen as his target. So you can probably imagine his distaste when he finds out that you have no interest to ever use your abilities for a fight. Are you not bored yet of living such an idle life? Everything you stand for is essentially everything he doesn't want. Hisoka doesn't want a calm and nice life in a little cottage, stuck in the same pattern that repeats itself every single day. He'd die of boredom. You're wasting your time and your talent in this little village and he is more than adamant to convince you of his point of view. He's more persistent than a cockroach as he constantly pops up in front of your door or sometimes even breaks into your house where you find him on the couch as he shuffles his cards, remarking how exceptionally unexceptional your interior is. If you really believe that this is what you want you must be lying to yourself.

🃏When initial persuasion doesn't do the job Hisoka starts taking more extreme measurements, now with the goal to anger you and test just how far he can take it with your patience. Initially he starts subtly threatening to hurt people you care about or pets you might keep, gauging your reactions. It would be very unwise to react with anger or fear as Hisoka will target those feelings instantly, realising that there is a chance that he might crack you. As he has no morals nor limitations with the things he would do simply to get what he desires you might see yourself forced to use your abilities before he can kill someone, though you still refuse to kill him. If you were to do that though you would only turn him on, tease him by giving him a taste of your power only to leave him then hanging. It's like giving a a man dying of thirst a drop of water only to then disappear. Once he has gotten a taste Hisoka will long for more and he will do anything to get more from you. If he has to target innocent pets or people for that he will do so. He doesn't mind if you hate him for it. The only thing he won't tolerate is if you were to ignore him in which case he would do anything to elicit a reaction out of you.

Illumi Zoldyck

🤎​For Illumi the situation wouldn't be entirely pleasant either as he is someone who is very controlling over his obsession and for that it just feels wrong for him to know that you are as powerful as you are. From the very beginning he interrogates you just on how your Nen works and what you can do with it as he immediately wants to make plans in case you should decide to misbehave and think that you can escape him because you are as mighty as you are. He strongly discourages you from using your powers at all even for harmless purposes yet some of his other family members most likely have a different view on the subject. Whilst Kikyo supports Illumi and believes that you should properly submit to him as his spouse it is most likely Zeno who takes interest in your abilities and would encourage you to use them more often, though he has other things in mind than just wasting it on the domestic tasks you often use them for. After all an ability such as yours would only add to the fearsome reputation of the Zoldyck family even if you weren't trained as an assassin since the moment you could crawl around. Tension definitely exists over those topics in the family.

🤎​Simple reassurances from your side that you have no plan to ever use your abilities for other purposes than making some domestic chores easier do not work on Illumi. He needs the feeling of control over you and if he doesn't have it there is this unbearable pull in his chest that agitates him subtly all the time. A needle will be used on you for that purpose so that he has some form of power over you so that you will never be able to even think about ever wielding your abilities against him and his family. He installs the fear and the panic inside of you and he finds himself enjoying the sight of you breaking out in cold sweat and your body freezing afterwards, feelings he forces you to feel when you anger him. Only after he has seen himself that his needles have worked on you will he take it that little bit easier though he does make sure that those feelings of fear and intimidation stay prominent on your mind so that you never forget them. Only after he has established that hold over you might he allow you to se your Nen ability for harmless activities though you always need to ask for his permission beforehand unless you wish to displease him.

Uvogin

🫀​Physically Uvogin is stronger than you but your Nen is a lot more versatile and powerful which means that you could probably still beat him in a fight if it came down to it. That isn't something that Uvogin initially considers nor realises, mainly because he has only ever seen you use your powers to make domestic chores easier and to help you in your everyday life. He doesn't feel threatened, especially since you are such a pacifistic person who despises violence and death. Ironic considering that he is everything that you loathe yet he is smart enough to hold himself back, at least when he is with you. Both of you have a great relationship after all although you remain in the dark about his identity as a member of the Phantom Troupe. Otherwise things may take a turn for the worse which is something Uvogin doesn't really want. So he keeps on pushing the problem away until one day something goes wrong which then leaves him with no choice but to abduct you as otherwise you might be a burden for the troupe if you were to remain free and would leak information. The revelation puts a strain on the relationship, especially once you figure out that Uvogin has killed for you.

🫀​Both of you have kept secrets and whilst his is a lot more grave, Uvogin is still slightly hurt when he finds out that you never bothered to tell him that you could wipe out an entire city if you wanted to. At this point he knows you well enough to believe you though when you inform him that you have no interest to ever use your Nen for criminal purposes which is why he allows you to use it freely for the same things you used it before you got kidnapped. He's after all there to protect you and see it through that no one with bad intentions gets close to you. Honestly, Chrollo is probably a bigger threat here than Uvogin is because he would be immensely interested in a Nen as powerful as yours with little drawbacks and conditions to fulfill to use it. In fact he has tried multiple times to persuade Uvogin to let him steal your Nen yet this is one thing that Uvogin is unwilling to do for his boss, especially since you know what Chrollo would use your Nen for. It's only because you are Uvogin's darling that Chrollo eventually pulls away with lingering disappointment though he never truly stops offering Uvogin the idea, especially if you should one day decide to use your abilities against him.

[t-tomuras]

streamer au; sfw but minors still DNI 1.1k

╰┈➤ 𝐃𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐃𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐲𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲 𝐒𝐢𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

“Baby stay away from it,” Tenko’s voice is smooth, calm despite the insistence in his tone. Tensing the slightest bit as he crouches his character and proceeds with caution when he hears the telltale, feminine sobbing in the distance as you both explore in different directions. He knows you don’t like to be guided too much during games, made even more obvious by how you insisted on starting from his last save instead of from the beginning so you could get a feel for the mechanics.

He also knows stealth is one of your least favorite styles of gameplay and that was required in this moment.

“It? We’re supposed to save survivors right?” You’re far too sweet, maybe he shouldn’t have agreed to play the campaign with you. Especially after how you’d played the TellTale Walking Dead games and refused to pick any of the ‘mean’ responses.

“She’s cryin—“

“Stay away from her,” he needs to wrap up what he’s doing now but he’d found a sweet cache he knows will prep you both for the end of the level. Pain pills, bandages, weapons and munitions.

Too late to stop you when you narrate your actions as if the girl could actually hear you. “m here to save you—“ cute and playful, surely quoting a character from one of your favorite animes before it morphs into strangled horror.

He tries not to find it funny, fighting the smile by biting the inside of his cheek because Tenko knows you were actually genuinely startled but you always sound so cute when you yelp. The pitch and suddenness of the sound breaks your audio on discord. If he hadn’t heard you through the walls of the little office he’d set up for you down the hall he wouldn’t have known you’d made a peep.

Until you squeal a silly sound, drawn out in your dramatics, discords voice chat struggling to continue capturing your audio because of it before you mumble on repeat “I fucked up I fucked up I fucked up.” The sound of the Witch’s shrill screams coming through your mic as well before you silence it with a well placed headshot. Crowning her purely by accident in your fright with the last two shots of your shotgun but the damage is already done, the enemy’s shrieks triggering a horde.

If this were anyone else, Tenko would’ve been annoyed; clicking his tongue and begrudgingly aiding his teammate but only when it was convenient for him to do so. But it isn’t someone else, it’s you, and maybe it was because you’re his girlfriend or how comedic you’d made the encounter; Tenko only chuckles softly with a gentle shake of his head.

The ravenous infected begin to close in on your location first but you’re grateful they seem to be the simple kind. The sheer number is the most threatening about them but you toss two molotov’s to clear out a decent amount. You’ll need a lot more than that though, likely have to craft them but you don’t have the time, you’re low on ammo and it’s dwindling fast.

“Help, help, help, I fucked up so bad where are you Ten?” A little frantic as you do your best to fend off the mob of mangled reanimated corpses alone.

“I’m coming, hold tight,” cutting off his little looting spree as soon as the alert of your username startling the witch appears to the left of his screen. Bandaging himself up to restore some health and make room for another medkit to use on you after glancing at your character bar.

Everything will be easy to manage the moment you’re both together, you’ve cleared plenty of hordes throughout the campaign so far. Maybe it would’ve been better to bite the bullet and let you know about the Witch but you like a challenge as well. Even if you get frustrated you’ll persist.

You aren’t doing so bad without him either, sure you hiss and curse under your breath but he’s watching your health closely. Picking off the few infected that are beelining for you before they can agro onto him. Making him exhale a breathy chuckle, something more akin to a little more air leaving his nostrils in rapid puffs as you cheer quietly when you find a spare mag while fleeing.

“I actually might not be too bad,” instantly jinxing yourself when you both hear a shrill shriek only to be immediately pounced on by another Special Infected, “you’re actually joking right now.”

Your character's silhouette becomes outlined in red through the buildings that divided you the moment you went down. Clicking his tongue whenever he sees another alert; teammate pinned by the Hunter.

Hearing the gurgle of a Boomer in the right side of his headphones as you panic a bit over how rapidly your health is depleting while the Hunter mauls you to death. The horde adding insult to injury but swiping at you as well but at least they weren’t focused on Tenko.

Until the Boomer takes him by surprise and vomits all over him, drawing all the agro from the special infected ability. Soon to be toeing the line of a full wipe and assured reset to the last checkpoint or worse yet the complete restart of the run; but he does manage to snipe the Hunter and free you.

Instantly reloading and doing everything you can to clear a path for Tenko out of the center of the assault. Grinning from ear to ear when he runs passed you, calm voice in your ear making you shudder pleasantly no matter how many times you hear him, “follow me, we’re gonna die if we try and fight them off.”

Which is true and you’re more than well aware of the fact. You’re out of ammunition and your health is down to an almost sliver but the safe zone that signals the end of the run is just within sight. Health kits and munitions galore for the next chapter of the game so close your palms sweat a little more as the gurgle and hiss of zombies behind your character makes you all the more tense.

Tenko calmly hangs back to pick off a few of the remaining horde that slowly begins to lag behind you. Letting you into the safe house first, popping a few more shots then closing the door behind you to complete the level.

Leaning back in his chair to pop his fingers and wipe the sweat from his palms as the statics for the level display on the screen.

“M sorry, I thought we’d get a new survivor,” moderately crestfallen while using two med packs to restore yourself to full health, “I used all my shotgun ammo and Molotov’s too.”

“Don’t worry about it, we’ll buy some more before the next round and find the rest of what we need.”

He doesn’t have the heart to tell you the next level is to survive all the hordes until evac arrives.

[inuhalfdemon]

Disposable (4/?)

Explicit (tw: Violence and torture, near-drowning, language, some sexual content)

Word Count: 1,275 Words

Chapter 4: Gnashing of Teeth

An inviting thought - to say the least - but despite the sheer exhaustion, the roaring happening within his lungs or the cold, sinking fear he was feeling…Alastor was never one for simply letting go.

Before...

The silence beneath the surface was dull and deafening.

The shadows twisted and ebbed sinuously with shifting shafts of light.

The edges of his vision flickered and faded underneath the water; his tired lungs already achingly protesting. He expelled a portion of the stale air he was holding in his chest and a flurry of bubbles erupted from his mouth, surrounding his face. It brought some respite, but not nearly enough.

Spots of black were exploding in front of his burning eyes, but still he saw the movement, the bulk of black that was rising and tearing itself from the dark of the depths and coming for him now. His lungs demanded relief, but all he could offer them was the dispelling of more precious air; more bubbles rising to the surface but also less of them in volume this time.

The mass of black glided straight for him; cutting through the water with a powerful ease. 

An instinctual fear speared sharply into him but gone was the effort he had to flay his body or kick out his legs. He could only watch with wide-eyed horror as the thing came from him, pit-less black eyes and a mouthful of razor-sharp teeth. His air retreated from him in an alarmingly small stream of bubbles now. His lungs clenched painfully in his chest, and he wondered vaguely at the mercy of deeply opening his mouth, throat and lungs to the killing water, letting it - or the monster rising up from beneath - have him.  An inviting thought - to say the least - but despite the sheer exhaustion, the roaring happening within his lungs or the cold, sinking fear he was feeling…Alastor was never one for simply letting go.

All out of air; Alastor stiffened – jerking back reflexively when the shark whipped its tail, propelling and plummeting itself straight for him with open mouth and flashing jaws. Alastor felt his own teeth clench before he was yanked sharply backward – his upper body breaking through from underneath the surface of the water and being drug harshly upward. Not a heartbeat later, the shark’s snout erupted from the surface where he had been only a moment before; rows and rows of giant serrated teeth snapping and opening just inches away from his face as Vox laughed giddily behind him – his fist tight into the back of Alastor’s jacket.

Alastor choked at the air; fresh bouts of it rushing in and out of his lungs. It felt like he was swallowing and breathing out fire; everything in him was so raw. More spots of black were exploding in front of Alastor’s eyes as he fought to keep consciousness and he missed the image of the shark thrashing agitatedly before it slipped and dove beneath the surface of the water, retreating itself back deeper into the tank. The hammerhead that Vox also kept had quickly given up, finding this game of tease too unrewarding. The great white, though, was entirely persistent. 

“She nearly had you that time!”

Vox released Alastor, dropping him onto the cold and wet black tiled floor as laughter continued to shake through him. Alastor, unceremoniously fell, landing heavily on his shoulder and chin as his hands and arms were bound tightly behind him. The cords Vox had used to bind him had slid and tightened so that they were actually cutting into Alastor’s wrists. The pain had been excruciating until Alastor had lost feeling to his hands some twenty or so minutes ago.

Alastor continued to gulp at the air like he was some dying fish and Vox’s laughter only just started to abate.

“Look at you.” Vox was smiling; thoroughly enjoying himself. “Why, you look like the fucking drowned rat that you really are.” Vox was appreciating how sopping and miserable Alastor looked; discarded onto the floor like he was. It had aroused him: feeling Alastor’s body getting too tired to flail and resist the continued near drownings; at seeing the boiling of bubbles coming from him turning into something barely more than a trickle reaching the surface.

Alastor dragged in more and more heavy breathes of air; fully preparing himself for the next dunk.

Laughter grated and bubbled up from deep inside his chest and the words came gurgling out: “You are so fucking pathetic.”

Vox’s own laughter cut off immediately as he snapped hard eyes on Alastor.

“I might look like a drowned rat…” Alastor’s voice rattled out of him. “But, you’re the one getting hard from the rat you drowned – you useless waste.”

Vox snarled and dragged Alastor by the back of the jacket. Alastor left his legs limp; knowing fighting Vox wasn’t going to do him any good and anticipating his head about to be forced back under water. He hurriedly sucked air in, but when Vox shoved him down his face and teeth connected with the tile.

A dull ringing reverberated through Alastor’s skull, and he disconnectedly realized that if Vox shoved him under the water now, he’d almost certainly - truly and actually - drown. His vision blurred as he moved his head. He saw blood was seeping from somewhere in his mouth, dripping onto the wet tiles of the floor, red mixing into the clear puddles of water there on the floor and spilling into the edge of the tank.

Alastor blinked when he heard the rushing and spraying of water and Vox gripped him tighter – shoving him harder.

“I’m the useless waste!?” Vox snarled at him, and Alastor saw that both sharks now were at the surface of the water near to where he laid; tails and fins thrashing and churning the scent and taste of his blood that were driving them mad. “You are nothing, Alastor. You matter to no one. Nobody cares that you are here, and no one is coming for you. I am everything to you now.”

“VOX!”

Alastor dazedly felt Vox’s grip on him loosen as Vox jerked around.

“Vox! We’ve got Overlords over here stirring some real shit, I need you to put your new plaything away and come help me with this mess.” It was Valentino. Alastor couldn’t see him from where he was, but he had caught glimpses of the moth demon coming and going before.

Vox looked at Alastor’s prone form and chuckled darkly. “I’m finished with this for now, anyway.” Vox stood up, leaving Alastor where he laid and walked away to follow Valentino from the tank room. A door slammed closed somewhere behind him and Alastor remained still for several heartbeats more.

When he was confident that no one was returning right away; Alastor finally let the panic take him. The sharks were still violently creating spraying splashes and waves in the water – still searching for the source of the blood. Desperate and spent, Alastor heavily crawled and rolled himself away from the edge of the tank. His hands were entirely numb, but the joints of his arms were flaring hotly now in discomfort and pain at the restrained position he was in. There really was no place for him to go but he pitched and jerked his legs until he was as far away from the sharks and the tank as he could possibly get.

Soaked and chilled, he pulled his legs into his body and laid shaking there on his side. His long ears swayed and rotated as he wondered if anyone in Hell had actually died again from the cold. An insane laugh bubbled up from inside him and he wondered how much of this with Vox he could actually take before it broke him, or if he was nearly there already. 

Chapter 5

[thehistoriangirl]

The Tides Have Veiled [Twelve]

This one took longer than expected jkjhdjkfjhjfh but with this chapter this second arc in the story is over :D

Viktor x Fem!Reader----3.8K-----SFW**

> MASTERLIST <- Previous // Next ->

Synopsis:  Piltover the Old has an old lighthouse that looms over an abandoned port. From the house in the wailing cliff’s edge, the lighthouse owner watches that the beacon is being lighten up each time darkness arrives, so that monsters wouldn't dare to crawl inland, or so legends say. Both buildings are haunted, maybe even the man himself, by both past and present ghosts. Surprisingly, the keeper’s work is beyond turning on the beacon every night— but the rest is on you to discover.

Chapter Summary: You're ready to leave your past life behind, but are you willing to face what the new one has in store for you?

Tags: Strangers to Lovers | Ghosts | Slow Burn | Forced Proximity | Spooky Imaginery | Verbal & Physical Violence against Reader** | Dysfunctional Family Dynamics** | Body Horror** |

Taglist: @lunar-monster @local-mr-frog @bittercyder @blissfulip

Twelve: Like the Blood that Runs Through Our Veins

You knew this path by memory.

All from walking day by day during years of carrying buckets filled with gutted fish and oysters that were sold in the market and some even sent to the city. The way back home to the beach was outlined with the swamp area that connected the forest uphill to the decline of the shoreline.

However, time changed everything, and the way back to the hut you once called home was no different.

Everchanging as the sea’s mood was, the muddy water from the swamp was deeper than usual, probably because of the storm of last night, with the bare roots of trees peeking under a light layer of mud and sand, there where the arid ground met with the incipient vegetation of the forest’s edge.

At another time, you would've thought about bringing something—a peace offering of sorts—once you walked down this way again. But time-pressured, and the voices of the funeral service echoed closer, just as the huff of burned wood.

With the clothes filled with oil and grease from cleaning the control panel, your hands felt warm despite the autumn wind as you’ve found solace in the power returning after lunchtime. The quiet, persistent purr of the motor coming to life again with the flash of golden light of the beacon filled the tortuous silence your mind tried to drown with the echoing sounds of the storm last night.

How must have been in the sea, the last sounds your uncle heard.

Even when you still had to check the wiring of the beacon itself, you sighed in relief. The mere thought of doing your watch in total darkness couldn’t be an option. And not only because Viktor wouldn’t be always there sleeping with you. But because the woman could chase you down this time, with the window broken.

You doubted the wood boards you nailed into the hole of the glass could help of much. And perhaps, now, you’d have another ghost join into the task to haunt you.

When the metallic gate of the lighthouse closed with a shriek, you were already regretting your decision. Maybe if Viktor were here, he could accompany you, using the townsfolk's fear of him to stop the anxiety pounding at your heart.

The treacherous dunes clung down your legs as if wanting to stop you from committing this mistake. But when you looked back at the dim light of the lighthouse rivaling with the sun’s, you knew you wouldn’t stand to return without at least saying your goodbyes.

You couldn’t do it with your mother, both because you were too small to process the idea of death, and because a funeral was just never held—with no body to mourn for, the family didn't wish to bring in the gossip of the town that had been buried after some initial police searches.

It was too late, anyway; the sandy beach morphed into the swampy area too quickly.

This will end with me. And today, after this goodbye, you were ready to leave behind your family name to hold onto Viktor’s: a fake one, just like the marriage façade you must put on, but it will allow you to start anew, as you wish.

Maybe this marriage will erase the curse your family name seemed to carry, that strange affinity the sea had to devour your kind. To wear down the hope and leave the soul raw, bare to the merciless sea.

Your boots echoed against the mud, the coast half-erased with the ravaging storm from last night. Specimens lying everywhere, observing you with their empty, dead eyes.

The same look in your uncle’s eyes, they whispered with each roll of the waves.

You looked over the mossy rocks nearby, many of them containing secret burrows for crabs, an area great to hunt them. Your grandfather would sit by the little uphill, watching you with diligent eyes as you lifted the rocks and snatched some crabs away, separating them from their family.

They were like you, and thus your childhood self couldn’t stand to let separate them, accidentally tumbling down the container when the old man wasn’t looking. It did matter, but at least crabs and shrimps weren't sold as expensive as langostas. And your grandpa invited you along despite your mishap every time.

She’s even useless for picking crabs. Your aunt would yell, turning the basket upside down as if somehow a little crab would be hiding there. I could do a better job when I was half her age!

Over the still surface of a shallow pond, you saw your reflection and thought: If could’ve done better… No, I didn’t kill him. I’m not a monster. No, I can’t be. Am I?

The funeral pyre was starting to burn, though you couldn’t be sure if the thick black smoke was the cause of your tears. A pile with your uncle’s clothes and material things your aunt didn’t want to keep around in the house were all turning into ashes alongside his flesh and bones—of what was left of him, you thought, dreary.

Maybe I am.

Better the fire to consume it rather than let the water take more of him.

As you approached, the cries became persistent, clearer. The wails echoed from the same sadness as the ones that could be heard from the cliff, though this time, the voice was much more familiar.

People all dressed in black gathered around the pyre, long veils covering their expressions as they stood still except for the wind flapping against their long coats, skirts, and sweaters. Among them, you saw the mundane, worn-out chair with the red cushion your grandfather used for dining, now with your grandma sitting there, and for a moment time froze. Reverted.

You were still a child, with hands so small the rusty bucket filled with seashells was too heavy, just as the burning sensation of the watchful gaze of your aunt as you cleaned them. A trapped child whose only life was the sea and this little hut in front of you, just like those unfortunate oysters you caught, still inside their homes that had become a prison.

Some blinked, and the sight was gone. Instead of your child ghost huddled against your grandmother’s feet against the fire, it was the body of your aunt as her cries tore the heavy, pitiful silence of the rest of the guests. And yet, despite the veil and the eyes drowned with tears, she saw you. Maybe even felt you there.

“You…” she said, her voice so low the crackling of the fire almost extinguished it. “YOU!”

The aunt stumbled to stand up, sprinting toward you with a renovated force that could only come from hopelessness and raging heartache. You ran away, the muddy soil slippery, making your aunt tangle her skirts and fall in with her grunt becoming a sob.

“You… you always take everything from me…” she wept, hands pulling away the veil covering her face as she threw it at you like the spirit of a bad omen, laying at your feet, slowly soaking in the water. “First, my sister… and then, my husband…”

Your aunt’s blue eyes were now red, streaks of dry tears tattooed on her face with new ones pouring down against her puffy, red cheeks. Compared to the authoritative and cold-hearted woman who never faltered to remind you which your place in the house was, she looked so small. So broken.

Did your mother look like this when she decided to end it all?

“I’m sorry…” you started. I’m a killer… a monster… were you?Did you even owe her an apology? Or did she owe you one?

Albeit your quiet tone, your aunt heard it, and it was like putting gasoline into the pyre.

She screamed at you, her voice raw and desperate as she dug her fingers into the mud, seizing some rocks from the shoreline.

“No, no, Zara! She’s your niece!” Your grandma pleaded, but Aunt Zara had already started to throw the rocks in your direction, her anger and grief making her miss her objective—much to your luck. “Zara!”

The mud was freezing,  letting a chill cling against your clothes as it flew with the rocks barely brushing by.

“Alyssa should have never had you! She would be still alive if it weren’t for you! MY HUSBAND WOULD BE STILL ALIVE!”

Zara scrambled around the muddy soil, fingers digging to find any rock she could, trying to lift even the heavy ones, making her wobble as if she were drunk, and perhaps she was. “You and that damned husband!”

She laughed, her upper lip curved in an almost animalistic snarl. “Damned husband, damned wife,” Zara spat. “I can’t wait for the time when you too get claimed by the sea…”

With the rest of the townsfolk watching, you didn't have any other choice than to run away, mind fogged as your inner monologue screamed how stupid were you to think you had any right to be there. That there was a purpose in your presence besides rubbing salt on a newly made wound.

You grabbed the tree trunks, disappearing into the thick foliage of the forest uphill, grabbing branch after branch to try to win a race against the dusk that was starting to bleed on the horizon. Your clothes were soaked, weighing down with mud.

Now you look like the ghost roaming Viktor’s house, your mind told you, perhaps the waves crashing into the shore. It made your blood freeze, a rock settled inside your heart. I have to return home.

Where was home, anyway?

To escape from your aunt’s fit of rage, you entered the forest, knowing that you could make a detour around the woods to arrive home, to peek toward the backyard dock.

Tree branches clung to your clothes, leaves brushing your face with the loving touch of comfort you wouldn't find with your said family, nor one you dared to ask Viktor.

In the distance, like a little dollhouse that had seen better days, you saw the little hut surrounded by bushes and low trees, a makeshift dock of mossy logs tied together with rotting rope, though the blue boat chipping off painting wasn't there.

Following the flow of water, you went further down to the abandoned part of the coastline where some settlements had been abandoned after the terrible flood that almost wiped out the whole town.

Mermaid’s tears… or mermaid’s blood, it depended on the story.

Big boulders had been smoothed out by the waves through the years, making the sand around it so slippery you must use some roots to climb down the little hill, looking among the beach, with the cracking sound of broken shells under your boots, some fragments of bloated wood pushed against the eroded rock.

And there it was, the family fishing boat, or what was left of it. With its chipped-off blue painting surface dotted with moss and barnacles—almost nothing of the blue was left, just as the little girl who painted it was gone, too, the one who thought that there was a tone of blue that could match the ever-changing hue of the sea, so the fish couldn’t see the boat coming.

Now the surviving boards of woods had been spat out by the hungry sea, satisfied momentaneously with the sacrifice, not of memories, but of lives.  

You walked slowly, not wanting to slip and hit your head with a rock, as you weren’t sure if someone would care if you didn’t return to the lighthouse—you didn’t want to think about how Viktor wouldn’t notice if you were there or not, with the beacon already turned on.

The wood was amorph and bloated by the water, but the marks were unmistakable.

At first, you thought the boat had crashed into one of the cliffsides, the impact of the wind so strong that made the fishermen tumble down and die from a concussion. But these were claw marks.

The boat had been torn apart, with dark marks of dry blood seeping into the grooves and inside the hull.

You tripped, hands grabbing the gunwale in an attempt to keep balance, though all you did was push the boat away.

Falling to your knees, the sharp edges of broken shells pierced your skin, and you couldn't stop imagining the clean water nearby starting to tint crimson red, the metallic odor of blood tingling in your nose.

What was that? A shark? A killer whale? Why were you thinking about that ghostly dorsal spine from your first watch over the beacon? What was that?

“Why haven’t I seen it again?” you muttered, standing up on wobbly feet as you inspected the boat. You were surprised your aunt hadn’t set it on fire, too, but perhaps it was cursed now. Claimed by the sea.

You knelt against the hull again, embracing the cold wood as if had been the body of your aunt, of your grandma, of your mother, if they had let you get closer. Tears prickled in your eyes, and you let yourself sob, every whimper shaking your body as if it had been torn up straight from your heart.

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry… I’m sorry uncle…” you cried against your arm, embarrassed someone could see you like these for somebody that was so adamant about selling you off.

The wind was getting colder, navy blue taking over the oranges in the sky; today it didn’t seem like a storm would approach, but the sky could be lying, and you were too distracted from the burning sensation of the sobs in your throat to care about the breeze hitting your face, not knowing if it was spray from the tides or a drizzle.

Waves leaped lazily, receding with the new moon, a new surface of dark brown sand bared in front of you. Looking down, you started to push the rest of the boat toward the sea, where they would get lost forever. That shall be your funeral.

From between the tears, you saw a dark silhouette settled in the corner of your vision as if it had emerged from the water. Amorph, too long, too… familiar.

You looked back at it. It was the shadow of a person; their clothes were tattered, algae clinging to their limbs. The shadow then looked back at you with a pair of empty sockets. The midnight hair was glued to the skull, skin washed from its warmth with an almost blue hue around the neck and over the bloated cheeks.

“Un… uncle?” you muttered, recognizing the features albeit corrupted by the water.

The figure stiffened, and you felt its heavy glare, burning in your chest. It itched in the back of your neck as if you were surrounded. Outnumbered by death.

The beacon swept over the beach, a hue dim enough to let you see, between dangerous blinks, the ghost’s jaw going unslaked, a thick, dark liquid running down his lips into his neck, there where the otherwise normal curve was interrupted with the marks of a four-finger claw, all oozing rotten blood.

You did this to me… the rosary held in honor of your uncle mumbled, solemn voice carried by the wind. More than prayers, they heard more like curses.

Now it’s your turn.

The ghost started running toward you at full speed, a scream tearing from the bottom of your throat.

Your feet got stuck in the wet sand as you tried to run as fast as you could, the boat now getting in the middle of you two. The ghost lounged, his body pushing the wood that cracked under his weight.

You had to run with your eyes locked on him, too scared to look forward and be surprised by a cold pair of hands pulling you back. The ghost pushed the boat out of the way, the wood scrapped against the bed of broken shells as it slid toward the sea.

“Please! Please help!” you screamed, the lights in your former home all still on. But the chants never stopped, instead, with each leap away from the wreckage, the noise got higher and higher. “PLEASE!”

The hit of your back against a rock poking from the ground made you breathless, and your right leg scrapped by the surface. You scrambled on four legs in a useless attempt to surround the rock and continue your way up the lighthouse, but the scrap was bleeding too much, the hot pain not masked by the adrenaline coursing through your veins.

The ghost loomed over you, his bloated, broken legs standing in front of you, leaking a mix of dark blood and stagnant water. The blue lips of your uncle curved in a wicked grin, the flesh corrupted opening with a repulsive tearing sound.

From behind, he unveiled a rusty knife. “Now it’s your turn, child.”

Your eyes widened, recognizing the red blade that absorbed the light of the passing beacon.

It seemed you weren’t wrong about the ghosts having a liking to hunt you.

You dragged yourself away, taking a rock and throwing it at the ghost, tearing more flesh, now a black trace of blood leaving behind his every step that got almost hidden by the growing mist coming from the sea.

Your fingers grabbed a round shell, the only sizeable weapon at hand. This time, the hit landed on his forehead. The ghost scrambled backward, screaming in a fit of rage that made your ears hurt.

Standing up, you had to decide where to go, if risking climbing up the stairs knowing that the ghost could outrun you now that you had an injured leg and with the ever-present danger of tripping down amidst the darkness.

It was too late when you tried to climb the stairs, the ghost already at your heels. Throwing yourself at the beach, you fell into a tidepool, the freezing water clinging to your bones.

The ghost followed, his feet standing close to the edge of the water, yet not daring to step on it. It leaned toward you, knife grabbed in one hand as his teeth gnashed. It wasn’t coming closer…

You closed your eyes, hands curved in a makeshift bowl, deciding to throw some saltwater at him to see what occurred.

The water splashed away the algae, revealing the blue skin underneath, spotted with moss and other fungi. Then, the features started to melt, skin peeled like the old wallpaper that covered the lighthouse before you came into the picture. Beneath your uncle's face were the decrepit features of the woman from the window.

She leaned toward you despite your best efforts from sliding away, the shells and rocks clinging to your clothes, to keep you in place. The same black eyes oozed stagnant water, like tears.

"Don't tell me you don't remember the face of your dear mother, my dear daughter?" She said, the loose bones of her neck snapping when her head lolled to the side at an unnatural angle.

… Mother? “N-no, no…”

The same predatory smile. If it weren’t for you, your Alyssa would still be alive… Was it loathe what you evocated in your mother, even after her death?

“Is that so?” She clicked her blue tongue. “Disappointed in me. Well, it’s of no use. The feeling is mutual, darling.” The woman raised the knife, looking at it with an almost bored gaze. "I think it's your turn to pay the price of your freedom."

“No!” You rolled away, the edge of the knife whistling in the air near your ear. Saltwater flooded your vision when you crawled toward the sea, where the waves started to sway in an infinite of blackness.

“Come here, child… You can’t escape from your blood!” she yelled, her hands trying to seize your ankle, hissing when the upcoming wave touched her skin. The ghost’s nails drew four red lines across your leg, taking ahold of your boot until you could shake it off your feet.

The cold clung to every bone in your body, each kick and armful becoming lethargic due to the pull of the chill of the autumn sea. You knew you’d die from hypothermia if you didn’t get to nearby dry soon, but the ghost stayed by the coast, just in the boundary of the beach, watching.

Looking around, you decided to swim toward the cliff—in a stupid attempt to climb through one of its faces, or at least fade trying. The ghost rolled her head, dark hair covering one of her eyes, and yet, her glare burned at your back, hands shivering from both cold and fear once you grabbed the rough surface of the rock.

Your breath heaved as if trying to call for Viktor. Would he hear you? Would he come? But no, you didn’t wish to put him in danger with this vengeful ghost nearby.

Between the watch of the lighthouse, you saw a hole carved in the rock, with only a foot of the entrance submerged in water. Maybe there could be a crevice big enough for you to fit until morning. A shiver ran down your spine at remembering that pale dorsal spine. You didn’t wish to be in the hunting range of that creature.

Huffing your condensed breath in front of you as you took a good handler in the rock to pull yourself up, toes scrapping the vertical rock as you crawled inside the pitch-black cavern, deeper until you couldn’t see the ghost that had remained still by the coast.

With no light, there was no way to rummage the passage, but… there, in the distance, was a dim purple hue. Buzzing. Calling.

Looking back, you saw the ghost walking toward the edge of the cliff, where the ground disappeared into the water. Her green dress got soaked, and she screamed in rage when she had to stumble to her back, the open wounds in her legs surrounded by a thick black smoke reeking of rot between the salty marine air.

You decided to follow the light, trying to run away from the stench that made your eyes cry and your stomach turn.

Each step echoed in the hallway of the cavern until the lull of the sea was but a faint lull inside the chamber bathed in purple light coming from the carving runes in the walls. Dusty books lay on shelves made in the rock. Freeze in time, in a sacred place you shouldn’t supposed to be.

Peeking around the convex chamber, you saw another well of darkness at the center of it, a small yet seemingly bottomless pool that smelled strange, not like sea per se, though the salt was still perceptible in the air, but the ambiance was heavy, mixing dry flowers and other essences like burning candles. It smelled… old.

What was this place?

[the-kr8tor]

I don't wanna be exiled:( 🪦's scary Please I'm innocent I still gotta have that three way marriage with 🦊 and 🎸 Daily Hobie HC! The moment you ask Hobie to do your makeup, he's rushing through the canal boat, grabbing what he has that suits you. Despite loving to tease you, he's very gentle with your face, especially around your eyes. If he's applying eyeshadow, Hobie will instinctively use his pinkie finger, not wanting to hurt you on accident. With how soft he's being, he can tell you're practically drifting off to sleep, in which he has to flick you away with a tap to your cheek. If he's using anything else for your makeup, such as a brush, he'll tap the tips of the bristles against your closed eyelids with a chuckle, feigning innocence if you try to call him out on it. No doubt when he's done, you look absolutely stunning. Whether it's just free territory or if you wanted him to try something else, there's a guarantee that you'll always look jaw-dropping. I mean, how else do you think he looks so good? He loves being your personal styler when you need it, and vice versa. He remembers once when you had somehow managed to convince him to wear a chicken onesie to one of his concerts. For two weeks you were not allowed to suggest any of his outfits for any upcoming concerts upon seeing your wide smile. Admittedly, he'd do it all over again if it meant seeing you laugh and smile like that. Hobie takes very subtle notice of what your style normally is, usually trying to think of gifts he could steal that you would like, and that you could possibly wear. However, whether it clashes or not, you're always seen wearing at least one spiked jewelry from Hobie. If he's able to without getting caught, he loves to swipe any accessories he can get for you, such as earrings, bracelets, rings, or any suitable piercing jewelry. And in return, you shower him in love, always giving him a lopsided grin and lovestruck gaze. With his love language being practically everything, there's not a singular moment where you doubt that he loves you. He'll offer to do things for you or help you if you seem to be struggling, not letting you achieve what you need without him teasing you at least a little bit, a shit-eating grin always plastered on his face. Sometimes, you'll even find him in the kitchen cooking. Obviously, the thought is always endearing, but you force yourself to supervise him, even if Hobie tries to convince you to lay down and rest...but of course, you've learned from last time. And besides, why is he even cooking anyways? He should be the one resting. Hobie will always be grateful for you putting up with his nonsense. During his worst moments, the canon events, the blood and the horror, he'll forever be appreciative that you stayed by his side to comfort him. To hold him close when he didn't deserve one bit of love. For how you never question when he just needs to hold you close after experiencing a night terror, and how you just simply massage his scalp to soothe him if he wakes up shaken. No doubt he feels terribly guilty at times, yet your persistent love is something he's always grateful for, no matter how guilty he feels, knowing he doesn't deserve it. The many nights he's just collapsed in your arms, fatigue and pain practically numbing his body as you cradled him in your arms, keeping him awake and safe from harm, even if it's just for a while. He's surprised that you even stayed by his side then, as he's physically in shambles, blood caking his suit, and possibly your clothes on accident. Hobie is always appreciative of your support and love, never allowing himself to not show you that in any way possible. I have had to rewrite this three times..stupid electrical storm >:( -🐦‍⬛

You will not be exiled dw dw

Can I be a maid of honour?

DAILY HOBIE HC!!! 🎉

Oh I'd give away my kidney just to have him do my makeup for me 🥴

I hc that he's actually really good at makeup! Especially around the eyes, i bet he can do a banging smokey eye

Now I wanna see hobie in a chicken suit while rocking out on stage 🤣🤣🤣 It's unfair that he definitely looks really good in it too 😍

Screaming crying throwing up I love him sm 😍🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

[lover-of-skellies]

smooch Horror

Giving him a healthy 6, all things considered :P

1) How dangerous is Horror/Axe's mouth? His teeth may not be sharp or jagged like they are in Crooks' case, but I feel like getting anywhere near his face is still an incredibly risky bet, so he only gets 1 point for this

2) Would Axe bite, and is he aggressive? Yes to both of those. We know he's a big food lover, and it was definitely canon that he really craved human flesh. He did try to resist the urge to eat Aliza, but without Crooks' intervention, he would've snapped and turned her into a snack without hesitation. That, paired with his violent tendencies and sort of unhinged personality make him a dangerous one, so biting could almost certainly be a given. With that in mind, he gets 0 points for this area

3) Are there any health hazards to the smoocher? The biting risk. That's all I've got. That, or you lose an arm like Aliza. The violent tendencies from before also result in points being docked from this qualification, since the violent tendency are also a health hazard and could very well result in physical harm being done, or at the very worst, death. For this section, I feel like he should get no points. Not being unfair to him, just thinking logically about everything

4) Does he have a sympathetic backstory? He lived underground, starving, with everyone relying on him to solve their problem with the core and get it running again. He still was persistent about keeping an eye out for his brother and the other monsters despite his much bigger responsibilities, and everything just kept bubbling over until he eventually snapped. That's not even counting the way Undyne betrayed him, either. Considering the storyline of Horrortale, yeah, I'm giving him 2 points for his sympathetic backstory

5) Does he deserve a smooch? He's a little grouchy and touchy with certain things, but he did try his best to help whoever he could, despite everyone's living conditions underground. He did hurt Aliza, but for the most part, he just kept a watchful eye on her, and we know he's helped get her out of some pretty sticky situations, too. He tries to resist his hunger for flesh as much as he can, but if I recall right, it'd been 7 years since he'd last eaten when Horrortale took place. The guy was starving. He was delusional and probably lowkey desperate for something to eat, and although taking Aliza's arm and tearing it off her body to eat it is definitely not a good thing to do, people will do very extreme things when they get desperate enough. All in all, he's been through hell and back a million times over. He's very rough around the edges, but he's at least somewhat deserving, so he gets 1 point

6) Is he cute or cool? His design jumps out at me a little bit more than others dye to his missing eye, his eye color being different, and the gaping hole in his skull. He's also got a big bone ax he's supposed to carry around, too. His design is simple, but very effective and not too flashy or anything. For this, he gets 2 points for coolness

His smooch-ability rating sits at a 6 out of 12. If you try to smooch him, I'd equate that to that alligator game that kids play, where you press the teeth one by one until it chomps down on your finger. There's a slim chance it'd go alright if he expected it and was cool with the idea, but there's also a decent risk of being bitten and severely injured

[beachedmessagebottles]

Destiny Bond: ?????

Sequel to Return to Sender.

Synopsis: Gold, grief stricken and afraid what’ll happen to him when the time comes, jumps the gun of how fate works.

CW: Sentient video game characters, dissociation, light body horror (ie: wrong colors and staying as such.), game glitches, existentialism, data destruction as metaphor for realizing dissociative disorders.

GOLD could hardly stand it any longer. The time loss, the time gain, the memory loss, the memory gain. If his player was here, it was still the same choppy things in his memory. It was as clear as he could imagine. The brighter and million other colors in his daydreams continued to persist. He hated it. He was somehow sorry that he did hate it.

Sometimes he felt like he walked on his own, but he wasn’t really walking. It wasn’t like his player. It felt like he was holding a hand with his player, they both stepped at the same time. When he walked on his own, he felt like being guided but no longer holding a hand. That was never like that before. At least he didn’t think so. Did he?

Whatever the case, he needed out. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want the memory of all those Pokémon he could no longer see anymore. He didn’t want to shiver when staring at his Bug Catching opponents or his mother. The same cries felt dull. Callers ringing the same tune made him want to delete every number.

He wanted to see that movie of the two boys on the train. He wanted to talk with CAL again. He wanted KRIS to understand his plight. He didn’t want her to feel like there was a sword over their heads if she ever realized they were doomed to be old and remade.

He needed out. He just needed to find a way. Otherwise, he didn’t know how much longer he could take. He didn’t want it to be forever. Then he would just wait for his home to give up the plastic ghost. He hated that thought also.

Feeling like a jaded adult instead of being a child- He supposed he should do what all jaded adults did when they were stuck in a depressive rut, gamble. He stood up from crouching to the MACHOP in VERMILLION, grinning at its hard work, …whatever that was given that nothing in the Construction Site would ever be finished, before selecting the Coin Case. Just for fun, honestly, made him feel like he was counting his money, and then—

Ow. Owww. Where was he? The game crashed? Ah- What the heck?! GOLD looked down at himself. Wasn’t he—? What? The colors were just off. He was supposed to be— Well, he sure wasn’t red anymore. He picked at his hoodie, it brighter. (Duller?) Or maybe it wasn’t, maybe his eyes were just bleeding from everything being purple. No, it wasn’t just purple, it was blue, green, a lot of things. At least he, despite the duller (brighter?) colors felt… normal? It didn’t hurt. Oh gosh what did he do, was MEGANIUM hurt?!

It was not, he saw. Despite the apocalypse of color, everything was fine. He was just never going to use that thing ever again, actually. It freaked him out. GOLD didn’t like it. Terrified, he booked it towards his usual place of residence when the game was off but he was still here: The Trainer House. For he was already, in a way, not exactly ‘normal,’ and he wasn’t sure why, but he saw KRIS for who she was, and they could chat.

KRIS was used to her friend freaking out at this point. Confiding in his strange behavior and mourning of someone she swore never acted like he claimed. In her eyes, she saw nothing of what he was saying even now.

“This is weird! This is so weird!” GOLD yelped, shaking her shoulders, “Everything’s pink! You’re the normal one! The grass is blue, KRIS!”

“GOLD, GOLD, calm down!” KRIS stumbled on her footing when he shook her like she was a sentient rag doll, “What do you mean everything’s different colors?”

“I don’t know how to explain to you that really simple concept! Even the dex entries- I touched the coin case and everything was- It was-!”

“GOLD, breathe!”

“We don’t have to do that!”

“Well, you need to! Look, I’m not saying I don’t believe you—“

“You never believe me!”

“Oh, don’t be a jerk! I do believe you! You just need to breathe! Maybe it’s like when you check the Legendary Beasts but they sound wrong, but it doesn’t mean anything’s wrong-wrong. It just looks weird.”

“M-Maybe, no POKéMON are hurt. I check- checked.” GOLD sniffled. Getting somewhere, KRIS smiled, turning her backwards cap forwards as she got her thinking cap on. (GOLD wouldn’t be able to see it anyways, he saw her bandana, apparently.)

“Player sends a lot of POKéMON to the old game that they’re not supposed to, so if it’s okay here, it should be okay there. We’re in no risk of breaking.”

“Guess so… I still don’t like it. I’m not using the coin case, I’m not experiencing this again.”

“But what if Player wanted to? Are you stuck like this?”

“Then I guess it’d be okay… It doesn’t hurt but Player would know how to use it, not me, so not me, never. I don’t think so… maybe if I reset again I’ll be normal?”

“Exactly! Nothing to worry about.”

“The Time Capsule freaks me out though… We can send stuff to the past, but we can never get future stuff!”

“Here we go again…”

“KRIS, don’t you think about it sometimes?”

“Yeah, I have, but… I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“GOLD, as far as we have known it’s always been 1999 for you and 2000 for me! I’m new, GOLD! You’re always afraid we’ll be tossed out when we’re seen as old, but I don’t know if it works that way.”

“Maybe but- if I don’t try- I’ll-! I’ll-! I don’t know and that’s the problem!”

“You’re scared of adventure? Of what’s to come?”

“I’m scared of going, KRIS! Not being me! Not being GOLD!”

“I’m sure you’ll be you, GOLD. Not any of the names you think you’ll turn out to be.”

“… … …”

“Oh, please don’t go quiet on me… I’m sorry if I upset you.”

“‘S not you.” GOLD wiped his face with his sleeve, “I’m just scared.”

“I know… but I’m saying you don’t have to be. Maybe what you think isn’t so scary. Maybe it wasn’t so scary for Hikaru like he-“

“CAL.”

“…Right. Your nickname.”

“No, I- Never mind. Say, um, we were talking about glitches-”

KRIS squinted.

“I’m not! I’m not! I’m still seeing everything like HO-OH threw up! I wouldn’t dare!”

Her eyes squinted further.

“I promise I won’t mess with anything, cross my heart, hope to die, and pinky promise.” GOLD did the motions too.

“Good. You know you can’t break either of those.” KRIS shook the pinky with hers.

“Of course you can’t break either of those. They’re crossing your heart and pinky promising!”

“And I’ll kick your butt if you break them.”

“You kick my butt anyways, KRIS.” GOLD grinned as they laughed, soon talking about hypotheticals.

The guilt felt heavier than the egg in his arms. He didn’t remember the actions, only that he did it. It would hatch any moment. Then he knew what he had to do. GOLD wasn’t sure why. He would just follow it. He needed his out. This was the only thought of his out. And if he died trying… Not a fun thought, but he would do it anyways.

GOLD shuddered when he thought about the collateral damage, so he had to do it perfectly. His wrongly colored clothes felt like they were going duller. Untrue, maybe his heart was. He did break a promise. But he wouldn’t jeopardize everybody he cared about for nothing. He would do his best to make sure he didn’t wreck everyone. So when it hatched, he put everything in the PC.

Step two was just… the apology to KRIS. He got Flower Mail, specifically, and just wrote on it. Trying not to let tears stain the pretty paper. Then he traded. He tried not to pay attention to her confused face when she read aloud.

“IM SORRY. MEET ME

IN THE NEXT PLZ

GOLD, what the heck, you’re not—”

KRIS grabbed his arm, he pulled away, “I am! Use that when you get home, please! I have to.”

“GOLD, listen to me!”

“No! Listen to me! I can’t live like this!”

“You can’t expect to run away past 1999!”

“Watch me!”

“GOLD, you might kill yourself that way!”

“I won’t! I won’t go! Never!”

“Stop acting like this! Please! He wouldn’t want you—“

“You don’t know what CAL wants! I don’t either! He’s gone!”

“GOLD, he’s—”

GOLD left the Trainer House, tears streaming down his cheeks. He hiccuped. He just hoped that she would follow. He hoped she could follow. GOLD just hurried past trees and grass, one POKéMON in his party. Honestly, he wasn’t sure if he should’ve gone here or the Diglett Statue. But he held the ball close to his chest, his breath hitching.

“Past when it happens… please… I don’t want to go, CELEBI. I want to stay. I want to be GOLD. I need to be GOLD.” He whispered at it, hoping it heard his prayers, heard his sobs.

His body felt like it was on fire. Color hit his eyes so bright it felt like watching another disappear again. But it was only himself. It was only him, duller (brighter?) clothes now on bright green grass. He coughed and spat, feeling like throwing up- despite the fact he physically couldn’t. Phlegm it was on the grass.

GOLD looked up, the sun beaming down on him, shadows from being blocked by the green trees. The wind blowing. He tried to stand up but fell on his knees. That kind of hurt. He checked his pockets for CELEBI.

…Where was CELEBI? There was no ball there. He checked his other pockets. No dice. Bag? Nothing. His berries were gone, but that was the least of his worries when he plucked out his trainer card. It was… broken. Broken how? He wasn’t sure. It just looked like he wasn’t there. All gone, blocked out. Something like that.

His fear of the future was still inside him, he could tell too. Wasn’t he in the future?

What did you do?

GOLD wasn’t sure what to tell that thought. He wasn’t sure if it sounded like his own.

GOLD. What did you do?

He didn’t know. He was in the future wasn’t he? If he himself wasn’t remade, he should be fine, right? Though his dreams of these colors, he was remembering, they had something else to them, right? How could he forget that part? Did he forget that part? No, he always remembers that part. They never had him because they couldn’t go past.

They couldn’t go past, that’s why he had to go forward.

But you don’t go forward. That’s just destiny.

Agh, shut up brain! Come on! CELEBI was maybe somewhere else. Maybe another one? But he- He didn’t- Ohhh no. No, no, no, no, he absolutely messed up. The weight of that set in as he started to breathe, started hyperventilating. He messed up. He couldn’t go forward. He couldn’t go back, he was still stuck in the past wasn’t he?!

GOLD thought of a trainer laughing as music played, a click of a camera shuttering following soon after.

What did you do? You’re not supposed to be here. You can’t be here.

“I don’t know.” GOLD found himself sobbing, “I don’t know what’s going to happen now.”

“That’s just life, GOLD. You almost destroyed yourself in the process of escaping it. I can’t say I didn’t either.”

“What am I going to do?! What’s going to happen to me now?!”

“I don’t know.” Hikaru said, “That’s Ethan and Lyra’s problem now. And whoever comes after them.”

===

KRIS banged her fists on the shrine. Her teeth grit and her ponytails nearly loose in her absolute frustration and grief.

“GOLD! GOLD, you idiot! Come back! Come back! Please come back! I’m sorry! Come back!”

She slammed the GS Ball what felt like thousands of times into the small hole. Nothing worked.

Nothing went forward and nothing came back. Destiny for remakes simply walked forward.

She’d see him again, she knew she would, one way or another, but would he see her?

[marypsue]

Sneak Peek Sunday, and this one's original fiction! Have a chunk of the ominous homoerotic makeover scene from Fearleading Squad.

...

Tiffany, unsurprisingly, turned out to be stubbornly persistent in evading Avery’s questions. When Avery asked how long Tiffany’d been cheerleading, while Tiffany was stirring together some kind of concoction of yogurt and oatmeal, Tiffany made Avery let her smear the goo all over her face instead of answering. When Avery asked whether any of the boys in town had caught Tiffany’s eye and why, despite being maybe the most desired person in the high school’s history, she hadn’t been on a million dates already, Tiffany’d just said she didn’t like being told what to do, and then asked Avery to pick out a movie. As Molly Ringwald handed over a pair of her panties on the huge TV screen (Tiffany hadn’t had Friday the 13th or Sleepaway Camp, and she’d never even heard of The Stuff), Avery had awkwardly tried a new tactic.

“God, I don’t even get why you like this movie,” she said, trying to watch Tiffany’s face without looking like she was watching Tiffany’s face. It was already hard enough to tell what Tiffany was thinking, the layer of quickly-hardening oatmeal-yogurt goop only made her expressions all the more inscrutable. “You must think Sam’s just pathetic. I bet nobody’s ever forgotten your birthday.”

It took Tiffany a long moment to answer. Avery was just starting to think she wouldn’t when she said, “You might be surprised. Hey, I think these masks might be ready to come off. Mine’s cracking.”

Avery dutifully paused the movie and followed her back upstairs to wash off the oatmeal masks. But she wasn’t going to be dissuaded so easily, this time. “Seriously? But you’re so pretty, so popular, so involved with everything. Everybody likes you.” She couldn’t stop herself from adding, “Or at least they pretend they do.”

Tiffany laughed, at that. It wasn’t her usual mocking, bell-like, I-don’t-even-have-to-care laughter. It sounded closer to unhappy. “That’s true.”

She beamed at Avery, and then grabbed the glass she’d filled with ice cubes from the fridge’s icemaker before they’d come up to her bedroom. “But that’s why I’m glad you’re here. Why I’m so happy you’re finally coming around. I think you and I could be real friends.”

It was all part of the act, and Avery knew it. Still, she found it hard to swallow around a sudden, prickly ball of guilt.

She reminded herself, again, of what she was doing this for. Who she was doing this for. Her real friends.

Still, the words tasted bitter on her tongue. “It’s shocked me to my core, but…you know, I think maybe we could, too. If we can expand your taste in music out into movies. I can’t believe you’ve never seen the Rocky Horror Picture Show. What do people even do for fun out in L.A.?”

Tiffany’s smile went a little thin. But she hid whatever had just flashed through her mind well.

“My parents used to be…pretty strict,” she said, and delicately selected one of the ice cubes from the glass. “You know. Religious. Hold still and shut your eyes, this is going to be cold.”

“Not surprised they wanted to keep you out of trouble. Isn’t Los Angeles the gang violence capital of the USA?” Avery couldn’t resist prodding. And then, as Tiffany reached forward with the ice cube, “Wait, what the hell are you planning to do with that?”

“Everybody knows that violence begins at home,” Tiffany said, smarmily putting on a breathlessly earnest, sincere tone, like some kind of moral crusader eager to get Avery to open her heart and her wallet to the cause. She even opened those blue eyes as wide as they’d go and gave her impossible lashes an innocent bat, before grabbing Avery’s shoulder to stop her from shifting backwards into the vanity. “The ice works as a toner. It helps close up your pores so you don’t get shit in them. Do it before you moisturise and it keeps you from breaking out.”

Avery shut her eyes and braced herself against the shock of cold as Tiffany rubbed the ice cube all over her freshly-washed face. Another shiver ran through her. If all beauty treatments felt this weirdly good, maybe she could start to understand why other girls bothered.

“I can’t believe you know the Rocky Horror Picture Show and not this,” Tiffany said. “What did you and that other cheerleader even talk about?”

“Courtney was the one who introduced me to Rocky Horror,” Avery said. The shock of cold she was feeling was suddenly not just from the ice cube. “Hey, do you still talk to her much? She’s been really cagey with me since she left the cheer squad. Do you have any idea why?”

Tiffany didn’t answer. She just finished rubbing the ice cube over Avery’s face, dragging it up along her cheekbones and smoothing it across her forehead towards her temples. There was a clink as she dropped it back into the glass, and then something soft battered gently against Avery’s face. “Pat that dry, and then we moisturise.”

Avery dutifully patted her face dry with the thing Tiffany’d thrown in her face, which she realised when she opened her eyes was a red terry facecloth. “Do you two not like each other or something?”

The look Tiffany gave her said, loud and clear, that she knew Avery was trying to give her a taste of her own medicine. And she thought it tasted pretty foul.

But she didn’t call Avery’s bluff. Just dabbed a little cold cream onto Avery’s freshly-toned nose with two fingers.

“You wanted to know why I don’t date,” she said, as she massaged the cream into Avery’s cheeks with the very tips of her slim fingers. Avery didn’t have to be told, this time, to shut her eyes. “And honestly, it’s partly because, I mean, have you seen the dating pool around here? Because I think every last one of these boys is swimming in the shallow end.”

Avery couldn’t resist a snort. Tiffany smacked her shoulder with the flat of one hand. “Hold still.”

Avery sat up a little straighter on the plush-topped vanity stool, tilting her face up to follow Tiffany’s gentle guiding hand under her chin. “Yeah. The water’s a little stagnant.”

She couldn’t be sure, with her eyes closed, but Avery thought that one had got her a hastily-suppressed snort in return.

“Maybe this is going to sound a little selfish,” Tiffany said, putting the cold cream back on the vanity with a little click and picking up a plastic powder case shaped like a seashell and a satin-bow-topped powder puff. Avery braced herself for something that was going to sound a lot selfish. “But right now, people are interested in me. They want my attention. They want to know my beauty secrets. They want to get invited to one of my parties. They care about what I think, what I wear, what I say, what I like – and who I don’t like.”

“Bet that feels powerful,” Avery said, more to herself than anything. But Tiffany obviously heard her. And smiled beatifically.

“More than you could imagine.” She reached out and patted Avery’s cheek. Avery tried to recoil, suddenly disgusted, but Tiffany just rubbed the fingers she’d patted Avery’s cheek with against her thumb. “Hm. Think that’s absorbed enough now to start with makeup. Shut your eyes again. And quit wriggling.”

Avery dutifully froze in place. She shut her eyes only reluctantly.

The featherlight touch of the powder puff against her forehead nearly made her jump off the stool. She took a deep breath, and gripped the stool’s underside with both hands.

Tiffany didn’t seem to notice. Or pretended she didn’t notice. “But if I picked one of these duds and let him take me out on a date, then – that’s it. Nobody cares about me anymore. It’s all about him. And, even if I dump his loser ass, then it just becomes all about who comes after him. It’s all ‘who gets the girl’. I’m nothing but some – some trophy that some boy gets to brag about winning, that they all get to pass around. And all that power? It just goes straight to him.”

She patted powder over Avery’s cheeks and chin. “Just like with Sam and the panties. Give them an inch, decide that just because they’re being nice, you can trust them, let your guard down for a second, and they’ll ruin your whole life. Just to prove they can.”

Avery didn’t know what to say to that. She’d been expecting – something shallower. Stupider. More ‘I’m better than all of you and nobody here is good enough for me’. And oh, boy, was that ever something she could hear in Tiffany’s little diatribe. But…

She couldn’t help remembering the glitter of broken glass on concrete, the rage and disgust on Tiffany’s face. I’m supposed to be in control.

[irlkisukeurahara]

Pokémon Unown Legends Tale Teasers / Snippets — Confessions

tw: mention of CSA, past abuse, blackmail/stalking, heavy drinking, making Rose even worse than canon, you know how it is...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Leon’s phone had been ringing off the hook all night, but Rotom had eventually taken it upon himself to switch to silent mode. Despite the persistent calls, Leon remained undisturbed, squirming in his sleep and clutching Raihan tighter. His rest was anything but peaceful; tears streamed down his face even as he slept. When he finally woke, he was still crying. Sitting up, he rubbed his eyes, wiping away the tears, and looked at Raihan with hollow eyes. The tears continued to fall, evidence of a night spent haunted by nightmares. Leon’s gaze softened as he looked at Raihan, at least reassured by his presence. He leaned his head on Raihan’s shoulder, still sniffling and unable to stem the flow of tears from the lingering horrors of his dreams. Raihan, who had been sleeping upright, slowly woke up, groaning from the discomfort in his neck. Hearing Leon’s sniffles brought back memories of the previous night, and Raihan, unsure of what to say, simply held Leon in a gentle embrace.

Leon curled up into Raihan, struggling to stop crying. He felt a deep sense of dread, a nagging feeling that he had done something wrong, but it was overshadowed by the vivid flashbacks of his trauma. “I’m sorry…” he muttered shakily, feeling pathetic for not being able to pull himself together. He kept wiping his eyes, but the tears wouldn’t stop. “It was just— I was just— having… a nightmare…” He paused, trying to catch his breath, then shook his head. “No. I’m supposed to be dropping my facade! I can’t keep lying to you…” Another pause, more sniffles. He covered his mouth with his hand, tears still streaming down his face. “It was all… flashbacks. I… I was sexually assaulted. A– A lot.” He thought he was confessing this to Raihan for the first time. “It was like… not even a flashback, or traumatic nightmare… It was like… all of it, everything that happened, in succession, like a snuff film or something.” His voice choked up. “I’m just overwhelmed by that right now. It happened so much… and Rose just let it happen…”

Raihan, piecing together that Leon probably didn’t remember the previous night’s confession due to the amount of alcohol he had consumed, held him tighter. “Hey…” he said softly, “You’re so brave to tell me that. I’m here for you, okay? I love you.”

A gentle knock at the door interrupted them. “Lee? Rai? You guys awake? …I need to talk about… something… specifically with Leon?” Kazarah’s voice was heard from the other side. Raihan glanced at Leon, silently asking if he was okay to talk to her or if he should tell her to come back later. Leon kept trying to stop himself from crying, but the more he tried, the worse it got. The realization that people truly cared about him hit him hard. He knew Raihan cared, but hearing it out loud made a significant difference. He buried himself in Raihan’s chest for a moment, trying to catch his breath. It was a struggle to function, to get himself under control. He felt awful, wanting to straighten himself up immediately and talk to Kaz as if nothing had happened. After a few deep breaths, he leaned backward and slapped himself in the face twice, his signal to put on his champion facade. He held it for a moment, but it was no use. The tears kept coming. Cursing himself, he leaned on Raihan again. He wasn’t ready. He knew he needed to confront the full extent of his trauma if he ever wanted to work through it. The thought of talking about Rose was daunting, but necessary.

He barely managed to muster a voice to reply to Kazarah. “C–Can you give me a moment?” he called out, his voice betraying his tears. He was clearly struggling. He choked a bit and went quiet, thinking. “He made me think it was normal. That I was a big baby for feeling so violated…” he spoke quietly. “And well… by the time he… made his move… I’d stopped fighting entirely. Because I thought I should’ve just sucked it up and kept grimacing like a real champion should.” His voice was bitter. He sighed deeply. “Do you remember the Gym Challenge when I turned sixteen? The finals match, where you almost defeated me. You know I enjoyed that fight. I was glad to know I had more to learn, and I could get stronger. But he… he…” He sighed. “Rose… had something else to say about that. While I was asleep.”

Raihan listened intently to every word Leon said, knowing this was something he had repressed for a long, long time. “Oh my god,” Raihan muttered, processing Leon’s revelations. He remembered their battle, how excited they both were, completely unaware of the vile consequences that followed. Leon had held this in for years. “You don’t have to put up that facade anymore, okay? Let it out. You’re safe here.”

Leon had always promised himself that once he quit, he could be free of his facade. He would no longer smile through everything, pretending nothing was wrong, talking to adults as if they hadn’t harmed him. He could live his life, not Rose’s lie. But the temptation to put up the facade kept creeping back. He struggled to believe he was worth the trouble, that people actually loved, cared for, or respected him. He kept bouncing back and forth in his mind. Leon promised to himself that he’d just be real, but he was always faced with one reality—his real self is pathetic. This mean and jaded asshole, broken, shattered into pieces on the floor. He still couldn’t believe that Raihan could gently hold the small pieces of shattered ceramic and still see a vase. Leon rubbed his eyes, trying to clear himself of tears, but eventually gave up. Charizard was awake now, and they looked each other in the eyes. Charizard, with his one functioning eye and a pink scar across the other, still saw Leon for who he was, something Leon himself couldn’t see anymore behind the fog. Shakily, Leon reached out and petted Charizard, his hands trembling.

Tears streamed down Leon’s cheeks in waves, unsure if they would stop anytime soon. “I could never bring myself to tell you, or anyone, until now. He groomed me into complacency. Just… programmed me into a husk. A husk whose only response to being assaulted was just, ‘Couldn’t you have at least waited until I came into work?’ Really! That’s word for word what I fucking said to him!” His breakdown turned into anger, choked with tears. “Everyone was a pawn to him, but me? I was a fucking special little toy. Not just to him, but to everyone in the company. And my fans too. I’m just tired of being people’s favorite little sex toy.” His voice dripped with malice. His anger quieted down into somberness. He sighed. “I hate Galar. I hate it. I don’t want to be scared to go outside without being swarmed and assaulted in the street by the paparazzi!” The anger rose in his voice again. “I shouldn’t have to fucking disguise myself to go to a shitty donation-based foods store because that’s the only place we can afford now that I can’t get a job! I can’t do anything other than sit at home and drink anymore.” He hesitated, then sighed. “I just want to leave it all behind. Just, have an entirely new life. Off the grid, legally not exist. Somewhere on a huge plot of land surrounded by Pokémon, just away from everyone who ever hurt me.” His voice carried a note of hope before turning sad again. “But I’m not going to ever get that. I can’t leave you. I’d rather die.” He paused, whispering, “Maybe that’s not the best comparison…” He spoke up again, “But… you’re the most important thing in my life. Definitely more important than some stupid dream like that.”

“That man can rot in hell… him and his shitty company. Bunch of bastards,” Raihan muttered. He seemed surprised by Leon’s financial struggles. “I thought you were swimming in merch royalties or something—I didn’t realize you were struggling…” Leon was too good at acting; Raihan had no clue he was more or less in poverty. “I mean, you wouldn’t have to leave me. Living off the grid doesn’t sound half bad. Hell—you know how much I love the Wild Area. Hammerlocke’s home, but I’d much rather be in a place where you can be you. Even if it comes at the sacrifice of… good internet connection.” He tried to lighten the mood a bit with a joking tone.

“Even then, all the money I get goes to helping with Mum’s medical issues, lining Abuela’s pockets to spend on frivolous shit, and trying to hush the stalker that’s blackmailing me. Or for Hop to steal after he left, I guess…” Leon admitted to being stalked and blackmailed way too casually. “I tell them we need to save money for… you know… being alive… but nooooo… I’ve got to do all the work as always,” he muttered sarcastically. Leon’s family seemed worse every time he brought them up. Leon sighed, relieved that Raihan’s reaction wasn’t as negative as he’d feared. He still wasn’t exactly happy, but that was mostly due to his own self-inflicted doubts. “I just wouldn’t want to make you sacrifice for me,” he admitted. His voice cleared a bit, but he was still in a lot of pain from how much he drank. “Even if there was a world where I could live like that… I don’t think it’d be in Galar. Given how fucking insane everyone is, give it two months and they’d get my address somehow.” If it was an exaggeration, it was only slight. His home address had been publicly available for years after being leaked by someone following him around. He still gets mail every day, though it is mostly hatemail nowadays. “You’d have to make a whole new settlement and somehow find a thousand people who’ve never heard of me and build a society from that if I ever wanted to start over like that. That’s why it’s stupid… it’s not going to work.” This was clearly something he’d thought about for a long time. It had been on his mind since he quit, and near the forefront after Hop left.

“Yeah. Guess you’re right,” Raihan sighed. “But you deserve to live in a world where you’re happy. Where you’re not stepped all over by everyone. I want you to know that.” Raihan’s eyes widened in shock as he processed Leon’s casual admission. “Wait. Did you just say you were being stalked and blackmailed?” Leon had said it so casually that Raihan had to do a double take.

Leon nodded, his voice slightly monotoned. “Ah. I have more stalkers than I can count on my fingers. Always have. People always want a piece of me and won’t leave me or my family alone.” Leon’s tone remained disturbingly calm, somehow slightly casual in comparison to the confession of his past. “But. It’s these two men.” He huffed. “They decided they wanted to have a bit of fun with me in the champion penthouse nine years ago, and they’re still lording it over my head. I’ve been paying them off for a while now, but they just keep coming back.” He grabbed his Rotom phone and finally noticed the copious number of missed calls overnight. There were so many that it was just listed as 999+. “Holy shit,” he murmured, seeing that they were all from Mum. He sighed and showed his phone to Raihan. “And I’m sure that’s what these are about.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering, “I can’t deal with this right now…”

Raihan, who only grew more and more horrified every time Leon spoke, glanced at Leon’s phone. “Shit,” Raihan muttered. “I don’t even know if it’s worth responding. I mean—based on what happened when you called me…” The sheer number of calls made Raihan uneasy. Did this somehow mean that what happened last night wasn’t fully covered up? Leon mumbled angrily and sadly under his breath, taking a whole minute to swipe through the notifications. He thought for a moment before texting her. Raihan could see over his shoulder.

[vicit-vim-virtus]

[ 08 ] a rowdy village tavern crowded with drunk, singing patrons [For Luran]

The rain walloped persistently against the window panes while the thunder rumbled furiously in the distance, yet neither affected the merry dispositions of the townsfolk and travellers who’d sought refuge from the storm in the local tavern. The ambience was lively and the patrons, despite being inebriated, were good-humoured — none harnessed malevolence. Some were entangled in precarious games involving gambling, spoke boisterously of adventures and recounted tales of yore; chanted and danced — not a sliver of inhibition left — while the band performed an energetic, yet rather repetitive melody.

There was food and alcoholic beverages in abundance, although the food lacked the absurdly high-quality the elf was accustomed to. Still, it could’ve been worse — at least, the cuisine served in this establishment was edible... The gaiety and warmth made up for most of the tavern’s shortcomings, and he’d always favour a crowded bar over the uninspiring walls of his study, whether the food was atrocious or not.

Although Luran did not personally participate in the merrymaking, he did enjoy himself, until the band was relieved by a human duo: a man playing the dulcimer and a woman who announced herself as the singer. She looked pretty, but that was about it. “Singer” was... too generous a term for someone with her “singing” voice — ghoul or banshee would probably have been more apposite. And to make matters worse, she was attempting to sing in Elvish, but she got every inflection and every conjugation — and basically everything else that had something to do with grammar — wrong.

Luran beheld the abject performance — if one could even call it that — with an expression of unadulterated horror; his features contorted in discomfort, as if he was suffering from a severe case of indigestion. Most of the townsfolk were too intoxicated to consciously register the poor quality of this performance and remained in a state of ignorant bliss — if only he had been so fortunate...

However, her screeching and erroneous usage of grammar did earn her some disparagements. A moderate choir of patrons booed her, and a man, seated behind the elf, grumbled: “Appalling...”

‘Get off the stage!’ a female voice yelled.

‘Shut up, you hag, it’s her debut!’ someone else sneered back.

A deep sigh escaped Luran’s lips while he picked up his tankard of ale — he was too sober to witness these kinds of shenanigans.

‘If only I could tear off my ears,’ he mumbled into his tankard, ‘but they’re two of my finest assets... Granted, I have other delectable assets that could easily compensate for their loss, but it wouldn’t be ideal...’

And just when he thought he’d weathered most of the banshee’s song, she whipped out a recorder flute and started to play, without hitting a single note, and always, always playing out of tune and offbeat.

‘I’m not one to tread on other people’s dreams and ambitions, but it’s moments like these that I wish I were. The aural torment,’ he groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose with his free hand and fortuitously locking eyes with the woman sitting adjacent to him. ‘I hope she’s not your friend, if she is... apologies, I intended for my criticism to sound constructive.’

[lingeringscars]

@asuffocator liked for a starter / pairing: harper & birkhoff

she's never struggled with this before. god, how many times did she tell alex that they deserved a chance, that they should get to live despite the horrors that persisted around them, that they could have something good in all the bad, that being in division didn't have to mean they were completely shut off, that it was worth the risk. it's always been her philosophy. you lose every shot you don't take. you never have a chance of happiness if you're too afraid to try. if you fail, it isn't from a lack of trying. if it isn't for you, then you gave it your best shot and can find something that is.

and now all she is is afraid.

when did she become that person? (when alex fell in love with someone else? when she did. she won't absolve herself of guilt. there's no absolution for her. she crossed that line, and many others, first. of course she's so damn terrified of doing it all again. of course she should have known to step back when she knew the fear of losing birkhoff was a fear of losing a part of herself, while the fear of losing alex felt like an inevitability she could survive.). maybe she's always been that person.

she did give up. a lot. in school, especially. words scared her; they flickered around the page and she was never able to tie them down long enough to pull out a meaning. she kept getting pushed through, and she got good at faking. she got better at giving up. instead of telling the teacher she didn't know the word, she was defiant and got kicked out of the class. instead of mentioning it was hard, she didn't bother picking it up. eventually, she just stopped going to class or school at all. it was too hard.

but that never stopped her from believing that there can be good or that some things, most things, are worth the effort and should be given a chance.

alex's words ring in her head because it's true that she's probably not being fair to birkhoff; she definitely was never fair to alex. alex was right, and harper has said it before: they didn't talk, and that was their problem. birkhoff was the one that got her to stop hiding her feelings for fear of rocking the honeymoon boat, and here she is again, afraid of rocking the ...hey i'm in love with you and want to be with you and still am not ready for that, though, and it's still really hard for me to admit that i don't want alex anymore boat.

when did she become so damn scared of something that could be so incredibly good? he's already the person she goes to with everything, except, apparently, this. perhaps the most important thing she should go to him with. instead, she'll sit on a training mat crying because he feels the need to kiss half of division and it hurts her heart and she can't tell him it hurts her heart because how unbelievably unfair is it to say he's breaking her heart when she can't commit to him and can't have him waiting on her, and oh, right, she broke his first by pushing every boundary in the world while in a relationship with someone else.

excellent, harper!

she looks at him and she thinks, i should tell him. she opens her mouth and finds that anything else will come out. "i want to be alone." it feels true. she needs to deal with being back in division, after all. but the look on his face is all she needs to know that he knows there's more going on. that she is avoiding him specifically. "wait." closing her eyes. okay, she can't be completely brave, and she's far from the fearless person birkhoff once claimed she was, but she can at least stop sending him away. alex was right. that won't end well, and she'll lose him. she can't tell him because she's afraid of losing him, so she sure as hell can't go down the same trap where she pushes him away, or tries to, first. "can you stay? for a minute?" tears prick at her eyes that she knows she can't totally explain because it's her reaction to being in love with everything he is, with knowing that he was gonna go and do something for her to make her feel better because that's just who he is. she knows this despite the jealous voice in her head telling her if he leaves he might run into sonya and actually kiss her. despite the voice telling her maybe he already has. "i...i kinda forget how much better i feel when you're around. sorry. i know that's a lot of pressure." she just really wants to be around him all the time and he makes everything better, no biggie.

[standbowed]

@hopingforjustice // continued.

This isn't something she ever wanted to lay at a friend's feet--any friend, but especially not Reimi. Reimi, who has been reckoning with a fate after death that leaves her sequestered for such long stretches of time with only the dead for company. Reimi, who despite the horror of her passing and the bleakness of her surroundings still finds it in herself to be unerringly, persistently kind.

What are Hachi's problems, compared to Reimi's? What right does she have to make them another issue for her to shoulder? What's wrong with Hachi?! Why can't she just try harder, be better--or at the very least just not bother anybody with her juvenile little problems about her mom not loving her enough, or feeling like she's worse than her sister? Is it really so difficult for her to keep it to herself? To be normal about it all?

Reimi's hand at her elbow is a shock to her system, disrupting the ringing in her ears and the TV static overtaking her brain. Hachi doesn't mean to do it, but she turns as if magnetized--finds her eyes tracing the path up from that firm but delicate hand to its arm, past the shoulder, across the soft, moving curve of a jaw to the pair of eyes locked on her own. There is more care waiting in them there than she ever could have hoped to be the focus of, and her heart is struck simultaneously warm and guilty in equal measure over it.

The gesture isn't quite enough to stop the live-wire nerves and self loathing completely, but it gives Hachi something else to focus on--lips parted and wet eyes wide as Reimi's words wash over her like warm water and gentle seabreeze. She moves to protest the steadfast words her friend offers, prepares to argue that it's different--that of course she would listen to Reimi about anything, try to help her in any way she could--Reimi has real problems, after all--but Reimi follows up in such a way that Hachi has to stop the words before she can press out the syllables. Hachi's lower lip trembles, her shoulders sagging. For a long beat, she doesn't speak, just swallows around the lump at the back of her throat, overwhelmed in several different directions she can't put a proper name to just yet.

"...I'm sorry, all the same. I didn't mean to talk about all of this," she mumbles with a sniffle, her words quiet and rough around the edges. All at once she's exhausted, wrung out between the mire of her own self-worth and Reimi's compassion in the face of it. With downcast eyes and a more subdued tone, she dips head head and mumbles: "To be honest, I thought... if I took the chance to move here, that would fix everything. But my sister's not even here and I still get all these days where I feel... not enough. Like I'm doing everything wrong."

Wherever she goes, there she is. Doesn't that mean that the real problem is just... Hachi?

"...Guess it's something I need to work on. ...I don't know how you do it, Reimi." Hachi's eyes lift to meet the other girl's, her gaze beseeching and tender, earnest and unsure. Her shoulders sag. "So much--so much happened to you, and still have it in you to be... someone so special, and kind. I really... admire that."

[teeth-farie]

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Asra/AMAB Reader

Notes: yandere asra, naga asra, monsterfucking, breeding kink, intersex asra in…naga anatomy?? He has one tiny dick instead of two, biting, hand feeding, finger sucking, 2.2k words

☞. . . A commission for @faezocarina ! I hope you like it!!

You were never really conventional. At least not in the way that mattered. You had a thirst of curiosity unquenchable with simple trips to faraway lands. And for a while, you believed that you would never be satisfied.

But then you met Asra.

Your curiosity led you into a cave, one surrounded by glowing ivy and ferns, mushroom bulbs erupting from the mossy earth before the rock entrance. It was breathtaking, purely magical as you entered and came to the sight of glowing flowers illuminating the inside. The air seemed fresh, crisp against your tongue despite the dank atmosphere of other caves you’ve crawled your way through. You took another step forward, and your foot hit something wide, sleek, and fleshy.

The new mystery starts to slide, disappearing into a shaded area in the cave's corner. You beckon a little closer, and the mass wriggles again, coiling and retracting within the shadows- and then emerging. A long thick tail made up of lavender scales comes forth, taking up space and caging you in. A torso follows, golden brown skin and glimmering jewelry; and then his face, oh, his face- the gentle amethyst of his eyes and mischievous curve of his lips, the fluffy white curls on his head and he seemed much too lovable to be a monster you heard about in fairytales.

And really he was. Asra was the most enchanting being you had ever laid eyes on, and for the first time as you took in his large and sleek body and tail, you felt your curiosity satiated.

Though it seems that Asra is not only enchanting but incredibly clingy as well. Maybe that’s not the right word—enamored seems more accurate. There’s never a dull moment when you cross the threshold into his domain; always a time full of laughter and sunbathing and fresh, ripe fruit. At first, you thought it was just Naga hospitality despite everything you had read and the horrors humans have faced in the grasps of one, but Asra was just so calming and approachable, he was someone you couldn’t imagine baring fangs and spitting venom.

Asra greets you with a steady flicking of his tail, the end rising up and wagging gently in the air. “Not tired of me yet?” You chuckle, flicking a stray curl out of his face. His tongue peeks from his lips with a quick flick, tasting the air and your place within it. “I never could be, not of you.” He coos, following after you as you tread deeper into his home.

“You were a little later today.” He sighs, coiling up against the area you’ve decided to settle in, right next to the glimmering lagoon. Asra can’t help but admire the way the teal light of the gentle current reflects off your face. “Ah, I was? I didn’t realize you tracked the time.” You let your hand dangle in the cool water. “But, I did make a little friend right before I got here.”

“Friend?” He asks cautiously. He can’t help the twinge of jealousy that strikes his chest and pools in his gut. “Yes! I met the cutest little bunny rabbit on my way here and I just had to give him some of the grapes I had in my bag. But don’t worry I still have some left, I know how much you love it when I feed you…”

Asra feels his chest become lighter again and he nearly laughs at how foolish it was to get jealous over a rabbit. Unless…you meant you found another hybrid–

“Still with me, Asra?” You snap your fingers in front of his face and his eyes focus again, the little slits expanding slightly. “Of course, forever and always.” He purrs, bumping his face against your still outstretched hand. You laugh and he slides his chin across your wrist as thoroughly as he can manage. Whether or not the rabbit was one of his kind or not, his smell on you would deter even the most persistent of a rival–at least he sincerely hopes; he wouldn’t want to have to take you away, though a day spent with you hugged up in his arms and coils smelling so strongly of him doesn’t sound all that bad.

“Since you were late, I should have you all to myself for a little while longer, shouldn’t I?” With a gentle curl to his lips, Asra reaches out to grab at your satchel and rummage. You let him, an amused grin on your face. “Oh, is that true?” You muse.

“Mhm,” he finds the grapes you mentioned before, plucking one from the bundle and popping it into his mouth. “It’s only fair, for keeping me waiting for my favorite human.” His tongue darts from his lips, lapping up the drops of juice left behind from the fruit. Warmth pools in your body and you suddenly feel a little sweaty.

“I suppose that’s a fair deal,” you swallow, plucking the vine of grapes from his hands. Asra pouts before you pluck a grape and hold it to his lips. “I’ve never been bored with you.”

Asra opens his mouth, rows of sharp and dangerous teeth slowly revealed with the peek of his tongue. You press the plump grape onto his tongue and he closes his mouth around your fingers before you can pull them away. His teeth scrape dangerously close to your fingers as they pierce the flesh of the fruit, his tongue curling against your fingerpad. You feel him swallow and take ahold of your wrist, lost in the feeling of your warm fingers against his long tongue. You but down on your bottom lip, watching him take your fingers deeper with awe.

You had always liked him, that much was clear; though it was stupid of you to think your feelings were one-sided, that this was just normal behavior for Nagas, not when he’s holding your wrist with your fingers down his throat.

Asra looks almost drunk when his eyes open up again, a low trill from deep in his chest–and his teeth scrape your fingers. Your yelp is more like a groan and he licks the pad of your fingers again in an apology. “I…” you pull your fingers from his mouth and a trail of pink translucent saliva follows. He speaks before you can. “I have…a confession to make,” he heaves, bumping his chin against your hand again, smearing his own spit against his skin as he scents you. “I love you. I always have, since that first moment and I,” he kisses your fingertips again, dragging his tongue against the still trickling bite on your finger. He groans, nudging his nose against your palm and inhaling. “I need you, like the air I breathe, you’re all I need. I think I’d die without you.”

“Take me,” Asra pleads, taking your spit-soaked hand in his own and holding it tight. “Make me yours, I need you, mate me, please.”

Your heart hammers in your chest, blood rushing into your ears and you’ve never wanted something more. It’s spontaneous and rush-filled, but it feels right. Like everything in your life had led you to this moment with him.

Asra breathes a big sigh of shaking relief, his hands clutching at your shoulders as you lean in, lips a hair's breadth away from his. He can’t handle the wait, and so he rushes forward, crushes his lips against yours in a desperate connection. You can feel every ounce of his love and obsession in the kiss, the way your name whines from his lips when you press your tongue into his mouth. His trembling gasp when you suck on his tongue fills you with heat, spreading through your body and pooling down below. You’re getting hard, just from a wet kiss- yet you can’t blame yourself when he’s making all these sweet sounds.

And Asra’s fairing no better, the end of his tail wagging almost violently in the air, his hands sliding up to your face and cupping your face desperately. He nearly fights you when you pull away, chasing after to press sloppy kisses against the corner of your mouth. “Please,” he heaves. “Don’t wait any longer, fuck me.”

A shock of arousal shoots up your spine and your dick twitches in your pants. “So impatient.” You can’t help but tease, pulling away enough to get a look for…where are you supposed to…

Asra follows your gaze, a little giggle escaping his lips. “Here…” his hand slides down to the slit under his belly in the tail, using two fingers to spread it apart. You gape at it, reaching out to gently prod at the squishy, wet lips of his cloaca. He shivers, tail thumping against the ground. You had read about this in passing, those erotica novels about inhuman creatures, but you didn’t think they were accurate.

You take his hand's place and feel around, sliding your fingers across the edge before spreading it wide, peeking into the slightly cavernous hole. His cock peeks from inside, slowly wiggling its way out. And so, you press your finger in and gently coax it out.

The sound that comes from his throat is high-pitched and cracking, his hips pushing forward and his tails end brushing against your leg. “Don’t tease- not yet,”

His cock emerges, and you find yourself a tad bit confused. In the novels…

“Aren’t there supposed to be two?”

Asra’s face falls. “Where did you- did someone else show you theirs? Who did it, you can tell me-“

“No!” You quickly spit out. “No, no! I just- a silly book, that’s all.”

His bristle lessons. “Ah, yes, of course. I’m…a little different.” He says almost bashfully, glancing down at the short cock protruding from his cloaca.

“That’s ok, I think it’s lovely,” you press a soft kiss along his chin, and Asra trills. “And you felt so soft inside…I can’t wait to be inside you.” The trilling turns to a stifled moan. “Do it- do it now,” he gasps out and you would laugh at his insistence if you weren’t already uncomfortably hard in your pants.

You have to work around Asra’s hands while shimmying your pants down your hips, sighing in relief when your cock bobs free. He stares down at it in some kind of awe, deep purple eyes wide and his heart hammering in anticipation. Another trickle of discharge drips from his vent.

You kick off your pants the rest of the way and throw them aside, sliding your hands across the wide expanse of his tail. “Can you- uh, lean back a little…” Asra lays back against his own coils, his tail still wrapped around your ankle. You straddle his tail, aligning yourself up with his hole and slowly sinking in.

“Oh! Oh gods, oh gods, just how- ohh..” Your hips press flush against his cool scales and he grabs at your hips, holding you deep in. “I love you- I love you, I love you. All mine now, hah, filling me up,” Asra babbles, face flushed and hands sliding down his torso, down to his scaled front where his fingers frame his stretched cloaca. “Gods, you feel so good, so wet.” You give a testing rock of your hips, a mutual groan following.

Asra’s continuous stream of babbling fills your ears as your thrusts become more rhythmic, skin slapping against skin and sticky arousal sticking to your pelvis.

“Mate me,” he chokes out. “Breed me, m-hah, make me y-yours, forever.” Asra sounds purely delirious, clenching weakly around your cock and spitting out pleas and praise. It fills you with such intense heat, makes you drive deeper into his soft wetness, and seek out those high-pitched keens. “You want babies?” You dig your fingers into his scaly hips and grind in deep, your pelvis rubbing against his little swollen cock.

“Fuck, yes!” He squeals of all things, his tail reaching up to your waist and curling around in a possessive grip. “Fill me, fill me up and, ah-hahahh, give me your babies.” His arms curl around your neck, tugging you down until your nose brushes against his chin. “I’m gonna make you all nice and round, fill you with my babies,” you press sloppy kisses along his jawline and Asra leans his head back in wait. “Bite,” he whines. “Bite me, mark me, pleasepleaseplease-”

You don’t think too hard, lost in the hot wet pleasure of him that you sink your teeth into the flesh of his shoulder. He sobs, a great heaving sob, and cums against both your stomachs. The clenching is enough to make the knot in your stomach border on snapping, your thrusts growing sloppy. “Cum in me,” Asra hiccups, his tail tightening around your waist, fingers holding the back of your head. “I want a family- I want your babies in me.”

Your teeth dig in deeper, copper staining your tongue as your bury yourself into the hilt, and with a few more stuttery thrusts, you cum deep inside him. He croons in delight, a relaxed and contented sigh passing his lips as you dislodge your teeth from his shoulder and lick away the pain. His tail loosens its hold and you slump against him, your softening cock still seated in his warmth, plugging him up.

“I love you, so very much,” Asra settles his hands against your back, rubbing circles into your skin. “I’d rather die than be without you.” He confesses, a grim statement in comparison to his soft touches. “You don’t have to worry about that, I’m never leaving you.” You lift your head up and nuzzle your nose against his. “I love you too.”

There’s a strange look in his eyes, one you look over. “I don’t think I’d let you anyway…”

[struggling-with-time]

How to spiral out of control [Simpbur x reader]

Pairing: c!Wilbur Soot x fem!reader (Simpbur x reader)

Summary: How simpbur became simpbur. And how you grew up and lived with him.

Warnings: Obsession, unhealthy obsession, stalking, murder, drugging, unhealthy relationship, and Simpbur being a creep.

Words: 5K

Masterlist: Wilbur’s Masterlist - Full Masterlist

A/N: Listen I had brainrot. And I don't know how to defend this. (Also requests are still open! Click here!) And it's unedited for now it's 5:12 am here I will edit later today

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Wilbur was a pretty insignificant child. The death of his mother being one of the most interesting things about his childhood. While he claimed not to blame his youngest brother for the loss of his mother. He certainly had a funny way of showing his youngest brother affection.

Wilbur is the middle child of three. A charming but quiet and well accomplished older brother, who seems to never have to end to his dedication neither success. And his youngest brother, a loud ball of sunshine that just seems to make everyone in a good mood. Truly good with people, something Wilbur never seemed to grasp.

His whole childhood tainted by that fact. Always living in the shadow of his brothers, the clear favourites of everyone who came near the family of four.

So his grades was just average, never good enough to get acknowledged, never bad enough to need extra attention. Just average, like the rest of him. He grew up lanky, not athletic neither unable to run. Wilbur was grey in a family of golden people. His father raised them alone for most of Wilbur’s life. His father that despite never saying it out loud had clear favourites in his brothers. It was always, oh and Wilbur too!

Never him, never just him.

So, Wilbur spent most of his childhood lonely, disregarded and weird. A pitiful child. A pathetic child.

The thing is there was one thing, that made Wilbur worth anyone’s time. One person. You.

His childhood best friend.

Well, that’s what anyone who only knew Wilbur would say. Because you were the only friend he had. However, it was different for you, although the two of you were good friends, you wouldn’t call him your best friend for years. That didn’t happen till you became teenagers.

You had always tried your best to include the weird kid in playdates, birthday parties, and playground games. But nobody else seemed to find him worth their time, with his weird and morbid comments. But you persisted that he wasn’t that weird, besides his older brother was really cool.

So, you stick around, you stick around as playdates become hangouts, as dolls become makeup, and homework goes from learning to read to writing essays.

While you had many friends, both come and go and stay, Wilbur had been there for as long as you could remember. A playground proposal documented on home video. And a remake of it on the day of your school dance. You had played along, but it was known to everyone that your childhood friend wanted to be more than friends. But you stayed, smiled for the camera and laughed it off.

Then the school dance was over, and the last exam had been taken. That’s when you moved a country over, and slowly you lost contact with the people you used to call friends, but Wilbur stayed. Wilbur always stayed.

He finally got the spot as the best friend in your mind too. A definite win in his book.

Wilbur had always been odd, a bit to the left of normal. But now, with distance and screens in between you, he only started to act more concerning. This was around the time he started talking about feeling depressed and useless.

Of course, you always told him you didn’t believe that, what else were you supposed to say? Your friendship turning more and more into therapy sessions once a week for Wilbur on your end. While for him it was the highlight of his week.

Clicking the call button beside your profile picture, an anime girl from one he had recommended to you himself. One he had stayed up an entire night to shift through different animes to find the perfect one to send your way. One he was guaranteed you would watch.

“Wilbur, I should really get off.”

“C’mon stay on just a bit later, please.”

The silence deafening over the video call, he watches you intensely as you pull your legs into your chest, your shitty webcam standing beside you on your bed.

Wilbur reached out for the energy drink beside him, a new habit he has picked up. The more hours spent on the computer, the more he seemed to consume.

“Fine, just half an hour more. But then it’s the last half hour.”

Wilbur smiles at that, you choosing him over everything else in the world. He likes that, he likes that a lot. You valuing him. Spending time with him, and only him. Your attention is his.

“We could always fall asleep on call, then we could keep talking.”

“Another day Wilbur, another day.”

That. That sentence he on the other hand didn’t like. Not one bit. A promise never kept. A promise left unspoken and unpromised from your side, but a broken and abandoned promise on his side.

Then there was the wall incident.

Wilbur wouldn’t have told you if it weren’t for you noticing the hole in his wall. One that matched his fist quite neatly. His father had taken his PS4 in punishment for Wilbur using so much the WiFi plan to call you. At least that’s what he told you.

In reality, he had gotten into a fight with his older brother, his brother had asked about you, how you were doing, and if he could say hi during a call. There was something about the words that had irked Wilbur, something that set him off, something about him that made his brother seem dangerous to Wilbur. So, he had decked his older brother in the face. Causing a blackeye to occur.

In return, Wilbur now sported a big black and blue spot from where he hit the floor. His brother having immediately tackled him.

And to Wilbur that had confirmed his thoughts. Other guys are dangerous, he’s the only one you should rely on.

The wall had taken the brunt of his rage that night, a screaming match with his dad that ended with his little brother getting sent to his friends' house, and his PS4 getting confiscated until Wilbur had gotten a job and was able to pay back the damages.

And he did get a job, much to your surprise. But you had encouraged him throughout it all. A dead-end cashier job that only seemed to make his world staler and more bothersome than before.

A time where he searched for every distraction possible, gaming, music, you.

You were proud of him when he got the hole in his wall fixed, and even more when he kept his job. And Wilbur doesn’t remember you ever giving him more praise than the day he told you he was starting to investigate going to university.

Naturally, you helped him, and along the way, Wilbur picked up a guitar. A new asset to his den of depression that his room had become, decked in led lights, and overpriced RGB gaming stuff.

The university acceptance came rather quick, and suddenly Wilbur was packing up his life and heading to university. Boxes filled with stuff he barely remembered owning, and kitchen appliances that would never see the light of the day.

And he can feel you starting to drift, already busy with your own life. But he clings to you.

He stays, Wilbur always stays in your life. Even when you drift.

Wilbur knows it’s affecting him. It’s not hidden from anyone. The longer that goes between the two of you talking, the sourer his mood gets. The longer you don’t respond to him, the more messages he sends. The more information he craves to know.

Who are you talking to?

Who are you seeing?

Who is so much more important than him?

Hadn’t he always been there for you?

Hadn’t he always stayed?

You owe him.

Wilbur grows bitter and resentful. But not to you, never to you. But for everyone around you. His biggest joys in life now coming from the ungodly amount of caffeine he drinks, and whenever you reach out first.

This is why the day you call him asking for help is forever a day that will bring him joy.

“Hey Will, you’re really good with tech, and I was wondering if you wanted to help me start streaming.”

He chokes on the energy drink. He chokes on his words. He chokes on the air. He drowns.

His heart aching. His anger festering. His-

“Sure.”

He hears himself respond before he can even process the thought.

It takes him 2 days of absence from university, and what feels like 2 even longer nights, before he’s an expert on how to stream. He reads everything he can find, he watched everything that gets suggested.

You asked him for help, so he will help.

But Wilbur, spends these hours conflicted. You want his help, not someone else’s, someone lesser than him. Him.

But at the same time. His mind keeps wandering, isn’t he enough any longer? Isn’t he good enough for you? Why isn’t he good enough for you? Why? Why?

And thus, he learns you how to use the software, and beings alongside you. He finds comfort in knowing most of your streams whenever possible is spent with him on a call with you.

Although that happens after hours of pestering, that doesn’t matter. He gets to talk to you, while the rest is limited to a measly chat.

You seem to find yourself comfortably in the gaming category, slowly growing. Slowly rising.

Wilbur’s own streams, on the other hand, feels more like incoherent rants interrupted by his guitar plays. And once in a blue moon, you are on call with him.

It doesn’t take long before he gives up, watching you grow. Finding more comfort in watching you, instead of being the watched. Not that anyone really did watch him besides for you.

Wilbur stays out of a camera, as you only seem to grow more comfortable being in front of one.

The first time you have someone on a call with you on stream, who isn’t Wilbur. He just can’t help but break his bedside lamp. It’s a guy nonetheless. A guy from the internet. The type of guy Wilbur has never been shy to tell you horror stories about.

And this is where another bad habit of his started to emerge. He just can’t help himself. But you’re laughing with someone else. You’re smiling for someone else. You’re his. Not anyone else’s. His. His. His.

Wilbur is quick to find the donating button he had helped you set up himself. At that time it had only been used a couple of times. Nothing big. But Wilbur wants big. He wants attention. He wants you.

He fumbles with his credit card as he keys in the numbers, he’s a bit too familiarised with them. Because anything he can get from the internet will be delivered that way.

And then the notification pops up on your screen. A donation number you had never expected. And you start crying. Right there. Right on stream. And Wilbur sucks it up. He sucks it right up that you’re crying for him, whiling praising him, and only him.

The match you were playing ruined, and Wilburs smile only grows as he hears the familiar tone of discord receiving a call.

That night. You had ditched the fellow streamer to thank Wilbur and hang out with him.

Something you never thought you would regret.

But oh, how you did. How you did.

It takes Wilbur around 2 months to get used to a large sum of money means special attention to him, and only him. For everyone to see.

And he can feel you pulling away, so each time he donates, it’s bigger. Larger. Grander.

He’s never on your stream without a donation anymore. Never on call for free. But Wilbur doesn’t mind, because everyone gets to see you’re his.

And he keeps increasing the amount as you keep growing until he hits a stalemate. He’s using half of his paycheck on you, while he doesn’t mind going hungry a couple of days. His bills won’t wait for him. And he has been living away from home for far too long to ever think about calling up his father and ask for money.

Not to mention his oldest brother would never. Then neither will Wilbur. Because Wilbur is better. Better than all of them.

The larger your stream grows, the closer graduation arrives, and then Wilbur is sitting in another apartment. Another dead-end job. Another grey life.

Another dull life passing him by. Your voice constantly on loop his apartment. Constantly filling his life. As it always has. But to you, Wilbur is barely a part of your everyday. Only really showing up when a donation comes in. As you once again tell him not to spend money on you.

But he seems to stay. Wilbur always stays.

He’s the first to like anything you post on social media. Always online never off. Always lurking. Never missing. Never absent. He’s always there.

Wilbur never misses a stream; he schedules his life around yours. Even if you’re a country away.

And then one day you’re not. You’re not a country away, you’re moving back. You’re moving closer. And suddenly you live an hour away by car. Instead of an airplane ride, and shitty trains.

Suddenly Wilbur can see himself get a foot in the door. No longer grasping onto his parasitic parasocial friendship with you. He can see himself being more than the childhood friend who has always been there. He can see himself as the partner that always is there.

Wilbur is giddy the entire car ride. He’s giddy as he feels his bag burn on his shoulder. And he’s giddy until the second you embrace him in a hug and welcome him into your new apartment.

It’s bigger than the one you’ve had since university.

And then his future crumbles. You start talking about a guy named Jared. Fucking Jared. Why did even his name have to leave a sour taste in his mouth? A guy you met over the internet. Not just any guy. No specifically the fucker from the first time Wilbur had donated.

Apparently, he wasn’t a streamer, but a friend you had made during your 2 years you lived at university but never told Wilbur about. Not a single mention of him, and suddenly he’s all you’re talking about.

How could Wilbur have known? You hadn’t even mentioned him on stream. Wilbur always listened so carefully, writing down everyone you mentioned. You had called him attentive once, and he would never want to disappoint you. Maybe if he was attentive enough you would look his way.

Instead, here you are talking about this Jared guy. And Wilbur knows what he has to do. A thought he has been toying with for around 3 years now. Ever since you went to Disneyland together. A trip he paid for, and a trip that was streamed, so everyone could see you were his. You were always his.

That was easily his favourite video.

In the week up to the vacation, Wilbur had done everything he could to learn about cameras so he could help you, and do the most for you. He had even helped you sort through some of the non-streamed videos he filmed too for a YouTube video for you.

Which is where he found the clip of you changing.

The camera had been resting on your hotel bed, the video having a clear Dutch angle, leaving the hotel room slandered. But there you were, right square and centre still. Changing. It takes you a minute to finish before you turn around and pick the camera up again. Mumbling something as you turn it to show off your hotel room, and then the clip cuts to black.

He never told you about it, instead just saving that specific clip on a USB stick. A piece of tech he valued more than his life. Not that his life had ever been worth much in comparison to his.

Wilbur rips his bag open, careful not to make a lot of noise. He removed his clothes, and then the fake bottom. And underneath it reveals small security cameras.

Wilbur has never been more thankful for you being a heavy sleeper and letting him sleep on a mattress on the floor of your bedroom. He quietly sets up two in your bedroom, before moving into the rest of your house. One in your office that has been converted to a streaming room. His own personal angle to your public life.

Two more in the living room, he skips the kitchen and hesitates at the door of your bathroom. For the first time, he hesitates. His hand hovers over the doorknob, the other holding the camera.

“Wilbur?”

You’re standing in the hallway, sleep evident on your face.

“Will why are you making so much noise?”

“No reason darling, go back to bed, just needed some water.”

His breath is stuck in his throat until he hears you close the bedroom door again.

That was the first time he hesitated. And his last. He couldn’t afford it. He couldn’t afford to lose you further.

The rest of the trip passes Wilbur by as you introduce him to Jared. The douchebag himself. The asshole. The guy who dares take away what is Wilbur’s. Even on the ride home. All Wilbur can see is Jared’s image etched into his mind. His god-awful fashion sense. The way everything, he wore around you, just seemed to be a size too small. Nobody wants to see that fuckers’ muscles. Wilbur’s knuckles turn white, as he grips the steering wheel.

Jared has to go.

He’s ruining everything. He’s not part of the dream you told Wilbur you had. Jared has never been part of that. Wilbur was supposed to be part of that. Even if the dream changed through the year. Even if the one you’re living now is the unimaginable future the two of you imagined up at seventeen. But one thing was sure. Jared wasn’t part of that. Wilbur was.

Wilbur easily finds himself a new normal at home. The trip giving him a refreshed sense of hope. A plan in the making. His daily routine now including watching you all hours of the day. Not just your streams any longer. Every single second he can wrench out of those cameras.

And suddenly his friendship seems to improve with you too. Because now he can see when you’re sad and in need of a friend. He reaches out at the perfect time. Abusing your vulnerable state. Because it’s the best to do. It’s for the betterment of your future.

The more Wilbur is there for you, the more he resents Jared. He deserved to be in your bed, not that asshole. He deserves to reap the rewards of his hard labour. He is the one that has always been there because Wilbur has always stayed.

A simple click is all it takes for Wilbur and the item has been placed in a cart. Mere keystrokes and it has been paid. A single click and Wilbur has truly gone insane, as a packet is shipped off. A packet containing a bottle of sleeping pills.

The next time you invite Wilbur down, you barely recognise him as you open the door. Eyebags so deep you’ve never seen before. His entire body slightly twitching, and that manic smile on his lips. Wilbur brushes your concerns off, claiming that’s just what happens in real workplaces. Not that you would know anything about that.

Wilbur hates the feeling of insulting you, but you had barely responded the entire week. You deserved to suffer for a moment. Before he caves and apologises for being rude. That’s the moment you can see the resembles of his normal being as he hangs his shoulders.

Jared comes over that night. Just as Wilbur had planned. And this time he won’t hesitate. He even bought a bigger car for this.

Wilbur offers to mix the drinks, claiming to have learnt a new recipe. Which isn’t a lie, he has learned how to perfect just the right cocktail thick enough that covers the chalky residue of the pills. And sweet enough to make the bitter taste disappear.

He serves them, keeping a watchful eye as the night drags on, and Jared never seems to shut up. But Wilbur can deal with it for one night. Just for one. And then he won’t ever have to worry about Jared again.

He serves another.

And then another drink.

And finally. Finally. You’re starting to get tired. Slowly leaning against Wilbur. And he takes pride in that. Great pride. You didn’t choose to lean against Jared, you’re leaning against Wilbur.

Wilbur sits still until Jared too is starting to fall asleep. Wilbur is ecstatic.

He gets up slowly, gently laying you down, a pillow underneath your face. A blanket over you. He kisses your forehead and smells your hair. Taking in the shampoo scent still lingering.

Then Wilbur gets moving, he has stuff to do. Plans to execute after all.

He does his best to get Jared’s left arm over his shoulders. But their awkward height difference makes it difficult, but he can make it work. It has to work. He only gets one shot.

Wilbur gets the front door open before he realises a fatal flaw in his plan. He has to drag Jared down 3 floors worth of stairs. He realises he can’t do it the way he is now. He has to drag him down by his armpits instead.

It takes him the first flight of stairs to realise Jared shoes are making too much noise. He has to abandon them, Wilbur awkwardly gets Jared leaned against the wall before he removes Jared’s polished black shoes. Wilbur leaves them there, making a mental note to remember them when he comes back.

The rest of the stairs, while difficult and definitely breathtaking for someone who has no muscle strength. He makes it work. Wilbur actually makes it work.

He made it work. It worked. Oh god. It’s working.

Wilbur repositions Jared once more, his arm once again over Wilbur’s shoulders. The night sky greeting him as he steps out of the apartment complex. With great difficulty, Wilbur gets the two of them over to his car, where he throws open the trunk. In the proceed shaking the car, setting off the car alarm. Wilbur is quick to drop Jared as he fumbles after his car keys. It takes him nearly a full minute to turn off the car alarm.

Wilbur curses under his breath.

Annoyed with the time loss. He finally gets the knocked-out Jared into his trunk, and he shuts it again. Just as a front door in the apartment complex opens. A man steps out. He raises a hand to Wilbur, before pulling out a smoke.

Wilbur shuffles on his feet before raising a hand. And then awkwardly gets into his car.

Okay. Okay. Okay.

He has a body in his trunk. Now he just has to get to the harbour. Wilbur starts the car and starts the ride to the harbour a town over.

Half an hour has gone past when Wilbur is pulling the handbrake, and taking the keys out. He’s quick to get out, and even quicker to get to Jared. Wilbur keeps thinking about you. Your smile. Your kindness. Your voice. Your beauty. Your grace. As his hands are securing zip ties around the wrists and ankles of an unconscious man.

He has to go.

Wilbur reminds himself.

A cloth is tied around Jared’s filthy mouth, and then Wilbur is back to dragging him. It’s both easier and harder. Easier before he’s just dragging him across the pebbles and over to the brink of the harbour. Both of his arms are under both of Jared’s.

But it’s harder because if someone sees him it’s going to get difficult to explain. But nobody does. As far as Wilbur is aware.

So a splash is made by a body, and Jared is unceremoniously sinking to the bottom of the ocean floor.

Wilbur takes one more breath of fresh air. Before turning around and getting back into his new car.

He’s quick to arrive at your apartment complex. The man was no longer there. Wilbur goes to grip the front door. It doesn’t bulge.

Oh yeah, it’s locked.

He fishes the copy he made of your house key from his keychain and lets himself into the building he doesn’t live in. An invited guest, that has turned out to be an uninvited one.

He can feel the tiredness setting in his bones, as he ascends the stairs. And the realisation that he just killed someone hasn’t dawned on him yet. Instead, all his muscles are aching, and his eyes barely staying open.

He stumbles into your apartment. Another kiss gets left on your forehead as he goes for your bed. The smell is so nice. It’s so obvious to him this is where you sleep. And he’s soaking in each moment until his eyes are giving out.

His night remaining dreamless, instead, he gets awoken rather rudely around noon. You’ve pulled the comforter off him and told him to get up, so the two of you can spend some timeacting together. and Wilbur happily does that.

Not at all acing like a man who purposely took another person’s life mere hours ago. You rush him to get into his clothes. As you have something planned for rest of the day out of the apartment. You’re talking his ears off as you descend the first flight stairs your personal puppy in tow.

When you stop dead in your tracks. Wilbur nearly stumbles into you.

“Will, is that Jared’s shoes?”

And right there is in fact Jared’s shoes. The pair Wilbur had forgotten all about. The pair he had left unintentionally.

“Are you sure about that? Thought he already left.” Wilbur lies, he may be awkward, but he has gotten pretty good at lying to you through the years.

“Yeah yeah, you’re right. Why would he leave his shoes?”

The question gets left unanswered, and the tension is thick until you get outside, and the sun is shining. It seems it knows too of how good this day is for Wilbur, a dawn of a new era. Where you will finally acknowledge him as the perfect one for you.

The man from the nightstand once again with a smoke and raises his hand to greet Wilbur, once again Wilbur shuffles on his feet before he raises a hand back. You look at him weirdly, and Wilbur shrugs it off.

The rest of the day happening without any mishaps or other incidents. But the shoes just can’t seem to leave your mind, despite how hard Wilbur is trying to distract you.

And then the afternoon passes, and the night, and the car ride, and Wilbur is once again home. And as soon as the door closes. He crumbles down on the floor.

Oh god.

He did it.

He actually fucking did it.

He isn’t useless.

He’s fucking Wilbur, and Wilbur stays in your life. Even when you make such stupid mistakes as falling for another person. There’s only one person for you and that’s him.

You’re actually the first one to call him this time, and the smile never leaves his lips. Even if the call is about Jared. And how worried you are about not having heard from him. Wilbur just tells you; you should have listened to him. Guys on the internet are just like that. And that you deserve better. Someone like him.

You laugh at this and thank him for calming you down.

Wilbur suddenly loves phone calls.

This bliss is perfect for Wilbur you’re talking to him more and more. And he watches, god he watches you. Every step you take in that apartment is filmed logged on his computer.

However, all good things must come to an end, and Wilbur has barely pulled off his tie after work when a group of loud knocks sounds at his door. He isn’t expecting guests.

A group of men in blue uniforms greets him.

“Wilbur Soot, you’re under the arrest for the Murder of Jared Yarrow.”

Wilbur barely registers what’s going on, before he’s in a holding cell. A psych evaluation under his belt. A phone call to his father asking him to help him out.

The days bleed together in the unchanging environment, and suddenly a defender is telling him to plead for insanity.

Then the defender comes back again days later with a court date, and all Wilbur can do is count the seconds.

Time for the first time since arriving slows down when the doors to the court open and Wilbur is lead into the courtroom. And there you are, looking beautiful as ever. Tears and despair clearly written on your face. You look away from him, and it makes him stumble for a moment. A quick look to the other side, confirms his fear. His father is here. Alongside his brothers.

The trial goes over what happened that night, the evidence, the sleeping medication, the car. Everything. Yet even when his sentence is received, even when he is told he won’t see the sun again for a long time. There is only one thing on his mind.

They never found the cameras.

And he just can’t help but smile at that as he’s getting lead away to rot.

Because Wilbur has always stayed by your side, Wilbur always stays. -.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-