#im so fanfic core now!!!

[luckylarvae]

RED GIANT, CHAPTER ONE

Heya, so this is an ISAT loop fanfic I’ve been thinking about writing for a while, called “Red Giant”. Heavy spoiler warning for In Stars and Time by the way as well as SASASA. For context this story takes place at the end of SASASA. This is my first time really writing in literature format, and my first fanfic thing as a whole, so it's going to be really rough at first but I hope as this progresses I get to improve. Hope this is at least mildly entertaining! Let’s just see how this goes, and constructive criticism is greatly appreciated.

“This is our chance! Our chance to end everything once and for all!!” 

  Mirabelle stands in front of the king, mid battle and looks back at you. Finally something changed, something changed!!! You move out of the way as fast as you can, as Mirabelle powers you up. After all these constant, never changing loops you can finally be free, finally escape this eternal purgatory you’ve found yourself in and finally end everything! After having to suffer through this hell, of playing an actor who dies onstage over and over and over again, there's finally an end in sight, just, one, more, attack!!  You raise your arm up, you summon all the craft energy you have, every single little bit of strength you have, and throw it at the king, and a bright flash of white completely overwhelmes the room. 

When you open your eyes, the room is no longer surrounded by stands of hair, no longer dark with the presence of the king. It is white, clean, empty. Your party and you stand in shock for a moment. Did you really do it? After all this time?

“Did… did we do it?”

“...He’s gone.. We did it?”

“Sif, we did it! He’s gone! The King is gone!!! Hahahaha!!!”

Isabeau and the others smile at you. Isabeau, your friend, your comedy partner… your

“But…”

Before you can say something, Bonnie blurts and and shouts

“Holy CRAB THAT WAS SCARY!!! WE DID IT? WE DID IT!!!!”

The little sibling of the group, the one who kept you all going…

Odile perks up and says “Haha… hahahahahaha!!! Oh, it was close for a second there!!!!”

The women who understands you the best, observant to a fault

“Oh, Oh, what a relief…!”

The Savior of Vaugarde, the reason you are all here…

“Sif, Sif, Siffrin!!!” It’s over! We won!!!”

“... We won…?”

The fighter, no no Isabeau continues to beam “We won, Sif!!!!! The country’s okay, everything’s gonna be okay now!!!”

We, won?

We, WON???????

You won, you won you won you won you won!!!! Tears start to well up from your eyes and you you wipe them away.

Mirabelle looks at you and says “Oh Siffrin… It’ll be okay Siffrin. We prevailed. We’ll all be able to go back home!”

Isabeau looks at Mirabeele and responds: “I can’t wait to tell my old job friends that I’ve helped save the country!”

Bonnie jumps and says “I gotta go back home and see if my sister’s okay!!”

Odile sighs “Finally, I’ll be able to go back to my research.”

It’s over, it’s finally over. Finally, the adventure is over. Mirabelle can go back to her house of change, finally Bonnie can reunite with their sister, finally Isabeau can pursue his dreams of being a fashion designer, finally Odile can continue her research. Finally, you can go… home? You can go… home. 

Home

You start to taste sugar on your tongue

Mirabells puts her hands together in gratitude “ See Siffrin? We’ll all be fine now. There’s nothing to worry about anymo–”

You vision shakes for a bit. You can feel your heart being tugged. No, no, nononono NO!!! NOT NOW!

You feel and your entire being gets thrusted back. You see you and your party rapidly repeat the actions you had just done. You see yourself launching your craft energy at the king, your friends look at you as you get the key, first try, You see yourself, walking into the castle, and then-

You find yourself with your vision black, body… sprawled out? You wake up, in the middle of a field. The shades of the grass in an almost circular pattern, with trees shaped the same. You feel the wind pass by over you, something you have not felt in a long, long time.

A familiar voice cries out to you 

“Ah, Siffrin!!! Huh? Siffrin, were you… were you… TAKING A NAP????!???!”

“I.. I supposed thats… Yes you’re right! I should follow your lead on this one! We’d better get some sleep while we can! Since tomorrow…”

Your heart sinks to the bottom of your chest, fear and terror gripping every single muscle of your body.

“We’ll have to fight against the king!”

…

You fall into a haze.

You had done it

Everything was perfect

YOU HAD DONE IT

You defeated the king, you cried in front of your friends, YOU SAVED VAUGARDE-

But it wasn’t enough

It was never enough was it?

You were never supposed to get out

You are forever trapped in, in a hell of your making.

With these puppets

With you, as the eternal actor

You can’t take it anymore.

Pain throbs through your body, it almost feels as your guts are spilling out, something you’ve felt countless times at the hands of the king

But you only find yourself crying instead.

You don’t want to do this anymore, no more loops, PLEASE FOR WHATEVER GOD YOU’VE FORGOTTON’S SAKE, FOR THE UNIVERSE’S SAKE YOU CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE!!!!

You give up.

 And just lie there.

 Mirabelle leaves you behind.

 Time pases.

 It is the next day. They try to get you to move, their fake fingers and ther fake pleads and their FAKE tears.

 They leave you alone, and go to die in the fight against the king.

You feel nothing.

A few loops go by

No more, no more no more no morenomorenomore

At the start of the new loop, you look at the wish tree. This damn tree. You plead in front of it. You don’t care anymore, you don't care for this superficial life with these superficial friends. You plead, crying, god, not anymore!! 

LET IT BE OVER, LET ME OUT!! PLEASE, UNIVERSE, SAVE ME, HELP ME!!!! Someone… Anyone, help me!!! PLEASE!!!!!!

And the universe answered.

You watch as a leaf falls down, and glows ever brighter. It morphs from a leaf, to a flame, to a bright shining star. It falls down growing bigger and bigger until it falls down into your hands. It feels… warm… welcoming.

You feel… safe

For the first time in a while. As you look down on it, you feel one command in your head

Eat

And you do.

You feel warm in your chest. 

What happened? You aren’t exactly sure, but maybe things will be… different? You aren’t really sure why you did that, you probably shouldn’t eat random star things that float down in front of you. You sigh, and start to talk away from the tree. You start to walk away and–

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!

It feels as though you’ve been directly stabbed by a red hot dagger, splicing apart your body. You look down, and see that in place of your normal cloak is a giant, glowing star-shaped hole. Your cloak begins to burn into ash, and you collapse into the ground. The pain is unbearable, you fall onto the ground, clutching your chest in pain. You look at your skin, and what should be your regular light shade of skin, is a black abyss with tiny glints of light within.

Your “friends” rush towards you, as they probably heard from all the screaming you’ve done when this started. The Housemaiden shakes your shoulders,

“SIFFRIN, WHAT’S WRONG?!?!? WHAT’S HAPPENING TO YOU, OH CHANGE-”

Before you can respond, A blinding pain strikes out from within your skull, You thoughts cloud, you can’t quite process what is happening. This is most definitely the worst headache you’ve ever experienced, it feels almost as your head is about to burst.

And then it does.

You find yourself in a black void. You don’t know where you are. You feel... Different. The structure of your body has... Changed? You look down upon yourself, and instead of the body you’re oh so familiar with, it's wrong. You build, the shade you are, the giant star on your chest. Something has gone wrong. Your head feels weightless, and as you reach towards your head,       you can’t really exactly feel where your face begins and ends.

But worst of all, something else changed. Something far worse, something terrible. Something far more important.

You can feel that your personality has been permanently changed.

[kivaember]

Title: alis propriis volat (they fly with their own wings) Rating: T+ (may go up later) Pairing: V.IV Rusty/Raven | C4-621 Tags/CW: Alternative Universe - Canon Divergence, Complicated Relationships, Morally Ambiguous Characters, Implied/Reference Suicide, Implied/Referenced Indentured Servitude, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Medical Trauma, Mute Raven | C4-621, Identity Issues, Worldbuilding, Unreliable Narrator, Trust Issues, Implied/Referenced Sex, Panic Attacks Summary: “I’m not here to kill you, buddy.” Slowly, Rusty crouched down. “I’m here to capture you, before Arquebus does.” or; C4-621 manages to escape Institute City on his own after V.II Snail’s failed ambush, but with Handler Walter no longer in contact with him, and Balam essentially destroyed, C4-621’s only ally is the disembodied Ayre. Well, until the RLF swoop in, but that’s its own awkward can of worms. Current Chapter: 19

[hopeswriting]

part 1 part 3

The look in Tsuna’s eyes has changed, and it makes Nana want to cry.

It’s not a bad change. It’s not one that makes him unhappy or that makes it hard to look in his eyes. If anything Tsuna’s gained confidence, standing straighter, speaking louder and looking people in the eye longer. It seems he’s trying to keep it subtle and unnoticeable, but even if he wasn’t, she wouldn’t be surprised if Iemitsu and her were still the only ones to see the change in him plain as day.

Not when it’s only ever been him and her in the mansion against the rest of them ever since he was born.

It’s only ever been him, her and Iemitsu too against the rest of them when he finds the time to stand by their sides, when having been Vongola first and for much longer before becoming her husband and Tsuna’s father allow him to. Nana noticed the change in Tsuna first, and she doesn’t know if it’s right of her to wish it’d unsettle Iemitsu the same way it unsettles her.

The look in Tsuna’s eyes has changed, and it makes Nana ashamed and guilty.

When did it change?

She can’t tell. One day he was her little Tsu-kun the same as she’s always known him to be, and the next she was looking in his eyes and feeling like she was seeing them for the first time in her life.

Why did it change?

She can guess. It’s only ever been him and her in the mansion against the rest of them ever since he was born, but it seems Nana has been failing to meet him halfway, forcing him to look into himself to become his own strength and support.

Tsuna shouldn’t even feel like it’s only the two of them against the rest of them. Not when he’s been born in this world, not when it’s the only world he’s ever known, unlike her who married in it, who loved her way in it. They spend time in Namimori whenever they can, only being Nana, Iemitsu and Tsuna, only being the Sawada family, but surely it can’t have that much weight compared to the life he’s known the most all his life, can it?

But maybe it has, because Tsuna has always taken from her the most rather than from Iemitsu. Iemitsu has always happily and lovingly agreed to that, loves to remind her of that fact whenever he can, and she never considered the thought that fact might one day feel bittersweet to know.

Nana frustratingly wipes the slow tears dripping down her cheeks. She’s alone in her room, too big and luxurious. No doubt something most people would dream of, but it’s never been a dream of hers, has never been a part of what her ideal life looks like. She sits in the armchair, keeping her eyes away from the too large bed she doesn’t get to share at night as often as she’d want to.

She retreats in her room at times when she feels too painfully just how much ill-fitted she still is for the mafia world, even after all these years. She’s learned to put up a perfect front, to be the trustworthy and reliable wife of a high-ranked and powerful mafioso. She’s learned when to smile and when not to, when to demand respect and when to let it slide, when to be accommodating and when to exert her higher influence and status to make them accommodate her, but it’s still just that, a front. It’s still not who she is, nor the way she wants to be a trustworthy and reliable wife to her husband when it comes to his job.

Today it stings especially deep that Iemitsu wasn’t able to make it to dinner even though he said he should be able to, and she couldn’t even bear to finish dinner with Tsuna first before retreating in her room. Not when the look in his eyes has changed.

It’s not a bad change, and she’s even proud of him for it, she is. Tsuna’s growing up, of course he’s growing up. It’s not something any parents can stop their children from doing however much they wish they could, but he isn’t supposed to grow up that fast. Shouldn’t be forced to, shouldn’t feel the need to.

He shouldn’t be growing up so fast not even herself noticed when it happened, shouldn’t have had to do it alone, and it makes her want to cry, makes her heart clench.

She’s learned to be a mafioso’s wife, but she seems to have forgotten to also be a mother at the same time.

She believed she could be both when she decided to become part of Iemitsu’s world instead of going her separate way from him, resolved she would be both. Both Iemitsu’s wife and the wife of a mafioso, as well as Tsuna’s mother, and not just the mother of the son of a mafioso, but here she is anyway.

Here they both are now.

Tears keep trickling down her face, and she doesn’t care to wipe them away anymore. She doesn’t have anyone to wipe them away for her either, doesn’t have anyone to trust the secret of their existence with. Not anyone who’d understand them anyway.

Never mind that she was a civilian most of her life before becoming mafia, because it’s not as if all mafiosi want their children to follow in their footsteps or don’t wish they could get them out of it too. Mafiosi of lower status or of no status at all gaining a higher status through marriage is a common practice too, and similar enough to her situation to allow understanding.

But Nana chose to marry in this world, chose to love her way in it when she was completely free from it and could have remained so. Iemitsu and her both resolved to do everything they could to have the best of both worlds, and she can’t think of anyone who’d understand she truly believed they could achieve it if they just tried hard enough, because she’s the one who was a civilian most of her life.

She can’t think of anyone who wouldn’t laugh at her face or wouldn’t look at her with disdain and contempt should she confide her tears in them.

Of course Iemitsu’s split between his family and theirs, and has to choose his family so to keep theirs safe, if for no other reason. Of course he can’t make it back to them as often and for as long as she’d want him to, and one day might never come back to them at all, leaving her without a husband and Tsuna without a father.

Of course Tsuna will grow up to become mafia too, and she wants to raise him to be a mafioso if she cares about him surviving the mafia and living in it for as long as possible. It’s the world she gave birth to him in, and the life she gave birth to him to.

But now she wants to blame them and their world for it when she chose to become one of them too? When she chose to make their world hers too?

They’d be right about everything, but Iemitsu swore.

Nana loves him, of course she does. He’s the love of her life, she knows it deep in her bones without a shadow of a doubt. When he told her the truth about just what his job was and she wondered just how many other things he might have lied to her about, she’s still never doubted his love for her, nor a second of him loving her.

Ultimately it’s what made her stay, but Nana has always wanted children more than anything else in the world. She’s always wanted to love them and see them grow up and live long, safe and happy lives. If not for Iemitsu swearing to her their children would be able to choose, wouldn’t be forced in anything, that he’d see to it they wouldn’t be no matter what, she swears she would have made another choice because she loves Tsuna more than anything else in the world, she does.

Iemitsu swore.

He lied.

He didn’t mean to, is still trying not to, but here they all are now.

Because Tsuna is an heir to Vongola too, even if he’s only the spare, their very last option should it ever come to that, which is the only reason why they live in the Vongola mansion despite how it politically poorly reflects on CEDEF when it comes to its independence from Vongola.

Anger burns alive in Nana’s chest at the sight of her too big and luxurious room.

It always burns alive too whenever everyone acts as if they’re entitled to see Tsuna as only the spare heir, one they don’t want and don’t think anything of at best, and so they feel all the more entitled to disregard him completely until they’ll have a need of him, if such a day should ever happen. As if they wouldn’t throw themselves at his feet and beg him to save Vongola from meeting its end should such a day happen.

Nana hates the sight of it, yet doesn’t allow herself to hold onto her anger, has no right to. Iemitsu swore, but it’s both their failures that he isn’t able to keep his promise. Because Nana hates even more the way they feel free to only see Tsuna as someone they might one day need but don’t care about in the meantime even in front of her, as if they weren’t talking about her son, but she knows who she has to blame for it.

After all a good mafioso’s wife hasn’t anything to say when people praise her son whenever he shows potential to become a great mafioso, and she shouldn’t want to take his defense when they look down at him for the many ways he’s ill-fitted to become a mafioso, shouldn’t feel happy, proud and relieved at that.

Nana hides her face in her hands, the sobs she’s been holding back stuck in her throat and choking her.

“Mama?”

Nana startles, hastily wiping her eyes dry as she stands. “Ts—Tsuna?” Tsuna’s half in her room, half still hidden behind the door. She smiles. “Did you already finish eating?”

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No, of course not,” she says a little too fast, walking to him. “Come on in. You know I always have time for my little Tsu-kun, right?” Tsuna gives her a small smile, fully stepping inside but staying at the door. “Do you need something?”

“Why didn’t Papa eat with us?” Nana freezes. “He said he would too.”

“I’m sure he tried, but sometimes he still can’t because of his work. Because he works hard so he can take care of us.” Tsuna says nothing, his eyes intent on her, and she kneels in front of him, taking his hands in hers. “Because he loves us,” she feels compelled to say by the way he looks at her.

“You don’t like it here.”

Nana’s smile falters, and it feels stiff when she forcefully keeps it on her face anyway. “It’s… a little lonely sometimes. You know how much your mama loves your papa, right?” She laughs, but Tsuna’s lips don’t even twitch. “If I could, I’d spend all my time with the both of you, so sometimes I just miss him, that’s all.”

“You were crying.”

Nana smiles wider. “I just miss him a lot today. But I’m okay, so you don’t have to worry.”

Tsuna looks down, his shoulders dropping. “But I like Namimori better too.”

“Your dad loves us,” Nana says again, squeezing his hands, and she doesn’t know for whom she says it. “That’s why he wanted us to live together here, so he could still be with us and still keep working at the same time. You know that, right?”

“But I love you too. So I’d let you go so you can be happy too.”

Nana stops smiling, and she can’t make herself smile again even when Tsuna shyly catches her eye again from under his eyelashes. She wants to squeeze his hands even tighter, but she doesn’t want to hurt him. “Tsu-kun, you… there’s something you decided you want to do, isn’t it? Is it anything Mama can help you with?”

“I’m okay,” he says first, because of course, she’s been his mother just as long as he’s been her son, and the smile ghosting her lips is genuine. “I just want to make friends. I… feel lonely too. And…” he looks her straight in the eye, squeezing her hands back, and the new look in his eyes is the most obvious she’s seen it yet “… I want my people. I want a family too.”

Nana’s heart clenches, clenches, clenches.

Iemitsu and her failed him both, and so he had to look in himself to find the strength and resolve to be the one to give himself the choice. Maybe to even make it should it come to that.

He’s not saying Iemitsu and her aren’t his family. To him there’s always been family and family ever since he was born, and if he doesn’t want to become Vongola’s family but Vongola still won’t let go of him in case they end up having a need for him, then he’ll just have to carve a place of his own within it so he can call it home and family too.

“I love you too,” Tsuna says again. “Can it be enough?”

Can he be enough?

Can she stand by him even if it might mean she’ll have to stand against Iemitsu at times? Even if it might mean she’ll have to help him go against family at times?

Nana slaps her hand against her mouth, tears spilling out of her eyes before she has any chance to stop them, Tsuna’s hopeful and uncertain voice breaking her heart.

In the next second she holds him tight against her, burying her face in his hair. “Of course it’s enough. Oh, Tsu-kun, I’m so sorry. You’re everything I’ll ever need. Of course, of course, always.”

Tsuna says nothing, but holds her tight too, and when his body shakes and she feels her shirt growing wet, she cries harder.

Her baby boy, her little Tsu-kun, and that she made him lose faith in the fact she loves him for exactly who he is, she thinks him good enough and perfect just the way he is, and that she’d never change anything to him and will always love him no matter what is crushing.

When has he started thinking even her might wish he was better at being who he is? When has he started losing faith in her love for him?

She can’t tell.

How can she not be able to tell?

But Tsuna still wants her to be his mother, is willing to give her the chance to make up for her failures as his mother up until now, and she won’t let him down, not ever again.

And Nana loves Iemitsu too, she does. He’s the love of her life. It hurts to know Tsuna won’t ask the same of Iemitsu, especially when it’s love that’d make Iemitsu not want to let go of him either, and she can only hope he’ll do so somewhere down the line sooner than later, but it’s still an easy choice to do. It’s not even a choice at all, and when—when, hopefully—Tsuna will ask the same of him, she can only hope his answer will come to him as naturally as breathing too.

She’ll stand by Tsuna and will always choose him over anything and everyone else in the world, of course she will.

Nana can’t tell how much time has passed when they finally pull back from each other. She helps Tsuna dries his tears, and he laughs as she does, making her laugh too, both of them smiling bright and wide.

She cradles his face between his hands, leaning his forehead against his. “You’re perfect just the way you are, Tsuna. There’s nothing about you you need to change, and Mama promise to always love you no matter what, all right?”

He marks a pause, looking into her eyes, but then smiles, tears gleaming in his eyes again. “Okay. I love you too.”

“Did you finish eating?”

He shakes his head. “I wasn’t hungry anymore after you left.”

“Then will you go tell Madi we’re sorry, but we’d be grateful if she could prepare us something warm again? I’ll be right behind you.”

Tsuna beams, and she smiles wider at him. “Really?”

“Yes, really.”

He cheers, throwing himself in her arms for a quick hug before running out of her room. She laughs, standing up, and finds a mirror to make sure she’s presentable again before leaving her room too.

She doesn’t look like much with her wet cheeks, red eyes and disheveled hair. Then again, she’s never looked like much in any of their eyes, has she? Even after she met their standards of what they expected the wife of Vongola’s CEDEF’s boss to be. Of how they expected her to be.

She supposes she was a civilian too long for them to not keep seeing her as a civilian before anything else, and one too clueless to ever realize just the full extent of the influence and power her status holds. The authority her status holds too, as long as she makes use of her influence and power right. Especially when she’s only been doing the strict minimum in being mafia, and her personality being what it is likely works against her too.

Good. Let them keep thinking that way, as it’s all things she’ll make work for her now. Things she’ll make work for Tsuna.

Nana learned how to be a good mafioso’s wife. She can start from scratch again and learn how to be Tsuna’s mother too.

And if it’ll help her be a better mother to him, if it’ll help her help him be happy in the world she gave birth to him in and in the life she gave birth to him to, she can also learn to be the wife of Vongola’s CEDEF’s boss and the mother of one of Vongola’s heirs.

She will.

[rafasbiscuits]

I forgot to bring this here omo, anyways I wrote a little thierev fanfic a few weeks ago so <3

[riddlebanshee]

I am shaking Bruce Wayne in his jar

[orcelito]

While dragon age veilguard is so fun, I must admit. I do miss the earlier games.

(Under a cut bc I unintentionally rambled a LOT...)

It's so. *Polished*. Blatantly very beautiful. And it does have some fun conversations. I don't like the fact that you can only have 2 companions with you at a time though. I miss the inventory management stuff too... which is smth I never thought I'd say, but it does feel kinda. Low-stakes in terms of item consumption. No matter how rough a battle gets, every resource I use will regenerate given a bit of time and/or a trip to the lighthouse. The EXP system is also so strange. I love defeating enemies that are well above my level bc it usually grants me a Massive amount of exp (for the level I'm at) so it gives me a giant boost. In this game, I beat two champions and a fucking revenant like 15 levels lower than them and what did I get for it??? Some items I don't use, a bit of exp, access to a few places I couldn't go otherwise...which are nice I guess, but not rly that worth it??? I'm still fighting them bc I find it fun, but it does kinda suck a bit of the satisfaction out of it. Also fights giving exp per encounter and not per enemy??? Like if it was exp gained at the end of an encounter calculated by what you fought, that'd be fine. But it'll grant the same amounts of exp no matter how many enemies are in these fights. Really, most of the exp weight is in completing missions. *massively* more exp there. Which kinda makes me sad, bc im the type who does enjoy grinding via fighting enemies and getting stronger. (But also I like the Fast Forward option of fighting BIG things for extra boost, mentioned above). Also, no body looting?? At all??? Sometimes they drop stuff, but rarely. Most of my average item drop grinding is from breaking every box and barrel I see (which is really quite funny for how no one Ever reacts to it). Ultimately, it's lots of fun, but it's missing some of these key rpg experiences that I enjoy that earlier dragon age games Did Have. So that's kinda a bummer.

I also just. Miss the stakes of the earlier games. Like we have world shattering stakes here etc etc oh no another blight but this one's Different... it's like they forgot that you don't have to keep shooting further upward to make things interesting. Like there's only so much gravity of stakes before it starts to feel kinda... idk, boring to me??? I don't care about all this Fighting The Gods shit. I don't like how they did this plot point anyways, specifically with them establishing that the elven Gods were actually all tyrant mages that enslaved the elves & the vallaslin (an important culutral symbol to the dalish identity) were actually slave markings. It feels so massively disrespectful & dismissive of polytheistic cultures, bc they're saying the elves, a group of marginalized people with some clinging desperately to their old heritage, are all mistaken about their gods. And it's only the True god (the Maker)(100% just Christianity in a fantasy setting) that is a real actual god. Or something. I just HATE IT.... and also how they're portraying Tevinter and Antiva, especially with the rewriting of the Crows being some noble and familial order instead of conductors of child torture etc etc. And Tevinter keeps going on about the magisters and the venatori and the slaves and it talks about the Shadow Dragons' work but we don't actually. See much of anything??? At least not yet. They just look like they're sitting there twiddling their thumbs. Would love to actually participate in a slave break or something. See stuff more overtly instead of all the slaves talk being just talk??? Idfk it's Tevinter, smth that has long been a boogeyman for the series bc of its evil mages and slavery, but like... we don't even see any slaves around. They're mentioned Plenty, and they show iconography of it, but it just feels like the true horrors are off hidden... somewhere. Somewhere else. I mean aside from the stuff in like. The underwater prison, where we saw the effects of the blood magic experimentation, but EVEN THEN, slaves were only mentioned. It's like they were too scared to ever show a single actual slave. And after knowing and loving Fenris for so long, it kinda feels insulting??? Feels like the slaves are being denied their personhood. They can only exist as concepts, not actual people for us to see and know their pain. It's reductive, honestly.

Which, that's a good word. That explains this game in a lot of ways. It's Reductive. With the Crows, the magisters, how they present and have us handle the Gods + veil situation... even with all the death and destruction, it doesn't feel like there are any real stakes. Just oh no, more people are dead. I played the Treviso vs Minrathous choice today, chose Minrathous, and I was surprised by how... anticlimactic that fight was??? Like I guess I'm also pretty damn strong and that dragon was pretty challenging even for me. But not That challenging. And I didn't even get to finish the fight. And ALSO they mentioned something about the venatori marching on the magisterium or something?? But then I didn't get to do anything about it??? Just, oh fight's done, let's pop on over to the other city now. Other city is wrecked bc they just couldn't get the dragon to come down... which I know it's bc Rook has the knife that the dragon comes down to fight them, but *surely* they could've shot at the dragon with arrows in Treviso... for it to get low enough to blight everything??? And they couldn't do Anything?????? So like it does suck, there are definite stakes, I hate seeing Treviso overrun by blight like this and it's interesting that they had named characters die from it. I'll miss Heir bc I kinda liked her (WHICH IS WEIRD GIVEN SHES A TRAINER FOR THE CROWS AND YOU KNOW WHAT WE HEARD ABOUT TRAINING IN THE CROWS BEFORE?!?!?! But not this trainer don't worry she's niceys :3)(🙄🙄🙄🙄). But EVEN STILL... It just. It all just felt so anticlimactic. It wasn't a hard enough fight to merit it completely wrecking the other town like that. And the fact that i literally sent half my team to help out the other place!!! The literal only difference is that I had this damned dagger!!! It seems like such a bullshit small excuse to make me make some big difficult choice. Also the dagger being the idol that they found with Bertrand in da2???? That feels so weird. Something about purifying it or whatever but idk it just feels so *weird*.

Idk I miss the earlier games where it felt like things actually mattered. The romances were deep and complex. Again, with Fenris, we got to see how his trauma fucked with him in so many ways and how it took him literal *years* to feel ready for romance. And the passage of time!!!!! Like origins was wonderful for a classic epic rpg story kinda thing, a very good game, but da2 was amazing for how it spanned very little actually, but felt so *important*. It was just us living out a decade with this guy in a fucked up city with his fucked up friends. Everything felt like it *mattered*. It felt like we were actually part of the world.

Which that's another thing, isn't it?? The immersion, the feeling like I'm Part of the world... inquisition also struggled with this in a similar way to veilguard, though to its credit veilguard does try to tie in character backstories more... but we still don't *see* that. In origins and da2, you get a preview of your life Before everything happened. So you see how you ended up how you are. You also got to see your backstory characters at the start of the game, instead of them tossing some characters in front of you and going "Oh yeah, you know them :]" like no I dont???? Idfk it just makes it feel like it matters less.

AND ALSO!!!!!!!!!!!

The mages vs templars thing was such a central part of the games prior to this, and also the stuff on the treatment of elves. I got *one* dialog thing about how hard it must've been growing up in Tevinter as an elf (since I'm the shadow dragon background + an elf) but besides that??? Barely any mention at all. And there's next to no mention of mages with this, which I guess is largely due to the game being set in places other than Ferelden and Orlais....... but idfk man I feel like the world wouldn't be *this* different, minus like. Tevinter, obviously. Even then, we barely see mention of how elves are treated Even In Tevinter, where they are literally largely *enslaved*. I don't know if they've even mentioned that the slaves are all elves. I don't remember it at least if they did mention it (and I have a good memory). And fuck me, I do miss the mages vs templar thing, if only bc of how central it was and how Weird it feels for it to be a nonissue now. Even with us being in a different region of the world, it feels like we've just. Lost touch with the world's key influences. And reduced them all to just... oh no, here's some more death and blood magic. Which is awful, sure, but it feels like Everything awful in this game is just chalked up to death and blood magic and blight. I keep discovering letters in the field and I know they're gonna be dead. Like every time. Go out to find someone? Oh, they're dead now. Or blighted. Or they're dying and we get to hear their last words. I think the only exception for this was when we found the younger cousin in the Crows... which. Even Then. His elder cousin, who we were going after, was found dead. Where's the complexities!?!??!?! Why is everything just death and destruction!??!?!?!? There are more fucked up things to do with characters than just killing them or throwing darkspawn at them!!!!!! It's exactly this kind of thing that's desensitizing me to it in this game. Like oh no more death. Oh well, let's keep on exploring. 🙄🙄🙄🙄 it is, yet again, Reductive.

Now ALL THIS BEING SAID.... I am still obsessively playing veilguard and am having a ton of fun with it. But it just... doesn't Really feel like a dragon age game to me. It's fun, but only really when you assess it on its own. If you look at it in the context of the world at large and the earlier games, its writing just feels so, so weak. I've rambled for forever now and I still have more things I could complain about, but I will not. Because this post is long enough.

I just really miss origins and da2....

[paigemathews]

Whenever I actually sit down and start posting the next gen series, one of the things that I really wanna do is kind of... incorporate reader's choices into it? Not in big ways bc my plan is to write like a full season before I start posting episodes and that can affect it, but like. smaller beats.

One example is that I have an episode idea where there's a big emotional thing for three different characters and our resident empath has a discussion with each of them, but it's reader choice which scene we see. Another one is an episode where it's reader's choice for who gets hit with some kind of emotional puncture and just spews emotions everywhere. It'd be mostly character and relationship scenes for arcs that are already happening, but readers would have the chance to see their favorite or the one that they're most curious about up close on "screen." Not for every episode, but like. maybe once or twice a season or something. Idk, thought it might be interesting.

[herrscherofmagic]

First of all: this is absolutely amazing and I can't thank you enough for this analysis of Acheron!!

Second: I just wanted to add a mention of Honkai World Diva, which is Mei's signature song from the GGZ days when Mihoyo was literally a smol indie company; a cover of it was used in Lament of the Fallen in HI3rd!

"Crimson moon shines upon a town that is smeared in blood…" Cried the diva given into lament All those sweet little dreams buried deep in memories until the very end -Honkai World Diva lyrics

I'm really far behind on the story and haven't even started Penacony nor seen most of the promo material, so all the little glimpses I've caught of Acheron & Black Swan content have confused me, and in general I've been losing interest in HSR's main story and have been trying to get back

but with all the context you've given in this analysis, plus the lyrics of Honkai World Diva, it feels like Acheron is a totally different character for me now

like, Mei never truly "lost" Kiana in most versions of their story. Yes in GGZ when God Kiana ended the world at the end of the Retrospective arc, but otherwise they managed to hold on and fight together for most of the time. and in HI3rd ditto, Mei never truly "lost" Kiana. She was close, yes, but Kiana endured and they reunited eventually.

So Honkai World Diva always fit Mei but in a sorta loose way, it always felt almost like a parody of Mei's actual story, y'know?

BUT NOW WITH ACHERON??? HELLO?????

Like at first in Genshin with Raiden Ei I thought her story sorta fit HWD as well because of the loss of Makoto, and the whole "red moon" thing from the Khaenri'ah cataclysm. But with Acheron it's so painfully clear in that teaser image and with all the other context you've given.

If Acheron lost her "Kiana" then all the lyrics would fit her story nearly perfectly!

O your smile is tainted and your face is cold There's no more comfort in your lips and cheeks The whirling noise is pulling me within The tainted carcass of this world

[Pre-Chorus] All the incandescent stars of heaven will die at the end of days Your gentle soul given to damnation

The death of the person closest to Acheron and the disaster in which it happened. (also... "your gentle soul given to damnation" is such a powerful line and I pray to Da Wei that we get something like that in HSR's story!!)

[Chorus] "Crimson moon shines upon a town that is smeared in blood..." Cried the diva given into lament All those sweet little dreams buried deep in memories until the very end

[Verse 2] Lost and faded truth of bygone memories Hiddеn deep in my corrupt body

Imagery of the disaster and Acheron's despair, along with the memories being "buried away" with Acheron seemingly unable to remember neither the good nor bad of her past life; also the "corrupt body" of her white-and-red form

[Pre-Chorus] I can hear the voices of the people I miss in this final song I would tremble just to hold them once more

[Chorus] "Florid moon shines upon a world that is doomed to die..." Wailed the diva given into lament All our pale, fleeting dreams are where the truths are hidden Until they fade away

"Crimson moon shines upon the town that is smeared in blood..." Cried the diva given into lament All those sweet little dreams buried deep in memories until the very end

The mention of the truth being "hidden" in fleeting dreams, paired with the teaser when Black Swan was diving into Acheron's memories to find the "truth" about whatever happened w/ the Annihilation Gang...

obligatory post before acheron's release

obviously, it's established that acheron is a variant of raiden mei. her real name is not actually acheron (confirmed through the livestream, but...come on, we all already knew that). specifically, there's loads of similarities in her design to the herrscher of thunder above all else

similar hair structure, hair part, n hairpiece (n obviously the color, too),

sword structure, patterns, n nearly identical handles,

one "red" arm,

the bust/halter,

and of course, the color scheme as shown in acheron's "emanator" form, n the horns shown in the livestream

with all that in mind, i imagine acheron is a variant of mei who failed to save the person closest to her (her kiana, to simplify it), n/or watched them die, or even killed them herself. it's shown during her dance with black swan that there was obviously someone important to her in her past, conflict arose in a setting much like the one featured in the livestream, n there's even imagery of her walking alone with only the moon in the sky to keep her company

kiana has been associated with the moon n moon imagery since the flyme2themoon days; her origin was quite literally a game about blasting off to the moon

this teaser resembles thunders over nagazora to me, as well as mei watching kiana's end in honkai gakuen

there's also the fact that the type of emanator acheron is, an emanator of nihility, is classified as a self-annihilator; those who have felt the pull of nihility n been unable to escape drowning in it. self-annihilator's take the meaning of nihility to heart, so much so that it erodes their bodies n memories

acheron has been confirmed as the self-annihilator type in her character introduction posted recently. what really strikes me about this line is the phrasing of "existence is nothing"

sounds familiar, doesn't it?

mei is characterized by the tragedies in her life, n how they impact her. growing up isolated, a kidnapping at a young age, bullying at school, suicidal tendencies, n the constant reminder that the girl she loves more than anything in the world will always put the overall well being of humanity over herself

to me, acheron is a mei shaped by loss. the mei we remember from hi3 had the chance to grow n change; to learn from her mistakes, n to fight for a better world, bc she had the support of her friends n her most important person. acheron doesn't seem to have that level of support from anyone, at least not anyone still in her life currently

which brings me to my next point. she HAD a "kiana," but ultimately lost her. n this is the result

acheron is incredibly powerful, but her power seems incredibly volatile. she carries this innate sadness with her wherever she goes, n the very path she walks n the very aeon she became an avatar of strips life of all meaning, all the beauty from the world

it's a far cry from the mei we know, bc clearly, there was a very pivotal change in her development that i can only attribute to the loss of her world's "kiana"

[bitchlessdino]

scream your heart out (m)

🔪pairing: fem!reader x seventeen (???) 🔪genre: horror, slasher, smut 🔪tags: DISCLAIMIER!!! MAY NOT SUIT MOST AUDIENCES, Graphic sexual and violent imagery color coded in pink, abrupt changes in text color, features/mentions members (Chan, Seungkwan, Wonwoo, Minghao, Seungcheol, Seokmin, Junhui, Soonyoung, Joshua), established relationships, scream au!seventeen, Hybristophilia, erotophonophilia, homicidophilia, graphic images, mention panic attacks, smoking, mentions disfigurement of faces, severed body parts, knives, guns, threatening phone calls, face masks (horror), knife wielding, blood, gore, death/murder, knife play, bloody handjobs, cum mixing with blood, consensual sex but nonconsensual murder, HONESTLY SOME REALLY FUCKED UP SHIT AND IM SORRY BUT YALL SHOULD BE READING THE WARNINGS, sexual innuendos, kitchen sex, daddy kink, unprotected sex, cream pies, cuck! (??) member, voyeurism, exhibitionism, breeding kink, PLS LET ME KNOW IF IM MISSING ANYTHING PLS 🔪word count: 6.8k 🔪summary: you and your friends get caught up in a classic horror slasher movie, only it's in real life. Now you're off to fend for yourselves in Seungcheol's million dollar home. The question is, did you keep them out, or did you just lock them in? 🔪author note: thank you @multi-kpop-fanfics and @wonwussy for beta reading for me <3. here's some of their notes “I’m scratching my face to not fucking scream” “WELL SHIT BRO WHAT THE FUCK” -Zeta “It definitely does capture that slasher essence” -SJ this was so fun yet mind numbing to write but this is way more extreme than anything I’ve ever written like I lost a lot of sanity writing this. FR one of the most fucked up things I’ve ever written. I hope it was worth it. ENJOY EVERYONE and even tho it came out late HAPPY HALLOWEEN

Ever since the murders over a week ago, everyone in town has been on edge. All including the individuals most closely involved.

You had lost three core members of your eight. 

Joshua, someone you’ve known since grade school who was sliced open from the back before being stabbed 8 times to the point of excessive bleeding. He had just gone out to walk his dog, the poor creature being the only reason they found his body at all. If not for the dog’s bloody paws, and the trail of blood they left behind finding help, Joshua’s cadaver would’ve lost deep in the woods.

And then Chan, your long-time boyfriend, was stabbed fifteen times in the chest. His face was so disfigured from obvious violence and what looked to be burn scars, that he was practically unrecognizable if not for the fact he died in his own home. Police are still looking for his severed arms and legs to this day with no luck.

And finally, Seungkwan, who hadn’t died but lost to the paranoia festering in his blood like a disease. That caused him to take the train to the furthest destination possible to attempt to escape death if at all possible, leaving the rest of you with only the reassuring texts he left in his wake.

All that was left was you, Seokmin, Seungcheol, Minghao, and Wonwoo; the core five.

“Okay, absolutely no one is leaving this house for the time being. Until the psycho is caught behind bars, dead, or whatever the fuck! We’re safe here.”

Seungcheol, the eldest, did just as expected: contacted the rest of you into a personal prison. Luckily, he was loaded. The prison happened to be six thousand square feet of space with countless rooms, amenities, and a housekeeper to boot. From the looks of it, it’s paradise, but it’s definitely a prison.

“Holy shit, you have an indoor basketball court?”

A prison with an indoor basketball court. And a pool apparently.

Seokmin wasted no time to enjoy these features, breaking out of his clothes and cannonballing in his underwear. If you knew any better, Seokmin didn’t even look like he went through any trauma at all. It looked like every other day for him.

“There's a murderer and you’re doing butterfly strokes?” You asked, baffled.

The golden man scoffed, reaching the edge of the pool and resting against it with his forearms. “What am I gonna do? Wallow, crying to my mom, worrying about dying, and not taking advantage of this gorgeous mansion we’re staying in?”

“Thank you, Seokmin,” Seungcheol grinned.

Seokmin winked back at him, “Of course, daddy.”

“How are you both so unserious about all this?”

Wonwoo left a kind hand against your shoulder, looking back at you with warm eyes and a small smile. “They’re grieving. Just in their own way.”

You sighed, crossing your arms. “They’re being ridiculous. We shouldn’t be here. We need to be at the police station or something.”

“You were there when I got the call. The creepy voice said no police or you all die. Remember?”

You shuddered, hands over your sides to relieve your chilled skin. “Of course I do, but we’re sitting ducks here. This isn’t any better. We need protection.”

It was Seungcheol’s turn to scoff then. He strutted in front of you, flaunting his wing span before flexing his arms and then crossing them over his chest. “Well, you have me.”

“And me,” Seokmin joined. “Pure muscle right here.”

“Maybe pure laughing gas, not sure about muscle. We’re actually living in a horror movie right now and you’re all making jokes.”

“Hey,” Wonwoo stroked your head as his soothingly deep voice serenaded you, “Don’t say that. We’ll make it out of here.”

His arms come around you, forearms pressed against your collarbones, and his chin crooked over your shoulder. “You have me too. I would run through that knife before it could get to you.”

You genuinely smile for the first time being there, your hand stroking over his embrace. Wonwoo delicately kissed the temple of your forehead, reminding you what it was like to be constantly adored.

You were grateful for what he had become in your life. Wonwoo had kept you company in your time of need. In the absence of Chan. He had come to your house with whatever he thought you might need, lent you his shoulder that you could cry on, lent his ears so that he could listen, lent his body that you could heal. In more ways than one.

“You’re right. You are.” You turned to face him, wrapping your arms around his body and meeting his eyes framed in specs of hard plastic. “You’re the first person I can sacrifice if we face them head to head.”

He mused at you. “Ooh, now look who’s pulling jokes.”

“Who said I was joking?”

“You two are disgustingly cute,” Minghao commented coming through the back door. “Horror movie rules: they get killed while having sex.”

You punched the new face right in the arm, watching him scurry away to your other friends laughing.

“Not funny, Hao.”

Minghao sneers at you, a jester smile still on his face. “Ease up, princess. Wonwoo, watch your girl.”

“Only because she’s so pretty to look at,” he briefly grinned down at you before directing his attention to Minghao sternly, “but come on. We’re all a little psyched right now. Cool it with the murder talk. Alright?”

Wonwoo pulled you aside into the dining area, ignoring the careless laughter outside. His thumb stroked against your knuckles, lips pressing sweetly against your cheeks. His grin sunk deeper in his cheeks the further he made it past your jaw and then down your neck. He felt your throat vibrate against his lips. “Wonwoo…”

“I can’t have all these guys get you heated like this. That’s my job,” he teased with a rasp.

You slightly pushed him off, your arms swung over his shoulders. “You’re so ridiculous right now.”

“Anything to put that smile on your face.”

His lips reconnected with your neck, nipping at your skin. His humming sent tingles down your spine, and he took your body to press you against the side of the counter. Your hands grasped his baggy shirt, lip close to his ear, fanning your breath against his face. You smiled like a girl in love. Obsessed.  “Daddy…”

“I love it when you call me that,” he mumbled, just as love-struck, if not more. Your giggles brought out the pink on Wonwoo’s ears and cheeks while tightening the groin of his pants. You noticed immediately, cupping it in your palm, and running your finger along the seam. Your eyes skimmed over his taken expression, leaning your full weight into him. “I know there’s something else you really love.”

“Do you now?”

You nodded, your bottom lip caught between your teeth. “But do you really want to do it here? Risk getting caught?”

He leaned into your touch, allowing your fingers to take apart his pants. “Try new things right? Like you always say. Plus you’re scared. Gonna turn that fear into pleasure. Make you feel good, just what my baby deserves.”

“You're so good to me, Daddy,” you moaned.

His hand finds the hem of your shorts, pulling them down to expose yourself to the cold air. He fingered through your panties and slid two digits through your folds. He felt your breath hitch as he squeezed your clit, eliciting your soft whines. “You’re so wet down there, baby.”

“Just waiting for daddy to fuck me where anyone can find us and watch.”

Wonwoo eagerly pulled down his pants, kicking them and yours aside, but not without pocketing your underwear. He lifted you up slightly from the ground, his exposed cock hitting at your hip. “Look what you do to me.”

Your throat went dry at the sight of him, hand aching to wrap your hand around his girth and have him shoved inside you.

He didn’t let you wait a second long, and pushed in slowly inch by inch, burying himself in your pussy until he was nearly balls deep. You grasped his shoulder in a gasp, savoring the fire burning in your stomach. The girth of his cock stretched your molten walls, allowing them to melt all around his cock as he spread your legs. You writhe in his embrace, your limbs closing around his lean and toned build, already blissful from the few seconds of him being inside you.

Wonwoo’s words kissed your lips, flushed your skin, and left a permanent smile on your face. It swelled pride in his chest, better than any physical trophy would have. His hips slowly rolled against yours, letting you adjust to his size. He massaged the flesh of your side through his fingers, mentally reassuring himself you were his and his alone, but his names on your lips became more than proof.

Your hips buckled towards him in heat, matching his pace before the carnal side of him decided to fuck you like an animal. His cock then plunged sharply inside you, and then again, a whimper coming out of your lips. Your hips stuttered the harder he pounded, arching your back, you felt his hand above your ass, pushing you against him.

“Daddy…”

He lost control when it came to you, addicted—religious—the second your body came in contact with his. He loved how your fingers ran through his hair, not caring how his glasses fell off his face in the process. With drool out of the corner of his lips, he could feel the blood rush up to the surface of your skin, making him feel warm at home inside you. Throbbing, he only got harder feeling how perfectly snug you were, pricking his clammy skin with goosebumps as he bottomed out.

“You’re sopping, precious,” he murmured with a sly grin.

He had you begging, flustered, and beautiful. Your hand clasped his face as your other arm looped around his neck, swallowing his lips, anxious and thirsty for his breath. You craved every part of him viscerally. “Cum in me, daddy. Please…”

He scoffed, lips ghosting over yours. “Will you take every bit of daddy’s cum, hmm? Hold my cum inside you.”

You nodded gingerly. “Yes, yes. I promise, daddy. Give it to me please, I want you to spill your cum inside me and make me yours…”

“Hold on to me.”

You obliged, met with the hot stream of his climax, yours quick to follow. He embraced your sides, devouring your lips and muffling your whines. His loads pumped into you in erratic thrusts, fucking his cum back into you and making sure you drained him of every ounce. His fingers dug into your flesh, feeling you just come apart for him, undoing the tension that festered earlier.

But that tension was needed. It was necessary to survive. Everyone let themselves forget the current predicament, basking in the glow of the sunset until dinner time arrived. Despite the housekeeper that supposedly exists, she hadn’t been around since all of you stepped foot in the house, like a ghost presence. Seungcheol scrambled to find her—reminding you of his peculiar obsession with the woman—as he wondered when dinner would be ready since a rise in temperature or a savory scent couldn’t be found in the kitchen.

“That’s strange. She’d be finished with a whole chicken by now,” the homeowner commented, noticeably picking his nails.

“Aww,” Seokmin groaned, “Well, is there anything else to eat?”

“I mean…you can look around.”

You narrowed your eyes at him in disbelief. “This is your house. You don’t know what you have in your own house?”

“You try navigating a five-story home with countless cabinets!”

“Buy a smaller house, you prick!”

“Guys!” Minghao chimed in. “Breathe in…and out. We’ll just find food. Seungcheol, your maid, your house, your search. She’s probably fine.”

Your hands slammed against those pristine marble counters. “We are NOT splitting up right now. This is what the killer wants. She’s probably already dead and we’re fucked.”

Wonwoo came to your side, laying a cool calm over your shoulder, and rubbed your sides. You let yourself melt in his touch, his sweet voice soothing you effectively. 

Seokmin sat up from his stool, “Okay, okay. I will help Seungcheol and you guys stick together.”

“That’s still splitting up!”

“Better than alone.” Seungcheol rebutted. “You guys stay.”

Despite your protests, they went on their search. Your head banged against Wonwoo’s chest, muttering in anguish about how everything was going wrong and that it’d only get worse. Meanwhile, Minghao seemed to regain some of that tension but masked the fear with the bright light of his phone, scrolling through TikTok. You didn’t know what was more annoying, sensation of imminent death possibly behind any door, or the same five songs replaying on Minghao’s feed.

After 15 minutes when they were nowhere to be seen, your patience had run thin. You picked yourself up from Wonwoo’s lap and dusted yourself off. “Fuck this. We’re finding them.”

You felt his hand on your shoulder, a concerned glow in his gaze. “Babe, hey. They’ve got it. Trust them.”

“Wonwoo, you know I can’t do that. Let’s just find them, hmm? Together?”

“Not a bad idea,” Minghao agreed. “Better in groups right? We go together, eliminate us as any potential suspects.”

Your boyfriend sighed, collected your hand, and laced his fingers through yours. “Fine.”

You were all joined together by the hip, making sure you were each other's sights. Through the wider than wingspan hallways, past the ridiculously expensive sculptures, you kept your eyes out for your estranged friends. Silence couldn’t have been more loud in these cavernous spaces, only hearing the gut feelings in your stomachs that’s churned in trepidation. Every step taken was the group closing in on the killer. 

Fortitude meant nothing if the danger was already inside.

Before turning around the corner, Minghao—reluctant to lead the group—crashed into a human-sized obstacle, causing the stumble of your entire party. You all faced a wide-eyed Seungcheol with the missing young housekeeper walking hand in hand with him. Suspicious, but besides the point.

“Holy shit, we said we’d come back!”

“It’s been 20 minutes, Cheol! You guys could’ve been dead for all we know.” You retorted.

“Wait, where’s Seokmin?” Wonwoo asked, noticing he didn’t see him nearby.

“He went ahead. He needed to piss or something and meet up later.”

“You idiot.” Your eyes burned a frustrated rage. “I said don't split up. DON’T SPLIT UP! That’s the number one rule of horror movies. You’re going get us fucking killed. He could be the murderer for all we know.”

Seungcheol scoffed, shaking his head. “Seokmin? No way. He’s the last person to even think to do that.”

“Well, do you see him? No! Probably he’s off someone being Ghostface reject with his stupid little voice modulator and cheap party city costume.”

“I told you—“ Before he could finish, his phone went off in the nick of time. When he pulled it out to saw Seokmin’s caller ID on display and the owner of the device wouldn’t help but smile. “See the bastard is even calling.”

He picked up and put him on speaker, eyeing you cheekily, amped to prove you wrong. “Seok, you little shit. How long does it take to piss, huh? Just say you wanted to take a dump.”

“Oh yeah, I took the shittiest, stinkiest, fattest dump. You could probably smell all the way from the other end of the hall.”

Instead of Seokmin on the other line, all of you were met with the eerie voice that had called you multiple times before. The voice that felt like spiders crawling up your legs. The voice that had you second guess whether you locked the front and the back door. The voice whose owner had killed countless people already. 

Seungcheol held the phone in a vice grip swallowing, fear stilling in his unsteady eyes. “You—Where the fuck is Seokmin, you son of a bitch?”

The morphed voice on the other end laughed, sounding bone chilling as nails against a blackboard. “What’s to say? Why don’t we play a little game to find out?”

“Mother fu—“You grabbed the phone from Seungcheol to answer in his place, cutting the older man off. “Why go through with this?”

“Why, I just want to help you find your beloved friend. All out of the kindness of my heart.”

“If it was all kindness, you could tell us where he is.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“Psycho,” Minghao muttered under his breath, eyes wide in shock and fear, as if registering the idea of death for the first time.

“And if we refuse?” Wonwoo interjected.

“Seokmin dies, rock for brains,” Seungcheol gritted.

“Ding, ding, ding. Or should I say, chop, chop, chop, since that’s what'll happen if you get any of my questions wrong.”

You scoffed, coming down the stairs with your friends to follow. “Have at it then, you freak.”

“Hey, hey, play nice. Maybe I’ll get too excited and decide to cut him up early.”

Seungcheol glared at you briefly before taking back the phone, storming down the stairs, and reaching the ground floor. “Ask away, as long as Seokmin is safe.”

“First an easy one. What’s your favorite scary movie, Seungcheol?”

His feet stopped at the end of the couch in his living room, stammering to answer. “What kind of fucking question—uh, The Ring?”

“Don’t lie to your friends, Seungcheol. You know that’s not the answer, that’s just what you say to anyone that asks. Say the real answer.”

“That’s the movie though!” he started to shout, visibly shaking.

“Just say it, Cheol!” Minghao pushed.

“Stop playing around Choi Seungcheol! Just say it,” You joined.

“Fine!” He faced the friends, evidently swallowing his pride as he choked up on his answer. “I never watched a goddamn scary movie! Is that what you want to hear? I get panic attacks every time I hear one in the background, why do you I’m always going off smoking when you guys put one on,” he confessed through his tears.

“Congratulations. Your first right answer. Now was that so hard? Pussy boy?”

“Fuck you,” Seungcheol sputtered, tossing the phone back to you.

“Next question. ‘The Texas Chainsaw Massacre,’ Leatherface is known for wearing a mask when it was in fact several. How many and what were they in the original movie?”

“Who the fuck would know an answer like that?” Minghao croaked in disbelief.

“Three. A ‘Killing Mask’, an ‘Old Lady Mask’ and a ‘Pretty Woman Mask.’” Wonwoo calmly answers, garnering horrified looks all around. “I wanted to be a filmmaker, remember?”

“Correct. Next question. What Was Freddy Krueger's serial killer nickname before he died?”

“It’s on the tip of my tongue,” you said slightly panicked, “Wonwoo?”

“The Springwood slasher.”

“Wow, Another amazingly correct answer. Hold on to that one, Y/n. He’s a keeper. He’s smart and fucks your brains out to the point of you screaming bloody murder? What a catch.”

You didn’t respond, impatience seething on the tip of your tongue, “Just tell us where this is all going.”

“Patience, sweetheart. Last question. What exact kind of knife does Ghostface use in the Stab movies? Here’s a hint: it’s the same one I’m holding in my hand against Seokmin’s throat. (Help me please...)”

“S-Seok.” Seungcheol gasped.

Seokmin’s voice could barely be heard on the other end, weak and afraid, only staggering breaths audible.

“Wonwoo, please,” Seungcheol begged, tears falling past his neck. “He’s our best friend.”

Wonwoo swallowed, gears visibly creaking in his head, “I know he uses a hunting knife, b-but—“

“Oh…” the voice cooed, “Well, that’s just not enough, is it? Seokminnie, say goodbye to your friends (Please, no…).”

“Seokmin!”

“Wait!” You barged, clutching the phone to the point of it almost bending. “A modified Buck 120. I remember now. It’s coming back to me. Now, let Seokmin go!”

The line went dead and in turn, light cast in the evening darkness of the poolside. All your eyes shot back at the change of light, startled at the sight in front of them. Seokmin was seated in a chair, bruises against his sides, bleeding from the splices on his forearms, and duct tape over his mouth. Yet the most frightening part was his closed eyes.

“Seokmin!”

You all rushed towards him, swinging the porch door in a panic. Seungcheol tried slapping him awake, pleading he’d be alive. “Seokmin please, please, wake up…

The poor victim's eyes start to flicker open, mumbling through the adhesive over his lips.

“Buddy,” Seungcheol ripped the duct tape clean off him, his ear coming up to his friend’s lips. “Speak to me…”

Seokmin’s voice came out in croaks, hardly incoherently, all except, “Be…hind…”

Minghao spat up blood, doubled over as Ghostface was revealed right behind him, and fell right into the pool. You and the housekeeper both let out a blood-curdling scream. The masked intruder wiped off the blood using his black rope, anticipating a lunge towards their next victim. 

“Run,” Wonwoo breathed out. 

He took your hand and ran with it. Taking a second to look back, you see Seungcheol and the housekeeper try to escape similarly before she was tugged right back towards the killer and she was stabbed right in front of him five times, each one faster than the last, having the poor Seungcheol paralyzed and fallen on his knees. The sounds of suffering were loud enough to hear throughout the neighborhood.

Wonwoo dragged you back upstairs, his survival instinct telling him to seek haven high and far up the house. 

“You left them there to die,” You proclaimed.

“He said he could manage it. You’re more important.”

“You actually believe that? Ghostface snuck up on Minghao with neither of us looking!”

“We’re going to have to. Secungcheol can handle himself.”

Finally, he finds the room, closing the door behind him and pushing heavy furniture in front of it for more time to stall. “We’ll be ok for a little bit here. Let’s look for weapons.”

He started rummaging through drawers, looking for anything strap, blunt, heavy, anything worth using. He was red in the face, sweat drenching his entire body. The only thing running through his mind was keeping you, the most important person in his life, safe. 

“Wonwoo, I don’t know if we’re going to find anything. Fuck. I’m so scared right now.”

He recognized the panic in your eyes, the bounce in your step, and the quiver in your voice. “Hey, hey, baby. Look at me.” He grasped your face in his hands, wiping your tears away with his thumb. 

“I’m here, hmm.” He kissed your closed eyes. “You’re alright.”

Then your tempered cheeks. “We’ll get through this.”

The tip of your nose. “I love you like hell.” 

Finally your trembling lips. “I’ll keep you alive.”

“Promise?” You managed to breathe out.

“Scouts honor.”

The banging resonated from outside the locked door, only getting louder and closer every passing second as if teasing you to death. You shook in Wonwoo’s embrace, burying your face in his chest. “I don’t want to die here, baby.”

“You won’t. Not with me.” One arm wrapped around your body, and another had his fingers locked around the base of a lamp, tugging it from the outlet. Pitch darkness joined you, only having to rely on the dim-lit sky through the peek of the windows.

Whomever on the other side cracked through the wood of the door, breaking it piece by piece as it fell to the ground, knocking over the dresser that blocked 

“Shit, shit, shit.” Wonwoo pushed you behind him.

Finally, your barrier came down with a final kick, rendering it useless. Wonwoo let out a battle cry, charging at them with the lamp above his head. He swung his weapon while Ghostface swung theirs, both missing simultaneously. Gritting his teeth, Wonwoo pulled forward, aiming for the head.

They crash against the wall in the process, but not without mutilating the midsection of Wonwoo’s stomach. The visually impaired man fell back to the ground, groaning in agony as he clutched his stomach, while blood trickled through his fingers. “Mother fucker...”

Wonwoo’s vision started to fight against him with the loss of his glasses, dimming images before him, and slowly processing the murderous figure trodding before him. Wonwoo’s determination picked him right back up slowly, picking up his lamp once again, trying to take another move toward the perpetrator. And by pure luck, the lamp crashed against the crown of their head.

Ghostface stumbled back, quick to recover but visibly agitated.  Soon enough, they plunged the full length of the knife right into Wonwoo’s gut, sticking it deep and long before kicking him off of it. Wonwoo lands on the hardwood, blood gushing out of him like a public water fountain. “Fuck, fuck!”

“Wonwoo!” You come by his side, clutching at his wound desperately. “No, no, no.”

The sinister figure approached once more, hand creeping against the edge before he pulled it over and off his head. His eyes stared back at you both maniacally. His grin stretched from both ends freakishly before overtaking in deep chuckles. “Happy to see me?”

“…C-Chan?” Wonwoo managed to gasp.

“Hi, bestie.” His signature smile, once warm and inviting, reflected horrifyingly as if out of a film, one with too much bloodshed and betrayal to imagine. “Well, didn’t think you’d see me again, huh?”

“Chan, what the fuck?” You screeched. 

“You’re supposed to be dead.” Wonwoo voiced panic-stricken. “What, how?”

One foot over the other, Chan carried himself with conviction, ease, and the confidence of a man who slaughtered countless amounts of people. 

“You guys don't know how easy it is to fake my death. I was surprised by how incredibly stupid police officers are. Find a body that’s my height, my build, cut off their hands and arms to not get their fingerprints, singe their skin and face to the point of unrecognition, and plant them in your own home. I’m a fucking genius.”

“S-Seungkwan,” Wonwoo wept, his adam’s apple, “You actually—”

“It was beautiful. Masterful.”

“Why?” Wonwoo stammered. “Your best friend—“

“He was an imbecile. Weak. All bark and no bite. You will never understand how good it felt to stick the knife inside him and watch the blood burst off of him like a sprinkler. Like the knife going in and out of him surged power throughout my entire body. So, I kept doing it. And doing it. And doing it. And doing it. And doing it. And doing it. And doing it. AND DOING IT.”

His smile. That violating smile.

You sobbed, covering Wonwoo’s wound with your hands. “Y-you monster.”

“This was all just fun for you?” Wonwoo bared his teeth. “You get your kicks from lying, deceiving, stabbing your friends? You think you’re some Billy Loomis?”

“Of course I have fun. I had lots of fun. We had so much fucking fun.”

“We?” Wonwoo repeated.

“What the fuck do you mean we?” You asked horrified.

Chan started to chuckle to himself, chest heaving exuberantly before he stood completely still. Dreadfully still. 

“Well, I'm not the one that killed Joshua, am I?”

A million guesses ran through Wonwoo’s brain. None made sense the more he thought about it. “Your Stu Macher? Seokmin…Seungcheol…?”

Your eyes turned to him fearful, before it melted into something else, something familiar. Something terrifying. “No…” your lips drew close to his ear. “Me…” 

Your hands squeezed around his wound, gripping, earning his moans of anguish, screaming at you to stop, before you retrieved the knife hidden behind your boot and drove it into his shoulder. Wonwoo let out the loudest scream he could ever muster, feeling the blade sharply cut his nerve whilst pain shot into his chest. He tapped his heel incessantly on the ground, tears streaming from his eyes, looking at you in disbelief, overcome with hurt.

“And he was a good fuck too until the knife I put through his back made him scream like a little bitch.”

You pulled out the knife from him, seeing how the pain he felt in his body only complimented the suffering pooling in his heart, his mind, his soul. His lips quivered in your direction, sucking in his breath. “Y/n…Why?”

You simply shrugged. “Why does anyone kill these days? They’re bored, daddy. Same reason why things can change in the bedroom, to spice things up. The flavor of life is murder now, darling.”

“You’re killing people.”

You drove the knife one more time into his thigh, savoring his scream of agony. “And we’re more alive than we ever have been,” you said, twisting the knife before pulling it out.

You walked toward Chan, helping him pull off his robe. “And so is our sex life.”

“So, Junhui, Soonyoung…Joshua, and even Seungkwan.” Wonwoo asked, catching his breath.

“Every. single. one,” You chuckled. “Draining their cum out of like having a second puberty until life is literally drained out of their bodies. What a bunch of pussy boys. So obsessed with sex, they didn’t see the knife coming their way.”

Your hand reached for the ottoman and pushed Chan there to be seated, underdressed in the black tank top and black jeans he hid underneath with his momentarily abandoned bloody knife at his side. You unbuckled his pants single-handedly, your knife still in your other hand. “And Chan just gets so fucking hard with all the bloodshed. Like a bloodthirsty animal.”

“You just look so fucking sexy with blood on your hands,” Chan moaned, “Touch me how I like it, baby.”

“Mmh, my pleasure.” Your hand used the blood covering it as a morbid form of lube, closing around the girth of his cock to squeeze and lightly stroking it from base to tip, softly thumbing over the small slit on top. 

His stomach flexed, bucking his hips in your direction as he bit down on his bottom lip, beaming like a child on Christmas. Horny for your touch, Chan couldn’t help but squirm in his seat, warning up to your touch. He was absolutely growing at a rapid pace. “Like that baby, like that.”

“That feel good, daddy? You like how the blood is covering your entire cock? Seokmin’s blood, Minghao’s blood, Seungcheol’s blood? Wonwoo’s blood?”

“Fuck. Yes.”

“You two,” Wonwoo’s shock couldn’t stagger from the scene in front of him, unable to process all this information at once.

“You’re massaging our friends into my cock so good, baby.”

“Yeah?” You traced your fingers over the details of his shaft, your nails prodding at the veins as your hand slowly picked up pace. You rolled him in your fist, letting him rut in your defiled hand as he moaned your name like an animal in heat. “I’m getting so wet watching fuck in my hand covered in blood. You’re just a sick lunatic obsessed with killing your friends and fucking my sweet pussy. I love that about you, Daddy.”

“Fuck,” he screamed, hands gripping the ottoman in restraint, brimming with passion, “Wanna mix Wonwoo’s cum you kept inside you with the blood. Sit that sweet pussy on my cock for me, lover.”

You nodded invitingly, not missing a beat. You never did replace the underwear from before, making it easy to remove your shorts and sliding him inside your warm walls, massaging his length as you rolled your hips against his. You held the knife you still had in a death grip, stabling against the reliability of Chan’s shoulders. You mumble his name pleased, arching your back as you grinded down on his lap. “Your cock feels so good covered in blood, daddy.” 

“Your pussy feels even better knowing how much fun you had stabbing Wonwoo for me.”

“Of course, daddy.” You turned to the body mutilated and defenseless on the ground, grinning as Wonwoo was forced to watch. “That look good, Daddy Wonwoo?” Your ass bounced purposely in Chan’s lap, the jiggle showing off the splatter of blood left from the handjob.

Everything in Wonwoo told him to look away but he couldn’t, like a train wreck or a car crash, he couldn’t part with the mess of a situation he was witnessing. He wasn't sure what this meant for him, mentally nor physically.

“You like watching Chan fuck me, Daddy? His bloody dirty cock fucking me like you did a hour ago, fucking me like a nasty little whore.”

He hissed through his teeth, right the strange feeling surging in his pain-stricken body, “Shut…the fuck up.”

You laughed obnoxiously. “You love it. You love being a little cuck, watching other guys fuck my pussy. As if you hadn’t peeped on me and Chan fucking when he wasn’t ‘dead’.”

“It’s not true, you bitch.” The twitch in his trousers told him otherwise.

“You’re such a liar a dirty, dirty liar like I’m a dirty, dirty fucking whore.” You groaned loudly taking Chan’s cock, bouncing against his lap as you felt him pulse around your walls.

“That’s right baby take my cock.” Chan’s hand came over your bare cheeks, striking them with his full palms while his hips jerked up your body. “Taking the murder fueled, hard fucking cock.”

“Daddy, your cock is making me so fucking wet, stretching my pussy the way you sliced open our friends,” You growled.

“Fuck you’re such a little succubus, baby. Bouncing on my cock, coating yourself in blood. And I’ll kill more and more for you. I’ll do anything for you.”

“Yeah,” You began slowing your pace, drinking in his every word. “You’d do anything for me?”

“I’d kill the entire human population for you.”

That left you smiling from ear to ear, the tension coiling in your stomach. Your chest pressed against his, pushing against his thrusts. “Yeah? Would you cum in me, Daddy? Mix our dirty mess inside me. Let me take your cum, daddy.”

“I’ll let you drain me of every drop, my little psychopath.”

“Cum daddy cum, make me full and breed me with our homicidal baby daddy. Make you a real daddy.”

Chan shuddered, overwhelmed with immense arousal. His hips found life of their own, hammering into you at top speed, and watching the pleasure morph on your face and the staccato rhythm of your breath leave your lips, all while the load threatened to burst out of his sack. “I’m cumming, baby, all for you, ah—“ then it exploded inside you. His cum launched out of his cock like a hose, he painted your wall in milky white, turning pink as it seeped out of you.

“I’m so close, daddy…”

Chan threw his head back to catch his breath, hands possessively finding purchases on your hips. “That’s it, baby. cum for daddy.”

“I’m cuming daddy, I’m—“ You gripped your knife, taking Chan’s abandoned one before plunging both in his head. His smile dropped, a small and weak, “baby” leaving his sweet lips before spitting up blood on your chest and he fell limp. 

You didn’t stop, however, given the fact that your orgasm had just arrived the mere second Chan tasted metal in his mouth. Your moans could’ve been mistaken for anguish if not for the smile on your savage face. “I’m cumming all over your cock, Daddy, fuck! You’re so good to me, you do so much for me. I love you so much. Hitting my spot even in death.”

The wave of climax finally started to fade, unlike your smile, wretched and demonic. “Thank you for your sacrifice, Daddy. I’ll miss you so much.” You kissed deceased Chan’s lips, coming down from him, and fixing his pants before fixing his pants before pulling your shorts back on your body.

“Y/n…what the fuck?”

Watching you pull the knives out of Chan’s head, Wonwoo's expression was a mix of confusion and horror, struggling to back away as you approached him calmly, almost serenely.

“Chan has served his purpose,” You answered plainly as if obvious. “It was his time.”

“You did that, all that, with him, and you MURDER HIM? Your partner in sick, sick psychotic crime?”

“I told you spice was necessary, plus I’ve grown rather fond of you.” You bent down to his level, eyes noticeably just a deep pit of disparity. “I couldn’t let him kill you, so I beat him to it. Good thing too, because that was the best orgasm I’ve ever had.”

Wonwoo whimpered under your touch—well, the knife’s touch—as the tip of it dragged over his jaw, drawing out a shudder. “Y-you’re letting me live?”

Your smile. That damned smile. You and Chan were mere reflections of each other. How had he not seen this sick image sooner?

“As long as it's with me, because you love me right? That’s what you said. You’ll always love me and keep me alive. You promised.”

You pressed the blade against his neck, “You’re cold-blooded. Fucking your dead friend’s girlfriend, leaving your other friends to die to save me, and taking on a mass murderer just for me.” Your other hand caressed over his face. “That’s hard fucking core, baby. I love that so much. You really love and want me. Well, I want you just as bad.”

“Like you wanted Chan?”

You scoffed, using the knife to point at the abandoned soulless body on the ground. “Chan was disposable. He was already fucked up in the brain. I can nurture you, let you prove you’re that you’re mine and only mine. Then I’d have no reason to kill you. Not at all…say you’ll be with me forever.”

“…yes, sweetie. O-of course I will.”

You sighed a breath of relief, your harmless hand coming over to stroke over the stray hairs on his head. “That’s my daddy. My one and only. We can be the finals. Together. Only us—”

“Hello! Wonwoo! Y/n!” Miraculously, Seungcheol found their way to you, barely alive it sounds like.

Rage filled your eyes. “Holy fuck how is he still alive,” you mumbled under your breath. “I’ll take care of him.”

You held the knife to your side, standing by the door and away from its open view. “Cheol! In here! We caught the killer!”

Seungcheol managed to find the defaced door, peeking through the rubble to see a disheveled Wonwoo, panting and close to death. “Wonwoo!”

“Cheol…” Wonwoo grunted. 

“Hang in there, buddy. I’ve got you.”

“To…your…right.”

You glared at Wonwoo, betrayal in your eyes before launching yourself at the hero, who hardly had a scratch on their body. Seungcheol, taking his friend's warning in consideration, built up a wall of defense. His eyes caught you just in time and held up your arms, pinning you against a wall. His eyes finally registered on your face, and his grip on you only tightened. “Y/n, you evil little bitch.”

You chuckled tauntingly, struggling against his weight and strength. “Hi, Cheol. I know you always wanted to stick something in me, mind letting me do it first?”

“You—wow, you’re actually mentally deranged.”

“You don’t like that? Maybe my knife through your skull can change your mind.”

He kicked you in the groin, having you plummet to your knees, cusses streaming out of you like a river. “You pussy. Ass. Bitch.”

“Seungcheol,” Wonwoo groaned, painfully cheering him on.

You managed to kick Seungcheol down in your distress, crawling on top of him to gain leverage. “I know you liked to be topped.”

You held the knife, hands wrapped tightly around the handle before striking. Meanwhile, Seungcheol’s hands were wrapped around your wrists, the tip of the knife tickling his nose. Sweat beaded against his forehead, struggling harder than he thought he would as you smiled still.

“This would be a lot sexier if you let me run my knife inside you, baby.”

“Fuck you and your demented punk ass,” he grunted.

“I would if you’d just FUCKING DIE!”

A gunshot follows soon after and the blood gushed from your neck, pouring from both ends and falling lifelessly against Seungcheol, who let out a shrill scream.

“I found a gun,” Seokmin proclaimed weakly from the door before fainting to the ground.

Seungcheol rolled your body off of him, sick to his stomach. “Sick crazy bitch.”

He looked towards his friend who remained helpless his entire journey before his eyes got caught on the dead body he only realized now. “Is that…”

“Yeah,” Wonwoo whispered.

“And they…”

“Yeah.”

“Fuck, dude.”

Seungcheol went around to pick up Seokmin from the ground, grabbing the gun. Meanwhile, Wonwoo’s eyes lingered over your body, in disbelief it was alive a mere second ago, then he saw something strange, causing his eyes to fly open. “Cheol behind you!”

Another gunshot. Right between your eyes and your body that stood for hardly a second longer than it should’ve—of course with the knife still in your hand—fell right back on the ground.

“They always come back,” Wonwoo quoted.

Seungcheol let out a deep exhale, loosening his grip around the gun. “And aim for the head.”

“Sorry about your house.”

“…sorry about your girlfriend.”

“Me too.”

post reading a/n: always like me to insert chan into anything fr. i have no excuses

Tag: @shiningstar-byulxx @misssugarlips @tommolex @hoeforhao @homerunhansol @goblinvern @dkakapizzaboy @junhui-recs @svtup @buffhoshi @meowmeowminnie @caratochan @lovebot4han @6969lilithcat @camisun93 @emmmui @toruro @jeonride @novalpha @nvmrljk @feat-sun @tinkerbell460 @aaniag @tacosandbitch @smileysuh (felt fucked up not to tag you bc you’re fucked it just like me 💕)

[stringsbasement]

Your art of peri and your Villain AU of him? perfection. I read your twt thread and I'm greedy for more, im so serious like If there was a 100k word fanfic of your au I would read it in a heartbeat!! THATS how much im obsessed with the concept

thank you so much! i didn't expect there to be so much interest in my thoughtless doodles and rambles. luckily, i already have a draft for a rant i formulated about this version of peri's possible motivations, and now i have an excuse to share it!!

also, as a bonus, have this silly doodle :)

[his hairstyle is his attempt to separate himself from his parents, but no matter what he does with it, he can never get it to sit without that stray tuft and curl at the very end.

also, his bowtie is in reference to chloe and my initial art of irep before his design was revealed. the latter almost makes it seem like they "swapped roles."]

the thing is, it's hard to imagine peri as someone purposefully wanting to harm others for his own pleasure. for a "bad" au of peri to occur, he'd have to take after timmy, and seek chaos the same way he did

now, timmy is a good person at heart. his fairies love him, and he loved them in turn. that's undeniable. however, timmy was so stressful he affected cosmo and wandas marriage, and they had to retire right after him to rekindle their love and stop being so awful towards each other. timmy was simultaneously one of the best and worst things to ever happen to them

so it's not that much of a stretch to think he'd affected peri during his development, to the point he unknowingly influenced peri's core beliefs, which he'll carry over later in life

timmy used his fairies to escape from his regular life. he was incredibly reckless, and shirked responsibilities till the consequences got him back tenfold. a dangerous, but fulfilling way of living. he might've mellowed out in the later years, but considering he chose to keep vicky around to purposefully make himself miserable and keep his fairies instead of facing reality, maturity wouldn't be a straight or easy path

peri, adopting this way of thinking, believes the best way to live life is taking risks. ignoring your present problems in favor of escapism. he would insist this upon his godchild, and be blind to the complex nuance of dev's situation

dev's parental neglect differs from timmy's, and thus requires different treatment. but peri doesn't realize that, and dev is a child who cannot comprehend how awful he really has it, let alone communicate it in a way that isn't just lashing out and throwing tantrums

for classic peri, this is an annoyance. for this peri though? he'll enable it, because he thinks dev needs to get it out of his system. like timmy. which is in some way correct, but it's a flawed, only temporary solution

and it's in this way a path of deeper exploration opens up about characters similar to cookie, highlighting how flawed the godparent system can be when a child is assigned a godparent who cannot fulfill what they truly need

starting a ghost apocalypse is nothing compared to the wishes that has been granted before. and, honestly, dev taking viozalia's staff to use against her is a clever move. this peri wouldn't be downtrodden like he was in the original scene, but impressed. he would say as such, and dev, being the emotionally starved 10 year old he is, will soak those words up like a dry sponge

(slightly off topic: i like to think a little quirk this peri would have is, instead of looking to da book of rules for guidance, (cosmo, wanda, and his classic self do this multiple times in the show when in unique situations,) he'd be searching for anything that states what can't he do. "what to do when your god kid tries to start a ghost apocalypse... nothing? sweet!")

this would naturally allow him and dev to bond a little more. even if it's just shit talking other people and how they're totally better than everyone else

it doesn't mean they get along splendidly. dev is still pissed that he can't make the wishes he wants, and peri overcompensates by allowing him to throw himself into situations that just narrowly avoids sanction. because, oh yeah, peri would not appreciate being forced to follow the rules which includes wiping the godchild's memories after the godparent's term has passed

(if anything, he'll find a loophole out of it. he learned from the best, after all)

this is also where peri's spoiled nature would shine through. being offered everything just because he was a baby would make anyone entitled

he and dev are too similar for their own good. they have have access to anything they could ask for, but are unable to get love from one person they want it from. it's almost pitiful

to keep those thoughts out of dev's (and his own) mind, peri resorts to pushing dev out of his comfort zone, which would ordinarily be a good thing, only, he goes way too far to the point of regression

you know, it really doesn't help that dev looks a lot like timmy. i mean, look at them...

that's timmy with slicked back hair and a white jacket. c'mon

but even with all of this, peri doesn't really become a villain. he's antagonistic at most, with his strained relationship with his parents and his help in making things harder for hazel. luckily, the latest episode has given me a few ideas

when peri inevitably comes to care for dev, he'll obviously has to do something about his constant unhappiness. dev has a point in complaining about the fact hazel has two godparents and he only has one, even when his life is "worse" (another unhealthy way of thinking,)

hmmmm. so how can dev have two fairy godparents, and how can peri break da rules without putting himself at risk?

who other than a mirror of peri's own self?

a shift inevitably took place, one where peri became more intense and irep more soft. it's so subtle it goes unnoticed until thousands of years have passed

irep has become timid, soft, and well-meaning. if peri either quits his position or gives way for another slot and puts dev under a sort of split-custody, dev will be able to use anti-fairy magic, which can completely bypass any of the rules regular fairy magic is withholden to

irep will get what he wants as well. in this post, i answered an ask in which i speculate that irep genuinely does want a godchild, and the love and appreciation that comes with it. that much would stay the same for this au

and, well, unlike irep, peri has always been willing to share

this would make way for a bunch of whacky hijinks, potential plots, and new threats. consequences piling up until they become too huge to ignore. not to mention the full implications of a fairy and anti-fairy switching roles. of course, this is just a fun idea i came up with on the spot, and i haven't thought it out too much, so pointing out any plot holes that would come from this is appreciated!

i have more to say, mainly about peri and his parents' initial separation, as well as the parallels that can be found with this version of peri and hazel, but i feel it would be best to end it here :)

thank you for making me write all of this!

[777sturn]

𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐦𝐚 | 𝐜hristopher 𝐬turniolo . . .

(⊹ֹ 𝐢𝐧 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒄𝒉 ) ──── ⟢

❛ chris is your dealer and strictly that. but what happens when both of you get too high? ❜

˖ ࣪⊹ pairing. dealer!chris x fem!reader

⊹₊ ⋆ warning(s). mature language, suggestive, little smut, drug usage/mention (weed), smoking, rough make out sesh, pet names (princess) boob play, hickies, high

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ jules’ message. hey cuties! this is kinda inspired by the fanfic nervous by louis-core on wattpad and that one sceneee (iykyk) AND the song me and your mama by childish gambinooo 😊 this was so silly to write ENJOYYYY

“ . . . im in love when we are smokin’ that la-la-la-la-la . . . ”

it was late at night, probably around midnight. the moonlight shone down, casting a pearlescent light on everything it touched, but it was still dark enough to see nothing. you were currently waiting for chris at your guys spot, a random park that children would play at earlier in the days. you were sat on the sidewalk, facing the play structure that hasn’t been touched since probably 9 in the morning.

you had texted him a couple hours ago for weed since you had just ran out earlier and was currently craving it. you and chris weren’t anything. he was just your dealer— nothing else. not even friends but not strangers. despite being nothing, you guys would have those late night talks at the park, just talking about random shit. and i mean random shit— some conversations could be really deep and others could be random.

“hey,” chris greeted, gently kicking your lower back as he snuck up behind you.

“holy shit!” you turn around, startled. you roll your eyes and glare up at chris, “god, you scared me.”

a small smirk of satisfaction played at his lips as he successfully scared you, “pussy.” he mutters.

he then took his hand out of his pocket, holding up a plastic bag of your prized possession. your eyes light up and a smile appears on your face, “thanks.” you hum out, taking the bag from him, “how much?”

“on me today,” chris mumbles, sitting beside you. he runs his fingers through his brown hair and sets his backpack in front of him, “you sounded like you needed it bad, so i brought the shit.” he unzips the bag, revealing a grinder, some rolling paper, and a blue lighter.

“you’re sweet today.” you mutter, watching him take everything out, “i wasnt expecting you to smoke with me.”

he shrugs and scoffs, “don’t think about it. you’re paying me full next time.”

“yeah yeah.” you roll your eyes, adjusting your position so you were now sitting criss-cross apple sauce. you slowly open the plastic bag of weed, immediately feeling at ease as you carefully put it into the grinder.

chris’ eyes widen slightly, “you need help?” he teased, leaning back and propping his body up with his elbows.

you shoot him a glare, grinding the weed slowly, “uhm no. im capable.” you turn back to it before speaking again, “hybrid?”

“hybrid.” he confirms.

you hum in response as you finish grinding it. the rolling paper was out infront of you as you carefully placed it on it, making sure to not spill it on the concrete. the moonlight helped you to see as your gently rolled it up. you picked it up and brought it to your lips, your tongue slowly darting out as you glided it along the paper to seal it.

chris nods in amusement, lazily having his hand out as he signaled you to pass it to him. when you give it to him, he inspects it and a proud smirk painted his lips, “atta girl.” he mumbles.

“told you.” you smile, handing him the lighter, “first hit.”

chris brings the joint to his lips, flicking it to create a spark. he takes a slow drag before exhaling and throwing his head back, enjoying the feeling, “fuck.” he lets out a low chuckle before passing it you.

you smile as you notice the euphoric feeling immediately hitting chris. you take a slow drag yourself, the feeling you once craved was now settling down as the high kicked in. you mirror chris’ position beside him. as you exhale, you cough a little and chris turns to you with glossy eyes.

“you suck.” he teased, taking the joint back, “this is how it’s done.”

you give him a look as your mind began to get hazy despite only having one. he brings it to his lips once again, this time taking a longer drag. instead of exhaling, he holds the smoke in his mouth and turns to hover over you. it felt like the world just stopped when he brought his hand to gently cup your face and tilt it more up.

your eyes meet his icy and glossy eyes as his thumb carefully pulled your bottom lip down, causing your lips to part a little. he moved his head closer to yours, his lips brushed against yours for a split second before he exhales the smoke slowly into your mouth. your eyes widen as he gives you the smoke and moves away so he could watch you blow it out. as you do he nods again proudly, “cool huh?” his voice was raspier then usual with a hint of sultry.

you nod, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth as that intimate moment replayed in your head in 2x speed, “yeah.” you whisper.

“your turn.” chris smirked, handing the blunt to you once again, “you got it.” he thens pats his lap, gesturing you to sit down.

your eyes widen more and your cheeks flush a tint of pink, “uhm what?”

“i don’t bite.” he scoffs, patting his lap once again.

you press your lips together as you crawl into his lap. he nods approvingly as his right hand landed on your waist and his left on your upper thigh. even though you two were completely out of it, you were still able to get a good look at him because of how close you were. the moonlight accentuated his cheekbones and the blue in his eyes.

he gently squeezed your thigh to get your attention, “focus, princess.” the nickname and sudden squeeze quickly snapped you back in reality as you were literally caught staring at him.

“right.” you mutter, feeling the heat rise up to your cheeks once again. you remember all the steps that chris did, following his lead.

he slowly started tracing patterns on your soft skin, “now come close and exhale okay?” he mumbles, reaching out to tuck your hair behind your ear.

you nod as you kept the smoke enclosed in your mouth. you do the same steps, cupping his face, pull down his bottom lip, and exhale. you move out of the way so he could blow out the smoke.

chris gives your thigh a light slap as he watched it evaporate in the air, “you’re a natural.”

you smile softly, “thanks.” now it was for certain you guys were out of it and the euphoric feeling kicked in at the right time.

his hands gripped onto your waist much tighter for a split second. he then moved his head towards your ear and whispered, “lets do that without the weed, yeah?” he suggested, his breath gently brushed along your neck, sending a shiver down your spine.

he pulls away to read your expression. your face was beat red at his words, “what?” you whisper softly. of course you didn’t mind, you wanted to kiss him but hearing those words outloud didn’t seem real.

chris smirked, giving your waist yet another squeeze, “a kiss princess.”

“i know,” you whisper again, “are you sure?”

“even though we’re high as fuck,” he mutters, “i mean everything i say right now.” his right hand cupped your face, pulling you closer, “its harmless.” he says against your lips.

you place your hands at the back of his neck, your pointer finger slowly intertwined with the silver chain that adorned his neck as a way to allow him. his soft lips met yours and you instantly melted at his touch. you needed more and more at that moment.

his hands traveled back to the curves of your waist, pulling you closer and closer if that was even possible. he ran his tongue along your bottom lip, begging for more.

you open your mouth ever so slightly as you tilt your head, allowing him. he slides his tongue in, exploring every inch of you and tasting you. he was automatically addicted. he loved the taste of the little weed that lingered on your tongue and the way your soft moans were like music to his ears. you were a drug he didnt know he needed.

your fingers got caught in his hair as you deepened the kiss, craving more. he groaned as you gently tugged his messy hair, the sound vibrated through your body causing every hair on your back to stick straight up. his tongue continued to swirl against yours, occasionally tugging and nibbling on your bottom lip.

he pulled away and quickly resumed the sloppy and messy kisses from your jawline all the way down to your neck, gently sucking and nipping at your sensitive spot. you tilt your head back giving him more access and gripped onto his hair tighter as he got rougher with the love bites. he groaned against your skin and continued to suck harder creating a red fresh bruise before soothing it with his tongue. another quiet moan escaped your lips as his hands went up your hoodie.

the things he would do right now to you were insane— the only thing that was stopping him was how you two were in a public park in the middle of the night. he lifts up his head from the crook of your neck smiling as he admired his work. your gaze focuses back on him as your chest rose up and down, trying to catch your breath. your hands were still tangled in his hair.

“you’re pretty good at that too.” he mutters, his hands tracing to the front of your body as he slides them under your hoodie once again. they meet your breasts before giving your nipples a light pinch, “im fucking addicted,”

another moan escapes your mouth at his action. he shakes his head and sighs, “quiet princess.” he murmurs, squeezing your tits once more.

you let in a shaky breath and pull your bottom in between your teeth as he continues to massage them, switching paces from rough to gentle.

“you dont gotta pay me for weed anymore.” he smirks, rolling your nipples with his thumbs.

“what?” you whisper, shakily as you look at him.

“we just gotta make out everytime now,” he chuckles lowly, pressing a quick kiss on your forehead, “that’s the payment.”

© 777sturn

[the-s1lly-corner]

hello I hope ur request are open! If not be free to ignore this!! Okay so TADC x y/n? (The amazing digital circus also it can be muti characters or one!! The choice is yours!! ^ ^)

OKAY OKAY SO WHAT IF..🥁🥁🥁 y/n was like Jessica rabbit from "who framed roger rabbit" 👀 and was very like motherly to everyone but when she was called doll,/toots,/ect, by jax or anyone SHE WOULD PUNCH THEM HARDDDD (kinda like the lola bunny fanfic??) Also she is like one inch taller then jax (she a tall women👀❤️)

(HAVE FUN WITH THIS IDEA!! DONT RUSH YOURSELF TO DO IT TAKE UR TIME ON IT!! AND DRINKS LOTS OF WATER AND EAT FOOD!! HAVE A WONDERFUL DAY/NIGHT!!🫶🫶)

Digital Circus x a jessica rabbit-type reader!

since im a little melty brain from blasting through a bunch of requests today im going to do part of the cast! mostly characters i think would be interesting with this kind of reader as well as some characters i just wanna write more of (cough cough kinger cough cough)(i was originally going to do gangle as well but uhuh!!) ...this reminds me ive never watched who framed roger rabbit... or rather i have, but its been so long that ive truly forgotten nearly every aspect of the movie relying on the character wiki talking about her personality to guide me through this

CAINE:

caines and jax's parts are both likely going to be on the shorter side thanks to both of their cores holding similar themes in regards to half of the idea

anyways he's going to call you pet names, especially if he's interested in you.. good luck trying to land anything on him, though, he's going to easily zoom through the air

okay nod to the lola bunny request aside, i think caine would be just head (jaw?) over heels for you, i mean, he would be anyways, but something about your caring and quick witted personality

probably makes literal heart eyes at you and audibly goes "awooga"

absolutely loves watching you do your thing during the in house adventures, on the few times he actually spectates them; though you may or may not be the reason he watches

seems like the kind of person to call you "hot stuff" or "babe"

doesn't really care about the height difference since he rarely ever stands on the ground anyways, plus he doesn't care how small he is

JAX:

to get a good idea of how jax would interact with you, i recommend this similar post! hope this links correctly, im still new to linking stuff in my posts!!

a lot of elements from the post above bleed into this, but lets add some more to it to make it a little more unique to the jessica rabbit idea!

takes it upon himself to try to get some sort of reaction out of you, outside of the name stuff... which proves to be a little harder than he thought.. actually, oddly enough, you seem to enjoy his antics?

well thats certainly new to him...

aaaaaand oh! hey would you look at that you've officially caught his attention, congratulations!

does not take too kindly to being the new second tallest, though... sure you're barely taller than him but its the principle! how can he lord his height over everyone else now!

KINGER:

so here's where i may be biased since i love kinger and i wish more people wrote for him, so his part may be a little longer, we'll see! i write these lil notes as i work on the post

right away i dont think he would call you any of the petnames listed above, or anything similar. i think, should you guys get on a nickname basis he would call you sweeter ones, "my love," "my darling", "my sweetheart", and similar stuff!

does not have lightning reflexes like jax and caine but if the names genuinely do bother you he would likely stop, you'll just have to remind him

imma be so real this man needs someone to stand back and just be there for him because he is going through it, so to have someone in his corner who has his best interests at heart will really do a lot for him

no comment on the height difference since kinger is pretty tall himself (and hes taller than jax! the only reason jax isnt upset about that is because kinger is always hunched), but i dont think he gives a darn about height

i am once again thinking about the in house adventure prompt with kinger that i had earlier, where he gets stuck somewhere and you have to go rescue him... this + that prompt, JUMPS UP N DOWN

[freakspectors]

PAPER SOLDIER.

A Fyodor Dostoyevsky | BSD x Female Reader x Dazai Osamu | BSD Smut Fanfic.

warnings ; smut, pussy slapping, fingering, threesomes, degradation, biting, praise if you squint, orgasm denial if you get a magnifying glass, not proof-read.

author's note ; hihi !! sorry for my absence, im getting ready for school next week, and my birthday was this weekend :) im working on a fic that was dedicated to myself rn, so have this tiny fic. enjoy! funfact: all my fic titles are songs that i like ;p !

“Look at her, clenching around nothing. Pathetic, is it not?”

Dazai and Fyodor laughed with each other, degrading you as if  you weren’t right in front of them. You knew not to speak unless spoken to, afraid of the punishment that would ensue if you had. After the two radiant men in front of you finished joking about your neediness, the Russian knelt down between your shaking legs.

“Do tell, Moya lyubov, how bad do you crave to have both of us inside of you?” he asked. Fyodor caressed your thighs, his breath fanning against your warm, sticky core. Instead of answering, you scoot yourself towards the demon's mouth, begging to have his tongue ravage you.

Disappointed, Fyodor pulls away from your legs and sits on his knees, giving you an insincere frown. You looked at the raven haired man confused, unsure of where Dazai went or why he was upset with you. Before you could even process he was now beside you, the brunette man’s hand smacked down on your cunt, making you jolt and yelp.

“We don’t want to do this, Bella. You’ve been such a good girl until now—” Dazai murmured. Using his middle and ring finger, he spreads you open, shooting a wicked smile at Fyodor; which he returns to him.

“—But you hadn’t answered my question. Disobeying orders results in a punishment; I thought you knew that well,” the rat keened. As if he read his mind, Dazai removed his fingers from your pussy and gave it another rough slap. Tears started to form; but all the two men did was chuckle.

“Wanna give it another go, hun?” the detective asked. He kissed your shoulder, resting his free hand on the other to massage you. “Maybe Fyodor’ll give you another chance..”

“Oh, but her teary, desperate eyes are gorgeous..”

“Indeed. But I’m sure she’s ready to redeem herself.”

“Are you sure you don’t just want to fuck her?”

“So what if I do? If you didn’t want to as well, you wouldn’t be here,” Dazai teased. Listening to them bicker over you only made you wetter, which hadn’t gone unnoticed.

With a hum, Dazai kissed your cheek and slid his fingers back through your slit. You moaned, arching your back at the sudden pleasure. He moved his digits up, rubbing tight circles on your sensitive clit. “C’mon, baby. Answer his question,” he whispered.

Through half-lidded eyes, you saw Fyodor back between your legs, kissing and biting the inside of your thighs. Just the sight of him and Dazai’s fingers could make you cum, but another punishment is the last thing you want. You open your mouth to speak; but a whine leaves your throat instead.

“You’re not fucked dumb already, are you?” the Russian questioned. “We’ve barely even started, kukla.”

“It’s just a few words, belladonna,” Dazai said. His fingers dove inside you, slowly pistoning them in and out of you, “say what he wants, and we’ll make you feel amazing.”

“Here, I’ll even ask you again:” Fyodor starts, “how bad do you crave to have both of us inside of you?”

“S-So bad.. I need both of you to fill me up..” you mumble. Fyodor tutted you and shook his head with another frown. Sighing with dissatisfaction, the brunette pulled his fingers out of you. The tears that were in your eyes finally fell, hot salty streaks going down your cheeks.

“I’m afraid you need to be louder, darling. Just a little more, I swear to you,” the rat said. Dazai shushed you and wiped your tears while Fyodor kissed and nibbled on your thighs like a mouse with cheese. He always got so close to your quivering pussy, yet pulled away each time he did. “Go on, love.”

“So bad, Fyodor.. I-I need the both of you to cum inside me s-so much I pass out..”

“See, was that so hard?” Dazai teased, a punchable smile plastered on his face. If you weren’t in your current situation, you’d glare at him.

“Khoroshaya rabota, moya dorogaya,” Fyodor praised. “Now, get on your hands and knees..”

“It’s time for your reward.” 

@ HELUVAKU 2023 . do not share or repost .

[newtkive]

pixels [ newt x reader - modern text au ]

ch. 2 - drama queen core

summary: minho's drama finally catches up with him, but newt becomes a hero.

warnings: strong language, mutual pining, none really.

➥ m.list

__

THE GLADE

[ 12:08 PM ]

y/n: gm pookies

newt: it’s the afternoon.

y/n: yeah well

ur east coast

newt: so are you y/n

y/n: FINE BAD MORNING THEN ARE U HAPPY?

minho: drama queen is awake

newt: you’re the drama queen min let’s be fr

minho: u want me to die be honest

newt: see .

tommy: hey guys :3 been waiting for you all

y/n: awwww tommy <3 gm

tommy: morning sweetums

minho: ew stop

newt: how did you sleep?

tommy: good! used my new heated pillow

newt: not you

minho: not you

tommy: wtf

WHO THEN?? THERES LIKE 7 OTHER PPL IN HERE

minho: he means y/n

and there’s 4 other people not including newt and y/n dumbass

y/n: oh

why just me????

newt: cuz you stayed up til 6 am

y/n: ..

how do you know that

newt: i saw you were active on discord

gally: doesn’t that mean you were awake too then

newt: ok and?

minho: thats crazy newt

newt: no it isn’t

i just casually saw it

y/n: hehe

im ok i need to sleep more. sims 4 was really consuming me

why were you awake??

newt: up for work

minho: you get on discord before work?

chronically online..

newt: can you choke and pass out and hit your head please

minho: THE WAY U WANT ME DEAD IS INSANE

y/n: he’s gotta check on his discord hoes before hitting the grind

newt: there are no discord hoes

unless you count thomas

and i don’t

tommy: well why not

newt: because you disgust me

tommy: love u too :3<3

minho: y’all about to kiss aren’t you

newt: never say that shit again im outside your door with a b*mb

minho: why censor it

just blow me up it’s my grandmas house anyway. u want to jump her that bad????

gally: blow that bitch up i say

y/n: HELLO???!,!!

gally: minho not grandma

she loves me cuz im so tall

minho: tall people always gotta remind you they’re tall 😒

like we get it bigfoot

gally: shut up tinkerbell

y/n: you’re somewhat tall minho

minho: any man under 6’0 is considered short

y/n: yeah but newt is 6 ft trapped in a 5’10 body so not totally true

newt: what does that even mean

minho: give me a break

i can tell you exactly what that means

she wanna hit

newt: stop

tommy: don’t get his hopes up

newt: dude

stfu

y/n: what newt said

gally: can we appreciate the only one actually over 6 ft here

minho: no.

tommy: im the same height as newt!!!!

y/n: yea but ur like 3 ft trapped in a 5’10 body tommy not the same

tommy: oh ..

minho: kind of real

newt: can someone kick gally i’m tired of seeing his fucking name on my phone

gally: then turn your phone off don’t you have old ladies to tend to at the library

newt: yeah and they all love me

y/n: so real

if i was old i’d go in there and imagine you’re my young boyfriend and cling to everything u say

tommy: true im the old ladies

y/n: LMAO

minho: write a fanfic y/n why don’t you

newt: yeah you both are old and not beating the dementia allegations

y/n: IM THE YOUNGEST HERE

ur just mad you’re old as dirt

tommy: youth has left you newt and it has turn you bitter in your old age.

minho: thomas knows big words who knew

newt: which word in that sentence was big??

y/n: shut up minho

minho: wtf did i do

y/n: idk but i imagine you sitting there typing on your little phone and i got pissed

minho: WHAT???!.‘wKWHFO

newt: LMAOOOOOOOOOOO

yeah chubby little fingers hitting the wrong letters on his iphone 8

minho: im leaving

tommy: dont leave i forgive you for what you said

minho: i don’t give a damn

y’all mad y’all are all fake im the realest i’ve been prophesizing and reading scriptures 7000 years before y’all fake asses were born be so for real right now

y/n: not reading that

congrats

or sorry for what happened idk

about to drink my coffee in a wine glass

tommy: just drink wine

newt: it’s noon tommy??

tommy: ok and?

newt: explains a lot

minho: no coffee for me this new year only water and pussy juice fr fr

[ newt removed minho from the group ]

tommy: woah

y/n: woah..

newt: i can’t take it anymore

alby: How did you get that access..?

newt: don’t worry about it

in times of need i have to step in like that

y/n: hi alby!

alby: Hey y/n!

tommy: you’re such a hero newt

gally: that was deserved

who wants to play minecraft rn

y/n: me!!

alby: I’ll play, I’m off work today.

y/n: let’s go to the desert i want a camel

gally: alright but then the caves after i wanna mine

newt: if you mine with her you gotta bring extra food and storage when she dies so you can pick up the fallen items

gally: i forget you’re her designated babysitter

y/n: oh please no he isn’t

and i’ll bring my own food

newt: you always say that and then leave it in the stove oven

y/n: WELL I WONT THIS TIME

newt: sure ok

i’ll get on after work

[ alby added minho to the group ]

minho: when i get you.

newt: why did you add him back alby

alby: He was harassing me.

newt: be a man and take it

gally: im leaving

[ gally left the group ]

minho: im going to throw up and die

newt: im staying out of this

minho: (guy who caused it) im staying out of this

y/n: why does gally alwyas leave 😔

newt: why question a gift from the heavens

tommy: get online y/n gally is attacking my dirt house w a pickaxe :((((

y/n: NO IM COMING

minho: im coming to your work newt

newt: okay im locking the door early then

minho: i’ll smash through the glass idc

newt: i’m leaving my shift is over at 1 today.

minho: i’ll use life360 on you

newt: i deleted that app

minho: i’ll stand in the middle of the street

newt: ok let me position my car in front of you

just come to my apartment and we can play w them on pc and xbox

minho: …. fine but i hate your guts

newt: fine

y/n: HURRY GALLY IS ATTACKING MY SHED NOOOOWWW

newt: i’ll just rebuild it

minho: i’ll set it on fire just wait

[silverbeamcreations]

When Duty Summons

A DP x DC fanfic by Silverbeam creations aka lunarmushroom on AO3

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

AUTHOR NOTE:

I'm new to tumblr and new to fanfic writing styles, so comments, hearts, theories, ideas etc, are helpful in my motivation to write more, and I super appreciate it. Any tips for how tumblr works and any fandom and writing tips are welcome as well. Thanks, and I hope you enjoy!

‐----------------------

Part 4

"peek a booooo?" murmered Danny quietly as he popped his head through another wall. DAnnys fingers tapped along the wall as he gave the room a look around. empty rusted barrels lay along one wall amidst the dust, trash, and other refuse of the abandoned building. At the obvious lack of life signs danny continued grumbling. 15 minutes into chasing down the summoning spell, all signs had vanished. Once gone he had spent the next couple hours searching the estimated area he guessed was likely a good start and then had expaneded his earch.

score 3 crack heads, 1 elderly homeless man that must have been near deaths door as he seems to sense him even though invisible along with a half dozen rats and vermin and he had come up with squat. Hed taken a break to refocus his approach and refuel. While he made a quick pb and j...a quintiple layer monstrosity for max ghost energy, he couldn't shake the flash of ghost energy he felt before the signal had dissapeared. Such an intense rage, lined with pain and perhaps deep within it a coal of fear, sparking the flames of rage. It nagged at him picking at his core.

He reached over, rolling on his bed to fumble for his phone, sandwich half eaten as he opened a familiar group chat.

Dan da dan man: sooooo little fun fact for today. You know those summoning pings Ive been getting all week? Before they were like nudges but this morning seems like they managed to get the right combo buttons as it almost pulled me in, but I have that important english paper and aint nobody got time for that. So I just said like...No? and it kinda worked except .....

Sam a Lamb sauce: Danny. WHAT. DID. YOU. DO?

Tuck Nugget: Do I need to make popcorn or prep the guns?

Sama a Lamb sauce: You don't have any guns after the last ditch and run Tucker.

Tuck Nugget: Hey baby no one can dis-ARM me of these sexies...

(Attached photo of a blurry bicep)

Dan da dan man: lol Nice one Tuck

Sam a Lamb sauce: Tucker I swear at the ancients if you start another pun war I will mail you some of my new snap dragon flowers to eat all your socks.

Tuck Nugget: Jokes on you, I gave up socks for scandalating ankles in crocs!

Sam a Lamb Sauce: Ignoring that...Danny please continue telling us what trouble you have gotten into now?

Da dan dan man: yeah that... well when I managed to slap the summons away it kinda latched onto another ghost instead?

Tuck nugget: Daaaaannnnnyyyyyy noooo....

Sam a Lamb Sauce: Can we just ignore it please?

Dan da dan man: Its just that, when I chased after it, there was this like cry? It keeps nagging at my core... It was full of intense anger but I think at the base it was covering fear and well...

Sam a lamb sauce: Your obsessions not gonna let that one go...alright what can we do to help?

Tuck Nugget: Once a hero always a hero.

Dan da dan man: well the thing is the signal disapeared and I searched like sooo many blocks full of buildings and while im gonna go back out and search more, I thought a little reearch of the area might speed things up.

Sama a lamb sauce: Deep dive into gotham cults and wacko groups. What fun.

Tuck Nugget: Im sure the Local night bats have quite the library of loony death summoning groups to purview...

Sam a Lamb Sauce: oh no you cannot go hacking the batman computer again. I do not want them on our radar.

Dan da dan man: But... they prbably have the most up to date info then what the general web would have. Im sure it will be fine,Tuckers got 1337 skillz.

Tuck nugger: (thumbs up <3 <3 <3 emoji)

Sam a Lamb Sauce: famous last words.

Dan da dan man: Im gonna head out again see if I can comb a few more blocks.

Tuck nugget: RIP your english grade

Sam a Lamb Sauce: Let's hope it's just his english this time.

[weirdbeancurd]

Flash Flood Under My Bed- Chapter 1

A Poolverine Fanfic

Thank you guys for being so patient, and sorry it took so long haha. Also gonna tag @icarusredwings (hopefully im not bothering you, but I love your writing and thought you might enjoy)

@thecuntcakeweveallbeenwaitingfor it's finally here yaaaay

Ao3

Logan’s done this whole song and dance before. He knows the melody by heart, the hopeless hope, the enticing push and pull of “will they, won’t they.”            

And time and time again, he falls victim to their alluring display; a moth to a flame. Died, abandoned, betrayed- it didn’t matter. At the end of the day, he stood alone. The only thing he could always count on for company was the bottle. 

“Love” is just a fantasy which preys on the naive, he learns. Logan on the other hand, is perfectly happy (a gross exaggeration) bar hopping ‘til the damn sun explodes.

Then Wade-motherfucking-Wilson waltzes into his life, squeezes past his carefully built walls, and makes himself at home in his heart. This ain’t so bad, he mumbles, half-asleep on the couch, watching tonight’s 6th episode of Jeopardy. Wade’s passed out on his right, and Logan can’t resist tracing his scars with wandering eyes, taking in every little detail as if he could vanish at a moment’s notice. He sees past his brash nature, his poorly timed quips, and his inability to take anything seriously- because Wade is so much more than mouth. Hidden behind a convincing veil of dick jokes and sass, he cares, probably more than Logan deserves.

Love emanates from the way Wade arranges the cabinets for Althea- everything within reach, complete with braille labels. It doesn't stop them from bickering like children, but the sentiment is there. And it's not just Al that gets VIP treatment. A thoughtful gesture here, a subtle reminder there, and Logan feels his core bloom with warmth. The man starts getting handsy with him (in a wholesome, platonic way), noticing how he craves touch without ever voicing it. Their knees brushing together on the couch makes him feel things he can't describe. He tries anyway.

 Adoration, perhaps? No, that can't be right. He's spent so much time alone; he's forgotten what that feels like.

You're just jealous that Wade’s a better man than you'll ever be, he decides.

So Wade himself isn’t a problem, far from it. Though he gets his nerves, Logan begrudgingly admits that he considers Wade-motherfucking-Wilson to be his one and only friend. Now there’s his problem.

The last time he gave friendship a chance, it didn't end well. In fact, it went fucking awful. 

He took out his sorrows on the innocent, slaughtering anyone in his way, and in turn, slaughtering any hope of human and mutant coexistence. The X-Men had worked on building their reputation for years, decades even. Some campaigns were beginning to take off, gaining loyal supporters, few as they were. But Logan threw it all to the wind. They gave him food, shelter, love, a purpose; and how did he repay them? He ruined their life’s work in a single night, irreparably tainted the image of mutants across the globe just because he couldn't handle his own damn grief. He retires his suit. A cloak and scythe would fit him better.

His mere presence is a deadly premonition; he destroys everything he touches, death following in his footsteps, wilting the once green grass. He is salt to the earth: an everlasting threat to life itself. No flora grows in his presence, no friend can live through his innate ability to bring about devastation. So it’s better this way, Logan tells himself. He repeats it, like a prayer. It's better this way. 

 No one is safe, not if they're with him. 

He tries kicking his friend to the metaphorical curb, keeping him at arm's length. Turns out, Wade’s a persistent little bastard. No matter how much he insults, ignores and stabs him, he just keeps coming back. Claims he's like “William Afton,” whoever the hell that is. And god, it’s a dick move, he knows. Wade welcomed him with open arms, saw Logan at his absolute lowest and still said, yes, I want that one. It's everything he's ever wanted-

But happy endings have always been a delusion of his. 

The Wolverine does not believe himself to be a smart man. A skilled fighter, sure. Stubborn as a mule? Absolutely- but never smart. It's a uniquely cruel fate to have loved and lost, in a world where there is so little love given to people like him. If Logan Howlett was a smart man, he’d take the fucking hint instead of falling for the same old ploy over and over. Whenever he meets someone and feels that terrifying spark of chemistry, he senses danger approaching like an oncoming storm. The air pressure drops, the sky turns red, the clouds loom over his shoulders like a threat. Every instinct is yelling at him to run, take shelter and wait it out. And when rain finally strikes the earth, the thunder is gunshots in his ears, screaming I told you so, you idiot. I told you so.

Like he said in the time ripper, the merc will still have his “world in a photograph;” a world that will keep on turning with or without Logan- because he was never a part of it in the first place. Leaving it behind should be easy. 

 Or it would be if Wade would stop draping himself over his shoulders every time he sits down for breakfast. It's near impossible to ignore him when he's making morning coffee look like a scene from The Notebook, but Logan can't say he minds. It doesn't mean he won't complain about it, though.

“Wade.”

“Mhm?”

“Get the fuck off’a me.”

“No can do, sugartits.”

Asshole, he thinks, leaning into the touch. Wade rests his head atop his, and Logan shivers when his morning voice rumbles through him.

“Soooo, I was thinking-”

“Congratulations.”

“Oh, ha ha,” the merc removes his arms from his shoulders. Logan mourns their loss. “I was thinking about taking another job. A killy-killy-stabby one, of course.”

The gruff man doesn't spare a glance as he raises the mug to his lips.

“And why did you feel like this was something you needed to tell me?” It's not like this is news to him; Wade’s mercenary income is the main reason they aren't living on the streets. He won't let them forget it either, going on and on about being the “breadwinner” of the household. He once referred to Logan as his “caring house wife,” and received three surprise piercings as a result.

“Well, this one's a two man job. Gotta scout out a sketchy abandoned building, but they want someone to go with me to cover more ground. What do you say, peanut?” 

That…actually sounds like a pretty good time. Logan's job search has been uneventful so far (getting hired with zero government paperwork is a bitch), and he's been getting kind of antsy cooped up in the apartment all day. Plus, Wade's making those stupid puppy dog eyes at him.

“Pleeeease? We get to kill anyone we find inside!”

“...Fine. When is it?”

There’s a suspiciously long bout of silence. 

“Wade. When. Is it.”

Said man is looking anywhere but his face, darting his eyes around until he rolls them shut with a sigh.

“It's, uh. It's in an hour.”

“The fuck you mean it's in an hour!?”

“I-ugh! I forgot, okay! I was gonna ask you yesterday, but you fell asleep on the couch at nine, Rip Van Winkle!”

“I'm two hundred years old, you- you know what, fuck you.”

“...”

“...”

“...Does that mean you're coming?”

“...I’ll be ready in ten.”

“Wooo, baby! I knew you'd pull through for me, my sweet mustelid-matey! I could kiss you right now-”

“Don't.”

“Alright.”

He flees to his room, towards the cabinet tucked in the corner. It's covered in a fine layer of dust. He takes the time to brush it off despite the rush they're in, running his fingers over a crack in the wood before sliding it open. Inside lies his suit and cowl, still here after all these years. After most of it was destroyed by the time ripper, he was understandably distraught. Logan thought he hid it well, but Wade must've seen the longing within his walled-off self and decided to take action. A week later, he presented Logan with the suit. It looked exactly like the day he’d first received it, seams clean cut, colors bright as they are ridiculous; he never thought he’d be so happy to see the damn thing again. Apparently the rat bastard knows how to sew. And apparently, the only way to get him to shut up is to be bear hugged by the one and only Wolverine. Neither mention Logan’s misty eyes when they part.

He shakes himself out of his trance, there’s no time to dwell. Emotional constipation wins this round- but only because he’s got a mission to complete. Logan tucks the suit under his arm.

“Wade?!” He calls over his shoulder.

“Yeah?”

“How long’s the drive gonna take?”

“Maybe…an hour?”

Oh for fucks sake.

The ride over is mostly uneventful. Despite Wade’s overly-enthusiastic air guitar getting on his nerves, minimal blood was shed during the hour-long trip. Key word: minimal. While singing along to a love song on the radio, Wade had tenderly jokingly rested his hand atop Logan's, startling him and nearly causing him to crash the damn car in the ensuing one-armed slap fight. Unsurprisingly, the man with three steak knives down each sleeve won. 

All in all, a successful journey.

The given address turns out to be an abandoned hospital, a splendid place for two men with fucked up medical trauma to be.

“Huddle up, Wolvie. We gotta discuss our game plan. Says right here that we should split up, but…”

They eye the building with apprehension, neither making a move. It feels like minutes before Wade speaks again.

“You know what? I think it’d be a great idea to explore together. For a thorough search, of course.”

“...Yeah. Lets.”

The two enter through the not-so-automatic doors and pass the front desk. Logan immediately recoils at the smell; the scent of rubbing alcohol seems entertwined with the very soul of this place. The inside’s surprisingly intact, like the staff up and left one night and never came back. Empty syringes peek beneath tissues in the trash, betrayed by the sinister glint of their needles. PSA posters line the halls, preaching the benefits of hand washing though there are none left to hear it. Even the hospital beds are in place, a layer of dust blanketing the sheets. All that’s missing are the patients. Their absence is striking; it almost makes him miss the annoying drone of a dozen heart monitors if only to smother the silence. Every step feeds into his paranoia, and Logan's not alone on the matter. Unease is written in the way Wade keeps making unsubtle glances at him. When Logan asks if he’s alright, the merc answers with a question.

“Pfff, why wouldn’t I be? I’m so alright. Like, unbelievably alright, right now.”

“...Let’s just get a move on.”

 Logan sticks even closer to him after that. Thorough. That’s all he’s being.

It isn't entirely clear what they're supposed to be searching for. Something about intel on a trafficking ring? The request was too vague for his liking, but hey, it pays well. Yet after twenty minutes of slogging through empty rooms with zero leads, Logan is thoroughly bored out of his mind. Likewise, Wade “ADHD Incarnate” Wilson is practically vibrating with pent up energy. He can't help but notice the lack of people to beat up, and Wade says as much.

“Okay, this place is a major snooze fest. And here I was, thinking we’d get to make some minced meat confetti.” He brightens momentarily. “Oh, oooh! I know what we should do-”

“No.”

“-we should play 21 questions!”

“Absolutely not.”

“Come on, I’ll go first! Alright, let's see…”

Logan groans, but the distraction couldn’t have come at a better time, because he’s starting to suspect Wade's catching on to his odd behavior. The man’s got a knack for sniffing out his friends' problems; like a bloodhound, but for daddy issues. Noble as that is, Logan prefers to wallow in misery by his lonesome, thank you very much. 

“Oh, I got one! How about this,” the souring of tone makes his heart drop.

“The fuck’s been up with you lately? Don't think I haven't seen the way you've been avoiding everyone- like the time you snuck out of Laura’s birthday party? Or what about the fact you’ve been ‘too busy’ to join game night five weeks in a row? You’re not even trying to hide it!” 

God-fucking-dammit.

“I don't know what you mean.” He tries keeping his voice steady, but it comes out more as a growl.

“Do you?” Wade tries getting his attention by tugging on his shoulder, only to be violently shrugged off. He takes it in stride, not even pausing his speech. “Because it seems like you know exactly what I mean.”

“Wade, drop it.”

“No, I don't think I will, actually! Because every time I try to peek into your fucked up little mind, you push me away. You're starting to hurt my precious feelings.”

“Oh, boo-fucking-hoo.”

“Look, sweetcakes. Honeymuffin. Light of my life, subject of my wettest dreams; I care about you. You know that…right?” His tone teeters on the edge of concern.

“...I can't imagine why you would.”

 In the silence that follows, he senses that he might've said the wrong thing.

“Logan. Look at me.”

He scoffs, if only to hide his growing discomfort. 

“Wha-no. Wade, I am not a goddamn child. I don’t need you to baby me like-”

“Don’t you dare give me that. I'll stop treating you like a child when you stop acting like one. This talk’s long overdue, mister.”

“Just leave me alone, dipshit. God, is this why you wanted me to come along? So you could interrogate me? Fuck off.”

“No, dumbass, it's because I genuinely enjoy your company!! Is that so hard to believe?!” Wade takes a deep breath, holds it, and exhales.

“I get it,” Logan loudly disagrees, but Wade plows through. “Your brain’s being an asshole and won't let you enjoy basic shit. Been there, done that. So whatever those mean thoughts are saying in your head? Bullshit. Absolute bullshit, I’ve never heard anything more wrong in my life.”

The “mean thoughts” protest at this, trying every trick under the sun to convince Logan otherwise. 

You're a murderer, they say.

“‘But Wade,’ you might be saying. ‘I’m an irredeemable monster!’ Uh, no, shut up. Newsflash asshole, we all fuck up sometimes. Move on and be better. Hell, you already have. At the very least, I haven’t seen you drink actual, fucking rubbing alcohol for a hot minute.”

You'll get him killed, it's only a matter of time, they insist.

“And I swear to god, if you tell me you're ‘fine,’ I will shove you into a meat grinder, and not the fun kind of meat grinder. Everyone needs some TLC, even grumpy old men like you. Your healing journey will be full of the tenderest of care, and I’m gonna be there every step of the way to make it happen. I hate to break it to you, Wolvie, but you’re stuck with me now. I’m like a wart. I’ll grow on ya, and I’m not leaving without a fight.”

Gentleness isn't in your nature, you beast.

“I can't say my merry gang can ever replace all you've lost, but we love you just the same,” his voice pleading. “Come on, peanut. Talk to me. Whatever it is, I’ll listen. I can even get Yukio to make us friendship bracelets. Doesn't get more official than that.”

Logan is struck silent. Under the many layers of self doubt and the war raging in his mind, a new voice wonders-

Would it really be so bad to just let go?

If there's one thing Wades good at, it's eating away at Logan's resolve.

He slips off his mask to flash a modest smile. 

“You gotta forgive yourself, peanut. Because they would absolutely forgive you.” 

His breath hitches sharply, cutting through the silence. 

Would they really?

He wants nothing more but to melt into the comforting embrace he’s offered, to collapse and let someone else take the reins for once. Fat tears threaten to roll down his cheeks. The sobs are fighting their way up his throat and he knows it's only a matter of time before he breaks. Perhaps he can shatter, just this once, and-

Two hands grasp his shoulders in what is meant to be a friendly gesture, but his mind interprets it as anything but. Animalistic terror surges through his body. Deep in thought, he failed to notice Wade approaching. Suddenly, it's a hundred years ago, he's fighting a war he can barely remember, and an enemy is trying to drown him in a river. His stomach feels like it's eating itself and his entire body aches; being on your feet for four days straight will do that to you. The man presses down on his shoulders, dunking his head below the freezing rapids. In his weakness, they gain the upper hand, and Logan gasps for air. He finds none, instead met with water rushing to his lungs. It's cold, too cold. There's frantic splashing, and he can't breathe, and his throat filling with liquid, and so he lashes out-

“Aghh!”

A cry of pain thrusts him back into reality.

“W-Wade?” He blinks. There is no enemy, no river, no war. Just Wade, pinned to the ground by his claws through his throat. He gurgles, grabbing at his wrists to pry him off. Logan feels like he's drowning again.

He forces his hands to work, retracting his claws and immediately putting pressure on the wound- just as the army taught him. 

“Wade! S-shit. I'm sorry, I’m so sorry. I wasn't- I didn't mean it, I swear, please don't-”

The man pushes him away, cradling his neck with one hand. He holds up a single finger with the other, as if asking Logan to wait. Wade eventually makes a noise that sounds like an asthmatic frog and sits up.

“Ugh! God. You got me good there, tiger. As I was saying,” he blanches at the shell-shocked expression on Logan's face.

“Woah, hey heyheyhey! Hold on, Wolvie, it was an accident! I know you didn't mean it, honey badger,” he holds up his hands, palms facing outward like he's placating a wild animal. “Look- see?” He gestures to his throat. “Good as new, no harm done! I’m fine, really.”

But it’s not fine. He’s done it again; once with Marie, and now with Wade. One of these days, he’s going to actually kill someone he loves (I already have, he thinks). 

The question is not if, but when. How long until history repeats itself?

“No, no, I can’t. I-I can’t do this. Not again,” Logan gasps.

He tugs on his hair, trying to ground himself. The air’s too thin; he can't breathe. He tries sheathing and unsheathing his claws, but that only reminds him of the carnage he's committed. Wade’s saying something; he doesn't hear what. 

“Just go away. Just go!” And then it dawns on him; if he leaves, Wade will follow. The dumbass can’t recognize a lost cause when he sees one. Logan needs to prove how utterly repulsive he is, needs to show him that he isn’t worth the effort. The words that leave his mouth feel like retching up shards of glass.

“I…I never wanted to be a part of your freak show, anyways.”

Wade straightens.

“You don’t mean that.” 

He doesn't. God, he doesn't.

“I do. And you know what? I should’ve stayed in my own damn universe and drank my sorrows away. At least then I wouldn’t have to listen to your sorry ass- at least then I wouldn’t have had the misfortune of meeting you! Seriously, do you ever shut the fuck up?” 

 Logan basks in the fire he spits, imagining he’s talking to the mirror, because Wade doesn’t deserve it, and because he doesn’t deserve Wade. Hostility is an old friend of his. He falls back on its familiarity, revels in its security. How could he have hoped for this to end any differently? I told you so, you idiot, I told you so.

“It’s a miracle your friends haven't left your ass behind. But just you wait, bub. Just you fucking wait. You’ll end up alone again, because of your frankly insufferable personality- and because it's what you fucking deserve! So for the sake of everyone around you, I pray they find a cure for immortality.”

He decides he hates the unstoppable force that is Wade-motherfucking-Wilson. He hates Wade’s selflessness, he hates how easy it is to relate to him, he hates his stupid fucking smile- and he absolutely despises how Wade believes in second chances. 

“-So just, just stay the fuck away from me, dammit!” 

Logan barely registers he’s been backing towards the door, unconsciously trying to leave. It’s become a habit. 

The second he steps into the next room, the door slams shut.

“Wh-”

Logan stares as Wade presses himself up to the glass portion, frantically jiggling the handle. He ultimately gives up on that approach and reaches for his katanas, but a metal plate erupts from the floor and seals him off. It's a total lockdown- they’ve been separated. 

“Wade? Wade?!” Only his echo responds. 

He unsheaths his claws to brute-force his way in. Each strike is accompanied by the hellish sound of metal on metal, but he’s barely made a dent despite his best efforts. Adamantium, he mutters. Fuckers must've reinforced it with the shit. 

Logan suspects an ambush, immediately confirmed by the not-so subtle chatter of about a dozen guards huddled by the room’s only exit. One of them tosses a black disk through the doorway. Whatever it is, it's not a grenade, and it's too far away to do any real damage if it did go off. Attention straying from the strange device, he stretches his senses to listen for their approach. They’re quiet for the most part, save for someone fiddling with a controller of sorts. Odd, he has time to think, right before his head explodes with agony.

His sensitive hearing is assaulted by electric screeching. It hurts, and boy, is it loud. It feels like steak knives are being shoved down his ear canals, and he can’t help but slam his hands over them, folding at the waist. Logan yelps when the sound intensifies. Sharp pain pricks his neck and he snaps his attention to the source. While he was distracted, a man dressed from head to toe in tactical gear rushed him, wielding a sharp-looking rifle that he cocks to shoot again. The noise isn’t affecting him; either those helmets are noise-canceling, or humans can’t hear this frequency. To the detriment of his eardrums, Logan pries his own hands away from his head to sidestep the shot and launch himself at his attacker. His head screams with pain even as his body sings with satisfaction at the kill, blades skewering the other man. He has no time to gather his bearings, a dozen more men storming the room. 

The mutant shreds through a couple, squinting in pain, before he spots the source of that awful screeching. The innocent disk he once ignored lies on the ground, LED flashing radioactive green. Bingo. Logan grabs a rifle from the next agent he kills, chucking it (with a little more force than necessary) at the device. It shatters upon impact, drawing a sigh of relief. The torment over, he stabs one man through the heart, using his body as a projectile to knock out another. The action throws him unexpectedly off balance. Huh. Logan brushes the thought aside, whipping around to grapple with an agent who'd almost gotten the jump on him. He shoves them back, the other reaching for their gun, and actually manages to pistol whip the wolverine. Must be getting rusty, he thinks, returning the gesture with a friendly impaling. 

By the time he’s mauled his way through eleven guards, he realizes all too late that something’s very wrong. His breathing is labored, posture slumped. A couple of the men got some pretty good hits on him, for god's sake. The last one standing proves to be particularly hard to take down, not because he's a skilled combatant, no, but because the room won't stop fucking spinning. He’s struggling to keep his claws extended, so he opts for the less dignified approach. The Wolverine grips his opponent's shoulders and tears out their jugular with bloodied teeth, winning him the fight. Needless to say, Logan doesn't exactly feel like a winner right now.

He nearly collapses before their body hits the floor, steadying himself on a lab bench. He’s taking in as much air as his lungs can handle, greedily, like a drowning man. Feeling a strange stiffness in his neck, he reaches for the source- and pulls out… a syringe? His nausea thickens, barely able to keep both knees from buckling. He turns the item between shaking fingers. The barrel is short, containing a brightly colored serum that's nearly depleted. On one end is a neon-yellow tuft of downy. Fuck. He wasn't shot with a gun; he’s been shot with a tranquilizer gun. 

Logan grunts and chucks it somewhere. Whatever that stuff was, its creator accounted for their victim having a heightened metabolism. He's being targeted. Double fuck.

It’s a battle to keep his eyes open, using the wall to take most of his weight as he stumbles along. It occurs to him that he has no idea where he’s headed. Higher brain function has officially left the building.

Eventually the drugs run their course and he crumples, tipping onto the tile with a metallic clunk. 

The next moments are but a blur in his mind. It could’ve been seconds or days; both seem just as likely in his delirious state. Logan feels himself being dragged across the tile, blinking his eyes open to a different scene each time. At first, he’s on the floor. Then he’s staring at the ceiling. Next, he’s being hauled up. If he was coherent, he’d pity the poor soul trying to lift his five-hundred pound adamantium-infused dumbass up the stairs, but he doesn't feel capable of anything but groaning at the moment. His brain feels like jello. He hates jello. It’s too sweet, and the cold hurts his teeth, and- what was he talking about again? Oh, right. He’s being kidnapped or something.

The man awakens to the chilling sensation of cold steel pressed against his bare back. He recognizes it instantly; he’s laying on an operation table. His mind flickers through dozens of encounters with needles and scalpels, gloved hands poking and prodding him like a science experiment. Logan tries to yank at his unrestrained limbs, but it’s as if they’re deadbolted to the table. The sedative must still be in full effect. It sure feels like it- his mind is full of static and the air is thick like tar. 

His eyes frantically search for an exit, but he can barely lift his head. The corners of the room appear shrouded in darkness, like an unnerving vignette. He lets his head fall back onto the table with a loud clang. Ow. That did not help his headache.

A flash of white consumes his vision. Now that really didn't help his headache. Fluorescent lights bore into his skull, piercing his eyelids. He can barely make out the silhouettes of faces hovering over him, squinting at the man in front. His vision is just beginning to focus when he’s grabbed roughly by the jaw. There are hands on him; his wrist, his chest, his face, everywhere. He only manages a flinch, muscles hardly putting up a fight. The gloved digits turn his head with smooth, practiced motion, but pay no heed to his discomfort, forcing his neck at odd angles. It takes a moment for him to spot the man’s face mask and put two and two together: he’s being inspected.

His heart races at the thought, and the scientist catches the way Logan’s eyes widen. He starts his observations, not caring if his assistant can keep up with his rapid-fire remarks.

“Healing factor is greatly reduced. Pupils are reactive to light. Subject appears semi-lucid, but its movement is still severely impaired by the injection.”

It. They called him an it.

“F-Fuck off.”

“Ah. So it speaks.”

He gives a defiant grunt. 

“How succinct. I’d expect nothing less from a dirty animal.” Logan bares his teeth, showing off his impressive canines. In hindsight, that probably didn’t do much to dispel the “dirty animal” allegations. The man rolls his eyes, turning to his paperwork.

“Subject displays signs of aggression. Reprogramming may be necessary.”

The word makes him freeze. The Wolverine’s been robbed of enough memories to know the process well.

He tries to control his trembling, but his weakness betrays him. 

The doctor looks absolutely delighted at his reaction.

“Oohoh. So the beast can feel fear!” He goads. “And here I thought you were just an emotionless killer.”

“Look, bub. I don't know what you want, but you’ve got the wrong guy.”

“Oh no, I know exactly who I'm talking to. Murderer.”

“I didn't do shi-” He jumps when they slam their hands on the operating table, fists landing inches from his head.

“I know your kind. Violent, uncontrollable, dangerous- every one of you.”

“...We’re not like that.” and then a smaller, quieter, “I-I’m not like that.”

He scoffs, a stiff grin holding back his frustrations like a dam. 

“And that’s where you’re wrong. Turns out your kind is stupid, too.”

“Well, what have we ever done to you?”

The dam breaks.

“What have mutants done? You-you things killed my FUCKING brother!” His eyes are full of emotion, nothing like the distant, well-spoken professional he awoke to. Anguish churns in his gut, hatred oozes through his clenched teeth. 

“We were colleagues, working on a project we'd dreamed of for years. It would've revolutionized the pharmaceutical industry. We would’ve been set for life. But then one of you mutant freaks escaped containment. That bastard could breathe fire. It burned him to the fucking ground.”

Logan feels sick. He remembers the smell of burnt flesh, remembers how it stuck with him. 

“He was my best friend, practically family. And I watched him scream out my name before he took his final, soot-filled, dying breath!” He gets up in Logan's face, shoving a shaking finger at him. 

“I grew up with that man. I was in the room when his first son was born. And I was the one who had to tell his child that his father is dead.”

Logan bites his tongue. He feels like a kid again, who knows the best chance at avoiding his old man’s wrath is to shut the hell up.

They settle after a bit, taking a moment to breathe and adjust their glasses.

“...I appear to have lost my composure. Apologies, I didn't mean to stoop to your level.” Nevermind, fuck this guy. Time to poke the bear.

“What's your brother’s level, huh? Six feet under?” It was a low blow, but Logan still revels in the snarl it evokes. And then his scowl grows into a grin. Cold fear washes over him. Logan has the feeling he's going to regret ever opening his mouth.

“You know, word around the block is that you’re not from here.”

He knows where this is going. He tries to turn his head away but jumps when the doctor grabs his chin and yanks it back. The hand lingers, grasping his jaw firm enough to bruise.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you.”

Logan stubbornly avoids his eyes. The mutant flinches when he reveals a familiar instrument: a scalpel. He doesn't have time to ponder its significance before the doctor plunges it into his thigh. Now, he’d be the first to tell you that his pain tolerance is pretty high. It’s got to be, when you’ve been fighting tooth and nail for over two centuries. But this, this is a whole different beast. There's something about the artificial light flooding his vision, the iron grip on his chin and the chilling steel of the operating table that unsettles him to his very core. While he doubts the drug cocktail is helping, the real kicker is the horrors of his own mind- those, he can’t escape. 

The terror of past procedures makes itself known through shaking hands and muscles taut like tightrope. The sedative limits his movement like a set of leather straps, and he panics when his limbs don’t feel like his own. It’s an assault on the senses, amplifying them to the point where even the smallest touch burns like he's being branded with a red-hot iron. It feels too much like adamantium flooding his body. Logan barely holds back a whimper, nearly biting off his tongue when the pain claws up his thigh. 

It’s all too much and there's no end in sight. Who knows if Wade is even looking for him. 

“I said, look at me when I’m talking to you, brute.” 

He does as he’s told.

“Good. As I was saying, you have quite the reputation back home.” 

Shut up shut up shutupshutup-

“It’s a long story, I’m sure you remember. My intel was frustratingly vague, but If I'm not mistaken, you fled to a bar, tail between your legs, and came back to a massacre. They burned everyone you ever loved to the ground.” His voice is rife with sadistic glee.

“Good riddance, I say; the only good mutant is a dead mutant. Really, I should be thanking you for aiding in their demise.” 

Logan feels himself slipping into the past, trying to resist the pull, but he knows it's futile. The carnage is fresh in his mind, forever etched under his eyelids. 

Bodies of students he recognizes but never got to know beyond a name lie at his feet (God, they were just kids). There’s too many to count, too many to mourn. A blanket of silver catches his eye and he rushes to turn them over. Logan recoils at the sight of Ororo, lifeless and pale. He ducks down to hold her close; flames lick his ankles but he couldn't care less. He goes through body after body, one by one, begging, pleading that this’ll be the last, but the deaths keep piling up. Jean, Jubilee, Hank, Scott, Charles. He never thought he'd see the day where Kurt manages to sit still for two seconds. Gone are his high energy shenanigans, his animated personality snuffed out for good. Logan searches the acrobat’s eyes for answers, praying the gymnast would spring to life and say gotcha, mein freund! You should’ve seen the look on your face! He wishes this was all just a joke. It'd be the world's worst joke, but he’ll take anything over this.

He wonders if he’ll ever smell brimstone again.

Logan counts the dead. And again, and then a third time, hoping that maybe someone escaped. After his fourth time doing the rounds, his face contorts with a devastated sob and he falls to his knees. Fate is cruel to have left him the last one standing. He tries swiping at his eyes, but his gloves are slick with blood, and fuck, there’s so much blood, there’s just so much fucking blood. 

How fitting, for it to be on his hands. 

He cries and cries until the moon deserts him too. The sun rears its ugly head, and Logan stares right at the center in hope of blinding himself (because all he sees is them, cold and dead). It peeks over the horizon as his voice finally starts to give out. Screams fade to whimpers.

It’s hard to believe that the bustling school is now ruin and rubble; it was supposed to be a safe haven for people like him. It wasn't supposed to end like this.

Once a sanctuary, reduced to nothing but tinder.

And oh, how it burns.

Logan is yanked back to the present by the scalpel ripped out of his thigh. He gasps, feeling his throat pinch. Air struggles to reach his lungs, ears deaf to whatever his captor’s asking him. Playing along with the doctor’s little game of “21 questions” isn't really his priority at the moment; not that they care.

“Were you even listening?” 

He grabs a fistful of his subject's hair and tugs, hard, baring his neck. His breath catches when the scalpel lowers dangerously close, making him go cross-eyed as he watches its deadly approach. Logan resists the overwhelming urge to squeeze his eyes shut, keeping them glued to the blade's edge. His vision blurs with tears. The doctor huffs, loosening his grip just a little. 

“Fine. Ignore me if you want, your memories will be rewritten regardless. But really, think about it,” His eyes snap open at the voice suddenly inches from his ear, hairs standing on end. “-this is for your own good. Hell, it’s for the greater good. You’ve done enough damage.”

Part of Logan wants to enthusiastically agree, wants to be put down like a mad dog who can't be homed. He wants to forget all the pain and suffering that he's inflicted and have been inflicted upon; let surrendering to erasure be the one good thing he ever does in his long, miserable life. And yet, he can't help but think of happier times: when the sound of children fades into comforting white noise, or the familiar, gentle prodding of a telepath silently asking to explore his mind. He’d quirk a smile at the friendly banter he shared with his team- no, his family. He thinks of Jubilee's luminous smile and Charles's kind words, and that he doesn't want to forget. And Wade, oh Wade. The merc built him back up, an impressive feat, considering he only had rock bottom to work with. Logan would tell him how grateful he is, but he only knows so many words. He wants to be able to remember the time they spent together, however short. 

Being wiped clean would keep everyone he loves safe, but God, if he isn't a selfish man. He always has been. 

In one last desperate act of defiance, he snaps his teeth at the doctor's fingers. Of course, the sedative makes him miss by a mile, his attack far too slow to catch them skin-in-teeth.

They wrench back their hand, scowling hard. He palms Logan's forehead with a gloved hand, grabs a fistful of hair at his scalp, pulls forward, and slams his head back on the operating table. He feels his teeth clack together, the blow reverberating throughout his skull. The room tilts as his agony blossoms, and he thinks he hears someone cry out- possibly himself. In his disorientation, Logan barely registers the syringe that creeps into sight.

“Down, boy. Wouldn’t want you thrashing about during the procedure.”

He feels his head being tilted to the side, but his muscles are null to stop it. The shit they jabbed him with had to be potent stuff, because he can’t even tell which way is up. They flick the syringe twice before positioning it above a vein on his neck.

His eyes flutter shut. He finds himself thinking of Wade in what could very possibly be his last moments alive, mourning a friendship that will never get the chance to flourish. This is what he gets for hoping. Hope is a dangerous thing, and so is Logan.

Whatever the devil's got in store for me, he thinks, I’ll accept with open arms.

Bam.

He’s robbed of his fate by Wade kicking down the door, very bloody katanas hand in hand. The guards immediately train their guns on him. The doctor withdraws, attention stolen by Wade’s appearance. Shoulders hunched, breathing ragged, he looks ready to tear someone apart. Judging from the blood, he probably already has. Logan sometimes forgets Wade was, and still is a deadly mercenary (how scary can a guy who makes three sex jokes a sentence possibly be?), yet he certainly fits the part now, stalking his way to the center of the room.

“Alright fuckers. You’ve messed with the wrong dynamic duo.” 

His tone foregoes its usual breezy, devil-may-care attitude, the dangerous rasp in his voice sending shivers down Logan's spine.

“But lucky for you lot, I’m feeling generous today. I bestow upon each of yooouu- a once in a lifetime opportunity to meet your maker!” Wade spins his blades with deadly flourish, flicking blood in their direction. He narrows his eyes. “So you assholes better say your prayers-”

“-’cause I ain’t accepting apologies.”

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