#.lost sheep : Ghosty

[captainaikus]

Nsfw (yandere) Reo! How do you go down on Y/n?

Reo : Depends on how good or bad she has been. Since she has been bad this week, I tied her wrists with my tie and had her blindfolded. Start slow with licking her clit, put my middle finger in first and watch her pussy swallow it down to my knuckle until she is ready to take another while my thumb is massing the side of it, nail digging lightly into her skin. She hates it when she can't touch my hair, but you've been bad for sir; haven't you? You reap what you sow, little one. If she closes her legs around my head, she gets thigh slaps. rather than answering the question, do you want to watch? might give you a better... understanding.

[eldrith]

ғʀᴏᴍ ᴇᴅᴇɴ ; ᴘᴀʀᴛ ғɪᴠᴇ.

ɪ sʟɪᴛʜᴇʀᴇᴅ ʜᴇʀᴇ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴇᴅᴇɴ ; ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴛᴏ ʜɪᴅᴇ ᴏᴜᴛsɪᴅᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴅᴏᴏʀ

jacaerys velaryon x fem!reader words: 7.0k synopsis: jacaerys fell for something in aegon's garden. chapter warnings: graphic depictions of blood. death, light gore, creepiness, angst, this isn't a very happy story -- angst no comfort. smut (PiV), choking, v brief breeding kink. death. alteration of canon timeline. notes: thank you endlessly to @dipperscavern & @useralba - my muses, my lil ghosties... ily. you've made this whole series happen. & thank u to everyone who stuck around for this series, ive thoroughly enjoyed it n i hope you've enjoyed it too !

series masterlist.

ACROSS THE ISLAND, BURIED DEEP BENEATH THE MOON'S SIGHT, VERMAX ROARS WITHIN HIS NEST.

A shutter of pain, deep and rolling through the volcanic cave; a groan of agony which tapers in a whine of some odd mixture of hungering. Shifting upon felled scales of which more and more rot away each passing eve, Vermax whines, inconsolable and inexplicably agitated. 

Dragonkeepers know not how to properly treat such a malady; for the one recorded instance of such an ailment was written in a journal lost to the sands of time and the clutches of madness from a maester long past.

Much too weak to take to the skies, the beast rips into the offered parts of sheep tossed to his depths; and with a stirring hunger deep within, the dragon breathes low and awaits the true feast. 

A sweeter feast. 

Plumes of boiling breath whisper through the Dragonmont cavern, a heeded admonition to the screeching ravens which flee to the east, towards Aegon’s Garden. They mar the sky in droves; more than two dozen, screaming louder than the rolling sea and darker than the sky itself. 

THE SOIL BREATHES BELOW HIM.

It is, at first, merely a deep tremor slipping into Jacaerys’s mind; some forgotten memory in the deafened silence of night, a fuzzy breath of something elsewhere when he sits so very present with you in his lap, the flesh of fruit upon his tongue. A roar so distinct echoes within the thin air high above his mind; up near the Mont - a conspiracy of ravens scream in the night sky above, though it matters not. 

For there is a taste so divine Jacaerys has lost all sense; he tremors under your keening sigh, as his tongue presses into the bleeding fruit of the fig, biting down on the salacious flesh and tamping the jolt of his hips as you swirl atop him. 

That hunger, what a delicious thing; and you’re all his, he recalls – all his, forever. 

You’ve slowed your press of hips against his; indeed, you’ve stilled completely just as his teeth punctured the flesh – and you watch now with a halted, voracious lilt of hunger, cheeks flushed as his own, eyes glinting like opened pits of chasmous desire. 

Sweet, cloying – and he feels, as he chews the fruit, your eyes so very piercing upon his lips, watching with some ancient anticipation, some dripping hunger of need.

 Slow, a bead of juice drips down his chin; and as your hand falls away, taking the fruit with it, Jacaerys is consumed by a raw hunger to consume. 

Heat seeps through him, some spinning, angry beat, but as his hand catches your wrist in an ironed, chilling grip to return the fruit to him in a bout of starved possession, you’ve already leaned forward, catching the juice that slides down the tip of his jaw with your tongue. 

You trail the dops as they spill from his lips, coaxing a groan of pleasure from his lips. Shivers slither down his spine at the sensation, a deep hunger unfurling within his gut; and in that moment, your mouth begins to move lower, piercingly cold and yet spurring a ravenous heat that sends his fingers to knot within the fabric of your dress, within the loose strands of your tresses.  

Your own palm slides over his chest, raking nails over the exposed skin as the laces untie beneath your wanting grasp. 

And soon, your grasp slides up, up – finding a slow, taunting purchase over the bob of his throat, your hips moving slowly as you hum into his flesh and squeeze just lightly in wait. 

It is with a flare of arousal he registers your patience; you wait for him to swallow, to feel the fruit as he does so beneath your icy, wanton grip.

And so he does. 

Your hand tightens just so a flare of desire sparks with his hunger, his admiration for your soft, supple flesh – such a kind girl, a cursed girl; and he takes what you give him with hungry hands and willing eyes. 

His head falls back; the trail of divinity which leaks from the fruit’s taste spreads from his lips, his tongue, to his mind – and soon his chest buzzes, heart galloping as you stir above him, watching with kiss-bitten lips and a dark gaze in the moonlight. 

“Gods,” He groans, tongue peeking to swipe over his plush lip, gathering the juices which remain in their glistening sweetness. “Do you- you must feel that?” His sentence is poorly strung and strangled in his crazed ecstasy, brows furrowing as your fingers splay from his throat up to cradle his jaw; and his eyes open once more to find yours lidded and close, peering directly into his soul, breath fanning over his cheek. 

“Only you,” You whisper – and by the Gods it is the only thing Jacaerys might hear for the rest of his life; “I only feel you, Jacaerys. I only see you.” You press the words unto his lips and he drinks them up a parched man; his palms tremble upon your hips as he pulls you closer to his warmth – as if he might drown you in such heat, consume you, take you. 

It is as if you’ve seen into his mind – Jacaerys feels the wicked grin of yours against his lips, feels the giggle that dies in your throat before it even passes your lips.

A tremble of desire and peril, a whisper between two worlds; and with a tug upon his throat guiding him towards your waiting visage, your lips are slotted once more against his own, the swirling pleasure of the fig’s juice and your own saliva sending jolts of pleasure through him. 

His fingers trace the ridges upon your serpented spine – keening hungrily, you let your other hand slide over his tensed abdomen, whimpering into his touch when his teeth graze your lip. 

Divine, he thinks. Divine. 

The roots below him stir with some life; pulsing, churning over fresh soil and pumping life into the veins of figs plump and ripe above his head; and you, your heart beating with that same rhythm, his own slowly matching it as the pleasure of the fruit within his gut begins to spread. Divine. 

It is rather clumsily, frantically that he guides you to tug up your torn dress skirts; your skin glints in a sparkling beauty under the faint light of the moon, and Jacaerys vaguely wishes he were bedding you properly – under a mound of furs, within your marital chambers – dragons dancing within the fabric of your skirts, cheeks flushed with hope to carry his own seed within your belly. 

Perhaps a crown upon his head, his hair light and silver as the moon–

It is a jolting thought; one which coaxes, even as your sharp bites mar his skin with presses of cool kisses, a low whisper of memory to his mind. Each drop of spilled blood from the wombs of dragonlords bear the mark of fate. 

A glance to his palms, which move to press a thumb at the junction of your exposed thigh and to cup the supple turn of your breast with the other; A curse. 

Your lips are sweet upon his skin and he yearns in a way he has never dreamt of – a curse. 

His head hits the bark of the fig tree; gazing upon the dappled fractures of moon through the long twisting limbs and swaying leaves, he recalls the story of the moon blossoming, budding the very dragons which slumber across the island in their Mont. What is a curse but the gods’ way of shaping fate into flesh?  

Your skin is cooling to his heated cheeks as he presses his hands tighter into you, feeling you; real, alive, willing. Loving, in your lonely, sweet way. 

“Jace,” you whisper, pressing your lips to the sharp line of his jaw, trailing down the column of his throat; and he gasps, angling his head sharply to catch your lips in a brutally hungry kiss, one which sends a breath fracturing through your own chest as you press into him, bare and willing and needy against him. “Please, let me have you.” 

His jaw clenches in restraint as he restricts a whimper from falling from his wanton lips – though the evening is dark and you are here, tasting of figs and life and love. “Gods,” He moans, pulling you to him impossibly close, without a single care that he’s perhaps been driven mad. “Yes.” 

Fingers grasp him frigid and suddenly.

Jacaerys gasps in ecstasy as you move gently, mewling gently against his lips as you guide him further, pulling him under; until every barrier between you and Jacaerys is broken; until you align yourself with him and then sink unto him slowly and with a slight tremored gasp. In fear of movement Jacaerys stills, thumbs tracing your spine and pushing your tresses from your furrowed countenance; a kiss upon your nose, then your cheeks – and you kiss him back then as you begin to rock in a sinful, sacred rhythm that coaxes joint moans from both pairs of lips. 

Heat licks over his abdomen in flashes of sharp pleasure; you moaning his name into the quiet of the garden, your name tripping from his lips at each jolt of his impatient, eager hips. Chasing some deep-buried desire and ecstasy, his fingers tremble as they once more find your lips. 

Your tongue is icy and gentle, though your teeth nip just so at his skin and he groans into the empty garden, a melodious echo with the sound of your harmony. There is a chilling breeze which spreads through the clearing; in the throes of pleasure, Jacaerys catches a glimpse beyond the soft curve of shoulder, to the faint figures which linger in the outskirts of the shadows. 

The statues almost watch; he finds a shiver rolling down his spine, swallowed only by the blossoming pleasure which stirs at your sudden warmth, the presence of you squeezing him, lapping at his tongue, pressing your nails into his ridged, exposed flesh and grinning darkly into the shadows behind him. 

His fingers tangle helplessly into the fabric of you, tugging, settling upon your hips and guiding you atop him in desperate need; and you, a picture of blossomed beauty, of devotion, of divinity, of everything above him. 

His lips trail over every breath of exposed skin he can find, trembling with desire as the pleasure doubles, tremoring in his heart, spilling words of love from his lips and petals raining from blossomed figs to cover his eyes. A hiss from high above in the limbs of the tree, though you groan loudly; his eyes fall pack onto your figure, shrouded in the moonlight as you glare up at the tree, moving with pleasure and taking it solely from Jacaerys. 

That deep possession that’d gripped him since he first met you returns; and with his hands grasping your neck and wrapping around your back he sits up slightly, pulling you with him until you’re seated deep.

With a joint moan of ecstasy, your grip upon his throat slithers; for only a moment, his mind conjures thoughts of a vine coiling around a beating heart, of the turn of rot melting into renewed soil deep below. 

A delicious alarm kicks his heart into a frantic leap; and his hips buck up into you in a desperate, languid pace – sending you in a keening moan, coaxing his release closer and closer, the licking heat of pleasure clouding Jacaerys’s mind. 

It is with a wild heart and clouded mind he mutters, holding you upon him, moving his hips into your own. “Stay with me,” his voice seeps with desperation; a small leap from the remnants of his despair as he holds you close, that chasmous hunger crawling closer and closer, eyes sealed shut, heat pounding– 

And with a soft moan spilling from your lips, your voice hits his ears in a harrowingly calm whisper. “There is no world but this, Jacaerys. I will always be with you.”

It is with a fevered crescendo that Jacaerys finds his peak; hips bucking into you, gasping as your name spills rotten from his bright lips. You follow in suit with a stilled shudder, hand tightening just so upon his throat, thumb searching fervently along his pulsepoint; and a blossoming smile glinting in the moonlight, that dreadful peace he’s made for himself with you. 

The night stills only moments later and Jacaerys is left awestruck; a glimpse of something dark and sacred within your lidded, pleased gaze. There is a syrupy glint of saliva and juice upon your lower lip which Jace catches upon his thumb; and with a swift movement, he catches it upon his own lips, humming in the dizzying ecstasy that pulses from the flesh of the fruits looming overhead. 

Your hands run through his curls; his trace your spine. You keep him within you, the two of you locked in a tight embrace, until your legs grow tired – you slip off him, his body slowly returning some of the heat lost in your stark presence. 

And with gentle presses of your lips upon his, he finds the syrupy coaxing of heavy lids and slow breaths. 

IT IS A SHORT WINK UNTIL THE SUN RISES BLOODY OVER THE GARDEN. 

It covers him; bleeding streaks of light over his partially unbuttoned tunic as he stirs, lashes fluttering against the oppressive lumination. He uncurls slowly, limbs stretching from reposing once again in the soil; a fragile peace trickles through the garden in such early hours. 

Vines hang drooped with the weight of morning dew; petals glisten in their blooms, seeping colour and a syrupy scent through the air as birds chirps far away. A slow breath, one which reminds Jace of the taste of the fruit which lies half-eaten and discarded only a short reach away. 

And upon his other side, you – curled against him, lashes fanned over your cheeks, a serenity so unfamiliar and familiar alike in your countenance as your chest rises and falls with the hums of the garden. 

Here, it is sacred, your voice reminds him in memory. Names matter not. A soft touch with the back of his hand along your arm, lingering for a moment as his heart clenches; It is only peace, and sweet blooms of eternal summer. 

His mind is heavy, weighted as it oft is after a night of too much wine in his cup. Here, the earth feeds itself. 

The circle turns.

There is a fullness which feels nearly false; and when he pulls himself free and stands, there is but a mere rustling shift below him. 

You are bleary and watchful from below. “You leave so soon?” You wonder – but there is some lilt of amusement, a flicker in that familiar way of a twisting sinister knowing of which he is unaware. 

His throat is tight when he nods to you. “I must,” his own voice is far off, cast away in another world. “I’ll return to you.” He promises, though the words crumble to ash and fear within his mouth. 

Your eyes flicker and drop when the thought crosses his mind; and with a tight hum, you cast your glance to the statue across the way. “You will.” You agree. 

There is a pang sharp and echoing from his mind through his gut; and he forces himself away, unable to withstand the sharp gaze that always seems to see beyond him. 

Jacaerys does not recall much of the fickle path which leads through the garden this morning; passing by statues of mourning mothers, of fire-breathing beasts, of an ancient Valyrian High Priestess – his fingers trail gently over the vines which slither across the Maiden statue’s leg, his chest emptier than it has been in a long time. 

Fog trickles and swirls around his ankles, seeping through the hedges as vines crawl after him – an eerie calm over his plumed breath as blossoms keen when he passes. 

It is not until his palms, fingertips tinged red in the frigid morning frost, push through the iron gates that it strikes him; the weight of memory, of his mother’s words the eve before, of the impending dream that calls to him, whispering of rot, of battles of crumbling statues fought and lost, of gardens burnt to ash and blood. 

A rather strange queasiness contracts within his stomach when his feet supplant the frost curling over the wildgrass; his hand rises to his throat, breath shallow – a sharp sensation which stuns him as the air brings shards into his chest. 

Dragonstone Castle looms in its gloomy prison of clouds this morning; though the morning light has been tamped, it seems, by some rolling clouds which smother any warmth and leave Jacaerys shivering to his very marrow. 

The Maester’s journal lies in the near distance untouched – it is with a bitter resent he retrieves it, knowing no soul besides himself finds themselves the will to venture into this part of the castle. 

Fingers tracing the frosted dew along its spine, a strange fear coils around him, settling in his gut and sending his pulse to throb erroneously. He tucks it beneath his arm nevertheless. 

A raven screeches overhead, its dark form cutting through the silvered sky as it disappears toward the horizon; just as it sinks, gulls cry – and a dread seeps into his bones. 

In a final moment of regret, Jacaerys glances back towards the gates to Aegon’s Garden,  half-expecting to see you watching him with that odd lilted bow and the cowering, secretive stare; but there is only silence and the faint rustling of leaves as a low wind stirs and kicks up ash in his imagination. 

THE SEAT AT THE HEAD OF THE PAINTED TABLE IS EMPTY. 

Jacaerys’s gaze bores holes into it, his head throbbing with the pain of anger, of betrayal, of something rotten, decaying within the back of his mind. There is a sterile sense of emptiness that has begun to penetrate him in this morrow, festering into tight resentment as he glares at the seat. 

A twist within his gut; the plunge of a sharpened blade further between his splintered ribs towards his very heart from his mother’s absence. Gone, to Harrenhal, with Addam of Hull – and Jacaerys, left within the cursed skeleton of the island, untrusted, unrecognized. 

The base of his skull thrums in pounding agony – the council drones on in voices rising and falling, spiraling towards the stone drum and lilting high into the rafters; and yet Jace waits, gaze sliding with a dreadful ache between the empty chair before him and the windows to the eastern bailey. 

There must be some odd draught lingering through the cracks of the old castle; Jacaerys’s skin prickles with cold this morning, an unnatural chill that bites deeper than the breath of cold daylight beyond the walls. 

An uneasy shift in his chair, swallowing the dryness within his throat as he actively expels visions of stone and climbing rotted vines spilling in bursts of rotted earth. 

The council debates, argues – Jacaerys blinks to focus. Queasiness leaks through him, seeping into his veins and trembling his fingers as he splays them upon the mapped rough of the table before him, focusing on one swimming spot somewhere near White Harbor. 

“Jacaerys,” Baela’s voice cuts through the haze; and with a shaky glance to her, he registers the spin of his vision. 

A wretched thing – some spiny barbed tail of regret winds its way to puncture his stomach, a vision of the Thorned Dragon curling in on itself as she reaches out, tugging something loose from his curls.

Her brows are furrowed; the room has gone rather quiet, he thinks – pinched between her fingers is one decaying fig leaf, its once glossy skin flaky and peeling away. He watches it pulse slowly, slithering underneath her grasp. 

“Did you–” Her eyes glance around before her voice comes in a shorter whisper, one Jacaerys tries to hear amidst the spinning whispers of young laughter and hissing serpents. “Were you outside this morning? You look–” She stops short; a chilling breath in the air as if she’s seeing something unnatural, otherworldly; as if there is more than just that faint sheen of sweat he feels budding upon his pallor, the glassiness of his gaze. 

“Jace, you’re–” 

But before he can gather his wits to scrape forth some answer, a dull, metallic taste rises; with a sputtering cough, the sound seizes the quiet anticipation of the chamber. 

A torture it is as each pinprick of eyes stares at him, his hacking bout of deepening coughs, as the world spins and yet stops at once, as a chilling rain of cold licks down his spine: As a thin trail of crimson splatters onto the edge of his palm, catching in the light, gleaming. 

A rich, viscous shine in the morning light peeking through the casements; hunger, some odd and horrifying thing, churns within him at the sight. Blood, glinting as sweet as fig juice in the daylight. His hunger churns in a sickening bout. 

“Are you alright, my Prince?” Maester Gerards takes a few wary paces towards Jacarys; it is then that he allows his sight to blearily course over each concerned visage littering the room, searching in some urgent need for comfort: Just to fall onto his mother’s unoccupied chair, his lashline brimming in pain. 

He wishes to respond to Maester Gerardys; to explain the strange, chilling cold that winds through his veins – the feeling as though his very blood is thinning, flesh fading beneath the weight of some unseen shroud as tendrils of viney talons grasp onto him and drag him under. 

His mouth opens and instead of a meager no, some horrifying gurgle comes instead – and somewhere in the echoes of shadows, someone gasps; it is then he feels it, as his fingers claw at White Harbor’s carved edges – a slow, dark rivulet flowing in a brutal a line down over his lips. 

It blossoms quick with crimson blood, but like many things, it rots even sooner. 

Jacaerys’s vision is narrowed – with an ache unfurling into a feverish burn that grasps in some ghost of a trail down his throat and into his stomach, a gnawing whisper in his mind tortures his breath: The Garden. 

A horrifying burst of energy, a sick waltz that sends his twitching joints jumping; he lurches from his chair as the trickle opens to a river of crimson spilling from his nose – the garden, some pull within his veins scream. 

He stumbles, staggering though his legs give way beneath him as he strains to see it; and a chorus of alarmed shouts, the scraping of chairs on stone blurring into a muted roar.

Breathless, a string of metallic viscous saliva spilling from his lips, Jacaerys lies upon the stone cold floor; arm outstretched pathetically towards the window before him, gaze absently fixed upon the only chair at the painted table not overturned in alarm. 

Empty as her choice had been. 

A rivulet spills into a river over his cheek as his eyes give in to the overwhelming shock of dark; dripping down his face onto the cold stone as your sharp whisper whips through his mind. Dragonlords.

Rotting this world from the inside out.

JACAERYS SURFACES FROM A DREAM THICK WITH DECAY. 

He surges in a great, gurgled gasp which startles the man beside him – Maester Gerardys works on a poultice and muddles herbs for tincture at his side. The blurry resurfacing is marred with complete disorientation; the prince feels as though he floats above his mattress, that perhaps his mind floats even higher above that.

“My Prince,” The man sounds relieved; though Jacaerys blinks twisted branches of dead olive trees from his vision, a searing scent of rot clinging to him as his blurred, heavy vision sloshes as ale does in a barrel. 

It is his own chamber in which he lies; a scent of incense his mother has favored since she was a child – and he rests resting upon his own mattress, heart beating in a syrupy, frail march; yet nonetheless beating still, as his eyes lull to the open window. 

Drawn by some pull, perhaps – there is a flicker of movement down in the greened depths below, some wisp of white fluttering in the breeze, and Jacaerys focuses on it, the thought of you burning upon the fringes of his mind. Gods, he needs you; to see you, to hear your voice, that welcoming cold embrace.

The fig tree looms; an odd observation, as its vision within the garden has long since been marred with fog and distance against straining eyes – yet in his weak glance, Jacaerys sees it clear as crystal. “It’s always in bloom,” 

A syrupy remnant upon his tongue – not that divine grace of fig, no – but poppy. Milk of Poppy; with a slow blink, Jacaerys rubs at his tangled lashes, fighting the hazy float of his mind. Maester Gerardys pauses as he muddles some sludged herb – the smell of which is putrid and nearly causes him to wretch. Maester Gerardys follows his gaze with a puzzled stare. “What is, my Prince?” 

Jacaerys’s throat tightens in a coiling, sickening dread; though he does not answer, his stare fixed on the tree, its swirling branches waving in the distance. His mother’s hardening glance hits him in a wave of memory – she’s chosen her war, left him to find her awry husband in the Riverlands. Jacaerys swallows down the acidic bile of resentment that crawls up his throat. 

"Will my mother return?" He asks weakly, a princeling in need of his nursemaid; but Mester Gerardys presses his lips together in hesitation.

After a moment, he nods. "We've not heard word, My Prince."

He nods, pursing his lips so not as to let them tremble; and a desolate wish, some yearning to instead be not with the old Maester but in your presence. A chill ripples through him after a breath of silence; a rustling sound to his left and Jace turns, breath catching. 

Sleek as a shadow – a black cat creeps its way into the chambers, its eyes glinting in a strange intelligence; and an unblinking stare, an eerie stillness – something deep and primal within Jacaerys recoils. The hair upon his neck rises and he tries with much effort to drag himself into a sitting position upon the downed pillows.

It slinks around the curled basin of his tub and Jacaerys is plagued by a deep-rooted shame; of dappled sunlight through olive branches above, of the plush and rich soil that putrifies with acid when rain falls; of a shadow small and youthful, a warbled yelp and a flinch at the sound of thunder clapping above the canopy of the fig’s shade. 

It is an invitation, he knows; a sick one, cruel and unusually displayed - though from you or the garden itself, he cannot tell.

A servant enters; her eyes are wide and for a moment Jacaerys wonders if she’s been crying; she sets down a tray of food, grasping the seven-pointed star hanging round her neck. A murmured whisper as their eyes meet; she bows weakly, and Jacaerys watches her disappear into the shadows. 

The cat is gone when he looks back. 

MAESTER GERARDYS DOES NOT LEAVE JACAERYS’ SIDE FOR QUITE SOME TIME.

He grows exasperated in his muddled state – there is no beauty within such a statement.

It is plain and raw, ugly as exposed roots oozing with blood: Jacaerys is sick. 

There has been found no distinct cause as of yet from the maester; it has been whispered of some souring of the blood, an old malady, one which was thought to have been erased from the index of time. Yet still, his soul lingers; throbbing in some rotten movement, Jacaerys waits for Maester Gerardys to excuse himself to retrieve some of his poultice for the head-aches which have plagued Jace even during the best of days – and in this breath of time, there is some horrifying call, some yearning which comes from the very core of him, crawling its way into his mind and infesting his heart. 

An instruction to eat lingers in his mind from Maester Gerardys – and there lies the very food brought in by the troubled servant girl, lying in its stale waste; the mere scent of the scones before him, of the stew half-cold, sends his stomach into a lurch. 

Agony pulses through him like a poison as he pulls himself from his bed; perhaps his very blood has soured - a shaking hand lifts the spoon to his lips, though his gut churns with a sweeter hunger.

The food is wretched from his mouth before he can merely chew– with horror, he watches the scone crumble into ash, the stew melting into some decayed, rotted sludge which pulses. 

The crawling throb of need sears his mind; and a lurch of illness spills a spat wad of bloodied saliva unto the stone floor as he leaves his chambers.

Half-stumbling, half-dragging himself, Jacaerys slinks down the shadowed hall, shallowly sucking air into his chest and concealing his wet, crimson coughs into his trembling arm. There is a pulsing that will not cease; has not ceased since he left the garden this morning; and though there is a whisper in the back of his mind, one which scratches upon the base of his skull, he denies it.

He needs to see you – needs to reach the garden, to feel the pricks of throns upon his pristine skin, to touch something that feels alive.

And it is a sickening thing, some ancient pull, some childhood song sung off-kilter and with a lilt of malicious amusement; a trickle of fear which stirs his hunger further. 

Leaves swirl in his vision as he waves the guards off; Ser Marbrand attempts to fetch for Maester Gerardys but with a half-wheeze, Jacaerys insists the Lord will sooner hang from the gargoyles upon the stone drum than he will stop Jacaerys from finding fresh air. 

And so he leaves the men behind, cupping his palm to keep the bile at bay; and the hunger consumes him, limping and rotting, vision blotted in the corners; a hunger to find you waiting, blooming amid the fig tree’s weeping branches – to eat, and, perhaps, be eaten. 

DAWN FALLS AS JACAERYS DOES. 

It might have been a horrible thing, Jacaerys decides as he crawls forwards, halfway past the garden’s first bout of sickly hedges – it might have been a horrible thing, to wish such maladies upon those of his own kin.

And perhaps that is simply what this is: Some sickening punishment, a repentance for the sins committed against those who share his blood – a son for a son, a life for a life. The fruit is rot from the tree of kings; and perhaps that rot will always win out. 

His legs gave out just as he'd crossed the first courtyard of the garden; his limbs shake now as he pulls himself with eyes trained unto the earth below; a pounding in his heart that bleeds pain through his veins.

You have not come to his cries of your name; and so that terrifying part of him, that sickness that has laid dormant since the very first time he allowed that juice to press upon his lips; it commands him, it drags him miserably upon his hands and knees towards the tree. 

The statues watch with lingering stares. 

He can feel their cold shadows dark as omens across his vision; a withered thing looming across the air as lifeless faces watch him with leering grins. 

And that air, so thick with the smell of decay and so often masked by the sickly sweetness of blossoms; it leaks into his chest, sending him retching once more into the soil. And yet that desire still churns; What a cruel thing fate is, perhaps, to let his stomach turn in hunger and drown his senses. 

Whatever has seeped into the hedges, whatever lurks in the turn of shadows and lingers in the depths of soil in Aegon’s Garden... he knows. It consumes him.

With a last glance back towards the fading vision of the Thorned Dragon’s horns piercing the night sky, he stumbles to his legs and lurches; a wet gasp of pain which yields a sharp bout of coughs; blood paints his hands the dark crimson of his mother’s crown and he allows himself a short sob. 

“Hello?” He calls weakly, some half-hoped effort of comfort as he staggers, the earth spinning; vines snag upon his visage, slicing his forehead and yielding another gash of blood to weep from his rotting veins. 

Nobody responds. 

The Garden shows him mercy just as he collapses; in a shivering effort of hunger and disorientation, he lets his legs give out once more – and Jacaerys collapses onto the earth, tumbling weakly. 

His hand lands on a patch of soft, freshly turned soil; and in the dips and sways of his vision, in the sickening scent of festering decomposition, he sees it: A fig leaf. 

Clutched and crushed in his spasming fist, he lets out a wet laugh that morphs into a bout of hack – viscous blood comes from him, though as it falls to the earth below, he registers the surroundings. 

He lies now upon the other side of the fig tree; it is flatter here, thickly overgrown with rotten, bruised vines and decaying fruits – and beneath him, an overturned earth the very shape and length of himself, some fresh and half-consumed spot from which the tree sprouts. 

The truth dawns on him slowly, chillingly — a burial mound, nestled beneath the roots of the tree; damp earth packed with some twisted gentleness, as if it has waited patiently for someone to…fill it. 

The acknowledgement is a clawing, grim portent; no graves have been dug on Dragonstone in centuries - indeed it was a ritual seen only before the conqueror found this continent.

Long has passed since the times of burials found the land –  yet here it is, waiting, silent, hungry. Lonely. 

And perhaps his weak mind plays tricks – or perhaps the garden does – but you suddenly peek from around the tree then, hair hanging low in tresses and your brows furrowed. 

Relief bursts in his chest.

You step from beneath the shadows and his heart sings; a fearful lick up his spine at your eyes, flickering knowingly to the plot which he grasps weakly beneath his fingers.

“Jacaerys, my love?” You call as you move toward his curled frame. 

Relief flares in him even as the cold attempts to swallow it; there is a fear within his longing, as he reaches for you – though the words in his throat fall dead as something moves in the corner of his eye. 

Terror, that old friend, wraps in a coil around his throat; a serpent coils down from the low-weeping branches above, its dark scales of polished onyx in the pale dawn – a patchwork of horror and disgust, Jacaerys takes in the larger scales which fit poorly as though shoved through flesh – a veridian reflection, large as his palm.

Rotted and felled; in the distance, a distinct dragon roars in pain. 

Jacaerys is paralyzed, his soul used and weary; he points with a shaky finger though you seem rather undisturbed as you give him that meticulously rehearsed tilt of your head. 

The serpent slithers its way up your thigh; some horrifyingly undisturbed look upon your face, even as your dress skirt ruches with it, revealing your marred skin underneath.

A primal fear grips his throat – you stand before him with that glazed over look; a dreamy grin crawling over your face as the serpent hisses in that familiar trickle he recalls from the limbs in the tree. 

And it is you:

You, an image of the maiden statue; the serpent coiling tighter until your leg has grown grotesque and purple, yet still you grin so hungrily, so sinister as Jacaerys pushes away with his shaking hands. 

“He fears the serpent, too,” you finally murmur into the stagnant air, as if sharing a secret with the earth itself – and your hand, moving along to stroke the head of the serpent which watches hungrily upon Jacaerys’s weak body. “But I’ve told him, the serpent should be the least of your worries, my Prince.”

There is dread which lodges into Jacaerys’s mind alongside an inkling of foreboding knowledge. “Who… who fears it?”

And with a tilt of your head, with a knowing gleam in your eyes, you gesture behind him; Jacaerys twists painfully, wiping blood from his lips.

His heart seizes. 

Luke stands just beyond reach, hovering in the hedges – a face pale, eyes wide and tearful, locked upon the serpent with a stare of pure, unfiltered terror.  

“Luke-” Jacaerys gasps, hand flying to his stomach, feeling as though his body is emptying, seeping into the soil below. Panic flares in him – and his brother snaps towards his gaze at his voice, their eyes locking. 

Tears prick along Jacaerys’s lashline as Lucerys steps back, face crumpling, his voice choked. “Don’t… don’t, Jace,” Luke pleads, trembling as he takes another step away. “Please. Don’t.”

Jacaerys’s heart shatters, his last spark of strength spent in reaching for his brother; voice a thin, desperate rasp so unlike his own. “Luke! Wait–”

But Luke dissolves into the shadows and Jacaerys is crushed wholly by the weight of abandonment. His vision swims, hair tangled with the grasping vines, weak as the ground thrums with a pulse he feels within his heavy heart. And you are gone, in that hazy place of yours – though he calls to you nonetheless. 

You look at him, face shrouded with an eerie glint of amusement. He wheezes out a sickly cough, unbothered to wipe the blood which spills — and your gaze traces the drop hungrily.

“I think I’m dying.” He admits weeakly, wishing for nothing else than to come back to you, the true you; the girl with the shy grins, the cold lips, the butterfly lashes and hide-and-seek tendencies. 

When you look down at him, the snake sliding to linger over your shoulder; an eternal companion – something lingers. Some hunger, deeper than any he has known. “Life and death,” you muse in a sickening encore of your words spoken not two days past, “are sometimes one and the same, Prince Jacaerys.” 

A hot tear slips down his cheek; the final vestige of strength as he chokes on the scent of death which drains him from the earth below. “I love you, I–” He whispers, heart aching and hungry, “...you’re cruel.”

There is much to say; though Jacaerys can feel the blood which has begun to weep from his nostrils, from his mouth; the end is near, and it smells of rotten fruit and damp earth. 

But you shake your head slowly, a strange sadness ghosting over your lips; the serpent is discarded as you kneel to the soil beside him, shaking your head – the stains return on your dress in the fading light, and Jacaerys sees them – two long gashes, bleeding heavily upon your stomach and breast; a decay, an eternal decay. “No, my prince,” you whisper, a soft caress over his cheeks as your fingers smooth his tears, mixing them with the trail of his seeping blood. “I am not cruel. I love you. There is no world but this.”

As you speak, the garden seems to hold its breath; And then, with a terrible clarity, the realization settles over him—a revelation that seeps through his bones colder than death itself.

The plot he lies upon is not meant for him — it is already yours.

His gaze locks onto the soil, and he feels the rot beneath it reach out, creeping up his spine with its tendrils of vines and cloying morning glories – Jacaerys reels with a sickening gasp, eyes straining in fear between your calm, serene face and the fig tree, eternal in its bloom. 

The roots sprout from it, decaying anywhere it can; roots sprouting from the remains of what once was… you. 

His heart pounds, but he cannot look away, his breath quickening as fragments of Layne’s mad warnings echo in his mind. He’s sick; though with a tremble, he blinks at you. And what greater curse is there than to eternally live and yet still to die? 

Jacaerys sputters as blood fills his mouth; in a panic, he wishes – he wishes for you. 

It is once again as if you’ve read his mind; your lips press into his, and for the first time, you are warm. 

Your lips are warm and thrumming with life against his own, blossoming in the slick of spit and tears, of blood and rot, of love and death.

This garden watches; it sows, reaps, sows. Jacaerys clutches you closer until you’re pressed against him, lying within the plot, breaths mingling and shallow, shuttering and warm.

And it is only then he feels as though he can see clearly – each moment, each drop of juice from the fig’s flesh unto his own flashes in his mind in a horror of understanding.

A slow rot, perhaps – from the first time his lips pressed yours to last night, the fig within his mouth. A slow decay, the voice whispers as you pull away from his lips, your own eyes shining with tears – for him, perhaps. Their fate, I fear, is that of slow decay. “We will be together,” You’ve whispered to him – but there is a harsh thrumming, a trembling that has begun in his chest and legs and it has begun to crawl its way to his heart; he cannot speak, he cannot move. Tears are hot as they fall from his unblinking eyes, and you wipe them away with your lips. 

Targaryens, Jacaerys thinks as the setting sun kisses the hedges and sends sprawling light over the edge, What a cursed line. Gods among men – but gods do not bleed. 

Gods do not rot.

He watches the curve of your smile in his narrowing vision, his lips parting into a sick, gasping circle as he tries to speak. A torture, searching for air he cannot find, for words which will not come.

Again, and again. The circle turns – and then his hands fall limp.  

Above, the fig tree looms, its branches heavy with fruit, ripe and bursting; a feast – leaves fall gently and the garden hums with an eerie stillness; a marriage of decay and beauty, of life entangled eternally with the winking, serpentine eyes of death. 

Jacaerys watches you – and you watch back as the light leaves his eyes, a wicked smile curving on your lips; your love now bound in the soil, claimed by the roots of the tree.

IN THE HOURS FOLLOWING THE DEATH OF PRINCE JACAERYS, THE SUN DISAPPEARED. 

It is said that, having returned to the Prince’s chambers to find the bed empty and a cat curled upon the mattress in search of his body’s warmth, Maester Gerardys alerted the Queensguard to search the castle – though he knew indeed where the young Prince had gone. 

It was only moments before the Maester took to entering the gates himself that a deafening roar bellowed from the skies high above Dragonstone Castle, and he hesitated in fear for his life; for the screeching echo of pain and grief grew closer, until it was directly before him.

Vermax, the Prince Jacaerys’s mount quite stricken with scale rot and madness, had taken to the sky with his last bout of will.

The sickened creature, spurred perhaps by his rider's death or by some deep, unknowable grief, circled the tower of his rider’s chambers before dropping to fly low over the cursed Aegon’s Garden. 

With no hesitation, the dragon unleashed flames upon the entire stretch of garden; the inferno raged for hours, the charred soil and twisted roots bearing scars that would last for generations still to come, leaving only smoldering ash and a battlefield of crumbled statues in its wake.

When at last the flames subsided, only one relic stood unscathed amidst the ruin:

A statue of a young Maiden, a serpent carved upon her leg; her marbled form defiant and serene against the embers – her face fixed in a knowing, wicked smile.

It was said that the loss of her eldest son drove the Queen near mad, for her grief was doubled; once more, she had a son to mourn and yet no body to lay upon a pyre. No silent sisters could prepare him; no flame to carry her son home, and the sept upon Dragonstone stood empty that day. The Dragonkeepers did not sing.

And thus, it was only Maester Gerardys and a solitary servant who swept the last remnants of Aegon’s Garden into history.

Ash and char scattered to the sea breeze, the gardens of old burned and blackened as they worked silently.

Gerardys, peering over the twisted, rotted remnants of fruit among the vines, sighed deeply and muttered to the servant as they collected what little was left – a journal scarred and burnt, a torn blue crook of a cloak with seahorse embellishments; all atop the one section of soil that remained plush, despite its smoldering vicinity. 

Aegon’s Garden was no more. 

Rotten fruit, the Maester said to the servant, whose nose was tinged red in her mourning; rotten, from the tree of kings. 

The circle turns, after all. 

taglist & moots: @softspiderling @lukehughes43 @rhea-ripley @writtenapoiogy @fyrewept @oldtowrs @bryscorner @chloe-petrichors @jottositto @earth4angels @divinesolas @hxtd @astrxq @housetargaryenloyalist @house-celtigar @v3lary0ns @vee-mage @princessvelaryon @princessbellecerise @still-jon-snow @elaena-aerrin @mckennah123 @smurfelle @alyssa-dayne @uhnanix @ficlovegirlie @cregan-starks @manhandlememando @inkandarsenic @cuntlips42 @franzelt @chimmysoftpaws @fleurbies @moonymoo1

[glitchedoutstar]

HI!! Sorry I was playing game so I couldn't finish request earlier(lost all text cuz accidentally closed firefox) BUT!! Am here now!! Can I get some timeline questions for a sheep hybrid Ghostbur from the Dream SMP who lived in a secluded house in the woods with a bunch of other bursonas? I know phil was my dad and technoblade was my brother, tommy was so close he was family but wasnt like blood related family. Puffy and niki were my caregivers when i regressed and was near them. Dream was a bitch, hate that bitch(no hate to other dream kins/fictives/etc, im sure yall are wonderful <33) i remember that me and tommy hid in technos house during the whole tommy exile ghostbur in an abusive relationship w/ smile man thing before i got revived and spent a lot of years in limbo. i dont remember how old i was, i stopped counting after the first few years of limbo. Also the bursonas that i remember are: L'manbur, Pogbur, Revivedbur, Phantombur, ARGbur, Simpbur, Limbo/Jubileebur, and Earthbur. if you need more just ask but sorry if this is too much-

o/ HAI GHOSTIE ^_^ IDK HOW GUD THESE R I NEVER DO TL QS SRRY >who was your best friend (if any)? >did you have a favorite plushie or blanket? >what was your favorite meal? >do you have anything now that reminds you of your TL? >what were your relationships like with the other burs? >what was your favorite activity to do with puffy or niki?

[inkyvendingmachine]

Misc. Cthulhu!AU Content Masterpost

Welcome to the breakroom! Here we have a collection of all the Cthulhu!AU posts that don’t relate specifically to a chapter of the game or anywhere in the time line exactly. Most are Post Season One though, so if you’re looking to not be spoiled, I’d say wait on this section. Please enjoy the wide selection of art, asks, writing, and more, including some?? fAN ART??? AND STUFF?? OF THE GAME???? wAH

💀 Call of Cthulhu: Haunted Hijinx Masterpost 💀 ✨ Call of Cthulhu Season One Masterpost ✨ 🌙 Call of Cthulhu Season Two Masterpost 🌙

Quiz?? Quiz.

Which Call of Cthulhu Boy Are You? Quiz

Art

Season One  - Personalized Bendy Tarot Cards (S1E4 spoilers) - All the Gold Text (Season 1 Finale Spoilers) - Extremely Important StudioStartup Ship Cuddles - Henry Stein - Sammy Lawrence - Another Another Studio Startup Ship Ask - Joey/Sammy Kiss - Secret Satan Joey/Sammy - Sammy Lawrence - Some light Senry - Some soft Sammy/Joey - Sammy Lawrence Timeline - Collection of Hilarious Text Posts - Sammy’s Drowning Season Two - Silly Time Sam w/ Laserpointer - Jack Fain - Ghosty Jack Fain - Joey / Jack Shippy - Joey and Henry almost look like real investigators - Joey and Bendy but leaning more into uhhh Lurker Zone - Prophet Sammy; Dark on Me - Jack/Sammy/Joey Cuddles, but like, sad, - Sammy: The Real One - What if Sillytime Goat - Sammy and Sheep Traits  - Terrified Peter Sunstram - Rogue’s Blink Sprites - Rogue’s Pixel Adventure - Soft Sammy - Art for Cthulhu Boy Quiz - The Lurker’s thoughts on all the Cthulhu bois - Holding Out for a Hero - Another Collection Of Hilarious Text Posts [Part Two] - Joey/Jack Glasses Shippy - Prophet + Sammy Convo - The Real Trial and Tribulations of Having The Prophet Around - Lost in the Sauce by applesauceofthegrave

Season Three - Sammy + Prophet + Home Misc. - Pixely Bois - Joey Uno Meme - Toony Boys [Sammy][Joey][Jack] - Haunted House Boys by Spook

Write Ups/Asks

- Writing/RP Archive

Season One - StudioStartup Ship Ask - Another StudioStartup Ship Ask - Henry is Ace/Aro (part 2.) - Hahaha wait who had the Laserpointer Season Two - Shitpost Time - Cthulhu Boys but Sims Time - Henry and Joey’s Relationship (part 2.) - Peter Sunstram Thonks - Cthulhu Jack Shippy Asks [Peter][Lurker] - Henry Asks [X][X][X][X][X][X] - How Cthulhu!Jack differs from ‘Canon’ - How does Joey feel about Jack Now? - Sammy’s relationship with Lurker/SillySam - Would Joey ever Propose to Sammy? - General CoC Jack Thoughts - Masked Messenger's Voice

Season Three - Sammy/Cracked Glass Thoughts - Beans Lore - Is Peter an NPC? - How Possessive Is Joey? - Sammy’s Character Sheets

Misc. - Translating the Call of Cthulhu Games to Bendy

Misc. Small Asks: [X][X][X][X][X][X][X][X][X][X][X]

[Technically this is not Cthulhu!AU but it was inspired by it and is very cool so here also have a shout out to this amazing Norman art by Eps]

[almondmilks-posts]

Schlatt- executed pt2

*I am so proud of part 1

pls go show some love

Maybe a SERIES?? Maybe pt3??? Maybe some more angst?? Maybe some cute fluff with glatt?? Maybe idk if you would like to see more uwu

This took so long omg... I'm sorry

Context: in part 1 you became ghost!y/n much like Ghostbur  you forgot most of your memories including your death...

Life after death was weird. You had very vague memories of each member of the sever but other than that you completely forgot about your past life including how you died. You never expected that you would become a sentiant ghost on the server after death you also never expected Wilbur to become one either so here we are. You took a great liking to Ghostbur as he did to you, you both hanging out became a regular occurrence on the SMP you mainly liked hanging around quackity he had these homely vibes to him that made you want to be around him but you were not quite sure why although he had been seeing you less and less and when you did meet he seemed on edge always looking behind him, shaking his head off to the distance when you turn around, nothing.

You didn't know why Ghostbusr was obsessed with the colour blue, always handing out lapis lazuli to saddened goes by with a "here have some blue" but he always did. You guys can't mine down in the caves something about bedrock pressure?  but he always had stacks of blue on him at all times.

You- hey bur where do you get the blue from?

Ghostbur- oh uhhh umm I just have it sometimes I get it from Phill

You- oh cool. I want something I'm not sure I've decided on what...

Ghostbur- hmmmmm y/n how about

You- I know red mushrooms because they look so cool like lil toadstools.

Ghostbur- yes that's such a good idea

You- I need to ask Phil to see if he has any spare mushrooms adiós bur I'll see you later.

You began to float your way over the the snowy tundra that Phil resides in. You passed many different landmarks on your way only knowing by the names you and ghostbur had given them. Home home also known as the community House although in ruins after it was exploded by puffy. You did try to stop her however your attempts were unsuccessful. 

You- omg I'm so sorry I wasn't looking where I was going here look I have some seeds take this as a sorry

You were in your thoughts so much that you had phased into a body. As a ghost you are able to phase through people However you phased into the body meaning whoever you walked into was not alive. You reached your arms into your pockets to see what you have as a sorry before the mushrooms which you still haven't been managed to find any. Thecno needing them for potions ofc knowing the butcher army was coming for him he planicked stealing so many resources including some of blue from Wilbur accidentally. You found three seeds in your pockets your had picked up from when you were hanging around Callahan (he's my fav on the SMP omg) and punz this one time just giving while punz went on a nether mission for ghast tears. You extended your arm out to the person, lifting your head up to look the person in the eyes.

Glatt- y/n?

He had Horns. Deep black horns protruding out the side of his head. His skin a pale grey ash colour, contrasting his flaming red eyeballs which looked down upon you due to the height difference. His suit a very dark grey almost black but not quite,  You looked at him than back at the seeds. He seemed like he didn't take any interest in taking the seeds from you as a sorry, you furrowed your eye brows at his sort of question? You really didn't remember your past life, thecno told you that most ghosts don't when they die the ones that do are 'poor damned souls of wrong doers' comforting you that you did some good when you were living.

You- uhh sorry I don't know a y/n?? Im ghosty/n! Well it would make sense that I'm y/n well was y/n hahahaha I don't remember much from my past life unfortunately

Glatt- you don't- you don't remember how you died do you?

You- uhhh no? Should I? I ask quackity you know quackity right? Small guy, blue beanie anyway he wouldn't tell me how I died he said it was a too long to explain anyway I gotta go bye uhhhh...

Glatt- oh it's glatt

You- well nice to meet you glatt if you see Phill tell him I need some red mushrooms

And with that you floated off on your mission to find some red mushrooms. Glatt stood there face slashed red. He felt embarrassed? Sick to his stomach? He wasn't quite sure what he felt, quackity had told him of your ghost life when he was pestering quackity this one time however he was scared. He was once a ruthless tryrant president drinking all day and all night because he couldn't handle the power and disappointment of his peers knowing he was struggling being president so he turned to alcohol. He was so plastered when he stabbed you he didn't even know what he did until quackity and Niki Walked out on him with some fruitful words.

Schlatt thought back to when quackity had confronted him, carrying your enchanted diamond boots Phil brought on your wedding day and never took them off since. Quackity looked so hopeless his eyes filled with tears, trembling hands as he screamed at schlatt so hard his vocal cords never recovered even after all this time and everything he's been through. Despite this he carried on trying to ruin quackity's life. Even after death the fucker never lost his need for power and bullying quackity is all he knew how. The issue was he could not find the small mexican, he floated all through what manburg was, he floated past the church, the target, the community house but no sign of quackity. He was searching through the community house for anything he could steal just because 'he was glatt he could do what he wants'; as a ghost he really didn't change. A fit of giggles rung through his ears, he hadn't heard that noise in years. Glatt knew that it was you of course you were married for several years before the incident. He caught himself smiling as he once did to see your face (which could easily fit between his larger hands.) He floated across towards where the noise would come from. To see you, a blue sheep with a wonkey eye and Wilbur? He felt anxious, his ghost heart started beating faster, if he wasn't dead he would be having another heart attack right now that would actually kill him. He wasn't sure of it was because you look so happy contracting the last time him saw your glum face as the XP dropped or knowing Wilbur might still be bitter about the election or what happened as a result of it.

You toyed with the blue sheep known as friend. Friend was the first thing ghostbur saw when he woke up as a ghost so there was a major bond between the two,.you would argue it was a closer bond than what tied you with Wilbur but nothing could compare to that. You both had years and years of history some even before Tommy was born but you both just didn't know that. (maybe pt3 y/n becomes human??) Friend was very entertaining for a blue sheep fried could make you and ghostbur cry with laughter but just standing there. ( Ok this is my HC so it's not cannon but I think it should be) The blue sheep had a lazy eye, so for long enough if the sheep did nothing the eyes would travel opposite directions as per usual you and ghostbur were dying over this. You bent down to pick at a blade if grass to feed to friend when a glum feeling came over you. Were you being watched? You wanted to cry, so you turned your head to Look at the assailant to see glatt standing there just looking at you or through you it was unclear.

You-oh hey uhhh glatt? Ah yes I'm right would you like to come hang out with friend, ghostbur and I would love it if you joined us and I'm sure friend doesn't mind you do you? No you don't because you are a cute sheep boopboop

Glatt- I'm not so sure

You- oh come on don't be such a killer it would be fun friend is very well friendly haha come on.

You grasped his cold wrist with your much warmer hands. The size difference between the two contrasted immensely. You blushed, a warm feeling coming over you almost as if you had known him for years. Which y/n did but you didn't know that.  Schlatt frowned at you calling him a killer, did you know? Did Wilbur tell you? A lot happened to manburg after you had died, stuff you missed that you could and would have stopped. You dragged schlatt closer to where friend was excited Wilbur could meet your 'new' friend glatt.

You- hahah bur meet glatt

Ghostbur- oh uh hey glatt nice to meet you, your a friend of n/n's huh?

Glatt- uhh yea something like that

Ghostbur- oh crap! I have to meet with Callahan (he's my fave member) I'm helping him build a forest, well you guys have fun with friend. And glatt? Its nice to see you again.

And with that he floated away from the pair riend looked at schlatt than back at you, than back at schlatt. Its pink tounge slipping out of its mouth. Glatt looked down at you sitting cross legged on the grass petting friend. He thought you looked beautiful with the sun on your ghostlike form, he felt shame wash over him he really ruined you.

You- sit next to me glatt, the sun isn't that bright down here

Glatt- no I don't want to get my suit dirty!

You sighed, why was he so cold? Was it that he didn't like you, was it the fact that he didn't like friend no that's not true everyone loves friend. You frowned over thinking lots of things glatt noticed your frown after he yelled at you; he felt worse that he yelled. Many nights after your death did he think about you and his actions. He numbed the feeling penultimately resulting in further alcoholism and finally his death. He kept your diamond boots in his desk draw so they could be next to him at all times he even picked up some of your XP but that stuff didn't matter to him. Nothing mattered to him. Expect you. He never was good at expressing his feelings to you, and you never pushed him to do that.

Glatt- do you seriously not remember your past life?

You- hmmmm not much

Glatt- what do you know tell me?

You- well, I don't really remember memories it's more feelings and smells towards something? Like Niki I feel very calm and peaceful around her she smells like bread, Wilbur it's like he feels like a brother to me and he smells like gunpowder almost, ummmm who else? Oh Tecno smells like potatoes I'll tell you about that some other time

Glatt- what about me? What do I smell like ( Father Fragrance??)

You- ummmmm it's a weird metallic smell? At first I was like iron smell but I'm not so sure. I was super anxious when I first saw you almost hmmm anger? Fear? But I also wanted to give you a hug it's weird what about me... Your a ghost I'm sure it's the same for you it is for wilbur... What do I smell like glatt?

Glatt- uhh well, it's metallic aswell

You-oh heyy look it's ranboo, Ran heyy look down here? Ranboo? Oh no he's enderwalking again ok well this conversation isn't over glatt

You followed the half enderman who appears to be on his enderwalking state. You don't say much to him as you know he won't hear or respond to you. You follow him past twitch prime, past the portal near to the prison? Confused you stood behind him a little, why was he going to the prison? To see Sam you hope...

But no. He didn't.

[calehenituseappreciation]

i hc wilbur made tommy president because he planned to go and press the button while tommy spoke and kill him along with himself

wilbur wanted end all his unfinished symphonies and as the person who raised tommy- he raised him like he raised l'manberg. he doesnt care for fundy- not since he denounced him- so he wanted to end him :)

i need a fic where tommy is the one who goes to stop wilbur and wilbur fucking stabs him before pressing the button saying "it was never meant to be" tommy loses both first and last lives to that phrase

tommys last words are it was always meant to be fucking wilbur survives the explosion and has no one to kill him and now he has to live with the consqunces tommy becomes toast- short for ghost tommy i refuse to write so many letters each time- and immeditly looks for his older brothers and he finds wilbur first :) wilbur is exiled for his crimes and also out of fear- they tried to rehabilate him! they really did but then he freaked out over seeing toast... in a bad way.... and he and toast burned georges house on toast suggest (maybe we should burn something! that always helps me calm down!) this is after wilbur is trusted enough to be not... in a prison... after phil convinced them he needs help and toast tries his best ok- (WHO LEFT WILBUR WITH TOAST!) (I THOUGHT IT WAS A GOOD IDEA AT THE TIME! I WAS ONLY LEAVING FOR FIVE MINUTES! AND RANBOO WAS THERE TOO!) and toast tries to go with but everyone is like "yeah no" and toast is like "whhhhyyy i just wanna stay with wilby!" and everytime anyone tries to tell tommy about the wrongs that have happened to him he screams and clutches his head in pain and everytime he comes back he doesnt remember the convo toast,,, is the most BABY toast calls everyone cutesy nicknames unironcially he calls eret rere toast, chriping happily: TECHIE!!!! tubbo: TOMMY STAY AWAY FROM HIM! toast, in a very lost and confused voice: why? techno, freaking out: tommy? toast: hi!!!!!!! im toast!!!!!! :D techno: lowkey ab to cry toast: NOOOOOOOO DUN CRI! toast: there there techie... i know what will help! tubbo, sighing: arson? toast: ARSON! phil comes just in time to find tommys dead body and l'manberg gone hes not around for the withers neither hes there just to see the crater and wilbur in chains with blood on his hands trying to off himself phil will forever blame himself for not making it in time :> dream: taking wilbur away in boat toast, floating behind the boat: o^o dream do you have any games on your phone .///^///. looks at exileinnit hmmm spins roulette wheel who should i hurt... i picked d all of the above they dont let toast go with him but because he is baby and you can't tell him what to do tubbo: sighs finally now that the exiles done toast can you- tubbo: looks up tubbo: GOADDAMN IT

toast is promptly kidnapped back to l'manberg the next day toast keeps going back tho and no one understands why- he literally killed him! why does he keep wanting to go back! (toasts unfinished buisness keeping him tied was helping wilbur and l'manberg- he loved wilbur even at his worst)

toast vibes around everyone but he stays with wilbur- where ever wilbur goes is where he builds his home

its shitty but its an 'ome Toast, teary eyed: Dad? Why does everyone hate Wilby? Why can't I be with him... Phil, with no idea what to do: niki bakes cakes with niki whenever hes in l'manberg he keeps accidently setting her bakery on fire but hes sMOL AND GIGGLES A LOT AND HE HAS FLOUR ON HE GODDAMN SELF toast is a part of mexican l'manberg i dont make the rules mexican dream: AYYYYYYYYY HOMIE toast, giggling: 'OMIE!!!!!

Toast is wholesome while everyone is literally willing to murder Wilbur while also trying to stop him from khs toast is just a very happy lovely child and cries whenever anyone is mean to 'his big brother wilby!' and so they all constantly glare daggers over toasts shoulder wherenever he cant see em meanwhile Phil is just dying inside because Tommy is a ghost by Wilbur's hands and Wilbur keeps trying to commit suicide and oh god what is he supposed to do- he simply avoids this struggle by avoiding them toast, waddling up to philza: papa do you have any games on your phone? all im saying is that tommy called phil papa before changing to dad or fathercraft phil,in the tired parent voice: tommy please sit down- just for five minutes- at least for 5 minutes toast: sits down and then proceeds to struggle to continue to sit but he must because dad told him to toast is just ADHD incarnate wilbur, trying to end himself: im gonna escape my consequences toast: HI!!!!! :D wilbur: FUCK ITS MY CONSEQUENCES toast,,,, is so baby Wilbur is just not allowed to have anything remotely sharp i like how theres so much angst and im just hyper focusing on ba yby dream uses toast the same way he uses ghostbur! :D toast doesnt realize of course even after wilbur tells him dream is bad but he keeps forgetting!!! Everyone: da baby Dream: how can I profit from this oh dream is manipulating wilbur btw wilbur: suffering toast: i made you a card toast trusts eret wholeheartedly and this hurts eret because she knows if toast remembered he probably wouldnt- they wanted redemption but not like this- not because of death Toast: you look cool Toast: you are friend now Eret: sobs I don't deserve this Toast: what did I do wrong Toast: how can I help friend!!!!! Eret: sobbing more toast looks at everyone says "ah! friend shaped!" if ur wondering wheres the angst toast is the angst- toast is just tommy without any bad memories and hes so different they thought he was happy before they thought he was fine tommy was hurt too but since he internalized it no one cared toast sees wilbur being sad and goes! i know what will help! n-not arson tho people dont like arson when you do it.... BUT ITS OKAY! I BROUGHT A FRIEND! shows friend, the sheep and wilbur just fucking sobs Toast is wholesome chaotic in a perfect mix- toast is tommy but without the 'asshole on purpose as a self defense mechanism" someone mentioned something about Tommy masking insecurities once Toast doesn't remember. and he's fine with that he doesn't have any insecurities toast hurts because in retrospect toast, meeting bad: WOAAAAAAH! YOU LOOK SO FUCKING COOL! bad: LANGUAGE! toast, cringing back, looking at the ground: ..sorry :( bad: ...you can swear toast: :D bad: once toast hasnt sworn since "hes saving it for special occasions" sometimes he accidently swears and immedtly gasps and looks at bad and bad just sighs and is like "its okay it was an accident" bad never would have thought itd take letting tommy swear for him to stop huh... its almost like... hes a child.... and the negetive reienforcement.... was doing more harm then good.... toast: exists in an amount of happiness no one has ever seen him in before everyone: pain how much pain was tommy in before? they thought tommy was happy- was... was he not happy? he's so unabashedly joyful and energetic looking back they can see how forced every laugh felt, every smile- He's not afraid to just talk to people, make new friends he became so much more cautious after Eret, had it really effected him that badly? He's open. He never lies about how he's feeling, never brushes anything away how much was Tommy hiding, how much pain, how much fear- It's chilling. bone chilling. There's no way to fix what's been lost. No way to apologize to who Tommy used to be, to try and make it better. None of them every bothered to see him as anything more than a nuisance, an annoying child or cannon fodder and they'll regret it for the rest of their lives everyone: having a mental crisis toast: GUYYYYSS!! I MADE ANOTHER FRIEND!!!

"Wilby?" Wilbur heard Tommys voice say in an innocent tone.

Was he hearing things? Tommy's dead. He killed him himself.

"Wilby why are you in prison?" The image of his little brother asked, "Did you commit arson without me?" it asked in a pout.

"TOMMY!" Tubbo yelled running into the cell where Wilbur was kept, going through the bars with ease, "Tommy get away from him!"

"But 'ubbo!!!! Wilby is 'ere!!!!" Tommy (?) said with a smile Wilbur hadn't seen since Tommy was a child.

"Tommy, I understand you don't remember anything right now but you need to come back over here!" Tubbo demanded and Tommy flinched

Wilbur was struck with the sudden realization that this isn't just his mind- no no it can't be- but Tubbo acknowledged him he has to- Wilbur reached his locked hands towards Tommy only for him to pass through him. What? No no it was just his imagination that makes sense.

"Oh sorry Wil! I'm kinda dead! I don't remember how i died... but i think im a ghostie!" Tommy said plainly, floating off the floor. Wilbur looked at him in confusion. Whats happening?

the first time toast sees the crater toast srceams in intense amount of pain- its so loud you can hear it all over the smp- and just dissapears for a few days before reappearing with no memories of what happened toast saying things tommy thought but never said- he calls eret "big brother" and eret fucking d i e s toast cals all the l'manbergians older siblings He's far too honest for anyone to handle tommy was always honest too but he learned from experince that honesty only lead to hurt Tommy was like an enderchest, you could never see beyond the exterior, everything inside was exclusive to him and him alone Toast is like when someone dies and all their fuckin items explode onto the ground. you just see everything and most of it was  pain and everyone feels bad because they thought he was the only one uneffected that nothing had ever put a damper on his happiness and energetic smile- at what point had that smile became fake? also for angst reasons the last memory toast has is before the elections toast has uwu boy vibes but more chaotic toast goes to dream smp from logstedshire purely for sam nook toast starts making his hotel since he sees nobody has a home (including dream LMAO) (and he wants to make a safe place since everyone keeps saying something about war) and wants to make one and asks sam for help since apparently hes good at building and sam lets him pay after he finishs the hotel and sam nook is there since day one because i dont think i could handle a world without sam nook toast: biting everyone tubbo: wHY DO YOU DO THAT?????? toast: once techie bit all the cupcakes and then said it was his cuz he bit it so im biting everyone to show their mine!!!!! tubbo: i- tubbo: i am both flattered and disgusted everyone, remembering how tommy used to bite everyone upon meeting and then everyone would get mad at him and yell at him until he stopped biting people on meeting: sadly whips and nae naes hes a BABY toast deserves the fucking world also i havent talked ab it but there is wilbur and fundy angst here fundy confronts wilbur also not that fundy is angry about not not not getting murdered by his father but also why does he consider tommy his unfinished sympohny and not him? he raised fundy too- maybe he just only ever loved tommy (based off his insecurity of how close wilbur and tommy are based off wilbur raising tommy and wilbur only being there for fundy by the time he was older and also using hybrid age go nyoom for this dream manipulates toast during wilburs exile along with wilbur and toast realizes both of them were being used by him and fucking screams lourder than he ever has before and dissapears for a week and then shows up at technos house (he got lost and he didnt know why he was at logsted shire- he doesnt remember the place) on the day of the excution and tries to help technoblade but keeps forgetting that everyone is trying to kill techno the butcher army is hesitant when "hey why are you all attacking big brother Techy-" "HE SPAWNED WITHERS IN L'MANBERG!" "he did?" toast asked tilting his head in confusion "YES! HE DID! AFTER YOU DIED! NOW WHERE IS HE TOAST! WE NEED TO CAPTURE HIM!" whenever tubbo talks ab how theyre planning on excuting techno or how there was no trial toast has flashbacks to tubbos excution but hes never able to hold on to the memories just leaving him feeling bad toast sees anything traumatic and just makes the blue screen noise toast has to reboot every time anything truamatic happens and when he does he doesnt remember what happens after

toast hurts on a "THE FUCKING IMPLICATIONS OF THIS" level just.. everyone trying to make up for not noticing tommys hurt and trying to be good to toast when its already too late... far too late glatt is also here because whenever ytoast dissapears after something trauamtic he bounces back to the land of the dead for the bit and sometimes he drags glatt out to the land of the living with him only works bc toast has unfinished buisness so he can freely go between and just stays in the land of the lving until he can finish his unfiinshed buisness ghostbur and toast wouldve been good friends if they ever met anyone yells at toast and he immeditly starts sobbing

basically when everything is calm and peaceful and everyone is happy together after dream is in prison and toast is like "oh... this is what ive always wanted"

"toast?" tubbo asked, confused toast smiled softly, "i think its time for me to go" "what?" wilbur asked his pitch unusually high due to the fear lacing his voice "i think... i think this was my unfinished buisness... this is the last thing i wanted when i was alive, the reason i stayed... i think its finally my time to go now" toast said smiling tearfully "no! you vcan't go! we just got you back!"

basically when everything is finally ok, when things finally calm down toast fades back to the void/afterlife thing

[character-scrolls]

Miscellaneous Headcanons: Jinx - TSM (Soften Edition)

Enjoy some cute headcanons of some of my Jinx beans <3

Social Media:

What kind of Youtube channel would they run? - No doubt about it, Jinx would have a book review channel and it would be as cute as heck.

- An incredibly fluffy and sweet vibe, she'd have a large bookcase in her background with cute fairy lights draped over it, maybe some miniture cactus plants sat on some of the shelves.

- Probably uses some soft music box as the background music or something that relates to the book she's reviewing that week.

- Jinx would mostly be a solo reviewer but she might occasionally bring on someone for a collab

- She has gotten some god awful book suggestions, some she does reviews and some she'll outright refuse to do

- Her channel would probably be something like Bookworm or The BookWorm

- One of her videos showcases a mini tour of all the books she's gotten over the years, she's slowly running out of floor space.

What kinda blog would they run? - PASTEL.COLOURS.FOR.DAAAAYS.

- Jinx's blog is dedicated to all things literature from fiction to non-fiction

- She could talk for hours and hours about her favourite authors and the books she's read that week

- Jinx takes photos of her reading space which is normally a comfy chair with a little side table with her current book and a cup of fancy tea steaming next to it and her reading glasses resting on top of her book.

- Though in reality it probably ends up with her sitting up in bed until god knows what time whilst spouting the false promise of 'yes this is the last chapter I'm going to read I swear' wheather that's a book or a really good fanfiction on her ipad that's upto you.

- Jinx's posting shedule would be at least twice a week, depending

- Would for sure have a side blog for fanfiction

Dressing Up:

What would they be for Halloween? - Jinx would be a cute little ghostie for Halloween

- She's not one for being scary so cute is the next best thing

- Jinx would do her best to hand make the costume, it wouldn't be the neatest but hey ghost aren't meant to be

- The costume consists of a white robe with oversized sleeves covering her hands with a lacy hood over the top and short chains would be attached around her ankles

Who would they cosplay as?

- Jinx would for sure cosplay someone like Yuna from Final Fantasy X or Howl from Howls Moving Castle  

- She would try and get a high quality costume, trying to get the most accurate looking one

Food:

What type of biscuit would they be? - A gooey chocolate chip cookie, because she's a soft that is all

What type of tea would they be? -A cinnamon blend tea

What type of alcohol would they be? - A sweet red wine

Games:

What kind of Yu-Gi-Oh! Deck do you they have? - For sure, a spellcaster deck probably based around the Silent Magician

- Not just for the obvious reason...also by how it's played

- Not seeing her with any other type

What kind of Pokemon Team do they have? - Possibly Fairy? I'm not entirely sure because they're a number of pokemon I see her having in her team, I have considered like psychic for another option?

What Animal Crossing animal would they be?

- Maybe a sheep? a cute little purple sheep

- Has the cutest cottage aesthetic going on

- Will gift you many, many, many books

Aesthetic: leather bound books, ink stained parchment, burning candle light, dark blues, pastel pinks and purples, empty potion vials, soft touches, sweet smelling purfumes, crytals, the glittering particles of magic, grubby bandages

Extra headcanon:

- The fiction she read throughout her years helped her discover her bisexuality, she had read so many books with different heros and their romantic endevours that it had a profound a effect on her. At first she didn't understand why she liked boys but also girls??? fiction helped her to finally understand that it was perfectly normal to feel like this.

----------------------------------------------------------------

Ruben - Jinx: TSM

Social Media:

What kind of Youtube channel would they run? - This boy. THIS BOY. His channel would be a disaster , but a wonderful one..he's trying

- Ruben would do a lot of dumb but harmless challenges, but it would radiate pure chaotic energy

- He's a gremlin with too much time on their hands lets be real here

- Ruben would do a lot of collabs, which are even more diasterous than his solo videos depending which poor soul he asked

- he edits like it's going out of fashion, jumpcuts galore and dumbass sounds effects for days.

- He has a sizable following

- He would for sure drag his boyfriend in for a video...for a price

What kinda blog would they run? - Like this Youtube channel, it's chaotic but is slightly more structured

- Being a avid comic reader, his blog is centred around comic books

- Will have full-on arguements with other people about which character is strongest/best/weakest etc

- "Now you listen here you litle shit, YOU DON'T-"

- His blog is fairly simple in terms of colour scheme, possibly using themes available to him

- Has an inconsistant posting shedule

Dressing Up:

What would they be for Halloween? - Probably a skeleton, surprisingly good at face painting

- He'd use face/body paint for his neck area and hands

- Contacts maybe?

Who would they cosplay as?

- Would for sure cosplay as Beast Boy from Teen Titans, feel like that would be the type of character he'd go for

- Maybe with full-on body paint too?

Food:

What type of biscuit would they be? - Ruben would be like one of those giant biscuits with the chunks of m&ms baked into it

What type of tea would they be? - Iced lemon tea

What type of alcohol would they be? - Apple Cider

Games:

What kind of Yu-Gi-Oh! Deck do you they have? -Elemental Hero deck maybe?

- His love of super heros would play a part in why he chose it

What kind of Pokemon Team do they have? - Possibly flying?

- Has for sure named one of his pokemon Jeremy

What Animal Crossing animal would they be?

-Possibly a squrriel

-Has a mis-matched house because who hell is interior decorating

Aesthetic: Fireworks lighting up the nights sky, scrapped knees, wide grins,bare feet,messy hair constantly running fingers through it,dark greens, off white,loud laughter, dumb jokes.

Extra headcanon:

- Ruben is known for being the town menace, however, when he was younger especially, the elder folk would leave out baked goodies for him to pick up during his escapes. Sometimes they'd even let him hide out near their house if it was safe enough to do so. Now that he's older, they don't let him get away so much anymore but will occasionally leave out a place of treats.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lamina - Jinx: TSM

Social Media:

What kind of Youtube channel would they run? - Lamina's channel would be dedicated to fitness and her vast collection of swords

- She'll do exercise challenges and inbetween she'd show off her latest custom order swords

- Lamina has an intense energy on screen but will give legitmate advice on health and exercise

- She'll only really soften up if she talks about her girlfriend or her swords, getting equally giddy over both

- Her shedule is regular and she has quite a big following

- Swords will always be present in her backgrounds

What kinda blog would they run? - Her blog would focus on her swords and she'd go into detail about their history and origin

- She takes beautiful pictures of them from every angle imaginable

- Lighting is everything, it's gotta hit the blade juuust right

- She poses them with occassionally, doesn't admit it but she enjoys it

- Her colour scheme would be muted and her theme would be minimal

- Lamina tends to post whenever she has a new sword delievered

Dressing Up:

What would they be for Halloween? - Lamina is not usually one to get dressed up, would probably take some persausion

- She'd want it to be low effect, nothing too complicated

- If she had to pick, possibly an apocolyptic survior, no it's not an excuse to show off her cool swords shUT Up

Who would they cosplay as?

- Possibly Erza Scarlet from Fairy Tail

-Because did I mention swords? because she likes s

-Not sure which armor she'd go for

-Possibly would commission someone to make it

Food:

What type of biscuit would they be? - A simple shortbread biscuit

What type of tea would they be? - Green macha tea

What type of alcohol would they be? - Straight whisky

Games:

What kind of Yu-Gi-Oh! Deck do you they have? - Warrior deck or Amazoness deck?

What kind of Pokemon Team do they have? - Fighting type, feel like it fits her

What Animal Crossing animal would they be?

- Wolf possibly? or a bear

- Home filled with work-out equipment

- Grumpy personality?

Aesthetic: Early mornings, sore knuckles, stern looks, hidden softness, sword clashes, the smell of burning, loyal bonds, dark purples and blues,brusied skin and busted lips, quiet nights beneath the stars.

Extra headcanon:

- (tiny spoilers??) After Solus left most of her men dead, Lamina felt geniuely hurt. Her loyalty and trust in Solus was strong. She wouldn't admit but she did shed a few tears when she was alone before completely shutting herself off from her remaining men. They weren't like him, in fact, they were among the ones who mocked her and they only trusted her out of fear. She felt she'd lost her only real connection. Thankfully, she was able to open up again and she couldn't be happier. -------------------------------------------

Katia-Jinx:TSM

Social Media:

What kind of Youtube channel would they run? - Katia would have a fashion channel, she'd showcase the unsual dresses she'd buy and possibly make

- There's always a WIP of a dress on a manniquien in the background of her videos

- She'll sometimes do time lapses of dress

- Katia will occasionally post tutorials on the dresses she makes and leaves materials and such in the description  

- She'd talk about the best materials to use to sew with

- Her sewing machine is covered in cute stickers and has become staple in her background

- She keeps a list of themes to explore in a notebook

- Her following is large but not overwhelming

What kinda blog would they run? - A fashion blog

- She'd post lookbooks each with a different theme

- Her colour scheme would be soft galaxy, maybe blue and purple

- Katia loves to talk about the history of fashion and tries to re-create the clothing from different points in history

- Her blog is clean and orginaised to a T. Everything is put into categories

- Katia posts weekly and does at least one lookbook per week

Dressing Up:

What would they be for Halloween? - Katia would be a wailing victorian bride

- With her skills in dress making her costume would be sublime

- She'd go ham on her costume, adding every single detail she can think of to make it look better

- Kinda erie how accurate it would be

Who would they cosplay as? - BOTW!Zelda or Twlight Princess!Zelda

- Again, costume making is her jam! the entire thing would be made from scratch minus a few things like the wig

- She loves the outfits Zelda wears in the games and would study the hell out of them to get the design right

Food:

What type of biscuit would they be? - Simple lemon biscuit

What type of tea would they be? - Earl Grey

What type of alcohol would they be? - Vodka

Games:

What kind of Yu-Gi-Oh! Deck do you they have? - Harpy Lady deck

- She just thinks they're neat

- And she enjoys the play style

What kind of Pokemon Team do they have? - Ghost type

What Animal Crossing animal would they be? - Rabbit

- Her house would be cosy and hidden away within the trees

- Shy personality type

Aesthetic: Silver necklaces, heavy veils, masquerade masks, silk dresses, corset ties, anxious thoughts, strained smiles, secret encounters, fights for freedom, golds, silver, sparkling jewels, touch starved.

Extra headcanon:

- Katia was not always an anxious mess, that only occurred later in life due to the pressure her parents placed on her. As a child, she was playful and witty, she was rebellous and would always find ways to esape her escorting guards. These days the only way she can 'escape' are when she's in her own quaters.

[tinypigeonlord]

The Hunger Games - Muse Shenanigans V

Even in 2019, muses are not safe from Hunger Games Shenanigans. Some of these poor fools had to experience another horrifying death after coming back from the previous ones. The newcomers aren’t safe either, as you’ll see in the results. So who get to duke it out this year? Here’s the roster:

For previous shenanigans, click this link

We always start out with our first event, the Cornucopia, also known as The Bloodbath. Our tributes can gather supplies, or just run for their life. The choice is theirs. So let’s see what everyone decided to do:

Most of our tributes make a run for it, or grab the nearest thing they can find before heading off. Some kindhearted souls share their new supplies. One fight breaks out, but ends peacefully.

But how does the rest of this first day play out? We’ll have a look:

I end up scaring a ghost away, some tributes received explosives, while others work for their resources instead. Our local fairy made the choice to stab Vivian in the back, presumably because she posed a serious threat. Dove is not gonna be happy his daughter died once he found out. Meanwhile our dear Sheep Mom gets a knife to the chest from Buttons. She did not survive.

The first night falls, which usually brings a lot of tension. Can our tributes handle this? We’ll see:

Our Demon King of Lust is apparently afraid of the dark and tries to call for help. Dove forgets how to summon his fire and sleeps without warmth. Thankfully he hails from a frozen wasteland so he should be able to handle it. Ace makes a questionable choice by sleeping together with literally every man who has tried to hurt her in the past. Liran and Hattie pick a better adult in King Candy. Some tributes stay up to tell each other stories, others receive more dangerous weapons they should probably not be given.

Aside from Vivi and Kaelon, everyone survives the first night, and make it to Day 2. But will they get past this day?

The next day is quite eventful. More dangerous weapons are handed out, and some cause more deaths. Our Flowercrown Murderer strikes and ends Sidonai’s life for not playing her mindgames. Jarkova kills his fellow wrath demon Sabrael, and Asmodeus tracked down and killed Sheimi, who we can only guess rejected the bastard’s advances previously.

Atleast Sidonai and his mother are finally reunited in death...

Onwards to the night!

We have two dragons spending the night singing songs with a fairy, and Dove and Jarkova truced so they too can sing some songs to pass the time. King Candy and the Flowercrown Murderer developed a friendship, while Michael stopped chasing Ace and is now alone and crying. Tamiel chased two pretty girls away because they came with Snape attached and it was just not worth it.

Let’s see what the next day has in store for our tributes:

Most of the day is pretty uneventful. Everyone is minding their own business or running away from other people’s business... except Castiel, who decided to stalk our local pigeon demon, Dove. Theo overpowers Silver, but decides not to finish the fight and leaves him alive. Surprisingly, there are no deaths today...

But will the night go by peacefully as well?

Theo and Silver seem to have worked out their issues, as they spend the night sleeping together, along with Hattie, Castiel and Ace. I still question Ace’s choice in sleeping partners, but this is still better than her other options. Buttons and Liran snuggle, and King Candy and Ghosty share a shelter too. Jarkova feels remorse over his murder-y actions, while Asmodeus feels none and destroys Livia’s supplies like the bastard he is. Marie, while very much anti-demon, decides that angels are okay and leaves Michael be.

It seems everyone made it through the entirety of day 3, and we’re onward to Day 4:

Unfortunately Marie, Flip and Snape are unsuccessful at gathering resources, and they die from thirst and hunger. Ace and Buttons cleverly split up to find more resources. The Flowercrown Murderer helps a fellow murderer out and tends to his wounds. Tamiel got overconfident and forgot he’s not the only one who was given explosives by a supporter. He goes keboom.

Let’s see if the hunt for resources will go better during the night:

Dove’s daughter is as successful at making fires as he is, which is to say they both suck.Liran and Theo instead stay warm by holding hands. Gaaaaaaaay :v Two pigeons tell each other stories, and so do one of the angels and an ex-angel. That’s gotta be interesting. Two of the more dangerous tributes receive new weapons. Wonder how that will work out.

Everyone survives the night! Now let’s find out what they will do for the next day:

Ace tends to her father’s wounds, being the kind soul she is. Even though he’s a prick :v Livia did not tend to her own wounds and dies from an infection. No more pigeon tales... Castiel proves why he should not be given dangerous weapons, as he killed Liran, Buttons and King Candy with an explosive. Jarkova decides to take a break from actively murdering people and tries to sleep through the entire day, unlike Michael who constructs a shack. I do wonder if all the effort will help him any.

We say goodbye to these four beebs, and carry on into the night:

Dove still derps on how to fire, unlike Asmodeus. Theo, Castiel, Jarkova and I instead stay warm by snuggling. Poor Ghosty is all alone and screams for help. She wants snuggles too :(

Perhaps the next day will bring more snuggles? We’ll see.

Castiel found himself a new target to stalk, namely Dove’s daughter. Dove in the meantime goofs and sprains his ankle while escaping the Flowercrown Murderer. Still a clever decision though. Theo derps as well, and Asmodeus goes Stealth 100.

Aside from some stalking, no one is harassed today.

Will The Flowercrown Murderer catch up to Dove before the end of the night though? And will Castiel murder Ace? Will Silver use his explosive? And what plans does Asmodeus have? Let’s find out:

Dove seems to have dodged Hattie, but instead gets attacked by another youth. Fortunately for him, Silver and Theo renewed their differences, and Silver kills Theo to protect Dove. Castiel meanwhile lost sight of Ace, and his position. Ace found safety with Michael and Ghosty. Asmodeus is still lurking in the bushes, subtly treating his infections. Ace and Hattie aren’t around to tend to his problems this time. Hattie is occupied with food she received.

Castiel still hasn’t found his targets back, but instead steals from Asmodeus to keep going. I help Jarkova and Dove track down and kill Silver. Shame on you Dove, the boy even protected you earlier! As for Hattie... well unfortunately as good as she is at treating Asmodeus’ injuries, she ignored her own and bled out.

The best die young, they always say... These three kiddos prove that saying.

Ah well, let’s see how the others fare this next night:

Some of us receive supplies, others trick angels into not killing them, only to kill them instead. And then there are angels who cause their own death by stepping on landmines on accident. GG

The next day is a special day! The cornucopia is replenished, giving tributes a chance to restock. But will they take the risk?

Aside from Jarkova and Ace, no one decides to go to The Feast, which is probably for the best, because Jarkova kills the poor defenseless girl to steal her supplies. She must’ve stumbled upon something damn good. Me, I didn’t even reach the Feast, I froze my ass off in a lake and drowned. Sucks...

Two angels, a halfling and a pigeon died, leaving behind a young ghost girl and a bunch of old demons causing mayhem.

Poor Ghosty spends the day running from Jarkova, while Dove sprains his other ankle this time while running from Asmodeus. No sexy times right now, Momo.

And for the night, poor girl has to fend all three of these old bastards away from her fire. Dove still doesn’t recall how to make his own, Jarkova and Asmodeus are just lazy. That’s gotta be rough for here.

Will she continue to fend the demons off the next day?

A sponsor noticed Ghosty’s plight and gifted her a hatchet to help her defend herself. Dove won’t bother her anymore however, as he wasted all his energy and dies from hunger. Jarkova meanwhile betrays Asmodeus and kills him in his sleep.

That leaves Ghosty with just one demonic bastard to deal with. He’s the worst of them though...

Will she make it through the night?

Alas, though she did her best, she fell into Jarkova’s trap, and dies as a result. And with that, we have our winner for the Hunger Games Shenanigans: Muse Edition V

And here are the final placements and tags:

@mus-brunneis (Ace, Marie & Buttons), @winged-gentleman (Jarkova, Dove & Vivian), @inferno-principe (Asmodeus, Liran, Tamiel, Sabrael, Sidonai & Kaelon). @ghostlyanon (Ghosty), @tinypigeonlord (Pigeon Lord), @dork-in-a-trenchcoat (Castiel), @cruelseraph (Michael), @silvcrsoul (Silver), @volpe-infernale (Theo, Terrance & Hattie), @ask-his-puffiness-king-candy (King Candy), @pigeontales (Livia), @ask-flip-frost (Flip), @half-blood-master-of-potions (Snape)

[angelbrained]

Heres a quick rundown of what we have and what we need

Cure

We have the audio but the PV is completely lost, not even GHOST has it. The instrumental was likely never distributed.

Dreamy Sheep Herder

We have everything related to this song except the instrumental since it was never distributed.

^Dreamy Sheep Herder’s PV art

Number St.

This song is largely shrouded in mystery. Its instrumental was likely distributed but no proof exists. We do have the PV, however.

Dysphoric Reverie

We have the video and audio, but that’s it. We have the instrumental.

Of the Sort

We have nothing but the audio, not even GHOST has the art. The instrumental was probably distributed but I wouldn’t say for sure.

Carnes

We have the PV and the audio, and the instrumental.

Reversed Love

The PV (which not even GHOST has) has been found and is uploaded unlisted on my second channel. The instrumental was distributed.

Of the Sort (Remaster)

The art on this one was used for the reuploads of both the original and the remaster. The instrumental was definitely distributed.

The Chattering of Teeth

We have the PV, audio, and instrumental.

Dance with the Dead

We have the PV, audio, and instrumental.

Face Less

We have the PV, audio, and instrumental for the original.

We have the audio, instrumental, and the illustration for the remaster. We have the illustration but strangely not the PV.

^The illustration of the Face Less remaster

Serial Contraption of Malice

We have the original PV, and the original audio. For the remaster, we have the audio. We need to find the PV for the remaster.

Crazy Town

We have the original PV, audio, and instrumental. We have the remaster’s audio, instrumental, and a low quality version of the art. We have the 2017 remake. We need the 2014 remaster’s PV.

HOUSEWIFE RADIO

We have the PV and audio, and the instrumental, but not the released VSQX for the 2014 ver.

The Problematic Crow’s Reality

We have the PV and the audio, and the instrumental, but not the released VSQX.

Oxidation and Dream Monsters

We have the PV, audio, and instrumental.

I’m not terribly interested in getting the instrumentals because it’s clear ghostie doesn’t want them out, I’m currently just interested in finding the lost PVs. Hit me up in the inbox or my tumblr dms if you can help out. :^)

[captainaikus]

Nsfw (yandere) : Barou, what do you do if Y/n teases you? Even if it’s very subtle?

Shoei : Get on my nerves and I'll bend you. Subtle or not, you know exactly what you did. The brat screams when I get into mating press. This time, I'll go full nelson. And it won't stop there even if you admit that you're sorry or how much you regret it I don't give a fuck. I don't forgive, I get even.

[captainaikus]

(SFW) where would you take y/n out on a date kaiser?

Kaiser : ... Ness : A coffee shop first, and then think about going to Santorini, Kaiser.

[captainaikus]

(Literally obsessed with ur work, Keep doing what you’re doing! 🙏😭)

For Barou : Does the king Barou care for chubby girls? :c

Shoei : *mocking* 'does the king Barou care for chubby girls?' she asks. Seems like you haven't been keeping up with my interviews little one. I like someone who's clean. Call it OCD or whatever the fuck you want, the only time I want you filthy is when that cunt is messy with my spit, your cum or mine.

[captainaikus]

(SFW) Bachira!! How did y/n react when you asked her out?

Meguru : took a few minutes for her to process to it to be honest... at first she thought i was being impulsive but after she found out that I genuinely meant it, she was really happy first date was at the arcade （＾³＾）～♪

[captainaikus]

(SFW/NSFW) Shidou, Can you list some of the reasons why you love Y/N so much?

Ryusei : My heart beats fast and hard for them. And so does my dick ;p

[captainaikus]

(NSFW) Kunigami, You’re such a softie for a yandere, how’d you date Y/n?

Rensuke : Test my limits and I'll make sure you know what hard feels like. Size isn't the only thing that matters, its also on how I fucking use it.

[captainaikus]

For Ushiwaka : You’re a big man, and i have a strong feeling you’re very aggressive in bed, care to explain how much of a monster you could be with a bratty girl?

Wakatoshi : …

(y/n) : I’ll answer this one since he is a man of a few words. His spanks are hard - expected cause of years of being a volleyball player and the fact that he spikes doesn’t help. He has broken the bed three times over the last five weeks… so safe to say, he puts you in your place.