#even in death you find community and companionship

[distort-opia]

Have we talked about how bonkers it is to get married to someone else while wearing the symbol of your fucked up bond with the undead dark wizard corpse you rose from the dead? It's probably been discussed already, but I need to exorcise all my thoughts on Nosferatu (2024)... so yeah, I just find it such a deliciously insidious choice. When Ellen wears her wedding dress at the end of the movie, welcoming Orlok, she has dried lilacs in her hair from her prior wedding to Thomas, as the shooting script itself confirms. And Ellen had to know that marrying Thomas would break her Covenant with Orlok, right? She swore to be with Orlok ever-eternally, and then swore the same thing to Thomas at a chapel. Later, she tells Thomas, "He took me as his lover then, and now he has come back. He has discovered our marriage and has come back!" She must've had some inkling of what would happen, if she broke her Vow. So then what must've gone through her mind, to put those specific flowers in her hair as she was giving herself to another?

I got so long with this one, hence the cut. In fair warning, this interpretation is very Ellen x Orlok oriented, so if that's not your preferred view on the movie, you might not enjoy reading the rest.

It's almost mocking, her flaunting of lilacs as she marries Thomas. It's almost a "come back and get me". It's almost as if she knew she was preparing this dress for a different kind of wedding ("I have brought this evil upon us"). It's keeping in tone with that dark, eerie scene of Ellen clipping her hair and putting it in the locket, to give to Thomas... but as we know, the locket ends up with Orlok instead. And he uses that lilac-perfumed lock of hair to re-establish his hold on Ellen! It's as if she sent him a means of communication with her, because prior to Orlok obtaining the locket, we don't see him speaking to Ellen. The Covenant between them was broken by her, and Orlok needed to use earthly means of influence via Herr Knock in order to get to her and her husband. Of course, she has premonitions (her nightmare of marrying Death, steeped in the scent of lilacs once more) but it's not a dream induced by Orlok; it's part of her own psychic powers. And so, by putting a lock of hair inside the locket, knowing where Thomas was going... she gives Orlok a way to talk to her. Because we constantly see him use the locket as an anchor of some kind, as he spreads his influence towards Ellen. And then, all the while afterwards in her trances, Ellen moans "He is coming to me, he is coming..." Gleeful, orgasmic.

Am I saying Ellen intentionally and in full awareness did these things, so that Orlok would come to her? No, not entirely. I don't think it's something so planned and so conscious. She is as terrified and hateful towards Orlok as she is attracted to him, and that's the thing. It's a compulsion, a yearning. All along, through the entire movie, Ellen yearns. It's all over the shooting script; she pines and wants and hungers, in relation to Thomas, and to Anna, and to Orlok himself. And it isn't something spiritual. It's a yearning for touch.

"I frightened him [my father]. My touch..." Ellen says to Von Franz, when he consults for her. She feels the need to highlight that, as if her father recoiling from her touch was the hardest part she had to bear, the thing that made her the most lonely-- desperate enough to call out for any kind of companionship and tenderness. At the beginning of the film, before Thomas leaves, we see how much skinship Ellen seeks with her husband; she asks him to stay and make love to her when he was late for his meeting with Knock, they kiss each other ravenously after the Hardings depart to put the children to sleep. And both times, the script describes Ellen as "hungry". Even when Thomas leaves and gives her a small goodbye kiss, the text says "It's not enough for Ellen." Later in the movie, after Thomas is returned and dreams horribly due to Orlok's influence, Ellen is cuddling with him, but he pushes her away, asking her to "get off". She feels rejected enough that she seeks out someone else's physical touch-- Anna's, with whom we see her in bed next, and once again, the script uses "yearning" more than once to describe Ellen's behavior.

The theme of repressed sexuality and how in Victorian times, a female want for sex was demonized, has been discussed again and again in relation to Nosferatu (2024). Orlok is, indeed, a dark mirror to Ellen's desires: he is monstrous because she sees her own wants as monstrous. He destroys and brings disease, because Ellen sees that part of herself as destructive and unclean. But I do think there's a fascinating element to Ellen's nature that is not part of Orlok's symbolism, but rather extends to him as a character... her ravenous appetite for love. Her father deprived her of it, but the Shadow that came to her when she called was just that-- a shadow. A presence. It was not a person that could hold her, a person she might touch. Orlok, a spirit only, was not enough. He himself says it, while he's on the ship set for Wisburg. "Soon I will be no more a shadow to you." And this line was cut from the movie, but in the 2023 script, he also says, "Your spirit was never enough."

It was the script that made me think of this whole thing, really. Mostly because of how it describes their first meeting:

"...for the first time, she faces him in THE FLESH." It's emphasized. It's important, that Orlok is not a shadow here. That he is there, that Ellen can feel him and smell the blood on his breath. But the most damning thing she accuses him of? "You cannot love." As if that's the most important part for her, as if saying "That's what I need from you, and you can't give it to me". And Orlok admits that he cannot love her the way Thomas does, but that he hungers for her nonetheless.

I don't know, I just find this a much more compelling interpretation than a simple "Ellen is Orlok's victim and he is her abuser". Yes, Orlok is an appetite, but so is Ellen. Ellen is an active participant. She is the one to summon Orlok, the one to dictate his actions via his sheer want of her, the one to lure him to her so she could indulge her desire. Except, as it is a staple of dark and gothic romances, Ellen cannot directly act upon what she wants. Not like Orlok can. That's the point-- her desires are repressed, she believes them to be shameful, and so she needs an excuse to let them out. That's what characters like Orlok, who threaten and coerce, provide. A way to give in that preserves the heroine's "purity"; she sacrificed herself to save Thomas and Wisburg! She said she abhored him, she wanted Orlok dead! But then, why wear lilacs at her wedding? Why give Thomas the locket with the lilac-scented strand of hair? Why call Orlok her lover? Why wear a wedding dress and then cradle him in her arms as they died together, once again needing to touch him?

And I will say, it's great how this conflict, this self-hatred regarding her own feelings, is contrasted also in Orlok. "Till you did wake me, enchantress..." "You are my affliction." It's almost scornful, accusatory. You get the feeling he resents how much influence Ellen has on him, but he cannot help himself in the slightest. He denies that it's love, he says he cannot love-- but we have to keep in mind what he says prior. "Love is inferior to you." He considers love a weakness, something that he (as something inhuman, and something he believes Ellen is as well) is above of. But love is Ellen's craving, while life is Orlok's. Orlok is equated to Death. An all-consuming appetite, and they end up infecting each other with it, and then hating themselves for it. Ellen is oppressed by the society around her; her father had nearly institutionalized her, she had to marry Thomas to escape him. She is seen as strange and ill, as having "childish fancies", even by her own husband. She is tied to a bed and quieted down with drugs in the house of a man who's pretty much a representative of benevolent patriarchy. And so, does she not hate them all for doing this to her? Orlok bringing death and destruction on the society and people who stifled her is no coincidence, obviously.

But then again, Orlok ends up with a yearning for a person. Desire for someone's soul and body, not just their life-blood, which is ultimately something human... and he can't deny her, not even when he knows he would die. In that first scene in which Ellen calls upon him, he says "You are not for the living. You are not of human kind." It's the unspoken "You are for me. You are like me," that dooms him to an inescapable obsession, his own version of Ellen's yearning.

Ultimately, the human is a little bit monstrous, and dies for it. And the monster is a little bit human, and dies for it too. I, for one, am fucking obsessed with it.

[demonic0angel]

Hi! I saw your last ask post, and if you’re open to sharing, I’d love to see a bit of the Possessed AU!

I think it’s such a unique take on DPxDC—I haven’t seen anything like it before, and it adds such a cool perspective. Plus, the idea of Nightwing—one of the absolute pinnacles of the hero community—being possessed is just insane.

His loss alone would be devastating, but the fact that his friends and family don’t just lose him—they have to keep seeing someone else in his body—makes it so much worse. The emotional fallout would be so intense, and I’d love to see how you explore that.

There aren’t a lot of dark humor creators in the fandom (which is totally fine! Everyone’s entitled to their own ships and headcanons), but personally, I adore their kind of dynamic.

If you have anything to share, that would be amazing! No pressure, though—just wanted to say how much I love the idea. Thanks in advance! <3

YOU GETTTT ITTTTTTTTT!!!

Yes, I’m very open to sharing! I’ve been writing a one-shot about this idea (I have no idea when it’s gonna finished, I have so many other projects, it’s not even funny so please don’t ask), and the entire premise is that Dan learns how to be a hero through the eyes (and body) of Dick Grayson.

Dick Grayson is such a vital part of the DCU and hero scene, since he’s seen as the best of the best and even the next leader of the Justice League. His kindness, understanding, and compassion is what makes him such a good hero, especially in a city like Bludhaven, which is believed to be even worse than Gotham City.

Meanwhile, Dan is NOT a hero. He’s an anti-hero at best, and a full blown serial killing villain at worst, which is why I absolutely love him getting a redemption arc and learning the values of heroics through his siblings (Jazz, Danny, and Dani), as well as Dick. In my eyes, Dan works best when paired up with someone who has opposing morals to his (although he’d be fun being friends with Jason too lmao)

In the Possessed AU, Dan learns how to be a hero with Dick’s body as he sees how Dick’s death impacts the people around him. Everyone hates Dan for taking over Dick’s body like he does after he dies, but no one can do anything about it, creating some very delicious angst due to helplessness. Only Dan can solve this problem, and as he tries to get Dick’s soul back and revive him, he also learns the importance of life and companionship through the eyes of Dick, who is so loved by the people around him. In my one-shot, Dan, along with Damian, work together to find Dick’s killer and revive him, and at the same time, they both relearn how to be a hero. I hope to create a story that shows that Dick’s legacy as hope and light, as both Robin and Nightwing, will last, even when he’s dead.

Ty for the question, I love yapping about my AUs!!

[reason-with-the-underdog]

kaveh's voicelines aren't even subtle about his loneliness

kaveh's voiceline: "haha if you're not me and you dont share my trade, i wouldnt expect you to understand. mmm… it'd be nice to meet someone who did understand, though"

kaveh's sketchbook entry about mehrak: "more than anything, i hope it really can understand what I'm saying"

and then one of his hangout routes is about how even if you can't be understood, companionship is just as valuable

…the takeaway being kaveh might never be understood by the masses despite how he longs to belong to the crowd (chara story 5), but maybe he can have a companion

more fun lines:

"You're not… making fun of me, are you? I've gotten so used to sarcasm that I can't tell what's genuinely a compliment anymore."

:') kaveh...

(also this is why sarcasm sucks for actual communication! this is a PSA from your local ND who doesn't always parse sarcasm well)

"it's best that we go and join him for dinner. sigh That means I'll owe him yet another meal now…"

🥲 he'll get there one day.

the way that he immediately pivots to reassuring traveller in his voiceline about his troubles like "whoops didnt mean to bring the mood down, srsly dont worry about it!!"

^ that is a man who keeps accidentally trauma dumping in public and feels incredibly bad about it

his voiceline about "You might unlock something that can't be put away again" sounds like kaveh's talking about his & alhaitham's fight after all, who else does he truly know as a person?

and then "even if all my hopes and dreams are built on pain and suffering" 🥲🥲

kaveh's so unfamiliar and uncomfortable with the concept of someone being worried about his wellbeing (tbf alhaitham does not phrase himself nicely)

the way that i went from "hehe kaveh cant find a way to politely reject a gift" to "o right kaveh thinks that no one will ever understand him and that he's such a burden on others that it's prob for the best to never be understood anyways"....

its not even subtext he actually says it

sometimes i think about how lonely and alienated kaveh must have felt, probably ever since his father's death...

and how resigned he is to being unknowable, yet unable to see that he also pushes away others (him holding scores and assuming that compliments must be jokes, etc)

[lilgoblinbitch]

The Archer Finds a Soulmate 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

girl dad!daryl dixon x fem!reader

a/n: this idea was offered by @yummymeee !! was trying to find fluffy daryl prompts and this one stuck with me.

summary: Daryl is a father of a young girl and has always had trouble trusting new people. When he meets you, everything changes.

warnings: none really, typical twd stuff, just some angst and fluff at the end :)

Daryl Dixon was left raising a child in the apocalypse. He didn't expect to find himself taking care of a baby all by himself after the mother of his child ended up hiding it from him, and on her death bed begging Daryl to keep the baby safe. Of course, Daryl would love his baby girl till the day he died. She was the light of his life. She was the only thing left in this cruel world that reminded him of what made life worth living.

Five years after the start of the apocalypse, Daryl was extremely lucky to have been part of a large community that actually showed not only him, but his little girl, charity and companionship. All he wished for was a safe home and chance for his daughter to grow up happy. Because he never got to have a happy childhood himself, it almost felt imperative for him to manifest his own happiness and prosperity by giving his own kid that opportunity.

"Jasmine! Get outta that pile'a crap and c'mere!"

The five-year-old girl lay on her back in mound of dirt and leaves, swishing her arms and legs back and forth. "Daddy, look! I'm making a dirt angel!"

Daryl scoffed as he peered over at his daughter, who was collecting bits of leaves and sticks and dirt in her hair and probably covering every inch of the fabric of her outfit. An outfit that Carol had recently washed, because it originally got stained with orange juice and pudding. Unfortunately little predicaments like that were bound to happen to any little kid. It didn't bother Daryl, he just didn't want to put more of a burden on Carol.

Daryl stood up from the log he was sitting on, setting the dead rabbit he was working on skinning to the side. "Jas! Ya want food or not?" He called out, waving the playful child over to him. She perked her head up at him, her dark curly hair now decorated with bits of colorful leaves and sticks, almost making her hair look like a Christmas tree in some way. The child obeyed and jumped up from the ground, shaking off the dirt that layered her clothing. And of course, they needed to be washed again.

Joining her father by the fire, Jasmine plopped down on the log across from him and simpered at him. He smiled back after examining her youthful grin and spotting the smeared dirt on her face. "Ya got dirt on yer face, silly girl. Here, wipe yer hands and face with this." He handed her a towel, one that was adorned with pink and purple flowers. She loved that little beach towel. She snatched it out of her father's hands and hastily rubbed it all over her face and hands, then tossing it on the ground. Daryl sighed in distress.

"How many more things of yers we gotta ask Carol to wash?"

"We're outside, daddy. There is dirt, and you say dirt makes us dirty. So it's got to make everything else dirty, right?" Her enthusiasm never failed to make him grin and forget what he was even upset at her about.

"A'ight, watch me, ready?" Daryl grabbed the dead rabbit and continued skinning it, making sure Jasmine was watching him. Her face contorted in disgust.

"I don't wanna do that, daddy! It's gross and it hurts the rabbit."

He ignored her complaining and continued skinning it. "It's dead already. Didn't feel any pain, I promise," he reassured the child. "I just needed to show ya how yer dad makes yer all-time favorite food: rabbit stew."

The little girl shook her head. "No, my favorite food is Carol's cookies, and the Kingdom's cobbler!"

Daryl rolled his eyes, finishing up skinning the rabbit and then sticking it on a stick and placing it over the fire. Throughout their meal, Daryl told her about the time he first ever had to eat rabbit, and how he was around her age. His daughter was always absolutely thrilled to hear stories, especially from her father. She admired him more than he realized. And she looked forward to every Thursday afternoon, because that's when Daryl took her out for walks in the woods, pointing out various plants and showing her how to differentiate between animal tracks and walker tracks. Of course, she was too young to fully understand everything he taught her, but it made him more comfortable knowing that she was learning early on.

Some nights Daryl lay awake, tossing and turning only to say "fuck it" and go out in the woods where he could ease his mind, while his daughter was already fast asleep in the room across the hall. He loved being alone in the woods; just him and no one else to disturb him for a few hours.

However, one night he ended up acquiring company from an unexpected individual: you. Daryl didn't know very much about you, besides the fact that you joined Alexandria not too long after he and his group did. You were quiet and reserved, always keeping to yourself and never being found in large crowds because you were always more content when alone. Daryl often found himself following you into the woods to see what you even did out there, but you were just too quick to spy on. And truthfully, you were afraid of Daryl. You had seen how similar he was to you in some ways; his love for nature and serenity and the comfort of being isolated from the loudness of the community you lived in. You observed him going into the woods and not coming back out for hours, just as you did. He ended up becoming a valued member of Alexandria as he helped Aaron recruit new members to the community. He was becoming more outspoken than you, and that seemed to make you nervous.

Tonight, curiosity got the best of you and you decided to go and see what it was that Daryl the archer father did late at night in the woods, all alone.

Daryl did not anticipate anyone to be as good of a tracker as he was, especially in the dark of night. But being the daughter of a hunter father ended up advantaging you with that skill. So when he heard footsteps and prepared to send an arrow flying and landing between the eyes of a walker, but ended up being face to face with you, he was surprised to say the least.

"Hey, um, Daryl right?" Your flashlight beamed onto his face, and he squinted. "Sorry," you turned it off and shoved it in your pocket, "I just, um...I always see you out here, and I'm always out here, so..."

"So what?" Daryl wasn't in the mood for visitors, especially not annoyingly beautiful women such as yourself. You made him nervous.

Daryl kicked the dirt around with his feet, not looking up at you as you continued to speak to him. "Look, I'm not really a people person, and you probably want nothing to do with me because I never talked to you before...but I–" you stopped to look down at the dirt and shuffle your feet in it as well, involuntarily mimicking Daryl. "I dunno, I just need a friend, I think."

You could feel Daryl's eyes on you now, the glow of the small fire illuminating his auburn hair and the specks of hair on his beard. You swallowed hard, becoming a nervous wreck under his hard gaze. "Why me?" Was all he managed to say after studying your face. You finally made eye contact with him after mustering up the courage to do so. He had pretty eyes.

"Because I think we're alike in a lot of ways." You tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear and leaned against the thick tree beside you. "And honestly, you're one of the only people I know of that has better tracking skills than me," you added, voice soft and unsure. Unsure of what the mysterious man in front of you was thinking. It seemed like he had so much going on in his head all the time, and that's because he did. His thoughts raced, thoughts about you and how pretty you looked under the sparkling fire and why the hell you were talking to a loser single dad like him.

But you didn't see him like that. You were intimidated by him – always have been, except this time he intimidated you in a way you never expected. He made you want to open up to him, because you could tell now that he was just like you. You went your whole life never wanting to be seen by anyone, but Daryl changed that.

Daryl's lack of words left you in your thoughts once again. What if that was his sign for you to scram? What if he hated you? What if he thought you were a fucking creep for sneaking up on him in the middle of the night in the woods? You couldn't handle the fear of rejection so you took matters into your own hands.

Sighing in defeat, you turned on your heal and started for the other direction back to Alexandria, until you were abruptly stopped in your tracks.

"Wait."

Daryl did not wish for you to leave. He believed you. You were like him. "Ya wanna come hunting?"

Your eyes lit up in elation, and you smiled at him. "Yeah, I'd love to."

After a only a few weeks, you and Daryl became friends. He properly introduced you to his daughter Jasmine, who when meeting you for the first time told you, "You're pretty!" It melted your heart. Yours and Daryl's friendship grew drastically from then on. You respected him a lot, as he did you. The two of you were able to teach each other things about nature and hunting that the other had no clue about; you taught Daryl which herbs were best for different things, and he taught you how to shoot with a crossbow. Of course, your bow and arrow and your dagger were just enough for you already, but it pleased you to know that Daryl actually wanted to teach you.

Soon enough it was evident that you and Daryl were growing a deeper connection than the two of you originally anticipated. But somehow you weren't scared of it. You felt content around him, and it was clear that he felt that way about you, too.

"Jasmine!" Daryl called out, frantically searching the woods for his pesky little daughter. The sun was setting over the tree line ahead of him, clouds painted orange and pink. It was going to be dark soon, and he had no idea where his daughter had run off to.

Daryl found his feet moving on their own, eyes shifting around his surroundings while he attempted to track the footsteps of his daughter. "Jas! C'mon let's go!" Suddenly the sound of a twig snapping filled the air. His heartbeat quickened, and his paternal instincts kicked in. He raced toward the sound, crossbow at the ready.

He was just about ready to shoot whatever was hiding behind the tree but when he saw you walking with Jasmine he stopped in his tracks, lowering his weapon. You and Jasmine both glanced up at him simultaneously, and the little girl ran up to her father and hugged him. A sigh of relief overcame him as he bent down to hug her back. You beamed down at the two of them, admiring how touching the sight was.

"Where were ya?" Daryl stood back up, moving his focus between both you and his daughter. You could tell he was trying his hardest to stay calm, but the fact that his daughter was running off in the woods without him made him feel uneasy and on edge.

"Don't worry, I found her by a stream back there. She told me she wanted to learn how to catch frogs," you reassured him. He grinned and looked down at the girl, who was carrying a red bucket full of croaking amphibians.

"Look how many I caught, daddy!" She lifted the bucket up to Daryl and he peered into it. "Well someone's a professional frog catcher now, ey?" He teased.

The three of you reached the gates and Jasmine hurriedly ran down the street to the other kids outside. You smiled and turned to Daryl, who was already staring at you. You blushed and looked down at your feet.

"Sorry, I should have told you she was with me. She just seemed so excited and I couldn't say no, so–"

"Nah. Don't need to apologize," he interrupted, reaching his hand up to brush a strand of hair out of his face. "I, uh, thank you, fer watchin' her."

A gentle breeze drifted through your hair and you brushed stray strands out of your face, all the while Daryl shifted his weight and gathered the pith to express his feelings at that moment. He needed to get it off his chest.

Your doe eyes only impelled him further.

"Uh..." his anxious eyes finally met your passionate ones. "I think Jas might enjoy having ya over fer dinner t'night."

This time you tittered, nodding your head enthusiastically. "If this is your way of wanting more of my company, just say it, Daryl." Your face muscles seriously ached from smiling so hard. "I... I like you. And I would love to come over, honestly, any time."

Daryl's face flushed a shade of pink you'd never seen on him before. It made you giddy. "I like ya too."

That moment felt so cliche – it felt like you and Daryl were part of a silly teenage romcom film. But you two earned that cliche moment. You were surprisingly capable of harvesting a healthy connection with someone who really meant a lot to you.

The magnetic pull between the two of you grew stronger and stronger, reeling your body closer to his. Your hand instinctively brushed against his, making Daryl's insides mushy.

A smirk ran across yours lips and you grabbed Daryl's hand firmly. "C'mon, let's go make some food for tonight."

That evening you cooked venison stew for Daryl and his daughter, by gratitude of the huge buck Daryl scored earlier that morning. Secretly you loved to cook, but you'd only ever cook for someone who was special to you; back in the day you'd always cook for your father after he'd go out hunting and bring back game that gave you an opportunity to create a mouth-watering recipe. Today, that special someone was Daryl. You truly believed he deserved a decent meal from you after everything he'd done for you. He won your trust and respect – even more so your love.

"Thank you."

Daryl was sprawled out on the couch, staring up at you as you had finished cleaning up the dishes. He had already tucked Jasmine into bed up stairs, afterward coming back down to gawk at you.

You wiped your hands on a towel and set it on the counter, turning your attention the the comfortable man on the couch. "No need to thank me. I wanted to cook for you." You joined him on the couch, drowning in the soft cushion and taking in the homey vibe of his living room.

He sat up, turning his body toward you. That expression was painted on his face again – the one that told you he was doubting himself, or that he was trying really hard to articulate his emotions. You took his hands in yours, a decision that caught Daryl by surprise. "You don't need to doubt yourself anymore. I know what you're feeling, trust me."

Your reassurance kindled the spark of courage Daryl so desperately needed. It was as if you were his god, his creator – the one to send him the message from the sky to tell him it was his time to listen to his heart. And so he did.

The archer's rough, calloused fingers traced shapes over the dry skin of your hands. Your gaze melted him like plastic by the fire, and the words your spoke to him spilled from your lips like a prayer.

"Kiss me, Daryl."

Carefully Daryl parted his lips while searching your face for any uncertainties; there were none. And so he kissed you. He kissed you like you were a porcelain doll, suppressing his strength as to not break you. He wanted this kiss to last forever, and so did you.

Daryl trusted his gut that you were the one for him, and boy was that the best decision he ever made right there and then.

[slasherparty]

Hey uh, I'm new to the Beetlejuice fandom, and I was wondering if you could do a bjxreader where the reader dies as of a result of something bj did, and he feels guilty about it? i crave angst, sorry if this is annoying

it’s not annoying! i love reading angst if it has a rewarding payoff. dunno how rewarding it’ll be here, but it’s good for character study purposes either way. thanks anon!

beetlejuice 🪲 x reader, accidental death (whoopsie!)

his hand, it was a clumsy thing... a grotesque parody of life, all bony fingers and inky black nails. it reached out, a macabre puppet show, and brushed against your cheek. a chill, an unnatural cold, seeped into your skin. you should have known better than to trust a poltergeist with such a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"A little surprise for my favorite mortal," he had purred, a sinister grin splitting his cadaverous face. you’d laughed, a light, airy sound that now seemed so far away. it was a mistake, a fatal one. the prank, a harmless little trick, had spiraled out of control, a chaotic whirlwind that swept you away; "away" being precisely four stories down into the basement of your apartment building.

beetlejuice, the self-proclaimed "Ghost with the Most," has always prided himself on his ability to stir up trouble without serious consequences (in his opinion, anyway). however, this particular mishap proved to be a costly error. a well-intentioned, albeit reckless, prank involving a trap door had inadvertently led to your untimely demise.

now, here you were, a ghost, a wisp of ethereal energy tethered to a world you could no longer fully inhabit. in the immediate aftermath, you watched as beetlejuice paced, his usual manic energy diluted to a haunted stillness. his eyes, only moments ago filled with their trademark mischief, were now shadowed with shock and remorse.

a part of you, a tiny, twisted part, reveled in his misery. but the larger part, the part that was still you, ached with a profound sadness. though you'd scarcely begun to process it, you'd been robbed of your life, a cruel twist of fate orchestrated by such a stupid and poorly set-up joke.

yet, as you watched beetlejuice begin to tear himself apart over it, you couldn't help but feel a strange sense of peace. perhaps it was the knowledge that he was now there, forever, nothing keeping him apart from you. or maybe it was the hope that, together, you could find a way to make sense of this tragic turn of events.

left as a fragile spirit adrift in a sea of uncertainty and the endless maze of the neitherworld processing office, bj finds himself once again in the position of being a guide (he even dons the hat for you).

as the days turned into weeks, you began to adjust to your new existence. you learned to phase through walls, to levitate, to communicate telepathically. when you weren't stuck haunting your apartment, you explored the neitherworld, with bj's ever-present companionship. he'd become a bit of a helicopter since the accident. even though you were dead now, with virtually nothing around to seriously harm you, you could tell the guilt had riddled him with anxiety.

the sight of your spectral form, a pale echo of your vibrant self, haunted whatever was left of beetlejuice's conscience. the memory of your warm living touch, a spark that ignited a strange, twisted affection, lingered like a phantom limb. you still touch him, just as soft as in life, but it's now a bittersweet reminder of a life cut short, a casualty of his own selfish schemes.

he became a constant source of both comfort and chaos. he would spend hours pouring over ancient grimoires, searching for a way to restore you to life, at the behest of juno who of course discouraged any and all investigation into such dangerous breaches of the laws around life and death. "The rules are there for a reason, you brat," she'd remind him, smoke fuming from her neck. you knew this wouldn't discourage him; nothing juno ever said did. but there was some truth to her words... it would be impossible to truly bring you back to the living world in any meaningful, non-invasive way.

regardless, he's always remained determined to make amends, if not to restore your life then to help you transition smoothly into this strange new existence. perhaps, through this unexpected role, he can atone for his past mistakes… and maybe even keep you around, for as long as you'll still have him.

you've often wondered if bj is truly sorry for what he's done. was his remorse genuine, or was it simply a performance, a way to manipulate your emotions? you could never be sure. but you knew one thing for certain: you were bound to him, a ghostly tether that neither time nor death could sever. and maybe that made it all okay, in the end.

bit of a long one! thanks for reading!! 💌

you can find more of my writing here on ao3!

[acesw]

Knowing our Arcanists 11: Зима

Welcome to entry eleven of my series: "Knowing our Arcanists"! This is a series in which I introduce and tell the stories of our fellow characters in Reverse: 1999. For today's character we will be seeing: Зима!

Ah so if we have Tennant for the yuri beam then we have Зима for the yaoi beam. He's also one of the characters we're initially introduced to early in the game, and he also has a generally short story. Lets get started.

Зима is a Russian arcanist who was born on April 28th and was active during the early 20th century. He lived in Russia prior to being taken into the Foundation during his exile. His arcane skill involves the composition of poetry as well as the ability to communicate with the wildlife around him.

A quiet man, he is a poet who actively wrote during the 1910s during the era of the Russian Empire. His poems were popular among the masses and the nobles, receiving a great amount of critical acclaim.

However, his popularity met an end once Зима had been exiled after supposedly writing a poem that went against the Tsar's interests. In the island Зима arrived in, he had initially been with many other prisoners like him.

There, they endured many cold days and nights, and Зима had witnessed death firsthand as prisoners died one by one.

Yet he continued to write. Once running out of paper, he began writing on the environment around him. Snow, wood, stone, any sort of surface.

He endlessly wrote poems that allowed him to reflect as well as his journey on the island. Зима didn't write any sort of political poem, but merely just poems that were about life and himself.

On a cold day, he encounters a chickadee who lived on the island. Naming it as "Зима," the two had formed a companionship throughout this exile.

Over time, he began to communicate with more animals. All animals who were once enemies became his friends, and he eventually felt content and safe with living alone in this cold environment.

At some point, the Foundation had found the penal colony as well as encountering Зима during their evaluation of the area. During this investigation, he had done measures to hide away from the Foundation workers before being eventually being found and interviewed by them. Зима was invited to the Foundation, in which he accepted after some thought about the future ahead of him.

After joining the Foundation, he was assigned to Team Timekeeper after some time, and currently resides in the suitcase.

Зима is a humble but socially inept person. He can be described to as being very quiet and closed off, and often takes the time to avoid interacting with people as much as possible. He even finds it easier to talk to the animals around him considering his ability.

However, he's also politically active and has been outspoken against the Tsar and his actions. Every now and then, he picks up on the news coming from the mainland from the birds who travel to the island.

Зима's passion for poetry can't be doubted. He writes constantly when the ideas comes to him, and will do what it takes to write down his thoughts. He enjoys writing at night and when he's alone.

His poetry grew to become an outlet for his emotions and thoughts about his life and the world around him. Interpreted and loved by many who read them, the ultimate truth comes to when he talks of himself and his experiences. Зима writes not for satisfaction, but to entail his life and reflect on the humanity of the world with words unspoken.

They light a bonfire, Crackling, flickering, And before the fire leaves their eyes, they sing, What did you see? The rocks did not reply, But a young voice says, "Humanity."

-Poem excerpt, Зима's anecdote

[mumms-the-word]

one thing from DAI that I think about a lot is when you see the gravestones that state everyone's fears in the Fade. Solas's is "dying alone." For a long time I thought that meant like….more like "dying unloved, dying without friends near" but now I think that's too simple for Solas.

I think instead it means being the literal last person in the world, dying completely alone, without spirits or people nearby, just so hopelessly alone in large part because he might have screwed up the world too badly. It's ironic, because I think Solas craves companionship, I think he craves having a community again. I think that's something he comes to enjoy about the Inquisition, or if on a low approval path he would say that's why he prefers the company of spirits. But he can't entirely let go of the kind of community he used to have, the people he used to fight for as a rebel leader. Those were his people, and now they're all dead, or trapped, or sundered from themselves, or twisted beyond their purpose.

Of course, the irony that I think we may soon face with Veilguard is that Solas is so focused on trying to bring back the world of thousands of years ago, to try and reshape the elven people into a community he feels he finally belongs in, that he is only going to cause more death, and potentially (no spoilers, just speculation) death to a lot of people he may already care about in present day Thedas.

If you drink from the Well of Sorrows and tell Solas that you would use it to make a better world, to help it move forward, Solas's response is telling:

You would risk everything you have in the hope that the future is better? What if it isn’t? What if you wake up to find that the future you shaped is worse than what was?

Worse than what was...

I can't imagine the pain and heartache Solas must have felt waking up to a world so unrecognizable that the people within it don't even seem real to him. To wake up and believe that you are the very last of your kind, with no hope for the future. To wake up and think that this future that you created is worse, infinitely worse, than anything you experienced in your past. I can't imagine how alone he must have felt then.

Solas is terrified of dying alone, the last of his kind, without friends, without anyone there around him, the only sorry soul in a world of his creation...I just wonder if we'll see that come back as we try to convince or stop him from making mistakes that might bring about the very thing he fears the most.

[moutheyes]

Us, Perfect 10 Liners, and other scattered QL thoughts

Although I've been pretty good about tracking and keeping my MDL notes organized this year, I haven't done one of these posts in a while, but the finale episodes of Us and Perfect 10 Liners have converged in a single weekend so now's a good opportunity to sort out some thoughts about recently watched QL and do a first quarter-ish summary:

The year so far:

Total series completed: 18 (11 current year, 7 backlist)

Country breakdown: Thailand (14), Japan (4) oops lol dw I'm starting a Korean show this week

Highest rated of 2025: Gelboys, and it won't be surpassed

Lowest rated of 2025: Petrichor

Highest rated backlist: Be My Favorite

Lowest rated backlist: My Personal Weatherman

Original script counter: 5

OK onto the meat. Spoilers for recently ended shows under the cut!

Us

This series was not just a love story, but a love letter to the pain of grief, the torment of abandonment, the grace of healing, the transcendence of mutual love, the warmth of a true community, and the fulfillment of finding or forging one's own family. While some of the saccharine parts in the middle episodes did feel a little overwrought to me, I loved the buildup to the final act, the resolution made sense, and any growth in these characters was hard-earned. In a story with less conviction behind it, dokrak's independence might have been muted due to external conflicts, or the romantic overtones might have clashed with the family drama, but here it was well-balanced; everything naturally dovetailed with each other in service of the larger themes of the show.

I could spend paragraphs alone on how solid the surrounding cast was. Grandma Bua's even-keeled outlook on life and death was one of the most poignant parts of the show, and Kawi was just absolutely marinated in eldest-sibling melancholy (Sing did the role so much justice). Under the sure-handed direction of p'Fon, this show tackled difficult themes in a wonderfully measured way, not shying away from trauma and dysfunction and suffering but never plunging the audience into true despair either. Loneliness was always countered by companionship, doubt soothed by affirmations, and the central romance between Pam and Dokrak underpinned all of that. I really think EmiBonnie is my favorite GL pairing to date—they delivered magnetic natural chemistry and some of the best sapphic intimacy we've seen in Thai QL, even when they weren't touching. (Also some really nice OST tracks!) I'm so excited to see what they do next.

Initial rating: 9.25

Perfect 10 Liners

This is one of those shows that I find myself having to evaluate based purely on the story and characters alone, because p'New's many, ah, idiosyncrasies as a director are a feature rather than a bug at this point, and I find it tiresome to rehash. But unlike the frictionlessness of We Are (his last project for GMMTV—I've only experienced Fourever You through fmvs and gifsets which I gather is for the best), the omnibus structure of Perfect 10 Liners had built-in vibe shifts, which worked to its favor. I must admit that the ArmArc story left absolutely no impression on me, but YothaGun and FaifaWine got progressively stronger and more compelling, thanks to the ability to develop these sets of characters across longer periods of time as well as more entangled familial relationships.

What the last two sections of the show did so well was balance its farcical + comedic elements with heavier storytelling, in the form of Yotha and Faifa's family hangups. This gave their characters more depth, reinforced by tremendous acting from Perth and Junior in those roles, which in turn enhanced the romantic dynamics and complementary healing for these two pairs in particular. The last half of FaifaWine's arc was especially satisfying, as the larger group dynamics came into play, and the final episode was honestly a riot. Completely corny and unserious, but still managed to tie a tidy bow around everyone's stories. (Except you, Pipo. GMMTV I am begging—nay, demanding—that the twins get their own comedy series in 2026. I don't care if it's QL or the most heterosexual thing ever, I think it could fix me.)

Initial rating: 7.25

And to close out, a few thoughts about some recent backlist watches (ratings in parentheses):

I finished Reverse 4 You yesterday; it was one of my list of series to catch up on (two down!), and luckily the sequel just finished airing so I can move immediately to that one. So I think I'll do a bigger write-up after finishing Reverse with Me aha sorry for the fakeout.

Fine, a real review: Be My Favorite blew me away. It is so rare to get a genre mashup BL that doesn't skimp on any of its components. BMF is a speculative coming-of-age romcom, and it delivers on all fronts thanks to a truly excellent script. I was surprised by how much I genuinely enjoyed the character work; Kawi and Pisaeng's storylines were already incredibly rendered, but the show made me care deeply about Pear, Max, Kwan, all the way down to the parental figures. It took a compassionate approach to the thesis that everyone makes mistakes in life, and everyone is bound to experience disappointment, but kindness and honesty can be a powerful salve. The optimism wasn't cloying, either, because they were lessons learned organically from each character's journey. Finally, the subverted time skip trope made me happy, the title track is one of my favorites across all GMMTV shows, and the acting was top-to-bottom stellar. (9.5)

So, I had friends telling me how good BMF was even while it was airing (thanks @merryfuture ilu), and I think part of me knew that I was keeping it on the shelf for a time when I'd truly be ready to appreciate it. And that time was after finally watching the entirety of SOTUS from start to finish and thus gaining appreciation for Krist's specific niche of BL blorbo—a project that was spurred on by some thoughtful, thorough posts from @maybe-boys-do-love and @thebroccolination (among others? sorry if I've forgotten). I have a ton of notes for these series, but to try and keep this post from spiraling totally out of control, I'll just say that SOTUS should be required viewing for anyone who wants to understand how the uni campus functions as not only a backdrop but a site of possibility in Thai BL; it also had an underrated and excellent slow burn—if a show is going to maintain a low simmer for that long, heat is still required, and between Singto's searing gaze and Krist's clenched jaw, the tension was electric. However, it's SOTUS S—and specifically Arthit's growth in this new phase of his life, that I hold dearest to me. Removing him from the campus setting, where he had seniority and power and���most importantly—a considerable level of comfort, meant he had to start from square one when it came to social interactions and finding his footing, and his relationship with Kongpob intertwined with those conflicts nicely. Character of all time, maybe. (8.0, 8.25)

Thank you for reading!

[yanderes-galore]

@montygatorshusband said: "My idea was Yandere Glamrock Freddy who gets really attached to a mechanic (reader). Since Freddy had his whole thing with Bonnie, and Bonnie got destroyed, he becomes obsessed with keeping the reader safe. So, Freddy stalks them through their Fazwatch (Which he disguised as an innocent gift). He gets really anxious whenever the reader takes off the watch or even the reader getting a small paper cut. So, Freddy decides to kidnap the reader so they can always be right next to him. In fact, whenever he has to leave, he puts the reader in his chest cavity so they can be *really*be together forever and ever."

A/N: Sure! I love writing Mechanic darlings when it comes to FNAF stories :)

Yandere! Glamrock Freddy with Mechanic! Darling

Pairing: Platonic/Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Grief/Trauma, Fear of loss, Stalking, Paranoia, Overprotective, Manipulation, Kidnapping, Delusional behavior, Major character death, Forced companionship.

Honestly I've always thought Glamrock Freddy is naturally overprotective of you as a yandere.

However I've never considered the loss of Glamrock Bonnie being the reason behind it.

I really like the idea, actually.

After all, Freddy was very close with Bonnie based on his voicelines.

I personally see them as close friends but either way you can tell they were close.

The fact Freddy lost him would have definitely affected him to the point he's scared to share that same connection with anyone else.

It's unknown what truly happened to Bonnie and Freddy would be scared you'd get hurt.

The Pizzaplex has its own dangers and anything can happen.

Bonnie was an animatronic, you're a human mechanic.

You are even more in danger in Freddy's eyes.

Freddy is the naturally friendly type.

Every human, STAFF or child, is usually met with a friendly greeting.

Freddy would get attached to you rather fast, especially as a mechanic.

You help him get ready for shows and often check him over for damage or corrupted upgrades.

He feels you care for him... so he cares for you too.

Which brings up previous feelings about Bonnie.

Along with an overwhelming fear of losing you like the rabbit.

Freddy would definitely slip you a Fazwatch as a gift.

He's so kind to you and plays it off like a small gift for your bond.

Why are you refusing? This is on him!

Even if you say no he'll clip it to your wrist with a smile.

The Fazwatch allows him to communicate with you and allows him to find your position.

It's a gift, yes, but it also doubles as a way to calm his own worries.

For the most part you tolerate his little gift and keep it on during work hours.

Freddy would definitely panic a bit when you take off the watch.

Even when you work on other animatronics you can feel the watch vibrate as Freddy tries to contact you.

He watches your location like a hawk and is never too far from you.

Even if you take it off before you leave or to not get it messy, Freddy frantically rants about it to you.

You have no idea why he's so worried?

Freddy has shown he's capable to determine when a human isn't feeling well.

He would also be very attentive to when you were hurt.

Even if it's as small as a paper cut he asks what happened.

After that he's dragging you to a first-aid station to have you patched up.

The potential dangers of the Pizzaplex are something he thinks of a lot.

With mechanic work you could get shocked, lose a limb, be gutted...

Oh he hates thinking of that.

Reminds him too much of Bonnie.

His worry may indeed take over to the point he feels you shouldn't go home anymore.

It would take a long while but maybe Freddy feels he can keep you safe here.

He's delusional enough to think you'd be happy in his room, all safe and looked after by him.

In terms of the chest cavity thing I feel it would be a hard fit for an adult.

However, if he can manage it, he'd definitely use his chest cavity to carry you around with him at all times.

For the most part he keeps you in his room and out of sight.

Maybe even gags you to prevent you from screaming....

He hates the idea of restraints or gags but... anything to keep you safe.

Then when there's a performance needing to be done, you'll come along!

If he can fit you, that is.

Maybe he'll even find a way to make it soundproof!

He thinks he's making you happy and doesn't see how wrong his actions are.

Freddy just doesn't want to lose you like a certain bunny...

Could you really blame him for being so afraid?

"I'm keeping you safe, aren't I?"

[dark-lord-of-awesomeness]

I've been thinking about your cat shorts dark Ford prefers nikola au a lot (because he makes me sad 😔) and I've been wondering if he's like, pushing stan out explicitly. Would he change his mind after the right push? Like after stan has been pronounced dead by law? If this dark Ford still ended up fighting with Bill, would stan sticking around to protect him and then getting tortured make him reevaluate? Or would he pretend it was just "nikola" being a pal even though he knows otherwise.

I suppose the way this Ford contradicts the relationship that I find the most compelling and complex in the show and in Fandom very brain poking. What do you mean you are willing to let your brother be a cat?? Even though he was pretty shortly referenced.

Love your work, hope you're well <33

Dark Ford prefers Nikola is an interesting one, because the idea with him is on some level he's so lonely he's living in complete denial. This is a Ford who never reached out to Fiddleford for help (at least not right away) and never got Stan's car and Carla. He's not evil per say, and it very possible he'd also rage at Bill's betrayal and work to destroy the portal.

He's like Stan in a way. The relationship they have right now works, and he gets to be with his brother and have companionship as long as he doesnt acknowledge that his cat is Stan. If he acknowledges it, then that means he has to do something about it, and then Stan will be human and might leave. He's shoving down all the evidence Stan is showing him like how he shoved down how much he missed Stan to begin with. The news of Stan's death might actually have the opposite effect of Ford clinging to 'Nikola' harder, as now Stan really doesn't have anything to return to.

Stan would never abandon Ford, not until the moment its revealed their relationship is unsalvagable. His issue with the Dark Ford that discovered Nikola was Stan via soul shredding is that every touch is a painful reminder of what his brother did to him, and how agonizing it was. The never Nikola Dark Ford was revealed not to care about Stan himself and just liked the idea of Stan, without showing a willingness to change or communicate with Stan as equals. In this one he just thinks Ford really is that dense, and if it ever came to a point where Ford revealed he knew it was Stan but was in denial because he was afraid of what would happen next, then Stan would forgive him as long as they moved forwards and Ford uncursed him.

In the universe where this Ford fights against Bill, he'd cling to Nikola being 'just a pal' right up until he hit the mental tipping point and had a break down. He has no one to turn to, and no one to blame for his situation but himself. Except Stan is right here. The only person Ford can trust and depend on, who he's been ignoring for months just because it was easier. At that point he'd cling to Stan and admit to everything, how he knew it was Stan, and he was terrified of what might happen if he tried to do anything to help. Terrified of being alone, that maybe Stan just stuck around for so long because he didnt know anyone else who could help him. That he was the worst brother, only willing to face the truth due to desperation in his own circumstances but not for Stan himself. Which would lead to Stan forgiving him, them teaming up to beat up Bill, then Stan lording this over Fords head forever (and Ford holding Stan's willingness to be that cat over his head also. Just the saddest brothers over here, more willing to be pet/owner then have a conversation).

He's a Ford whos lonely and scared to confront reality. Just like Stan in the orignal fic, he has no idea what would happen if he turned Stan human, and the fear holds him back from taking that step.

[cloudrumble23]

Puppet girl wanted her to get to know the other ghosts in the pizzeria. To help her "adjust." To prevent corruption from taking over her soul.

Well fine. Cassidy could do that, even feeling the rage boiling under her skin as she considered the thought of anything other than plotting her revenge on their killer. Did the puppet even care? Probably not.

Still, Cassidy could handle it. She could make friends with that quiet kid who never left the suit. Puppet girl hadn't even had a chance to have a conversation with him yet since she was too busy babysitting everybody else to prevent them from corrupting.

The golden suit was crammed far back in the corner anyway. Nobody really seemed to acknowledge it, and Cassidy knew that the puppet girl only knew about it because she'd put Cassidy's soul there. Unintentional companionship, Cassidy thought to herself, squatting down in front of the suit to examine the eyes.

Sometimes there was a faint pinprick of light when she did this. Other times, there wasn't hardly anything to spot. Today was a bad day. She squinted intently, trying to make out the spot of light that she knew was there constantly, but there was no sign.

Resigning herself to actually talking to this kid was maybe not a good idea. He was hard enough to communicate with on a good day, and today was definitely not one of those. Still, Cassidy dove straight into the suit, knowing she'd have to go deep to find the quiet kid who shared the suit with her.

"Are you down here?" Cassidy called, looking around the eerily red space. "Hello?"

She heard a faint sob in response and hurried over to it, seeing him curled up in a ball on the weirdly colored grass.

"Okay," Cassidy sighed, pulling him upright. "What's the deal?"

The boy had his face buried in his hands still, something that continually frustrated Cassidy. They'd encountered each other briefly before, and he never tended to speak. She knew there was the lingering mark of death on his face, a flag of red spilling down an otherwise monochrome appearance.

In life, Cassidy might've even said he was cute, but she didn't have time for such things anymore.

Her fingers looped around his wrists as she adjusted herself to sit in front of him. "Look, I'm not typically the pushy type, but you're the person I know best out of anybody here, and I'm supposed to be making friends so that I don't get corrupted or whatever. Which means you gotta deal with me."

He didn't respond, even as she managed to peel his hands away from his face, revealing thick, oily tears that spilled all the way down his face and coated his hands. Corruption, Cassidy thought suddenly, a chill running through her.

"Okay..." Cassidy exhaled slowly as he peered at her through his eyelashes, briefly distracted from his emotional turmoil.

She swiped at the substance, hoping it was easy to remove, but she ended up smearing it across his face more. "Umm, oops?"

He only blinked at her, seemingly unbothered by the mess.

"Look, I gotta be honest here. This is way out of my range of knowing what I'm doing. And uh... puppet girl says corruption is bad." Cassidy gestured at their hands, coated in corrupted something or other. "And this stuff looks like corruption."

"Oh," the boy answered softly. He glanced at his hands and then at hers. "I'm sorry."

"What? No, you don't need to apologize. We just need to-" Cassidy took a deep breath, something she wished was still helpful. "Okay, why were you crying?"

The boy's mouth thinned, trembling slightly.

"Never mind," Cassidy said quickly. "Could you tell me your name?"

"I... I guess..." he replied, shifting uncomfortably. "I'm... Evan..."

"Okay, Evan." Cassidy tried to smile at him. "I'm Cassidy. I possess Golden Freddy."

"That's not his name," Evan said immediately, his mouth turning down in a frown. Something flickered in his eyes, a memory of some kind. "His name is Fredbear."

"Uh huh." Cassidy didn't know what to make of that. She really did need to talk to the others, didn't she? Clearly, there were many things she didn't know. "I'm sorry, I didn't know that. I just kinda gave him a nickname, I guess."

"It's alright." Evan clasped his hands together in his lap. "That's a lot of blood."

"Oh, yeah..." Cassidy looked down at her torso, still unimpressed with the fact that the bloodstains had carried through with her death. "It's a symptom of death, I guess."

"Do I... Do I have one of those?" Evan asked, his mouth creasing in worry. "Is it on my face?" His voice seemed to get higher with every realization.

"I-" Cassidy didn't know how to respond as he crumbled into tears again. "Yes? I mean, we all have those. It's okay, don't cry."

Her reassurance didn't seem to get through to him.

"Hey," Cassidy pulled him into an awkward hug, making him tumble half into her lap. "It's not a big deal. Even puppet girl has some bloody marks on her face too. And her neck."

Evan hiccuped. "Really?"

"Yeah, it's something we all deal with. I mean, it still sucks because that's so invasive to just know how other people died, but-"

"At least we're all in it together?" Evan asked, the tears spilling from his eyes no longer dark and inky.

"Yeah." Cassidy tried to smile at him. "We've still all got some stuff we can keep private though, like what we were like when we were alive, but as far as dying and our killer go, we got stuff in common."

"Our killer?" Evan seemed horrified. "He killed other people? Besides me?"

"Yeah? He killed all of us," Cassidy's mouth twitched. "Did you not assume that?"

"I thought it was an accident. He said he was sorry and that it was an accident," Evan started muttering to himself, hyperventilating.

"Okay, I think you need to calm down a little bit-"

"Calm down? We're dead because of him!" Evan's eyes flashed, and the hysteria in his voice increasing as he spoke. "He lied to me!"

The black inky substance was leaking from his eyes again.

"Evan, we all had that feeling of hopelessness that you're feeling right now, and I know it hurts, but please. You'll be corrupted if you don't calm down!" Cassidy felt pressure rising behind her own eyes as she spoke. The threat seemed much more likely now that she was witnessing it happen.

Evan shuddered in her arms as she tried yet again to wipe away the tears. "I'm so bad at this," she said to herself as she continued to make it worse.

"Join the club," Evan whispered, gripping his elbows with what would've been bruising force in life. "I can't ever seem to get anything right, either."

"It looks like I made a finger painting on your face," Cassidy admitted, wrinkling her nose.

Evan huffed out a small laugh. "Probably an improvement to how I looked before."

"Nah, I think you're cute, but I made it worse." Cassidy scoffed.

Evan froze. "You... what?"

"I made it worse?" Cassidy answered with a questioning tone. "Like, I made you cry a bunch, and then I smeared it all over."

"Oh, right. Yeah, that makes sense." Evan shook himself out of something.

"Did you always used to cry this much?" Cassidy asked, suddenly curious. She'd never heard him talk so much, and he was going to probably never do this again.

"Always," Evan said regretfully. "My family hated it. Mikey and Lizzie said I was the crybaby of the family, and they were right. It was so stupid. Mikey told me to 'man up' all the time and be a better older brother to Lizzie, but I just..."

"Your brother sounds like a jerk," Cassidy said.

"He's worse than a jerk, since he killed all of us," Evan huffed, peering up at Cassidy's face.

"Wait, what?" Cassidy frowned, suddenly confused. "Jeez, how long ago did you die?"

"Like... four years ago?" Evan answered, sitting up.

"But..." Cassidy was even more confused. "You seem too young to have died so recently. Like, your brother is a full-grown adult."

"No he isn't." Evan's face wrinkled up. "He was only fourteen when I died, so he wouldn't be older than eighteen right now."

"That makes no sense." Cassidy replied, shaking her head. "I died two years ago, and he killed me while wearing that stupid yellow bunny suit."

"Rabbit suit?" Evan echoed. "No, that wouldn't be Mikey. Mikey hated Spring Bonnie. Father kept trying to convince him to have more interest in the animatronics, but Mikey only cared about Foxy."

"Then..." Cassidy's throat tightened. "We weren't killed by the same person. We couldn't have been, not if you were killed by your brother."

"You were killed by my father," Evan told her, his face twisted in a different kind of sorrow.

He's trying to tell me without making me cry, Cassidy realized. How could anyone end his life like that? Evan was too sweet for his own good, and clearly some people hadn't appreciated him the way they should have.

"How do you know that?"

"He never let anyone else wear that suit, Cassidy. Not unless something changed after I died."

"Oh..." Cassidy didn't know how to feel about that. "So, your brother killed you, huh?"

"It was an accident." Evan stood up. "I don't..."

"We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," Cassidy said quickly. "I was just curious."

Cassidy stood up and glanced around a bit. "Do you ever wonder why everything down here is red?"

"Sometimes," Evan shrugged. "I don't see anything in any other color anyway."

"You... don't?"

"No."

"Have you ever left the suit?" Cassidy asked. "I only ever see you down here."

"I didn't know I could leave." Evan blinked at her.

"Come with me." Cassidy said suddenly. "You have actually been living under a rock, for real. Come see where we are."

"Oh. Okay..." Evan reluctantly followed Cassidy as she made her way out of the suit and back into the real world.

"So, this is Parts and Service." Cassidy gestured at the grungy room filled with broken animatronics.

"Who is this?" Evan asked softly, having walked away from Fredbear to trace a line down Foxy's snout.

"That's Foxy," Cassidy answered, coming to stand by his side. "Fritz doesn't tend to hang out around the suit much, not during the day anyway."

"Wow," Evan said, his voice wavering. "They actually made them all into animatronics?"

"Yeah, there's Freddy, and Foxy, and Bonnie, and Chica. They're a bit rusted out, and now they're just used for parts, but..." Cassidy shrugged. "I mean, the kids go around and have fun during the day, pretending to still be alive."

"You say that like you don't," Evan turned to her, clear tears running down his face. Does he ever stop crying? Cassidy wondered.

"I don't tend to join in. I'm a bit too aggressive for the things they like to do."

"What do you like to do, then?" Evan asked, his hand still resting gently on Foxy's head.

"I don't know. I just don't feel like playing anymore. I don't feel like pretending to be alive when I know we were all murdered, you know?"

"I guess..." Evan blinked. "What if you could help kids who were still alive?"

"Help how?"

"I don't know. Cheer them up when they're down or something, I guess. Like you did with me."

"I wouldn't say I cheered you up," Cassidy scoffed. "You're still crying."

"These are good tears," Evan replied.

"Well, I don't think that would work, in any case. Nobody can see or hear us."

"They can't?" Evan sounded disappointed. "Well, that's..."

"They can see the suits moving, at least," Cassidy offered. "It's just that you can't really communicate, and I've only ever used the suits to scare the security guards."

Evan stroked the fake fur on Foxy's head, not seeming to really be listening anymore. His shoulders drooped and the tears were darkening again.

"Hey, what's up?" Cassidy asked, finding herself reaching for Evan's face yet again to clear up the corrupted tears.

"It's nothing."

"Clearly that's not true," Cassidy pointed out, holding her inky hand in front of Evan's face. "Tell me what's going on."

"I want to see my family again. I guess I was just hoping that I could tell my brother that I forgive him and miss him and-" Evan cut himself off with another sob. "It's stupid."

"It's not stupid," Cassidy replied stubbornly. "I bet we can find a way."

"What if he doesn't even come here, Cassidy? What if he-"

"Foxy's his favorite, you said, right? Well, if that's true, we need to find a way to get him back in commission so your brother comes back. And then we can try to find a way to get communication between you two again."

"Why are you helping me?" Evan asked. He looked so silly with his face all squished like this, but Cassidy couldn't help it.

"Because I'd like to do something good for once," Cassidy whispered. "And I think it'd be nice to see you smile."

"Oh," Evan answered as Cassidy stretched his cheeks up to force his mouth into a makeshift smile. "Hey, stop it!"

Cassidy laughed. "Make me."

Evan swatted at her hand, a short huff of laughter escaping his mouth. "I can't!"

"Then you're stuck! Oh no, how terrible it is to smile again!" Cassidy grinned in his face, finally relenting in time to see him naturally smiling.

He giggled. "You're ridiculous, Cassidy."

And you're adorable, Cassidy thought fondly, surprised by the sudden protective urge that washed over her. "What are you going to do about it?"

"I dunno. Depends on if you're ticklish or not," Evan replied, the silver of his eyes gleaming menacingly as he dug his fingers into his sides.

Cassidy gasped, surprised that the same jolt of nerves she'd always felt when she was alive was still possible as a ghost. "Hey!" She laughed, even as she crumpled forward, tucked into Evan's shirt as she continued to struggle.

"You want to know the best part about this?" Evan asked, grinning down at her. "I don't even have to stop."

He was right, Cassidy realized. She was laughing so hard she couldn't draw breath, but since they were dead, it didn't make a difference. It's crazy how much joy there still is, even after dying, she thought, still struggling to squirm free.

Maybe the puppet girl had been right after all. Cassidy just needed to make some friends.

Or a friend, she thought looking up at the laughing boy who shared the suit with her.

There was still joy after death.

Especially with Evan around.

Thank you to @pixlokita for this adorable piece of fanart for this, by the way!

[merbear25]

Twisted Roads of Belonging (Caesar)

a/n: This is my first time posting my oc or s/i, so I thought it’d be a good idea to give some kind of introduction to her and her place in OP and give some interactions with characters before getting to the birthday part of this. I have a bunch of other ideas for her, maybe I’ll write about them too. The breaks signal a time skip (some longer than others but no time specified) @vividly-vermillion 😈

Casted to the shadows for what deemed her a danger to the public, Salem couldn’t allow her wings to be trimmed any longer. There had to have been a place for her over the horizon where she could let her true nature flourish.

CW: NSFW! MDNI! Female OC x Caesar, s/i, some fluff, vaginal sex, descriptions of animal and human death, experimentation, toxic fumes, rough sex, multiple creampies, daddy kink

“I’m sorry, my dear… I had to think of something else, something more drastic.” The shakiness in Salem’s voice only came after she realized what she’d done. The mildew smell and different shades of stone gray were a backdrop to the final chapter of many of these men’s lives.

A Marine whom she couldn’t save the old-fashioned way and was now better off dead due to her extreme measures. Such things couldn’t be helped—that was what her superiors told her, though she doubted they saw her as a do-gooder who simply made a mistake. She was past that point, and she was sure they knew that too. Keeping her around even after the gossip of ill intentions colored her in a bleak light, there was more than what met the eye when it came to the government; anyone with a brain could see that.

Dispose of what you could not salvage—she understood that to be loosely phrased on purpose, for she assumed her morbid curiosity was not exactly a mystery to those she worked with. Cutting through the skulls of those destined to die horrible deaths made the aftermath that much more palpable. Deep in thought, her hands worked on their own, severing the sections she needed to examine more closely. It was all for the greater good when it came with a noble sacrifice, and yet she often caught herself wondering if this so-called greater good was really as it seemed. 

Glancing down at the drained body of the man who’d been sent to her for help, she wasn’t ready to admit her cruel nature to herself. Ashamed but unwilling to stop the many more that would meet their untimely death at her hands, she could only face the fact that she was selfish in her pursuits, nothing more sinister quite yet. That side of her still hid in her closet, peaking between the clothes resembling body bags.

Salem pushed that grim reality back into the corners of her mind, while she concentrated on examining the samples. “Death’s hands had already claimed you.” Her solemn hum was diluted with a twitching smirk. 

She took a moment to recall the man’s appearance and shook her head. There would’ve been no saving him regardless of what she tried. As if out of habit, she took a blood sample for herself. The immorality that came with playing with leftovers should have left an unsavory taste in her mouth, but Salem developed the bad habit many moons ago. Shaking her head, she tried to rattle out that little voice.

You shouldn’t do that. Others won’t understand why you’ve done what you’ve done.

“I shouldn’t care what others think.” She gritted her teeth at the constant battle within her. Everyone wanted to be accepted for who they were, but it seemed most could only be accepted for what they ought to be. Forced to hide their true selves—that was the place she’d found herself, although she fought it tooth and nail.

But you do care.

She frowned at that. There was a part of her that was fearful of letting go of that yearn for acceptance from those who simply didn’t and would never understand her. Perhaps it was merely a community she had at one point wanted to be involved in, seeing as she wasn’t able to find her own sense of companionship.

Side projects of hers were in abundance, and expanding upon a viral blood disorder was the new addition. Salem gazed up fondly at the shelf dedicated to those that needed that perfect time to flourish. Swirling murky water in a jar was a favorite of hers. The critters within stayed hidden to the naked eye; a charm that didn’t seem to sit right with others.

Her eyes fell. “What am I still doing here?” 

Placing her hands on the desk, she leaned back in the chair. She sighed while taking in her surroundings—banished to the basement to carry out unspeakable projects, only kept around for the advancements they wanted, that they classified as worthy. Her brow furrowed. Everything she wanted to accomplish had to be done in secret, her higher-ups bearing too much shame to admit they were tied to her, stringing her along for the “good” she was capable of.

What did it mean to be good or bad in a world where they mixed into shades of grey anyway? The lines were blurred. The ones who refused to acknowledge that were the same who clipped her wings. Floodgates of emotion washed away any shreds of loyalty she’d been clinging onto. Tattered trust from the years of perceived mistreatment disintegrated in her hands, finally pushing her to cut ties.

“I don’t deserve this.” Muttering to herself, the rash decision to find a place to spread her bandaged wings guided her. The dampness of the cement walls was unsavory as they wept at the sight of the long-term tenant up and leaving.

There was something more for her, and it was just out of reach of the suppressing grip of the World Government.

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

A journey to find the place she could be herself was a tall order. Quick judgement casted people like her into the shadows for daring to push the boundaries. The glimmer of hope that there was someone like her who craved that bittersweet bite of death was persistent, albeit flimsy. Head held high, the hope of finding others like her was her beacon.

Twisting roads that seemed to coil tighter and tighter around her made her wonder how much longer she would have to travel. 

No one will come to answer your prayers.

Even though the voice in her head continuously casted doubt, it wasn’t enough to shake her confidence. Why shouldn’t I find where I belong when so many others have? They’re not any more special than me, and I’m not any less deserving.

Self-assurance played on repeat to shout over what may hold her back from succeeding. Lost in her own thoughts, a mere glance was given to the shifting surroundings.

Wanted posters littered the walls more freely in the area she found herself in. Miles worth of weather-worn faces watched her. The repeating offenders didn’t phase her until there was a pair of eyes void of everything she was hesitant to abandon that found her—buried between the newer papers. Peeling them off one by one, her eyes scanned over the man with horns.

The oil street lamps began to flicker when she pulled it off the cold stones. She brought it closer, feeling an eerie recognition. His name was illegible, making her nibble her lip trying to recall it. Ripping off the many layers, posters of him were few and far between.

The breeze made her shiver. Each one of his wanted posters had his name either torn or damaged. There had to be one. Another grasp at a layer tore them off to reveal his identity.

“Caesar Clown.”

The flames lighting the street were sucked away with the sudden gust of wind, bringing a darkness that threatened to swallow her whole.

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

“A new arrival, you say?” He tapped his chin, mulling over what Monet had informed him. A sly grin stretched his purple lips. “I suppose I should give my final say if you think she’s worth the time.” Chuckling to himself, he took his time coming over to meet the newcomer Monet was telling him about.

Entering the room, he watched her from a distance. The doe-eyed expression she had while looking around made him snort to himself. A smirk played on his lips as he had a hard time understanding why someone as close to him as Monet thought she was worth anything to him. Before he had the chance to sneak up on her, she turned to greet him.

Her sweet blush spread on her cheeks from the flustered encounter, and the little smile she gave was unbecoming for the work she did. “It’s nice to meet you,” she squeaked out. “My name’s—”

“Salem, yes. Monet has told me a lot about you, actually.” Caesar loomed over her, as if inspecting her closely. “Perhaps you’ll enlighten me as to why that is.”

In spite of the heat prickling on her face, she’d never felt so close to the life she’d envisioned for herself, which gave her every reason to push forward. The confidence exuding from her made his grin reappear, eager to know what exactly his assistant saw in her.

“Well, I did manage to save my personal projects when leaving the navy base.” Caesar took a mental note to circle back to that later. “This one,” Salem said with glee, “is my favorite.” She hugged the jar close to her, smiling down at it like it was her own child.

The swirling mass shimmered faintly in the light. Parasites. How intriguing. Before he had the chance to ask, she offered to give him a demonstration.

“If you’d like, I can show you just why I adore them so much. However, it would be better to test them on someone you don’t particularly favor…” Her voice trailed into an eerie delight. The smile on her face twisted the innocence he’d mistaken her for.

“I have many guinea pigs we can use, don’t you worry,” he hummed. The excitement sparkling in her eyes made him cackle.

“I just need a glass from them to drink from. We shouldn’t have to wait long afterwards.” She was petting the jar, clearly out of affection. His eyes looked her over again, making him wonder about this peculiar little thing that found her way to Punk Hazard.

“Say no more.” He instructed Monet to gather refreshments for the workers. 

They were too simple minded to sniff out any of his tricks, especially when it was handed to them by the woman they fawned over. A little drop was all that was necessary for the unfortunate soul to succumb to what was needed for Salem to earn her place.

The giddiness in her as she looked on gave a vibrancy that was hard to come by in such grim work. She glanced up at him, meeting those yellow eyes that bathed her in speculation. A disgruntled groan came from the group, breaking Caesar’s focus. Turning on his heels, he nodded for Monet to bring the man in so as not to ruse a panic. Even without having seen Salem’s work unfold entirely, he was sure it wasn’t anything new. However, there was a sliver of him that hoped this wouldn’t turn out to be a massive disappointment.

When the man was brought in, he was already riddled with agony. He was laid down on a table, crying of severe stomach pain.

“How would you describe this pain? One being none and ten being the worst pain of your life.”

“Ten,” he choked out.

Caesar threw a glance at Salem before returning to the henchman with a reassuring tone. “Don’t worry, I’ll do everything I can to help you.” Lying through his teeth, he was simply biding time. 

Each groan reached a new level of severity, while he helplessly thrashed upon the table to the empty words that were no longer soothing his worries. Sweat broke out over him and his pale expression quickly turned to a beet red as the veins in his neck and face throbbed. His hand tore at the bulge scurrying up under the side of his neck.

Eyes rolling back, body seizing, nails nowhere near sharp enough to dig the torment out: the onlookers were a mix of cruel fascination and hesitant glee. A sudden splatter of blood painted across the table as the newly freed isopod made its escape, but it was soon imprisoned by another glass jar. Salem held her grip on the top tightly, slowly getting down to eye level.

“Without strict measures, they could cause quite the fuss.” Her face softened from the mere thought of chaos running rampant through the various species the world had to offer. “Isn't it vial?” The romantic tone to her voice was paired with a dreamy sigh.

Caesar smirked at the admiration she had not just towards her creation but towards the disorderly terror that it could cause. With a deep breath he gazed back down at the man. Before even examining him, the sight the critter had created from the open wound on his neck was grotesque within itself.

Monet cut open the clothes to a seemingly unscathed torso. Her eyes locked with Caesar's for a moment before he sliced down the abdomen. Caving in almost entirely, the skin collapsed around the half eaten organs scattered within the carcass. A clear pathway could be traced to where the creature made its way out, sparking even more interest in what Salem had showcased.

“Well, that was a productive introduction.” His laugh carried throughout the room. “Maybe I will have use for your creativity after all.” Gingerly, his fingers danced along the recently deceased specimen, taking in the view of the patterns at which their little friend feasted. 

Her eyes flickered up at him, appearing warped from the jar's thick glass. Smiling at her in satisfaction, his attention then turned back to his assistant. The nod was a silent understanding to take the demonstration away for further inspection at a later time. When the heavy doors slammed shut, he clasped his gloved hands together.

“So you mentioned the navy.” His smile bore into her. Seeing her cling onto the jar with the enlarged parasite tapping around made his eyes narrow wickedly. 

“Yes, I worked for them, although there was hardly anything worth working for in a place like that.” She trailed her finger up and down the glass jar, recalling the shut-in they forced her to be.

“They’re known for stomping out anything they don’t understand.” Watching her tease the bug through the glass got him feeling a type of discomfort that was completely foreign to him, not anything along the lines of disgust, and yet sickening all the same.

Clearing his throat to snag her attention from what she was doing, he then extended his hand with a friendly offer. “If I may, I'd like to take a look at what you've created. It's a fine specimen that I promise to keep safe.”

Salem's eyes fell to the carnivorous bug, feeling a prickling pain at the thought of giving it up.

“I won't do anything to it without your permission. You have my word.” He placed his right hand over his chest and raised his left, solemnly swearing in order to earn her trust. Her hesitation spoke volumes. She was unwilling to part with it? How intriguing. 

With a long sigh, she said, “I’m only willing if that means you’ll take me on your team.”

“But of course! So much potential shouldn’t be casted out onto the streets.” His eyes soaked in every inch of her, the gears already turning on how best to capitalize on her talents. “You know, I’ve always wanted an apprentice of some sort.” He hummed and nodded at his own remark. “Yes, and I believe you fit the bill nicely. So, what do you say?” A hand was extended to her once more, this time offering her something she was only dreaming of up until this point.

A place that actually wanted her for who she was and with other like-minded individuals: it almost seemed too good to be true. “What’s the catch?”

He exhaled deeply to steady himself. “Not so much a catch as much as a condition. Just to make sure I don’t have any…problems, I’ll need you to lend me your heart.” The shock at the request was understandable, seeing as she wasn’t aware of how such a thing was going to be conducted. “Don’t worry, it’ll be painless. There’s someone here who can swap it from you without you even feeling a thing!” Caesar giggled at the concern blanketing her face.

“If that’s what it takes, then fine.” Her mind was already made up. Someone else like her wasn’t going to come along any time soon. With her heart beating fast, she stared him in the face and nodded in agreement.

His laugh settled and became faint with desire to uncover more about her. “Alright then.” Promptly sitting down on the sofa, he called the assumed colleague of his while keeping his gaze on hers.

Salem wasn’t short by any means. However, being around people like Caesar and Monet dwarfed her in comparison, sitting on the couch opposite to him made it that much more obvious. Her feet dangled above the ground, so she could sit comfortably. The embarrassment from feeling child-sized by a mere piece of furniture was desperately shoved down.

Don’t give him any leverage.

Sh-Shut up, not now. She was already fighting with that voice in her head. A seed of doubt had yet to be planted, but knowing her, it was only a matter of time. Her eyes flickered up at him, without even noticing he’d already finished his call and was just watching her now. Absent-mindedly playing with her skirt, the attempt to self-soothe wasn’t working well with her new boss staring at her.

Leaning across the table, his lower half turned to gas to allow more comfort. He propped himself on his laced fingers and smiled at her. “Tell me, Salem. What other personal projects did you have while working for the World Government? Don’t tell me you’re a one hit wonder.” He chuckled at his own joke, though she got the impression he’d dispose of her if she were to ever disappoint him.

“Truth be told, I wasn’t working for them for very long. That being said, I was inspired to create a flesh eating disease and a viral blood disorder, but I should confess the blood disorder is nowhere near finished. I left the base just after starting it.”

“You specialize in biological warfare, I see…” He closed his eyes and gently turned his head from side to side, as if rolling around an idea he had in store for her. “Those ideas of yours, are they always as catastrophically grisly?” His eyes shot open and his face became grim.

Not sure what kind of answer he was looking for, she gave one that was honest. “Well, yes, I suppose they are. I find a lot of beauty in the horrors of our world and adore bringing them to light. Maybe it’s distasteful to some to have such a passion, but it gives me this feeling of being… whole.” Salem’s eyes shimmered with a devotion to the craft she was describing, already envisioning herself pursuing more.

There was something about her he couldn’t quite put his finger on, something that plucked admiration in him but that also called upon a disquiet deep within him. “You’d do right by yourself if you just cut those naysayers out of your life.”

Approaching footsteps took Caesar’s attention from her. Taking his advice to heart, she smiled at him all without him noticing the awe-struck gratitude he’d helped flourish. Throwing his arm over the backrest, he spread his legs to accommodate his large size.

“What took you so long?” He called to the figure who was hiding his face under a large hat.

“It takes time to walk through here. We can’t all fly like you.” His icey tone made Caesar scoff.

“Whatever! Law, this is our new addition to the team Salem. She’s also my apprentice.” His delivery exuded a pride in himself for being able to carry another title of superiority.

Even if the occasion was in high spirits for both her and Caesar, Law’s glare at that ‘apprentice’ title he’d given her was a threat to her good mood more than Caesar’s.

After babbling about himself and how perfect he was for Salem to learn from, Caesar instructed Law to carry out the conditions. He waited a moment. When the stare-off between the both of them wasn’t ending, Caesar clicked his tongue in annoyance and snapped his fingers at Law impatiently. 

“Don’t get distracted by the new pretty girl. I need you to take her heart!”

His demand was carried out. Before she could blink, a swift hand movement placed her heart in Caesar’s palm. The heart murmur set hers apart, making it more vulnerable than the others in more ways than one. 

“What a unique characteristic to a unique woman.” He played his cards well, already gathering what he would need to do to keep her under his thumb.

He’s playing you.

I know that! She collected herself, sometimes that voice had a point. “It takes a keen eye to appreciate such a thing.” A soft tone that carried her words far, the effect ignited a tingling of butterflies in the pit of her stomach.

His grin returned, completely ignoring the grimace from Law on his way out. The cold shoulder Law gave both of them made her shiver. He was a stick in the mud—that was what she tried to convince herself of to make this transition easier. She wasn’t the odd one… Law had to have been.

“Don’t pay him any mind.” He tucked her heart into his robe for how he put it ‘safe keeping’. “How about you and I discuss your projects in more detail.” The lengthening clouds of gas spread to her as he moved from the sofa posing as soft gestures urging her to follow him into the lab.

“There are some kinks we need to work out with the creatures, of course, but I must say I like the way you think.” He lazily gestured towards Salem, chuckling to himself as they neared the doors.

“Maybe I’m a bit too partial to the ‘all or nothing’ mentality,” she mentioned modestly. “I figured if there’s a chance I could die, then why not take the rest of the world with me?” 

Stopping in his tracks, those words struck a chord with him. “And what an outlook to have.” The quiet voice was enough to send shivers down her spine, but there was a deep acceptance in his eyes.

The smile on her face couldn’t be helped. That look he gave her, whether it was intentional or not, it felt like home. His eyes lingered on her a bit longer. Although he turned away without returning her smile, his lips twitched at the corner once he knew she would not be able to see. He let out a deep sigh as the lab door opened.

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

Intimidation piqued more than curiosity between them. Minds that perceived the world around them differently, and still came to gruesome outcomes, some being a toss up between the most nightmarish. Two forces of chaos: his being a silent killer while hers was a raging fire. Completely opposite to their outer appearances, they complimented these attributes uniquely.

Beyond the title he bore, so little was truly known about the man that’d caught her eye. Salem thought back to what led her here—chance. While she injected the virus into the rat’s bloodstream, the squirming from it was a soothing drum to the reminiscence of the past. Humming to herself, her eyes fluttered over to him. His hair was tied up as he squeezed out each drop of solution carefully.

The tip of his tongue always parted his lips slightly when he was deep in thought. As the final drop signaled a perfect result, his concentrated expression stretched to one of boast. His eyes met hers, letting his personality shine like hyper beams.

“You see? Just as I thought! Only three drops, not the five you were drowning the poor thing in.”

A giggle passed her lips at the pride he took in the littlest things. Clearing his throat, he couldn’t suppress the smile curling in the corners of his mouth.

Bubbling beakers and hazardous liquids being handled: this was hardly the place for an office romance. He was a smooth operator when he wanted to be, but such a facade was short-lived when he came to realize she was more than just a pretty face.

Peering over at the rat under her hand, he saw the spasms were dying down. “Looks like your little friend isn’t going to make it.” Feigned heartbreak came with a played up pout when he rolled over to her side.

Salem lifted her hand and was greeted with the flesh decaying at an accelerated rate. The heartbeat was frantically working alongside the dissolving lungs, not dead yet but praying to be soon. “Poor little thing, born to die.”

His hand snaked under hers to gather the ill-fated animal. “I never tire of that sweet smell of death,” he purred while holding it up by its tail and just above her head like a macabre mistletoe.

Diving forward, she crashed her lips into his. A hunger that only grew the longer her lips were on his. Returning her ravenous kiss was the least he could do. While their tongues sloppily swirled around each other, the rat slowly rotated on its decaying tail. The snap of it was followed by the soft thud. Neither acknowledged nor mourned, the only instance following the onset of death was Caesar's now freed hand pulling her closer.

He can't love. You've seen his heartlessness with your own eyes.

Her moans trailed into his mouth, trying to drain it out; that voice was a constant reminder of the weight she carried around. She deepened the kiss, desperately drowning the voice inside her head. Caesar’s hands gripped her tighter.

“That’s right… Show me how much you want me.” He panted softly as the need for more rose within him.

How do you get a man whose heart is wrapped in barbed wire to care about you?

Thorns that once pricked the fingers when she came too close, the sting went as quickly as it had come. Salem looked at the small beads of blood, crimson pearls that held a beauty so few cherished and a taste that sent the senses ablaze. Tongue swirling on the tip of her finger and her eyes meeting his: those orbs followed her wherever she went, even when his presence was just the goosebumps coming with a gust of wind.

You can't.

His hands ran up and down her thighs, teasing the lace on her thigh-high tights. Her face furrowed in an attempt at strangling that damn voice. Labored breaths and shaky moans, his fingers coaxed each delicious response from her.

Unbuttoning her own top, her chest rose and fell in the sheer lace bra. A low groan came from him before his mouth ravished her neck and alluring breasts. His tongue dragged over the faint, delicate dips of her top ribs, his fingers pulled the dainty cups below her breasts, and his teeth tenderly bit her nipples. 

A mutual understanding that shifted and led them into a tango among the desolate land. Silence as dead as the ground and those underneath it, and yet they never felt more alive. The scent of death lingered wherever he went. A natural musk in a sense that quickly became her perfume. To be enveloped entirely by him—a desire that could lead to one being six feet under like the rest of them.

Her fingers tangled in his raven hair, and her eyes rolled back when they traced over his horns.

You lost to him.

“Take me,” she begged.

Squeezing her ass tightly, he thrusted into. Aggressive and animalistic, the passion burned more intensely the more time they spent together. Grunts of unbridled desire were driven into her, earning him those honeyed moans he had become addicted to. Dragging her nails down his back made him push her to those sweet, blissful limits. He gripped her long hair and yanked her head back, forcing her body to arch. That beautiful milky-white skin, her soft pink nipples, freckles kissing her body:

“You're mine.” Lost in her and the pleasure that exceeded the physical, coming undone at the seams was as natural as breathing.

Rendering her helpless, he plowed into her. Her slick pussy splattered against his hips, soaking his pubic hair and dripping down his balls. Caesar's pace remained vigorous, giving them the fix they'd be back craving soon enough. Streams of cum shot inside her, leaving flushed faces of unabashed ecstasy with each pump. His tongue fell out from his open mouthed smile. Panting over her, he got every last drop deep inside her.

Each time Salem laid with him, it was like she was being placed on a bed of roses. The thorns pricked her skin, only heightening the pleasure. The fragrance of the sweet petals mixing with the rusty scent of blood made their pupils dilate. Tantalizing erotica that had them licking the cuts left behind from their lovemaking. Each lick spread the blood across the tongue, enticing moans and heavy groping.

He buried his face between her breasts, squeezing them against his cheeks. As his spent cock softened and eased out of her, his thick cum left a trail down her slit and ass. Taking one of her nipples in his mouth, he flicked it teasingly with this tongue. Caesar cradled her in his arms, enjoying the taste of every inch of her honeydew skin.

“You’ll be the death of me.” His whisper bathed her sensitive skin.

“And what a spectacular death that would be.” Her mind was hazy as they came down from their shared high.

Minute details not gone unnoticed, neither of them were a stranger to assuming the worst, and yet over time those walls lowered. Peaking over the barrier hesitantly, assuming even, never confirmed the suspicions they kept under lock and key.

Caesar smiled against her skin, placing a soft kiss on the reddened breast. Pulling back, he looked down at the afterglow on her. The state he left her in set those butterflies free in the pit of his stomach. A feeling that he hadn’t begun to fully accept, though he obsessed over it nonetheless.

His fingers played with her wavy hair, curling the chestnut color around the long digit. “How are you going to top this for my special day?”

“Are you doubting my creativity?” Salem teased. Her cheeks flushed from the gentle touch contrasting the harshness from earlier.

“No, of course not,” he chuckled. His eyes were glued to her face, loving the effect he had on her. “But, a little kick in the rear never hurt anyone.” A firm spank was planted on her backside. That little yelp that came with it was quickly swallowed by another kiss, although his lips held onto her with a rare tenderness this time.

Salem’s lips ghosted his. “I’ll make you feel like the king you are.” It was a promise she would keep, no matter how many times that little voice nagged her.

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

Your plan will only disappoint him.

You don’t know that. Crossing out some and revising others, she scribbled her ideas down as fast as they were coming; the door sliding open didn’t pull her attention away. The slow steps coming up behind her were from someone she wasn’t particularly close with. She turned around to face the one who’d taken her heart.

“Can I help you?” Her question wasn’t venomous by any means, although the suspicion was obvious.

He sat down in the chair off to the side, crossing his arms. Salem tapped her pencil and stared at him, her patience running thinner and thinner with each interaction they had.

“Fine. Don’t talk to me, just glare at me like you always do.”

Law’s icy demeanor was unscathed, though the irritation was mutual. “Why are you even here?”

She snapped her head towards him. “Excuse me?”

Biting his tongue, the cool tone was enough to get his feelings across. “You aren’t like them.”

He’s right.

“And what do you know? This is the first time we’ve even talked, so how can you know anything about me?” Her words flowed as all the doubts she thought she’d rid herself of bubbled out of her like stage three rabies.

The sorrow in her words left a bite that was one to pity than to wince at. Intently, his eyes flickered over the emotion flushing her cheeks and tearing up in her eyes. Even if he wanted to drive his point home, there was no need. There was something she had been holding onto long before arriving at Punk Hazard.

Law’s eyes scanned her face one more time before getting up. “That little voice in your head you keep ignoring? Most would call that a conscience.”

You don’t belong anywhere, even he can see that.

“You don’t know anything,” she shouted as he left her alone to sulk. Both that incorrectly titled conscience and Law couldn’t have been more wrong. She knew that. “I’ll show you, both of you. I belong somewhere… I belong here.”

Motivated now more than ever, she planned out the perfect birthday to spend with the man whom she was more fond of than anyone else.

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

Sparks of interest lit the dim halls, illuminating the path leading to his lab. Seemingly as light as a feather, Salem was dragged towards him, the toes of her shoes ghosting along the floor the closer she got. Saturated shades of blues, pinks, and purples dizzied the mind. Rhythmic beats stirred the colors the closer she got. Her breath was being dragged out with each pull. Hot flashes of metal being sliced showed an outline of the man pulling the rope once she got to the entrance.

Salem’s heart fluttered at the sight of him perfecting one of his many feats in weaponry. His smile stretched across his pale face. “I’d know that presence anywhere.” Turning around, he lifted his goggles to get a good look at her entranced by him.

“I thought I’d come and collect the special man to celebrate his big day,” she hummed and draped her arms over his chest. “If you can manage to take a break from such genius unfolding, that is.” Her flirtatious giggle was infectious.

“Oh, you know true talent never falters.” His words wrapped around her like a constrictor, squeezing and releasing around her most sensitive areas.

She nipped his earlobe and lightly ran the tip of her tongue up the shell of his ear. “Then why don’t you come with me, my sweet billy goat?” Salem giggled softly at how that nickname made him blush.

He didn’t need much convincing, since he put faith in her and how well she knew him. Following her across the building to a room she renovated for the special occasion, he purposefully lagged behind a little to allow himself something extra to enjoy; Salem’s hips swayed gently, making the skirt of her dress show off the curves that drove him wild.

Upon reaching the entrance, she twirled around. Her dress flared up, showing a glimpse of her scantily thought out lingerie. “This is probably a little different than you were expecting, but I think you’ll really love it.” The excitement in her voice made his sly grin more devilish than usual.

“Oh? Then I guess you should go on and show me.” His smile bore into her, while she opened up the doors to an all white room. Eyebrow cocked and that slyness falling, he stepped in without quite seeing where she was going with this.

Salem ran off to get the last part to the surprise. When he saw her rolling out the paint cans, his arms uncrossed and were placed on his hips. There was a vibrant array of shades, some resembling the most toxic colors from their very own creations.

“There’s a lot of thought that goes behind all the chaos you bring to this unsuspecting world, so I thought it’d be a nice change if we could let go completely.” 

Caesar watched her dip her hands into the fluorescent yellow paint, cupping them as it overflowed. With a sudden grunt of force, Salem threw the paint against the white walls as hard as she could. The subtle pants coming from her and the soft smile were endearing. Turning to him, her eyes sparkled with elation. “Now, you!” He tried to fight off a smile, but with her being so eager to please, he gave in.

Dipping his hand neon purple, he had to admit the feel of the chilled paint on his skin offered a refreshing sensation. A large amount of it remained in his hand before he whipped it across the yellow. Droplets splattered across a large portion of the wall, creating something that could only be managed once. A smirk played on his lips as he took it in.

“Look how much better this dull room already is!” His laugh was amplified in the barren space and grew louder with each force that carried a new handful of paint. The grunts behind the throws were mixing with the snickers of the crazed patterns they were creating.

A next flick of her wrists barely gave the amount of color she wanted, making the majority of it plop on the floor.

“Aw, how cute!” Teasing teetered on mocking, although it was one of the only ways he knew how to flirt. “Little hands like that can’t do anything! Shirororo!” He easily covered the acid green she added with a quick toss of hot pink.

A fire was lit under her, letting her competitive spirit shine through. Taking a full can of acid green, she ran up to the wall. “Oh, yeah? Watch this!” The grunt she gave while throwing the paint fell into a shriek when she slipped on globs of paint. Most of the acid green fell straight on her, plastering her to the white marbled floor.

Caesar’s laughter grew closer as he came over to inspect her. Salem’s entire torso was covered in a thick layer, and droplets were scattered up her neck, cheeks, and across her thighs. His roaring laughs soon died down to chuckles, while he wiped away the tears.

“Look at you, huh? You sure showed me!” Seeing that pure enjoyment on his face made Salem laugh along with him.

“Don’t worry, there’s plenty to go around!” She took a handful of paint off her stomach and threw it at him. 

He pulled at his clothes and then looked at her with a mischievous glint. Seeing how that paint made her clothes cling to her body got something stirring in him. “You want to play dirty? I’ll make a mess out of you, darling.”

His hand wrapped around her calf and he tugged her closer effortlessly. Her dress pulled up around her waist, showing off her lace hipsters. Hair already covered in paint, her cheeks being dusted a soft pink, and the unadulterated lust in her eyes: swiftly, he flipped her over on her shins and shoved her face against the floor.

Caesar spanked her ass, growling at the yelps she gave. The fumes in the room were making her dizzy and weak. “My head is spinning.” Being surrounded by vibrant colors was making the effects that much more intense: swirling and mixing shapes, feeling his hands grip her hips roughly.

He cooed at her. “Just let the fumes take you to new heights of euphoria.” His voice had a sadistic lust that echoed in her head. Peeling down her panties, he never tired of the sight of her sweet body.

She was so willing to give herself to him. Even if the ways he wanted her were perverse, she wanted him with the same level of fervor.

You should be ashamed of yourself.

Its judgment echoed, but it sounded so far that Salem couldn’t register it clearly. “Fuck me…” She panted. “Fuck me, daddy.”

Hearing her call him that made him feral. “You want to be a good girl and let daddy have his way with you?” The tip of his cock slid up and down between her folds, making her shudder. Her weakened pleas for more were music to his ears. 

Pushing into her, he put one of his hands on the back of her neck to keep her in place. She whined and trembled, feeling trapped under his massive body but not wanting any means of escape. Caesar’s other hand was placed on her hip as he leaned forward. His entire body covered hers easily. Being tucked between his thighs, she was already stuffed to the brim with him—such a pretty little thing.

Salem could feel so much more of him in this position, causing her moans to become louder and needier. The room was spinning, the colors were swirling, it was all making the thrusts hit every inch of her physically and mentally.

Forceful movements against her g-spot caused a ripple effect, the psychedelic colors and patterns sharing the rhythmic beat. Desperately, she clawed at the floor, creating streaks of paint on the tiles.

So helpless to the pleasure he was giving her, he groaned at the sight underneath him. “Not trying to escape from daddy, are you? Sweet girl…” His laughter twisted with sadism and bliss. As he got rougher, his grip on the back of her neck and hip got more controlling. 

Her eyes rolled back and her breathing became labored. The paint smeared across her chest and face the faster his pacing got. Eyes fluttering, body shaking, moans dripping with saccharine: she couldn’t hold back any longer. Creaming on Caesar’s length with her sweet release, her pussy spasmed and clenched around him.

“Call me ‘daddy’ again, wanna hear you say it…” His grunts and faltering thrusts alluded to his approaching release. He needed that sweet voice of hers to give him what he wanted. “Tell me you belong to me.” There was a hint of vulnerability in his tone.

“I-I belong to you! Oh, daddy… I love you so much…” It just slipped out, but it felt so right. 

He fell forward, shoving himself even deeper at the sound of her confession. Moaning her name on repeat, he cursed at the surge of release passing through him. Forcing her against him, he pumped every last bit of ecstasy into her womb. There was no care put into the consequences; any that reared their head would be taken care of. The selfish moment of pure and utter lust raptured them, leaving them in a panting and completely satisfied mess.

After catching his breath, he pulled out of her. A groan escaped him as his sperm ran down past her clit. He leaned back to get a better look at her. There was an ache in his heart that resurfaced when she confessed to him, but it was something he wasn’t entirely sure if he was ready to face.

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up…” He sighed. There was affection in his tone, although the depth to it was well hidden.

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

Freshly bathed and wrapped in a fluffy towel, Salem hurried out of the bathroom. Leaving Caesar to finish drying himself off. He huffed out of amusement, while her feet pitter-pattered across the tiles. 

Wrapping his hair in a towel, he slowly followed her. Barely catching a glimpse before she tugged on a new dress, he at least got to watch her pulling up a clean pair of panties. The snap of the elastic sent a wave of pleasure in him. He couldn’t help smiling at her in appreciation, while she rushed out the door.

Not thinking too much of her erratic behavior, he took his time getting dressed. Humming to himself, the tune playing in his heart brought on that ache again—this time feeling much less frightening.

The light song carried him down the halls in search of her without even realizing it. A glow from below caught his eye. He couldn’t resist checking it out. If anything, catching one of his henchmen doing something they shouldn’t be doing would be the cherry on top to his birthday. However, the dark room with candles illuminating the void surrounding it was all that greeted him.

When he flipped the switch, the three he was working the closest with popped into view. Salem sprung up from behind the cake, Monet dropped from the ceiling, and Law lazily stood up from the flood. As the women cheered a jolly ‘Happy Birthday,” in unison, Law blew on his party whistle.

With Law taking a couple steps towards Salem, Caesar happily accepted the lengths they went to and quickly passed by Monet to plant himself firmly between Law and Salem. Physically being the wall between the two of them, Caesar wanted all the attention from her on him. It was his day after all.

“Did you make this yourself?” He grinned at her.

“I baked it but Monet did the decorating.” The pride Salem took in the team effort made the gesture that much more precious.

His grin widened at the both of them before calling over his shoulder. “And what did you contribute, Law?”

“Moral support.” Law blew on the cheap whistle again, getting some kind of kick out of seeing Caesar’s eye twitch.

Caesar tapped his finger on the counter. “How generous.”

“Maybe Salem and I can enjoy this cake while you two fight?” Monet’s gentle nudge for them to stop whatever feud they had worked.

Law rolled his eyes and moved to the front of the room, while Caesar crossed his arms and pouted a little.

“Aren’t you going to make a wish?” Salem’s voice drew his attention back to the celebration.

“Of course, I will.” Smiling at her, he placed his hands on either side of her. Caging her between him and the counter, he leaned over her side to blow out the flames. His wish was carried in the synthetic-scented smoke.

His eyes glanced up at Law, and narrowed at how he was staring at Salem. It made his stomach churn in a way he’d never experienced. Smirking to himself, he swiftly took her in his arms and planted a kiss on her lips that was burning with passion.

When he pulled away, he leaned on the counter feeling quite pleased with himself. “A memorable birthday to say the very least.” He flattered Salem as he took a swipe of the icing and sucked it off his finger. “Looks like next year has some big shoes to fill.” His chuckle filled the room, putting only the slightest bit of pressure on Salem’s shoulders.

[that1emowitch]

At the end of the world / Or the last thing I see / You are never coming home, never coming home

Prompt from @tuna-f-b: Do you still do request? If yes and angst is o.k: what would happend i all the bats died? Like how would the hero community react. The supers alone. Clark having to deal with losing his best friend(?) and the kids he basically co parented- as well as seeing his sons lose their best friends(?) Specially as ships that would be awesome angst

A/N: I'm not crying you're crying (Also, for those who don't know, Izzy is Duke's canon gf and one of the Robins from We Are Robin)

Words: 2504

TW: Mentions of blood, Major character death, Coping with loss, Self-blame, Mentions of relapse (drugs)

“If you’re watching this, I am either deceased or indefinitely unable to continue my duties as Batman. But the world still needs Batman. Gotham still needs Batman. My son Damian Wayne, if he is an adult, shall inherit my mantle— if not, Dick Grayson will take over until he is. In the event that he, too, is unavailable for any reason, the mantle goes to Tim Drake, after him, to Cassandra Cain, then Duke Thomas, then Stephanie Brown, then Jason Todd, should he accept it.”

In the video recording, Batman pauses, taking a deep breath.

“In the unfortunate event that the entire family is… deceased… I have a list of contingency plans on both the Bat-Computer and the Justice League’s primary databases. Oracle will help you access it, but in her… absence… the password is “a6ghr83kc02m”.”

Then video-Bruce takes off the cowl, his pale blue eyes looking straight into the camera.

“I know I was never the best with feelings. But I would like my children, my allies, and friends to know that I’m proud of you. And to my fellow Justice Leaguers… Diana and Clark, I am truly grateful for your companionship. I would never have made it this far without you. Barry, Arthur, Dinah, J’onn, you’ve all been good friends. Oliver, Hal… you’re not so bad either.”

Bruce turns around, and looks over his shoulder, the shadows of the Batcave making the scene even more dramatic.

“I wish you good luck.”

Then the clip ends.

A shuddering breath leaves Clark.

It’s real.

He’s really… They’re all…

He can’t do this anymore. He turns around and walks out the door, leaving the other core Justice Leaguers staring sombrely at the now-blank screen.

He doesn’t know when he started flying, when he started trying to escape. The walls of the Watchtower seem to be suffocating him, but he has enough sense not to just leave the airlock yet.

Instead he finds a corner by a window, far, far away from the others, where he can see a majestic view of Earth, the moon, and the Sun in perfect sync with each other.

He falls to his knees.

His breathing’s uneven, a tear rolls down his cheeks.

Then he feels a hand on his shoulder— soft, trembling, yet steady.

“Kal,” Diana whispers, sitting on the floor next to him. She doesn’t continue— she isn’t sure what to say.

“They’re all going to die, you know? We’re going to bury all of them. Everyone on Earth, everyone we know.” Clark’s voice trembles, in a way Superman’s never does. “It scares me so much.”

“Kal,” Diana says again, pulling Clark into a hug. “It’s okay. We’ve lost… We’ve lost so many of our friends. It’s okay to be scared. It’s okay to grieve.”

“How are you— how are you so—” Clark can’t form his words properly. He turns to Diana, to see her face tight with grief, eyes misty with unshed tears.

Her voice breaks slightly as she speaks. “I don’t want to believe they’re gone. But… we have to carry on. We’re the Justice League. Our people need us, Kal.”

“So we just go on and on? Forever?” Another tear runs down his cheek. “Ollie, Hal, Dinah, Lois, Jon, they’re all going to… they’re all going to die one day and we just have to… to go on?”

“I’m sorry, but it is the truth,” Diana whispers, her eyes stinging with hot tears. “We must find peace in the fact, right now, that Batman— Bruce, the Robins, they— they were so brave. Brave till the end. And they fell as warriors, defending our world. I’m sure they’ll all reach Elysium.”

“And Dickie, Damian, Jason, Tim, Cass, Duke—” Clark’s voice is hoarse. “They were so young, just kids… I… I know Dick, Jay, Tim, Cass… they were adults, but… they’re gone, they’re gone…”

“They were heroes, like you and me. Don’t forget that.”

“I… I know, I just—” Another shuddering breath escapes Clark. “I just— I…”

“It’s okay,” Her voice is forcefully steady, but with an undertone of heartbreak. “It’s okay…”

Dinah looks around the room, her heart heavy.

Clark has left, Diana’s gone after him— both of them need their space, she knows. They were close to Bruce and the other Bats in a way no one else in this room was.

Was.

The word still weighs down on her.

Hal speaks up finally, breaking the deafening silence. “I always thought he hated me.”

No one replies for a long moment.

“I miss the kids,” Barry says finally, his voice quiet. “They were just… Robin was only 14. The others, even Nightwing, they had… they had their whole lives ahead of them.”

More silence.

“Jason, when he was Robin— do y'all remember? Kid was always my favorite,” Ollie says finally. “Was always so sassy. Roy loves him.”

Loves. Dinah winces, but doesn’t correct him. It’s easier to believe they’re just gone for a little while.

“Bruce was a good man,” Arthur adds. “They all were.”

“Tim was, I believe, the smartest,” J’onn says, somber. “It was his plan that allowed us to save Earth.”

“Damian!” Dinah says suddenly, jumping from her seat. “His… his mother. She shouldn’t have to find out from someone else.”

Everyone freezes, faces tight.

Dinah sighs, looking down. “I’ll do it.”

Then she leaves the room, dragging what feels like a heavy weight tied to her soul. She has to do this.

Roy’s sitting in a corner of his apartment, hugging his knees. All he can think of is Jason.

He’s never coming back.

He can still feel the lingering ‘goodbye’ kiss Jason gave him not two days ago, he can still hear him say, “I’ll be back before you know it, babe.”

He never came back.

He’s dead. Dead— dead dead dead DEAD DEAD—

“Small Red not okay?” A booming voice snaps Roy out of his thoughts. He looks up to see Bizarro’s pale blue skin and cold eyes looming over him. He’s crying. “Red him coming back.”

It takes Roy a second to register that Bizarro speaks backwards. It takes everything in him to not punch him for saying that, for giving him false hope.

He feels something he hasn’t felt in years— feels that whisper in his mind— one hit and it’ll all feel better. Just one hit.

NO! He screams mentally. He feels like bashing his head open.

Instead he lifts his dead eyes to survey the rest of the room— Kori’s on the couch, staring into space. Artemis has a crying Lian in her arms, she’s showing her something— old photos of Jason. Talking, whispering in a broken voice.

No, no he should be the one comforting Lian—

What’s he gonna say?

That— That Jason— That her Papa’s gone forever? That he’s never— he’s never coming back?

No— Jay— Jay deserved so much better, he— he already died once before, he’s been through so much, things were supposed to be better now— not— no, he’s— 

Roy feels Bizarro sit beside him, gently patting his arm.

He snaps out of his thoughts again, turning to Jason’s former teammate, his eyes red-rimmed. His voice raw, he whispers, “Jay’s gone…”

Wally’s standing in the Hall of Heroes, staring up at the holographic projection of Dick— he looks so majestic, so mighty, staring ahead with nothing but hope and courage in his eyes.

Nothing like the cold, dead body that Wally held in his arms just two days ago.

He’s surrounded by his teammates, his friends— Kaldur, M’gann, Artemis, Zatanna, L’gann, Garth— yet he feels so alone.

He sees it again— Dick bleeding out it his arms, his wounds so fatal he died before help arrived. Wally’s the fastest man alive, damn it, yet he couldn’t even save his best friend— his boyfriend. He feels the moment when Dick’s breathing stopped, when his body went limp, when his grip on Wally’s hand loosened.

Everyone’s quiet. M’gann’s stress baking again, L’gann by her side. Artemis and Zatanna are sitting together, Garth’s lingering in a corner, and Kaldur’s standing right beside Wally— close enough for comfort but not so close he’s lurking. He’s shaking.

He can still hear it, hear Dick forcing out his last words, telling Wally it’s okay, that he loves him, that it’ll be fine.

It’s not fine. Not without you.

He wants to scream.

He wants to cry, yell, hit something, do anything.

But he can’t move.

So he just stands there, almost as still as the holographic projection of Dick before him.

Kon is left reeling.

Tim… Tim is…

Tim’s dead.

Tim’s really gone.

He thinks, for just a second, that this is how Tim and Cassie must have felt when he and Bart “died”.

Bart is sitting beside him on the couch, leaning on his side, Cassie’s got her head on his lap. Neither of them speak— Bart’s not even fidgeting— they’re all just trying to be there for each other.

The other Titans are up and about, but staying close for comfort. Jaime and Gar are making food for everyone in the kitchen, Raven and Vic have come back to the tower to make sure the others are okay, and he’s sure Karen’s around too, somewhere.

Yet he feels so empty.

Feels nothing at all.

How can he, when his best friend is dead?

Jon hasn’t spoken in a bit. Not when his Mom brought him his favorite soup, not when Grandma and Grandpa showed up to ‘help’ him and Dad through this, not when Krypto plopped down beside him to comfort him.

He hugs the dog close.

Krypto’s technically Kon’s, but Jon’s sure Kon wouldn’t mind if he stole Krypto for a day.

Another sob escapes him, and he buries his head in Krypto’s back. The dog whines, licking Jon’s hand.

He can’t believe Damian’s gone. 

Really gone.

And he didn’t know just how much he would miss his friend.

Dinah finds Talia Al Ghul on a building in Metropolis, overlooking the city. Her face is tight with sorrow, but she keeps herself in check, her back straight, head held high.

She already knows, Dinah deduces.

“I… I’m sorry,” Dinah starts, unsure of what to say. She knows, from her experience as a psychologist, that ‘sorry’ is the last thing a grieving person wants to hear, but she doesn’t have anything else to say.

Talia doesn’t reply for a long time. Then she says, her voice numb, “I should have known, when bringing Damian into this life, that I would also be bringing him amidst the dangers that come with.”

Dinah’s brows furrow. “It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have done anything at all.”

“I should have trained him better, I should have kept him close, I should—” Talia takes a shuddering breath. “I should have never brought him into this life.”

Dinah can’t argue with that— she knows how Damian had come to be, and it… wasn’t the best birth ever.

“Now leave, hero,” Talia says, her voice numb and cold. “Go back to protecting the world. Leave me be.”

Dinah wants to say something better, comfort the woman, but she can’t. So she just turns back, and leaves.

By the time Harper Row makes her way to the Clock Tower, there’s already quite a crowd there— Kate, Renee Montoya, Harley, Ivy, Silena, and Helena Bertinili— they’re crowding around Babs, comforting her. Luke Fox and Isabella Ortiz are at the computer, looking through something.

Harper tries to open her mouth to speak, but she can’t get the words out.

She makes her way over to Luke and Izzy, shoulders hunched.

Just three days ago she’d been hanging out with Duke and Izzy and Cass and Steph— they’d all been so carefree, so happy…

And now…

Once she gets close enough she realizes Izzy’s crying, and immediately wraps her arms around the shorter girl. Harper’s trying to hold back tears of her own, too. She feels Luke putting a hesitant hand on her shoulder, squeezing tight.

No one speaks for a long time, they just stand together, seeking comfort in each other.

Then Babs rolls her wheelchair to the center of the room, wiping at her bloodshot eyes. But when she speaks, she sounds surprisingly steady. She’s compartmentalizing, Harper realizes. Putting away Barbara and bringing Oracle back.

“Gotham needs her heroes, now more than ever,” Oracle says, head held high. “We must honor our friends by doing the one thing they’d have wanted— to keep fighting. Keep Gotham safe.”

She sighs, her face tight to fight away tears. “Luke. Batman’s contingency plan, in the Robins’ absence, was to pass you the mantle of Batman. Do you accept?”

Luke’s eyes grow wide slightly, but he straightens himself, looking away. “I… I accept. Dad isn’t going to be happy, but… Gotham needs Batman.”

“Thank you.” Oracle nods at him. “As per Bruce’s will, all Wayne assets, the Manor, and the Batcave are split between Kate, me, Alfred, and Lucius. I… Lucius and I are still figuring out who’s going to take over Wayne Enterprises, but on the vigilante side, I’ve got a plan.”

She turns to Ivy, Harley, Kate, Silena and Helena. “The Birds of Prey are needed here, now more than ever. Dinah— Black canary has offered to help us with Gotham, too.” 

Harley nods, sniffling. Beside her, Ivy speaks up, “The… Most Rogues aren’t happy about this. They’re not rampaging— Bane has fashioned his own version of the Batsuit, he’s going around ‘saving’ people, screaming that Batman never dies. The Joker’s searching for Lazarus Pits and Bruce’s body. Jervis Tetch and Nygma held a get-together yesterday, in the memory of the Bats. I… I think they might help us.”

Harper’s gotta admit, she’s quite surprised about this. Even Babs freezes, taking in this information.

“Gotham needs Robin as much as she needs Batman,” Izzy speaks up from beside her, her voice small but firm. “The Robins can come back, this time you can give us formal training so we can actually help.”

Oracle turns to Luke. “Taking on Robins is your decision, Batman.”

Luke winces at that title— it doesn’t feel like an honor to him, it just feels like an incessant reminder that he’s the last one left. Because his friends are dead. But he nods, anyway, not trusting himself to speak right now.

Then Oracle addresses Harper. “I… would you like to be Batgirl?”

Harper’s heart stops. Memories flash into her head— seeing Steph in the Batgirl costume, seeing Cass in the Batgirl suit, both of whom are now gone.

“N— No,” Harper stutters out, eyes tearful. “I can’t— I’m sorry, Babs. I appreciate the offer, but… Cass was Batgirl. I can’t take her place.”

“I understand.” Babs just nods, lips pursed, misty-eyed. “We will all need to work hand-in-hand until everything settles, we will need to be vigilant. Carry on Batman’s legacy, for as long as we may need to.”

No one speaks again.

They all just let it sink in, hearts heavy.

They’re going to have to do this alone now.

[leonawriter]

Just wanted to say thank you for the new Ayin fanfics you wrote. I give them both a 10/10, would definitely recommend and read again. They are both really lovely and angsty at the same time, especially when you see it through the lens of an Ayin who was also Dante. Dante who had a lot of self-doubt, had moments of off-handedly dehumanizing themselves, and had such a strong desire for companionship with the Sinners who were strangers mere months ago that it makes you wonder how much stronger Ayin's own desire was when it came to the people he knew and cared (loved really) for months if not years to being them back for the Script saying he could not do it without them.

Thank you, that really means a lot to me!

And yes, yes!! Yes to all of these things. Zayin's experiences as both "Ayin, in the loops and before" and "Dante" as well as "Ayin, after being Dante" are all so intrinsically linked that they all make up parts of who he is. (Which also means there's aspects of Dante's nonbinary-ness in there, too!)

When you say about how strong Dante/Ayin's desire for companionship was, you remind me of how Ayin in the flashbacks has a couple of lines that go into how he feels about them a bit. One is this one scene where it shows how once he'd reached the status of a Wing, he had no one to celebrate with - he clearly wanted to. The picture that goes with it is so very much conveying his loneliness and isolation, too.

"Empty chairs at empty tables" is literal and goes hard, here! He also says about losing Benjamin "It was a tragedy, but I didn't hide it."

But there's also this one line... can I find it, haha- yes!

Day 50, and his most "full" shadow self says "My friends were robbed of their lives and trapped in this cycle of agony..."

And over and over again, so much of what we see of him is a person who, in spite of his massive issues with communicating how he feels to others, loves so deeply. He CARES.

He gets called a weak little chick with a thin skin. He can't handle seeing the death and destruction the Abnormalities cause, let alone the Abnormalities themselves. He trapped himself in hell with them, without any luxuries or the ability to reach the outside world or escape, with his sole purpose in the script being, effectively, to help the other Sephirot overcome their traumas.

I'm sure I've said it before in another post, but this is a man who had to watch as each and every one of the people he canonically calls his friends, dies horribly one after another. It's no wonder he ends up a wreck by the time the loops started!

And tying that in with Dante? And what I did in ch3 of WoLAyin?

I've seen someone suggest that the Aspect that pre-amnesia Dante was trying to "carve" was, in fact, about connecting things. And that had made me think ever since - what if the plan was always to do what they did with the Sinners, but Faust and Limbus Company simply... redirected it? Dante was also trying to hide the location of somewhere, and I can't help thinking with all this in mind, that we don't know where, exactly, the Library ended up falling.

Put together... we have someone who was trying desperately to protect the people they had left behind, even when we have no idea if those in the Library even know that Ayin is out of the Light, let alone what Ayin's getting up to. And on top of that, without any real combat capabilities at all.

So, yeah, maybe Ayin couldn't have done what he did with the Seed of Light without the others, but he needed them for far more than just being living energy sources.

I currently have one new chapter in progress, another chapter idea being very loud in my head.

It's kind of funny how the FFXIV AU I came up with on the fly because I wanted to make Ayin-themed housing wound up being just as much if not more about letting me have the post-Ruina, post-Limbus Ayin-and-Sephirot interactions I always wanted.

(I'm assuming that you were referring to this one, but Lament's just part of my base headcanons for them now and I do still mean to go back to Binah's Sapling of Light story.)

[murfpersonalblog]

IWTV S2 Ep1 Musings - Dreams, Nightmares, and Faith

Wow. 😍 I love the new title card, with the bomber jets & explosions over upside-down...Paris? Romania? IDGAF--it's cool! I am SO glad AMC took us through war-torn Europe!

Something I found so interesting was the question of whether vampires dream or not.

(Armand stfu omg, him & Les both calling Claudia Infant Death 😅)

In the books, AR's vamps go into deathlike sleep--they're not really conscious, don't get woken up by much unless THEY'RE ready to wake up, and don't dream.

Vamps are like the dead, but UNdead--they're DAMNED. The damned don't get to wish for rainbows when they dwell in darkness. They die with their heartaches and grief, and spread it to others as harbingers of death.

In WWII Europe, societal vampires (Nazis, Soviets, etc) and actual vampires coexist, each preying on the innocent & vulnerable. Louis & Claudia literally tear through the battlefields and waypoints. I was wrong about them eating the dead/blown up body parts--they were feeding on dying soldiers, not ones already dead, but TBH at this point I don't know which is worse?

You feel sorry for Darciana and her revenant "child," sure, but there's also Morgan & Emilia--and what about everyone in that bunker (all those old women & kids), who'll probably starve now that their sole hunter/trapper can't get food for them anymore? Just so these serial killing vamps can eat!?!

Louis thinks "the blood is bad here" cuz they're drinking "misery and hopelessness" in war survivors & POWs etc; but really the misery & hopelessness is IN THEM. LOUIS is miserable (without Lestat). CLAUDIA feels hopeless (with Louis/her own companion). THEY (as vamps) bring misery wherever they go, internally & externally.

You're the walking DEAD, Louis. :( You will ALWAYS be cold. U_U

It's bad EVERYWHERE--love & community is what keeps people going--

--even in the middle of what seems like an apocalypse--be it WWII, or the "flying vampire apocalypse/Great Conversion." Even in a hellish place like the Theatre and the Children of Satan/Darkness. We all need/want a HOME.

Louis & Claudia have been stuck in a figurative nightmare, walking through the valley of the shadow of death along the Devil's Road. But poor AMC!Claudia has actual nightmares. 😭

She tells herself (through her diaries) that she doesn't dream, denying the suffering she goes through, trying to stay strong and not give her trauma power.

The tabula rasa of "infants" and child-like innocence that Armand refers to is just The Void for her. By avoiding her troubles, she's probably giving more power to the things that scare her the most.

AMC KNOWS what they're doing! Claudia's in denial too, and DreamStat's calling them BOTH out on it--but like Delainey said: unlike Louis, Claudia doesn't need a hallucination version of Les to tell her what she already knows--he's in her; he's her father--moreso than Louis, who only ever gets called "Daddy" now when they need to fake it! (Or is it REALLY fake for her? When she gets hurt, she yells for Daddy Lou's attention....)

There's her behavior with Louis', and her nightmares, compared to DreamStat. Cuz Louis' not asleep--he's wide awake, but being awake for him is like living in a nightmare with his eyes wide open. Louis said his own dreams were "erratic and often," but which ones is he even talking about, REALLY? His actual dreams? Or DreamStat; the figment of his imagination he admitted to "inviting" inside his head?

The Disney song goes "Have faith in your dreams and someday...the dreams that you wish will come true." For Louis his dream is obvs Lestat, and obvs by PLatRoA and Blood Communion Looustat's dream finally comes true. But for Claudia her dream is companionship, but also knowledge. She wants/demands answers.

(Only for us to find out 2 books later that all the legends really ARE true!)

Louis's having a crisis of faith--he is SCARED of his dreams, and what it says about himself, and has accepted his damnation with fatalistic & willfully blind cynicism--just like Armand does with the Childrren of Darkness/Satan, he's slowly losing his religion/faith in God (read: their "dead" exes: Lestat & Marius), while doubling down on the idea that they are damned and that all that exists is Hell/Damnation/Satan/etc.

He'd rather believe that baboons are roaming Europe than face another vampire who might reveal more about him than he's ready to accept.

He talks down to Claudia just like Lestat did; and constantly crushes her dreams by being a wet blanket. He gives her NOTHING positive or affirmative to look forward to.

Daciana's suicide is a wake-up call: she IS a good vampire (reltively speaking, ofc). She has dreams and wishes and loving feelings, too. She's visibly in emotional turmoil & pain, which Louis can relate to; acknowledging her as human, and finally looking forward to the future Claudia wants for all of them: companions sharing stories & knowledge & love; "we're a family?"

Louis COULD'VE followed Daciana into hopeless misery, but luckily he DOES have Claudia; them helping e/o to stay out of the fire.

And as sick as it is, Lou also has Lestat, and the comfort of knowing that no matter how bad he acts/gets, he's still alive.

There's still that glimmer of HOPE: "a spark in the dark."

As an aside:

Romania as the "ancestral home" of vampires is hilarious. Claudia's desperate to find out the truth--and she's close, for sure, as there are obviously vamps crawling all over Europe--but my heart just aches thinking about how mind blown Claudia would be if she found out that the REAL ancestral home of AR's vampires was Egypt.

Cinematic poetry, putting AR in the same frames where Louis talks about Dracula--only to drag vampire superstitions a few minutes in, as Louis and Claudia bicker over garlic & crucifixes. XD

[lumienyx]

Why did your Tav fall?

@spacebarbarianweird thank you for the tag💙 the words just seem to never end when I write about my Tav's Feelings™️ so here goes

~

Tav has never quite fallen that far in love with anyone before. His one true love has always been sorcery. Adventures. Freedom. His friends. And so, the experiences with the few lovers he's had over his life seemed like nothing compared to what he feels for Astarion.

It starts as idle curiosity. The pale, sharp-tongued elf who calls himself Astarion is the first of Tav's companions to hint at possibly controlling their tadpoles instead of extracting and destroying them on the spot. Tav is ever one to experiment—and so the way Astarion's mind works is what he immediately loves about him.

Always the one with a creative witty comeback, always coming up with cunning ways to solve a problem, disarm a trap, break into the most guarded of places. Half the group is mortified at the idea of grabbing the Necromancy of Thay, yet Astarion encourages Tav to take it. And then gets so engrossed and excited by its possibilities once Tav decides to give it to him instead of keeping it; he was never one for death spells anyway.

The both of them make quite the team.

Yet for all of Astarion's boldness and confidence, Tav senses the fear. Not just through their Illithid connection, but in the little things Astarion lets slip. When Astarion's hands shake barely perceptibly and his eyes stare at places planes away. When he clenches his fists so hard the nails break skin which mends itself lightning-fast with vampiric regeneration... but Tav notices.

Astarion tells him more too, eventually. But their connection is what gives the most insight. The vision he gets when they first meet, the glimpse that night Astarion tries to drink his blood, the accidental connections since—and those on purpose, as they learn and trust each other enough to use their mind-link for tactical communications on the battlefield. Every time Tav touches upon Astarion's mind there's fear, raw and ugly and ever-present, scratching away at his chest and making it so hard to breathe even as he reminds himself that I don't need to breathe I don't need to I don't need—

Tav wants to protect him.

Even as he sees though Astarion's pretty words and the poetics he uses to manipulate Tav into trusting him, he goes along with it headfirst, unsure of what he's hoping for but hoping for something. Even if it's just to be with Astarion for the time-being. Just to help, in what little way Tav can, just with his company, with his words, with his care.

Tav promises to help him defeat Cazador. Whatever it takes. He will bask in the moment he can Disintegrate that crooked smirk from Cazador's face that keeps haunting Astarion's meditations. He will relish how Astarion kills him, makes him hurt for all the pain of two centuries twofold.

Tav needs to protect him, at some point, it simply crosses the bounds of a simple desire to protect anyone he calls friend.

Tav wants him safe, wants him happy. Wants to find more and more reasons to keep Astarion smiling with that beautiful, sun-bright smile that lights up his eyes. Eyes that stare past Tav less and less as time goes on—and begin to look more directly at him, seeing him.

And Tav sees Astarion in turn.

Sees that brilliant mind, the mischief, the love he has for pure, unadulterated fun. The lust for freedom, power, adventure. The quiet longing for companionship and the silent need to uncover his full potential.

It's at the point when Tav figures out he can use the tadpole to project the image of Astarion's face to him that their minds connect stronger, deeper than they've ever had before.

Such deafening emotion flows from Astarion then, overwhelming Tav, drowning him. Confusion, shock, relief, joy, elation, hope—it all crashes down on both of them and ends up in a passionate kiss that leaves Astarion giddy and Tav weak in the knees.

Tav thinks then, how much he loves this, this kiss, this closeness. Loves being with Astarion and maybe loves—

Tav razes the thought right there on the spot. Too soon, too foolish, not true—how could he ever even tell if he's never even felt that before?

But that's when Tav falls and keeps falling inevitably deeper into that blissful abyss of a novel emotion. He doesn't dare hope Astarion ends there in love with him—but, miraculously, he does.

~

No pressure tags if you want to write about why your Tav fell for Astarion (or any other companion/character!):

@ellekhen @tallymonster @satanicspinosaurus @astariondisapproves @astarions-fangs @thedreamlessnights @justporo @tigers-pat and anyone else who sees this and wants to join in💙