#mangle mask bully

[chrispyps]

XD Chloe and Clara

[kinzhae]

"This is her."

Gojo X Fem!Reader, bullying, being not accepted in society, mentions of dying, reader is dead, angst.

Part 1 Part 3

The scene in Shibuya was haunting.

A team of sorcerers, led by the Jujutsu High principal and Gojo Satoru, had arrived to investigate the aftermath of the attack. They had hoped to find something useful—some trace of the curse responsible for the violent death. What they hadn’t expected was the gruesome sight that lay before them.

The alley where (Y/N)’s body had been found was eerily quiet, the air thick with the remnants of cursed energy. The wind carried the faint smell of decay and blood as the team gathered around the site.

Gojo stood at the forefront, his usually confident demeanor now strained, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. His eyes were cold, his expression unreadable—but there was an underlying tension, a weight that pulled at his chest. The sight of the lifeless body of his childhood friend, mangled and torn apart, twisted something inside him. This wasn’t just a victim of a curse—this was someone he had known, someone he had failed.

The principal, old but stern, stepped forward with his hands behind his back. He scanned the scene with a practiced eye. "This curse... It’s unlike any we’ve seen before," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "The body’s been completely torn apart. But there's something strange about it... It’s as though this curse was born from rage, from a soul that refused to rest."

The others began to fan out, searching for clues, but their eyes kept returning to the dismembered body in the center of the scene. What once had been (Y/N)—someone who had walked the halls of Jujutsu High, who had struggled and fought for acceptance—was now reduced to little more than a gruesome puzzle.

Gojo stepped closer, his gaze locked on the remnants of your body. His lips parted, but no words came out. He wanted to say something, anything, but the sight before him paralyzed him.

You had been torn apart. Your limbs were scattered in unnatural directions, your body mangled in ways that should have been impossible for a human to endure. But what struck Gojo the most wasn’t the violence of your death—it was the unmistakable presence of your cursed energy. The aura lingered around the remains, suffocating the space. It was dark, suffused with an overwhelming rage, but strangely… it was familiar.

It was you.

The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. This wasn’t just the body of someone who had died. This was a person whose soul—torn apart by anguish, rejection, and betrayal—had morphed into something far darker. Far stronger.

“She’s gone…” Gojo’s voice was barely a whisper. His usual cocky tone, the one he used to mask his emotions, had vanished. There was no bravado, no casual dismissal of the situation. Only raw pain. “(Y/N)... I didn’t... I didn’t save you.”

The principal nodded gravely, his eyes narrow. “A powerful curse… Her soul has been twisted by all the suffering she endured. This isn't just a random attack—it’s a vengeance born of hate. We have to find out who did this… or what did this.”

"Does it matter?" Gojo’s voice was bitter, filled with frustration and guilt. "This isn’t just a curse. This is her."

His fingers clenched at his sides, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the horror before him. The curse that had killed you wasn’t some faceless monster—it was you. And that fact haunted him more than anything else.

A small group of other sorcerers had begun to inspect the remnants of your body, gathering what little they could from the destruction. One of them, a younger sorcerer with a clipboard, shuddered and looked over at the group. “The body… it’s been completely obliterated. But the energy—it’s still there, just beneath the surface. There’s something wrong about it.”

Gojo’s gaze hardened as he stepped forward, his hands trembling slightly as he reached out to touch the ground where your body had been torn apart. The cursed energy that lingered in the air was undeniable. The power was potent, raw—familiar, as though it had been forged from years of torment and frustration.

And yet, even in death, your spirit wasn’t at peace. It had turned into something darker, something uncontrollable.

The principal looked at Gojo, his eyes sharp. “You know what this means, don’t you, Satoru? We need to be prepared. This isn’t just a regular curse. If she truly has become this powerful—”

Gojo interrupted him, his voice laced with cold anger. “I know.”

He turned away from the corpse, his fists clenched at his sides. “I failed her. I should have known. I should have—” He couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence. How could he apologize for letting you slip through his fingers? How could he make up for the years of neglect and the cold indifference he had shown when you needed him most?

In the distance, the wind howled as the cursed energy around them continued to grow stronger. It felt like a storm was brewing. And in that storm, there was a single name on Gojo’s mind: (Y/N).

His failure. His mistake. And the curse he would now have to face.

The others looked at him, unsure of what to say. But Gojo wasn’t looking for comfort. He wasn’t even looking for a solution. All he could see was the haunting image of your broken body—torn apart by a curse that he should have stopped.

He had failed you.

And now, he would have to face the consequences of that failure.

[steddieas-shegoes]

cw: mentions of scarring, canon-typical violence, flashback (not graphic), minor body horror (again, not graphic, mostly just emotional feelings about scars)

♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️

Everyone gave him weird looks when they walked in, quickly schooling their features when they noticed he was awake and watching them.

He didn’t know exactly what that was about.

They had him on a lot of good drugs.

But eventually he got weaned off them, and he noticed the pull of bandages on his side, and his arm, and his neck, and his face.

He was still unable to get out of bed. Still couldn’t even reach his arms above his chest for more than a few seconds.

But he damn sure reached up to feel the cloth and plastic surrounding his cheek. How had he not noticed for days? How had no one bothered him about it?

Maybe they had and he just didn’t notice. The morphine was one hell of a drug.

Wayne was soft, patient with him. Saw him touching it, saw the way his eyes filled with tears. He’d never been particularly vain, hadn’t cared much about what he looked like to others, but this felt bigger than that. This felt like he was changed in a way that everyone could see.

Add it to the list of things people could bully him for.

He cried himself to sleep, Wayne’s hand in his, silently comforting in the way he’d always done.

When he woke up again the next morning, he was alone.

It was the first time he’d been alone since the boathouse.

He could swear he heard bats outside his door, screams coming from the attached bathroom, flashes of someone dying on the ceiling.

He felt the sharp sting of teeth puncturing his skin.

He felt hopelessness creep into his bones as he gave in.

Maybe this time they would finish the job.

“Eddie!”

Steve Harrington’s voice broke through the thoughts, panicked enough to bring Eddie back to his hospital bed within a second of hearing it.

“Shit, are you okay?” He continued, hand brushing against Eddie’s bandaged cheek.

Eddie nodded once, closed his eyes, leaned into the touch.

He could blame it on any number of things if Steve felt weird about it. The morphine, the flashback, the loneliness.

“You’re okay, Eddie. I promise. Won’t let anything happen to you,” Steve whispered.

Eddie believed him.

He fell back asleep with Steve’s hand gently cupping the mangled side of his face.

If Steve could still touch him there, then maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️

Steve came by every day, sometimes in the early morning, before visiting hours officially started, sometimes well after Wayne had left to get some sleep. He always smiled when he walked in, a genuine one, not the one everyone else gave that was so fully of pity and pain he couldn’t bear to make eye contact. He sat down on the side of the bed, not the chair like everyone else, not scared to be close.

And every single day, without fail, he would run his finger along the edge of Eddie’s bandage on his face, watching his own movements and cataloging any changes.

Eddie sat quietly, still, scared to put words to anything happening. Scared to tell Steve what it meant to him to have someone acknowledge his pain in this way. Scared to think Steve could mean anything by it.

It was easy to pretend Steve was doing this because he cared.

Maybe he did care.

But he didn’t care the way Eddie wanted him to, needed him to.

So he stayed quiet, still.

He watched.

He fell asleep while Steve talked about his day, the kids, what Joyce made Hopper do around the house.

He woke up alone most days, but that was okay, because Steve would be there eventually.

♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️

“You ready to get that thing off?” Wayne asked, gesturing to the bandage.

“Oh. Today?” Eddie suddenly didn’t want to ever be without the bandage. Removing it meant he’d see what was under it.

It meant seeing how much that place had ruined him.

The pull of the stitches hadn’t been as obvious with the pull of the bandage masking it.

But now it’s all he felt.

The nurse smiled at him as she put some antibiotic cream over the area, saying he would probably still have to keep it extra clean for the next week or so while the stitches did their job.

Wayne smiled at him in the way that meant he didn’t really want to smile at all, but knew Eddie needed him to.

Steve didn’t come.

Eddie didn’t sleep.

♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️

He woke up with panic in his chest and a silent scream in his throat.

He woke up with Steve’s hand on his face.

Gentle, soft, but a strong comfort.

“Promise I washed them first. They said we have to be careful about germs,” Steve said quietly.

“You don’t have to. I know it’s…it’s gross. It’s ugly. I’m ugly.”

Steve shook his head. “No. Not gross. Not ugly. Alive.”

“Steve-“

“You’re alive, Eddie. You could have your entire face held together by staples and you would still be a miracle. You’d still be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Well, Steve’s charm wasn’t an exaggeration, was it?

He wasn’t even sure if the skin barely pulled together could blush anymore, or if the heat that should be on his cheek was burning on the outside the way it felt like it was on the inside.

“It’s gonna be awful when it heals. I saw it in the mirror.” Eddie could feel every stitch in his jaw, the few that spread across the corner of his mouth and bottom lip, the ones that were nearly up to his ear. “I’ll always have a crooked face. The scar will always be huge. It’s all anyone will see.”

“Then they aren’t looking.”

Eddie bit his lip, eyes searching Steve’s. “But you are.”

“No. I’m seeing. There’s a difference. I see you. I see what you’ve survived. I see the mark it left on you. I know it wasn’t just the scars that cover your skin.” Steve leaned his head down, touching Eddie’s forehead with his own. “We all have them. And we’re all still here. Your heart’s beating. That’s all that matters to me.”

“Who knew you were so good with words?” Eddie smiled sadly.

“Robin says I’m just good at not having a filter.”

“She’s right as always.” Eddie wrapped his fingers around Steve’s wrist, turning as slowly as he could to kiss his palm. “You’re not scared of it.”

“No. Are you?”

“I’m scared that you’ll change your mind when it’s always there as a reminder of what happened.”

Steve kissed his nose, making him smile for the first time in what felt like years.

“I’ll have the reminder that I got you out of there. That no matter what, the bats couldn’t finish the job. That you were stronger and you made it.” Steve let his hand drop, but quickly laced his fingers with Eddie’s. “I know it’s a lot to ask of you to trust me, but will you? For today?”

“Just today?”

“I’ll ask again tomorrow.”

“And what? Every day after that?”

Steve smirked.

His eyes were glistening with tears, but Eddie could tell it wasn’t sadness or fear.

“If that’s what I have to do.”

They hadn’t even talked about feelings, not really. Nothing that made any sense to Eddie, nothing that they could define. A part of Eddie was still convinced he was in a coma and dreaming this entire conversation up.

But even the nurse had noticed the way Steve watched him, how he touched him, how he fought for him. She said he’d been a firecracker from the moment he carried him into the hospital, dripping blood on the tile, staining the halls with his demands for help.

Wayne said he barely left his side the first day, only doing so when the doctors had told him they would call the cops if he didn’t.

Erica even noticed how things had changed between them, stating that she refused to watch her babysitter and the only DM she had respect for make out.

But Steve held Eddie, made him feel like he could get out of the hospital bed and live a life that wouldn’t keep him running. Steve was there.

Steve might even love him. If not now, then some day.

And Eddie could trust him today.

He could probably trust him tomorrow.

“Kiss me?” Eddie probably shouldn’t. The stitches tugged when he talked, and another mouth anywhere near his wounds was just asking for an infection.

But Steve would be careful. He knew what Eddie could handle.

It was barely a kiss. A graze of the lips at most.

But it was the best kiss Eddie had ever had.

At least until tomorrow.

[bioodorange]

ticci toby headcanons !!

I haven’t posted in a while!! But I was hit with a small urge to write some headcanons…maybe it’ll get back into posting more! As usual I hope you enjoy and my ask box is always open!! Please send any requests my way as i try and get back into writing!

Starting off visually, I am a pretty big fan of the idea that Toby and X-Virus are brothers

I just think it’s an interesting idea, and a fun explanation as to why Toby appears at the end of his story

However, I don’t see it being likely that they are fully related

Instead, half siblings who share a father

Going along with this I also consider Cody to be hispanic, making Toby half hispanic in turn

It’s probably a bit harder too see with his pale complexion, but you can see it in the dark curls of his hair

Or how his brown eyes are almost black in color

His eyes are probably the most expressive part of him, consider he ate away at most of the muscles in one of his cheeks

I like the idea that Toby’s eyes are very telling of how he feels, especially since they aren’t covered by a mask

It’s especially eerie to his victims who can see the perverse joy he gets from robbing them of their last breathe

Toby is incredibly sadistic, he struggles to see the value in other peoples lives and treats them more akin to animals

If you are alive it is purely for his entertainment in watching you squirm at the sight of him

He is used to people looking at him in disgust and avoiding him like the plague

Reducing a someone to their primal mind, making them more prey than person is a natural high

Although its familiar it wasn’t always so empowering

As a child he was bullied in school, but I imagine more so for his health conditions than his tourettes

Sure he was picked on for both but being a kid with a medical aid in class feels more humiliating

Everyone knows you need help with something

Something that allows you special privileges to get out of class and skip out on gym but they don’t know what

Them trying to figure it out is what makes it so sickening

Every single detail of you being scrutinized

This lead to deep, intense insecurities issues in Toby

Wearing thick layers of clothing to hide his frame

Gloves to cover how he mindlessly chewed away the skin of his crooked fingers

Its not his fault they look that way

It’s easy to snap bones and dislocate joints when you can’t feel what you’re doing is wrong

Things are prone to healing incorrectly when you can’t tell their hurt

Toby’s physical health declined greatly as soon as he fell into Slender’s care

There are no ways to tell when he’s overheating, no proper medical care to fix things he didn’t know were broken

Toby’s body resembles a mangled mess, scars from broken bones and fingers that aren’t quite straight

His skin doesn't feel quite right on his body

It all makes him aversive to touch

Why would someone want to touch him when his body looks the way it shouldn’t

It does all offer some comfort though

Chewing away at the skin around his nails until he reaches flesh is somehow comforting

Popping his fingers out of place and then back in helps make breathing a bit easier

Even though it’s unhealthy he doesn’t know any better

There are so many holes in his memory he can barely string the past together, let alone menial details such as the limits of his body

[rhyo-writes]

What Makes a Monster; Prologue

As the title suggests, this is an intro to a new series I've decided to write; my take on the Sinclair twins (House of Wax 2005) and their childhood.

Length: 1k

Fandom: House of Wax 2005

Warnings: references to physical and emotional abuse towards children, allusions to murder and torture, this is a HoW fic so take that as warning

If you asked Bo Sinclair what the biggest lie in Ambrose was, you’d probably expect to hear something about the image of a perfect and loving family his mother was so desperate to achieve. The pretense Trudy was so sure the town would believe if her boys would just behave, if they showed up to church every Sunday, if Bo would just be like his brother. And he might at first be tempted to say that, but it simply wasn’t true, even if technically the biggest lie was about his family, and if it technically was about their perfection. But despite these technicalities, it had nothing to do with the loving facade Trudy so desperately pushed. No, this lie concerned Bo’s other half, his mother’s favorite twin, the little artist following in his mother’s footsteps, the model child that Trudy showered with praise, just as oblivious as the rest of the town to the truth.

Vincent was the lie, the golden boy facade as false as the mask he always wore, and the truth just as mangled as what lay underneath. It made Bo angry, this whole good-twin bad-twin game they’d been thrust into, the endless comparisons, the idolization of his brother, when Bo knew that Vincent was just as twisted as he was. Maybe even more so. 

Sure, Bo lashed out. He had a violent temper, and he was quick with his fists, using violence to solve any problem thrust upon him, but that was common knowledge. Everyone knew Bo was a problem, a difficult child, a delinquent, his future a criminal record stretching longer than any list of achievements he could make. Everyone knew of the raging fire burning in his soul, ready to send him over the edge at any second. Even Trudy had given up pretending to love him, whining about her horrid son to her church friends. Everyone saw Bo for who he was, but no one truly saw Vincent.

If Bo was a raging fire, then Vincent was a deceptively calm ocean, serene upon inspection, but with an ever present barrage of deadly currents, hidden just below the surface, invisible until it was far too late for the errant swimmer. Sure, the other kids thought he was a freak, and the adults whispered that he was a bit strange, but they chalked it up to a hard start, to his deformities, to his horrid twin. And sure, their classmates never bullied Vincent the way they did Lester, disturbed by the drawings in Vincent’s sketchbook, saving him from the full force of their hatred up front. But they had no clue just how far that disturbance went, or how dangerous Vincent could be. They had no clue that every day their choice to shun him over outright violence kept them alive, or that the disappearance of the one boy who destroyed Vincent’s work was more than a coincidence.

But Bo knew, how could he not. He knew Vincent, the mirror to his own self, a reflection, perhaps backwards in presentation, but with a soul just as filled with rot and decay as his own. Bo knew that the sculptures of squirrels, rats, mice, and the occasional bat that crowded the shelves of Lester’s room weren’t realistic solely due to Vincent’s skill, but in part as a result of the rotting corpses underneath, an armature not for the squeamish. Bo knew that the stomach churning drawings that filled page after page of Vincent’s sketchbook weren’t the nightmares they were passed off as, but the dark fantasies that lurked like cobwebs etched into his brother’s soul.

And in some dark corner of his brain, Bo Knew that he had to act out, he had create enough chaos and destruction for the two of them, because if he didn’t, the things Vincent would do would be so much worse, and there wouldn’t be enough shadowed crevices or overturned trees in the world to hide the slew of bodies that would follow his brother.

Bo loved Vincent, he really did, but sometimes, a part of him wished that his perfect twin would get in trouble the way he did, for his mother to realize that her precious baby was just as much a freak, they were twins after all, two sides of the same coin.  “It’s not fair,” he wanted to scream, “he’s just as awful, just as horrible,” but try as he might to relay the obvious, that they were identical in both mind and body, no one would listen. His mother would backhand him, furious, for how dare he speak that way about her precious little angel, and Bo would go to bed hungry, seething, trying to tell himself he preferred an empty stomach to the hell that was family dinner. 

Years later he’d watch victims plead with Vincent, convinced that they just had to get through the web of lies they thought Bo had strung, and that if they could Vincent would help them. These small minded people, dumb with fear, oblivious to the inherent cruelty of Vincent’s work, pleading for their lives as if they were more than a step of the creative process, convinced that Vincent must feel sorry for them. He was the tortured artist, he wanted to save them, he hated killing, delusions that made Bo laugh before he’d smash in their faces.

Little did they know that he was far from complicit, in fact, Vincent lived for the feeling of blood on his hands. Nothing quite got the gears of his brain turning like a fresh face to work with, a fresh canvas awaiting his vision. Because Bo was not the mastermind behind the hell Ambrose had become, as much as he’d love to give himself credit. Bo never had much of a vision for the future, for what they could create, but he had someone who did. Someone just as cruel and sadistic, someone happy to help cover Bo’s tracks if it meant he could create his art. No, Bo was not the one behind the town of wax, Vincent was. 

[dalekofchaos]

Michael Afton:Accomplice/Killer Mike au

So after looking at these three fanarts on the subject. I've come up with a FNAF au where Mike is William's accomplice.

Fanart 1. Fanart 2. Fanart 3

It starts after the Bite of 83. William sees potential in Mike.

Instead of letting Mike be arrested, William saves Mike and pins the blame on Bonnie bully(Jeremy)

William pulls what he did with Susie.

"He's not really dead, son. Help me and we can put him back together." Mike at first is hesitant. But he just wants to make it right and bring his brother back.

It starts out with William doing the killings and Michael cleaning up the evidence. The police never begin to suspect a thing. Mike is the suspicious one due to his connection to the Bite of 83, but because of lack of evidence, no one ever charges either father or son.

Eventually, Mike has to lure and kill some kids to prove to William how committed he really is. William helps Mike by making a Springlock Foxy costume to help blend in to Pirate's Cove. Mike performs as his hero and his symbolic fall of grace. After every Pirate's Cove performance, Mike lures them to the safe room.

It starts by luring them so William can kill them. But one day, Mike is locked in there with the kids.

"Oh it's far too late to back out now, help me or I swear I will tell the police what you did to your brother and I will pin all those little disappearances on you."

Mike kills his first victim. He uses Foxy's hook for a weapon and he does the deed. 5 more dead kids.

"You've done it. Well done, Mikey! I'm proud of you, son! We're gonna do great things together"

All the remorse and regret he's felt is washed away by finally making his father proud. The one thing he's wanted all his life is finally his and together they will bring Evan and Elizabeth back and put their family back together.

Throughout the years they would kill together. Not only kill together, but make Fazbear Entertainment and Afton Robotics bigger and better than before.

There is one setback however. Jeremy has returned. He took the night guard position and because of the Puppet's visions, he knows too much. So Mike hacks Mangle and causes the Bite of 87. "...I'm sorry Jeremy. I had to. I did it for my family!"

Because of William and Mike openly working together, Elizabeth knows it's Mike and Circus Baby even helps Mike make a makeshift Springlock version of Funtime Foxy so he can slip in and out to capture children.

Although Mike loves Funtime Foxy, he just can't help but continue to use Classic Foxy to lure the kids at the old Pizzeria. Because a true classic never goes out of style!

Mike is officially the new head of security. Everyone sees this as a "nepo hire" but Mike is just so charming and manipulative that FE eats out of his hand. He can easily ensure that the kids go missing without a trace. When security officers get too close to the truth, then Mike wears his old Foxy mask, gets the hook and goes through the vents and kills them.

"Save them"

"You can't"

Now who could be the protagonist now that Mike is William's right hand?

Sammy Emily. In this au Henry is not a deadbeat dad to his son. They grieve together over Charlie and when Sammy is grown up, Sammy fills Mike's role as the security guard.

Charlie even helps Sammy. When Sammy gets jumpscared by The Puppet, all he hears is "Sammy, it's me. Charlie"

One day Mike and William return to the decaying and dilapidated Freddy Fazbear's Pizza to get more remnant.

Sammy, Charlie and the MCI work together and corner William and Mike.

William gets springlocked via the rain and Sammy and Charlie work together to cause Mike's springlock.

Sammy in Fazbear Frights is being hunted by Springtrap and Foxtrap

In the attempt to free Elizabeth and the funtimes, Sammy is scooped.

After the fire. Scraptrap, Foxscrap and Circus Baby come together. Lefty tries to stop them, but because of the suit and calls she can't stop herself from hurting Sammy.

Henry's speech happens. The fire happens. But Sammy survives.

Sammy has a daughter named Vanessa.

As Vanessa works for Fazbear and the VR game. She sees a bunny....and a Fox.

One day a boy named Gregory plays and sees the Fox. To Michael, Gregory is Evan reborn.

They found their new Elizabeth while getting revenge on Sammy & Henry and Michael found Evan Reborn. The Afton Family is put back together.

Mike would orchestrate a Glamrock Foxy to be built. William becomes Burntrap and Vanessa is Vanny while Gregory is Dr Rabbit.

However, a ghost from Mike's past survived. Jeremy returns. as a VR tester and as the Pizzaplex technician.

Instead of "What makes you so special" it's "Why are you STILL ALIVE?"

Cassie enters the picture. In this case, she's not looking for Gregory. She's looking for her father.

Jeremy and Cassie will do whatever it takes to stop the Aftons, even if Jeremy has to become one with the remains of Glamrock Bonnie.

[angst-king]

A man by many names Pt 10

(Can't believe we've made it to chp 10 ^-^ hope you like it so far) (CW mentions vomit, description of panic attack, bullying/torture) There was something familiar about you and your name, to Katsuki. It was clear you weren’t Izuku’s biological child, but why would he adopt a random kid? Why did your name sound like he’d heard it before?

“Hey Katsuki you wanted to look into the latest missing child case, right? Here” A small stack of papers was set beside him letting him know a file had been sent to his computer as well. He checked it out. They needed him to unscramble the photos used for the missing child poster. As he worked he watched the pieces come together, each set of pixels was like puzzle pieces being connected. Slowly with time the image became clearer, he furrowed his brows in disbelief. Now he knew why you looked familiar. But that didn’t answer why you were with Izuku, why would he take a child? Then he remembered the broadcast, he was the villain, and Izuku was Devour! He said that you had come to him after being kicked out, but could Katsuki truly believe that? Why would he take an interest in you all because you ran up to him for help? Why go through all this trouble for you?

It was a late night on patrol, and Katsuki wanted answers, he god damn it he was gonna get’em! He remembered Izuku’s route, and this time came on a less busy patrol time in hopes that would lure Izuku to him. He didn’t know much about Izuku’s villainy, he kept himself pretty low profile until now. No one had true reports of his appearance or witnesses of what he had done before all of this! He had heard around the area rumors about him or what might be him. Many locals said there was a person leaving mangled body parts. Very few reports spoke of seeing a tall figure hovered over a body. All he’d have to do is wait!

So he did, and it seemed like clockwork that he came around 1 am. A tall figure hopped from a roof and into the alleyway, the light jingle of the bag’s zippers echoed. The feet padded around until Katsuki turned on his flashlight. Yup even through the mask and hoodie he recognized those green eyes anywhere!

“Izuku?” Izuku froze and sneered, preparing to run in a moment’s notice, he put his guard ready to fight. Katsuki held his hands up defensively as he got closer.

“Ey ey I’m not gonna arrest you or whatever, I’ve just got questions.” Izuku backed towards the wall glaring daggers at Katsuki.

“No, i’m not answering shit” Then Katsuki grabbed him by the shoulder again to keep him from running and yanked in towards himself. He saw a look of fear flash in Izuku’s eyes, then a fist collided with his stomach. He let go before a set of teeth could come down on his wrist again.

“Shit that fucking hurts, what the fuck don’t bite me, you asshole!” “Don’t fucking grab me next time bitch.” Izuku spat and tried to get away again but this time Katsuki grabbed him by the bag swung him around into a corner and towered over him.

He grits his teeth in frustration, staring down at the green-haired man, and blocks his path.

“You either answer me or I arrest you.”

“Oh? For what?” Izuku asked snidely

“For withholding the missing child (y/n)” Izuku froze and looked up at him. He quickly tried to compose himself as anger coursed through him.

“And why do you think I have them?” “Because I fixed the photos they have of them, and they match the name and face of the child with you the other day.” With that information Izuku tried anything he could to get away, he didn’t want to tell Katsuki anything. He would probably have him arrested no matter what he told him. That bastard created years of his suffering, why in the hell would he cooperate now?

“Look I won't turn you in if you answer my questions, I won't say a damn word to anyone.” “And why should I trust you or give a damn?” Izuku asked bitterly being arrested in and of itself wasn’t the bad part. It was leaving you without anyone, of course, it had been set up that if anything happened then Dabi and Toga would look after you but. He knew neither of them could do it for very long.

“I want to help” Izuku ‘tch’ed and chuckled rolling his eyes at the blond’s proclamation.

“Yeah, you? Help? Don’t joke, you’re bad at them.” “I’m serious Izuku, I know you did the broadcast, and hearing just the confession from that sick fuck made me wanna vomit…How they could do something like that to a child.” “Yeah yeah, you’re real concerned, you’re still the same guy who tortured me for the majority of my childhood, so why would I trust you with that information? It seems like you haven’t changed either. Still a loud-mouth lunatic who has no respect for anyone.” Izuku squirmed and writhed beneath Katsuki, trying to find a weak spot to exploit so he could get away but Kasuki wouldn’t let him.

“Look I know I was horrible back then but, come on, its my job, and my kid’s friends with yours.” Izuku huffed, he knew Katsuki wouldn’t let him go until he answered him, just like in middle school.

“Fine.”

They sat down on the pavement to talk since Izuku refused to feel caged in.

“Alright, ask.” “Is it true (Y/n) came to you willingly?”

“Yeah, I didn’t kidnap them. The first time I found them outside wandering around in the dark, had to keep them safe. We kept meeting up every so often causes those shit bags kept kicking them out to party, so i kept watch.” “Why are you going after them, why not report them to the police?” “Because the police and detectives won't do shit and can be easily bought out with money.” Katsuki raised a brow, he could sense there was more to this answer than Izuku was giving.

“Didn’t think you had a soft spot for kids?” “I didn’t think you’d still be a hero but look where we are?” Izuku quipped folding his arms over his chest.

“You just didn't seem like the type to take in a random child and put yourself out there for one. I mean if you really are a villain, you must’ve been a quiet one, and now you’re in the spotlight anonymously or not. All for some kid” Izuku went quiet to him, you weren’t ‘some kid’, it sounded stupid but. You were his everything, his reason for living! You made him happy, you gave him purpose! He loved coming home to see the pictures you’ve drawn, or sitting on the couch and watching Bluey with you. He loved seeing you happy, hearing your feet pitter-pattering around when you got excited about something. Your big eyes lit up when he got you ice cream. He liked being the person to protect you, to show you the world didn’t have to be so horrible and scary.

“I…I like giving (Y/N) the chance at life and protection I never got. I strive to deliver the justice the adults around me failed to even try for.” He murmured while leaning back against the cold cement wall behind him. His eyes looked at the ground as a small smile crept onto his face behind the mask.

“Huh? Speak up dude, I’m going deaf” Izuku huffed and explained

“No one stood up for me, not my peers, not our teachers, principal, or my own mother. No one. I suffered that torture at the hands of them all. All they did was watch or turn away when I begged and pleaded for help as you treated me like nothing but a roach.” Katsuki knew what izuku meant, and remembered their school days. He wasn’t wrong, the teachers practically allowed it to happen, they punished Izuku for even speaking up at times!

“My mother was my only reason for living, I killed myself both mentally and physically numerous times but each time. She encouraged me to keep going, to find something, anything to hold onto. She may not have done anything when it came to justice but, she never belittled me or made me quit. As long as I didn’t lose myself, she would still love me.”

“Would she still love you if she knew you turned out to be a villain?” Katsuki asked, though he knew it came out rude, Izuku still replied.

“…..yes….at least the one I am now, I don’t think she would disapprove.”

He adjusted his mask and took glances at Katsuki who seemed to be taking in what he said.

“I was left for the wolves all my life, and I can’t stand by to watch another child go through anything similar if I can help it. When (Y/n) came to my house on the verge of unconsciousness burned and bloodied, I saw myself. I saw a small innocent being clinging on to life that people were trying to smash. I saw myself, I saw a child with who no one was bothering to reach out, they were turning a blind eye all over again. I couldn’t allow that.” As Izuku spoke he stammered and began to feel himself get choked up, tears welled his his eyes but he wouldn’t cry in front of Katsuki. He refused to do that long ago, he hated for anyone to see him like this.

Katsuki nodded along, it did sort of hurt to realize just how much he hurt Izuku back then, and how it lingered into his life now. He could feel the emotion even if Izuku tried to sound unbothered. He could still see everything he had done as he spoke. He could remember the countless days Izuku would come to school trembling in his uniform. He remembered Izuku’s screams, how he’d reach his hand out towards others for help, and they’d turn away from him with looks of disgust. As if he had a disease they didn’t want to catch. He remembered his muffled cries as he forced his head into the koi fish pond. Izuku’s arms and legs flailed as he drowned.

The days he came back to school bandaged up with dead tired eyes. Hell, he walked in on Izuku trying to slit his throat once and what did Katsuki do? Called him a worthless waste of space who wouldn’t even be able to kill himself correctly. It truly was a miracle Izuku was even alive and well, physically well that is, mentally it was obviously he wasn’t.

“I-i…..I’m…” Dammit Katsuki come on! Say it! You waited this fucking long, you may never get this chance ever again! Damn, his throat felt like it was closing up when he tried to apologize. The weight of realization was crushing him, the realization that nothing would be able to fix what they had.

“I-i’m sorry…Izuku.” It was hardly a whisper.

“Don’t waste your time or breath” Izuku said firmly, Katsuki looked at him with confusion. Didn’t he want an apology after all he did?

“Your words mean nothing, your actions say everything.” Well, Katsuki couldn’t argue with that sentiment, actions did speak louder than words. But how would he prove it to him.

“You keep our little secret and I wont kill you.” He wagered, Katsuki nodded in agreement. They sat in silence for a moment. It weighed over them like a blanket of snow before Izuku sent a side eye his way and asked.

“Are you done interrogating me?” Katsuki’s eyes darted to him and he sighed heavily.

“Yeah, yeah I am.” With that, Izuku stood up with a stretch, adjusted his backpack, and started to head for the roof.

“Ey, isn’t this your territory?” Izuku rolled his eyes at his question.

“I’m not hunting with the likes of you or your stupid lil friends around.” Damn, that was cold, but before Katsuki could say anything Izuku climbed back up the side of the building and onto the roof into the darkness.

Katsuki was now alone, alone with his thoughts. He couldn’t help the maul over everything. His childhood friend still saw him the same after all these years, what did he expect though? If Katsuki had been in his situation he’d probably do the same. What he did was practically torture! He brought Izuku to the point of suicide many times and now after years apart, he expects Izuku to just accept his apology? No! No. Izuku was right he was gonna half to prove it.

Sitting on the sidewalk Katsuki looked through pictures on his phone and found one of him and his child together.

“I’ll do better, I’ll prove it, I promise.”

He eventually continued on with the rest of his patrol until it was time to go home.

(pov change)

Izuku was glad to finally get away from him, he thought his heart was going to explode or abruptly stop altogether! When he got on the roof he collapsed to his knees clutching his chest and gasping for air! Fucking hell his anxiety was still just as horrible as ever! His chest felt heavy and tight as if someone were squeezing the air out of him. It hurt it hurt so much! He wasn’t even hungry for cannibal food or interested in hunting anymore. His entire body was tremoring, and his stomach sloshed nauseously until he found himself hunched over vomiting.

Just being around Katsuki made him ill, now he knew everything, or well everything pertaining to the situation with you and him. Not to mention he poured his feelings out to Katsuki, oh gods just remembering what he said made him wanna puke again. His vision was blurring and his mind started to become fuzzy. Shivering and shaking with tears down his face and sitting beside a puddle of his own sick. He hated this he hated this so damn much.

It took him a while to get off that rooftop, but he knew he had to get off before sunrise. He house-hopped until he found the convenience store. Grabbed himself an instant ramen pack and some meat on a stick, along with a soda. He ate his late-night dinner in an alleyway to calm himself down and give him the strength to get back home.

Once again he climbed in through the window and went to go and check on you. When he saw you fast asleep in your bed he smiled, you had struggled with sleeping on your own for a while. Often sleeping in his bed when you felt scared, tonight must have been an easy night for you. Izuku brushed your hair out of your face and pulled the blankets over you with a soft look in his eyes. He then went to get himself ready for bed now that he was coming down from his anxiety.

He took a nice long hot shower, washing off the blood from previous kills. Brushed his teeth to get the sourness out of his mouth, and changed into some comfortable clothes before climbing into bed. Damn, he loved his bed why did he ever leave it? Closing his eyes he was ready to let sleep take him.

But it didn’t his mind was still racing. He wanted to know whether Katsuki was genuine with his apology, he wanted to know why he truly wanted to get involved. Why did he care? Why did he bother to listen to his spiel? Was he going to tell everyone about this? What would this mean for them? Would you be safe now? Would the heroes come looking for you? Katsuki had now given them a clear photo of what you looked like so they would start looking for you. Was he planning an ambush? Would you and him have to move? He hoped not he needed to be able to continue his plan, but he also wanted to keep you safe!

Oh fucking hell just go to sleep, Izuku!

[inhumanliquid]

"The Pizzaplex was destroyed by an earthquake-"

It wasn't actually an earthquake, it was the blob at the end of the SB Afton ending, we literally watched it happen.

"The first few games were all fake-"

It didn't sound like a word of that exposition was honest. How is my autistic ass the only person who picked up on the tone.

"Gregory is Michael's actual son-"

Even if Michael did escape the PS fire (he didn't, we watched him overheat and pass out), he doesn't have any internal organs and absolutely would not have been able to adopt.

"Gregory is a robot-"

I don't like you.

"Gregory is the crying child-"

Yeah, and he's also Chara Undertale and Ness Earthbound. Because shirt.

"Michael is Glamrock Freddy-"

Prove it. Give me any evidence.

"Elizabeth is Vanessa-"

No, Elizabeth was Scrap Baby. Now Elizabeth is dead dead.

"The crying child is Cassidy-"

You have literally no actual evidence besides "I don't like the other 200 things we've called him anymore, so that other kid can kill themself." CC/Chris/Evan/whatever the fuck you want to call him is not an MCI kid. Michael and his friends accidentally killed him at his own party. We know this. People literally thought it was the bite of '87 for like a year because they missed the "1983" on the TV.

"The Pizzaplex is built on top of Circus Baby's-"

That's literally just canon, not a theory. Baby's was attached to the pizzeria (most likely formerly Fredbear's Diner), which we know the Pizzaplex was built on top of from the Afton ending.

"William survived the fire-"

I choose not to believe it, last we saw him he was in literal Hell being tortured by Cassidy (the real one), and according to most of the fandom none of that actually happened because they can't read tone.

"Funtime Foxy is Toy Foxy-"

You're literally just an idiot. Mangle is Toy Foxy. We know this.

"Michael is the crying child-"

We've been over this already. He isn't. He's the bully with the Foxy mask. Stop trying to make up a kid who doesn't exist. Terrance or whatever the hell you called him isn't real.

[dancing-crows-diary]

Someone on discord asked me to make a list of who's who on FNaF. Here.

Freddy: Gabriel, assumed to be brown-haired and darker in skin colour

Bonnie: Jeremy, fans say that he’s probably related to bonnie mask, usually assumed to be black-haired with light skin, sometimes wearing glasses

Chica: Susie, the one who lost her dog and is speculated that the dog possesses Mangle, is canonically blonde with curly hair and light skin, seen with a bow in her hair and a pink dress

Foxy: Fritz, usually assumed to be red-haired with neutral skin, sometimes assumed to wear an eye patch as a live child because foxy was his favorite. Some say that foxy bro(foxy mask) possesses foxy but is not generally confirmed and only very few people use that theory in their videos/skits/posts in general.

Golden Freddy: There are definitely multiple spirits possessing this abomination, I personally believe there's more than just C.C. and Cassidy since Andrew is also a good candidate to possess the animatronic alongside the two I already mentioned.

Puppet: The Puppet is confirmed to be Charlie No-Last-Name-Given, daughter of Henry No-Last-Name-Given.

Currently we do not know if the Toy Animatronics are even possessed or not, but Mangle is speculated to be possessed by Susie’s(Chica’s) dog, the one William used to lure her to the employee-only room. According to some theories, Ballon Boy is possessed by more than one spirit. Many say it's the second batch of kids that William death-glared. Many say it's the two Fitzgeralds(Jeremy Fitzgerald and Jeremy Fitzgerald ||), though we do not know and can't confirm.

The phantoms are obviously not possessed, they are only phantoms that appear, that try and stop you. Springtrap, the ring leader of sorts for the phantoms, however, is possessed by the death-glarer William Afton, who got spring locked and produced enough agony to possess the spring bonnie suit.

The nightmares are not possessed even a tiny bit, they are just based off of the four mask bullies. Foxy mask, bonnie mask(who is usually put as being Jeremy’s(Bonnie’s) brother but it is not canonically confirmed), Chica mask, and Freddy mask.

(small mask bully rant)

All of them have fanon names that were generally accepted, except Foxy mask. Foxy mask is confirmed to be Michael Afton. But the fanon names are:

Chica mask=Simon

Bonnie mask=Jeremy ||(we will get to that soon)/Kelsey

Freddy mask=Frederick

Bonnie mask is speculated to be Jeremy Fitzgerald || , but i don't believe so, as you see by me including his other fanon name. Bonnie mask is also seen as the strongest because on Crying Child’s birthday he lifts C.C. with one arm, while all the other bullies lift C.C. with two arms.

(Rant over, for now)

In SL only Baby is confirmed to be possessed. Baby is Elizabeth Afton, while people say Balora is Mrs. Afton, no first name given. Many theorize that Millie from the books possesses Funtime Freddy, and is out for blood after getting death-glared. But it was never confirmed that she got death-glared so it's not a very likely possibility that she possesses Funtime Freddy.

None of the new animatronics in the FNaF Pizzeria simulator seems to be possessed except for Leftie/Lefty, who is confirmed to be the Puppet. The Puppet is possessed by Charlie No-Last-Name-Given.

In FNaF VR we know that Glitchtrap is somehow related to good ol’ Peepaw Willy. Many say that Glitchtrap is fully William, and that William did that on purpose to escape the hell that Cassidy(?) made for him(UCN). But it's not very convincing.

In Security Breach, people theorize that Freddy is possessed by Michael Afton. I don't think that's very likely to be true but it is a possibility. Gregory is thought to be a robot that has the Crying Child’s soul. That is mainly because in FNaF 4, there is a line of text at the end of the game that says ‘I will put you back together’ and it is directly spoken to the Crying Child. Though it seems impossible, there is a chance that it is true. I personally do not think either of those are true until there is more to prove that they are indeed true.

More things people on discord wanted my opinion on;

1. Is William Afton phone guy?

No, I don't think he is. Though there may be some things we can connect them by, their voices are completely different and phone guy ‘died’ before William ‘died’.

2. Are the Glamrocks possessed by the mask bullies?

We barely have evidence that Michael Afton possesses Glamrock Freddy! How did we get that conclusion?

3. How did Glamrock Bonnie get dismantled?

I believe that Monty was either being controlled by Vanny or Afton or was the first to get put into the aggressive mode that all the Glamrocks(-Freddy) are in while Gregory is in the Pizzaplex.

4. Did the phone guy get death-glared by the animatronics?

Y’know how we respawn after getting killed and repeat the night? I think that happened to phone guy.

5. In which order was the first batch of kids death-glared?

First was Susie(Chica) and we know that for a fact because of a line in UCN where she said ‘I was the first, I have seen everything.’ Then Jeremy is thought to be second, Fritz is thought to be third and then Gabriel. Of course, Charlie died before all of them because she is the Puppet and she is the one that gave them the option of possessing the suits.

6. Who do we play as in FNaF VR?

Vanessa, thought to be Vanny.

7. Is Vanessa Vanny?

All signs point to maybe, maybe not. She might be though. Seems like it but at the same time it doesn't.

[phantomss-pain]

OK how about L,M and H?

Right so let’s start with H

H) well for fnaf it has to be the books especially for Charlie’s group.

L) Uhhhhh that’s hard to say but I’ll go with Jeremy Fritzgerald. I’m neutral to him but of course the fans make me roll my eyes with how they treat him and everything. Anyway let’s talk about him. I think him being the bite of 87 victim is actually really cool and it just adds to this tragic cycle of everyone but William suffering that happened before pre springtrap.

Talking about my Jeremy for a bit though he was the Bonnie mask bully and was often the one that was egging Michael on to do worse things. Once the bite happened he did stop being Michael’s friend and the two didn’t speak until the fnaf 2 location. The two started to rebuild their friendship and on the day of the bite Jeremy actually saved Michael by pushing him out of the way of Mangle making him the victim of the bite.

M) Probably a three way tie between Charlie, Jessica and Marla. The three of them I can see myself being friends with as they all have personalities that I gel well with.

Now gib more asks

[mushabumi]

"Wreathed in Wrath"

A cryptid origin story. TW violence. 869 words.

She became accustomed to the whispers as she walked. The stilted looks. Downcast eyes. As if she would pour venom into their skulls with the barest grazing of her gaze. It didn’t matter that she felt the rage in her belly gnaw at her throat; behind her eyes. She’d become a master at sheathing her temper behind a tepid smile.

‘Be seen, not heard. Smile and obey. Pray and obey,’ they preached in schools and church. ‘This is how it is. It is how they are,’ they said after wanton touches, or words that cleaved. After the leering of men, or snickering of the women. The town seethed with cruelty. Of cats batting at mice until the shrank from sight. The meek would never inherit anything but tears on this earth. She was tired of staying quiet.

Then it started.

 She broke things with a glance. Menial as the sins committed in the day. Broken baskets of bullies in the market. Cracked jugs of ale in taverns. As she grew, so did their sins, she noticed. Soon, she became vicious. Snapping fingers that reached. Splintered nails that groped. Peeling threads of skin with each errant look toward her. Finally, they stopped, resorting to whispers and bated breath as she approached. Lack of proof kept the pitchforks and holy men at bay, she knew.

It was only a matter of time before the crusade was at her door. Still, she was not afraid. For a fire thirsted within her and burned in her eyes. ‘Demon,’ they whispered in the church. ‘Witch,’ the spat. Not long after, she abandoned the town, and rightly so. For she never heard any voice of divinity during her prayers. Saw no righteous flaming bush.

She walked in the dead of night with no witness but the moon. Kissed by stars and held by vines, she still heard no Lord above. What she knew were the needles of pine as she knelt; softer than any cushion between a pew. What she heard were the trickling of brooks, whispering wings, and padding of paws. Their inherent divinity equaled any choir. She was more creature than lady there in the dark. She knew the moss beneath her toes as her own skin. The bark beneath her fingers was an old friend. Ancient boughs leaned in as she passed. Beckoning. Tempting. She listened.

Her visits into town became sparse. Villagers noted the changes before she did. The hinting of gnarled knuckles. The clinging moss. Pallid and gaunt, her face a dauntless mask. Her movements further and further away from humanity with each passing month. She noticed her eyes. The slit of her pupil. The way they shone in the dark. A bridled flame promising violence.

She no longer remembered the girl she was. Her body was a stranger. The forest a dear friend. One she never wanted to leave. In time, she didn’t. She prowled along the beasts of claws and wings. Swam and bathed as she pleased. Plants sprouted as she neared. Moss sprouted in every footstep. She didn’t question the beginnings of bark creeping along her limbs. Skin turned stone. Bone in place of flesh. Antlers crowning her forest reign. She presided. Soon she felt her subjects. The steady pulse of them was veins. Their breath became her lungs. She knew them as she once did her hands; her heart.

She felt them die. Felt the stinging steel as it cleaved. More fell as she ran to the source. She knew the men holding the axes. Remembered their downcast eyes. Their ruddy faces as they grabbed. She loved the fear she saw as they beheld her. The quaking steps they took away from her.

Claws of bark wreathed in lichen rose before her. “You take what is not yours as a right. No more,” dissonant whispers declared in the decimated glen. With glee, she unfurled the simmering rage held within her. Baring her teeth, she waited for their greed to strike first. The forest was hers to protect. She shall show the wrath incurred to those seeking to harm her new kin.

A flaming arrow lit. Axes raised. As one, they approached. As one, roots flew soared through their lungs. Mangled cries erupted. Blood bubbled from their pleas or mercy. She sliced a hand through the air and they pulled the roots as puppets on a string of sundering flesh; aiming for their heart. She felt the men wither as her new kin drank. Felt their bones sate the fungi and beetles.

The villagers stopped coming into the woods after the third group of men never returned.

She mended the trees and knotted the brambles across the path leading into the forest. Wolves sentried across her borders. Soon, she became legend. The creature in stories told to children before they slept. The monster that would snatch only the naughty boys and girls. It never touched the gentle ones, they would say. ‘Stay out of the forest, or face her wrath.’

They were right to be afraid.

[chrispyps]

smoke

[glambear]

i think to jeremy, for the whole evan incident, he DOES feel some guilt but for the most part he's kind of detached from it. in the first few months, he's definitely lost sleep over it but it's kind of... faded. locked away in the back part of his mind because he knows none of them meant for it to happen and has eventually convinced himself it no longer has anything to do with him after all. a kid died. a lot of kids died during that time and he just chalks evan up to another statistic and that isn't healthy or good at all but its the only way he can move on, he's just thankful it hadn't been him!

but then '87 came around, he'd gotten a job at the pizza place because... well, he needed the money and maybe some part of him felt like this was a good way to properly, really move on and then.... well, the nightmares came and he was being hunted by a bunch of animatronics and it was like seeing that poor brat getting chomped all over again. maybe it was karma that he, the freddy mask bully who watched a kid get chomped by a freddy.... receive almost the same treatment by mangle but he survived it, though worse for wear. after being hospitalized, he now wants nothing to do with any freddys place at all (easier said than done when its all he can think about now, being reminded of it every time he looks in a mirror and sees that scar on his head.)

[hermits-hovel]

Gonna bully your son with one of those touch prompts - caressing the other’s cheek

51. caressing the other’s cheek

There had been a... change in Ancel, he noticed.

Evidently their soured relations of a decade’s past had carried into the present day, with Ancel doing everything in his power to remove himself from any situation where Azure Dragoon lingered. While Estinien had long resolved to put their incident from his own mind, he couldn’t blame the man his irritability—especially now that they were practically joined at the hip for the duration of their peace-driven mission.

That discomfort aside, however, Estinien also sensed a peculiarity in Ancel's very being; there was a strange likeness, a second breathing essence within him that was not there before. Similar sensations would occasionally follow those men and women of the Order, though this was passing strange. He couldn’t recall Ancel ever joining their ranks back then, and that certainly hadn’t changed to his knowledge.

Regardless, Estinien did not yet entertain the flickers of concern he felt when that essence dared show signs of flaring out of control; they were small, fleeting, and quelled in seconds. Ancel seemed to carry himself quite well, though he did not appear to wield that inner vitality once during the course of their journey.

That was, until now. And that flicker of concern grew tall enough to shadow the whole of Sohm Ahl.

Not that Estinien disapproved the way Ancel had turned such a merciless blade upon the throats of hostile dragons—far from it, in fact. He might have commended the swordsman for being so thorough had he not considered the behaviour highly irregular.

Up until this point, Ancel had been fairly levelheaded, if not painfully terse. But now he was slaying the dragons of Sohm Ahl with an added layer of bile and vitriol. He treated them as though they were midges on a hot day, like pests more than adversaries, and spared no time recuperating between encounters despite his blatant exhaustion.

These were not actions born of passion, nor were they manifest hatred for the creatures. Ancel hadn’t suddenly improved or changed his strategies, this was different—this was instinctual. Angry then afraid, hunting and hurrying, over and over.

Ancel gored the next dragon, near mangled it, then paused. Considering his kill? Taking a breath? Nay, fighting something else, something that could not be seen, but felt, and felt keenly.

That second essence, another will; his own, but different. Stilted. Jagged. Anomalous.

Hungry. Draconic.

Ancel shook the crimson from his blade like water, pulled his blood-soaked mask away from his face, and inhaled softly before letting it snap back over his nose. Without waiting another moment, he continued to march forward into the narrow passage ahead.

Alphinaud and Ysayle followed suit, but as ever, went completely ignored. The boy’s periodic warnings against Ancel pushing himself too far fell again on deaf ears, and Ysayle, though silent, had begun to regard their comrade with the same disdainful glare as she had Estinien.

A madman and a murderer they saw—but the dragoon knew better.

“A moment,” Estinien chimed, noticing the way Ancel flinched at his voice before he finally stopped walking. The other two slowed to a halt in turn, casting a pair of puzzled glances over their shoulders.

“Is aught amiss?” Alphinaud asked.

“I require a word in confidence with our companion,” Estinien explained and looked to Ancel. “Now. And I am not asking.”

Alphinaud frowned, bewildered, lips parted in what looked to be intent to question him—but sensing the urgency in Estinien’s request, he instead responded with a dutiful nod. “Right. We’ll reconvene up ahead.”

Estinien returned with a permissive nod of his own. With that, Alphinaud exchanged a brief look with Ysayle and followed her past Ancel, who appeared stiff as a statue.

There they stood, silent even once their companions’ footfalls fell out of earshot—and then they were alone. 

Alone, together, for the first time in years.

The air hung thick and tense, but Estinien allowed no time to for either of them to absorb it. He stepped forward, closer, immediately earning Ancel’s attention as he turned around to face the dragoon directly.

Too wary. He needed to play his cards carefully.

“Far more indelicate than you used to be,” Estinien remarked, utterly bludgeoning the silence.

There was something restrained and distinctly off about Ancel’s subtle shift in posture. He made no attempt to straighten his back, to raise his chin, or even lower his weapons—behaviours the man was always so prone to upon being addressed in manners professional, even recently.

That duty-driven knight was no longer present.

“... Are you not in favour of such brutality,” the swordsman inquired flatly, as though it took him great focus to speak with even that amount of calm.

Rather than answer immediately, Estinien began a slow, careful path around Ancel until he effectively blocked the way forward. He noted the way his comrade continually turned to keep facing him, how he made sure to maintain a set distance between them whenever Estinien stepped too close.

“Struggle though you may to believe it,” Estinien spoke low, “there are manners of slaughter I do not condone.”

A light scoff could be heard, muffled underneath the mask Ancel wore. “You’ve not criticized me in an age. Are you no longer content with our unfamiliarity?" A bitter, almost nervous breath of laughter escaped him with a shake of his head. “Why now do you choose to admonish the way I bleed our foes? Am I truly such a blight upon your existence?”

Estinien paused for a moment, his chest rippling with the faintest quiver at such accusations. Yet, exacting his own measure of restraint, he calmly stepped away, reached behind his back, grasped his lance, and drew it slowly. He lifted it then, until its tip was aimed directly at Ancel’s chest.

“I am merely warning you.”

Though he couldn’t fully see Ancel’s expression, Estinien could feel the way the man’s blood recoiled and hissed. His posture was pulled more taut, his boots scraped the dirt, his shield rose somewhat, and he shook his head again as if administering a warning of his own.

“… And I am merely doing what is necessary, Estinien. Now—“ Ancel knocked his shield against the lance and went to step around him. “Move.”

But Estinien granted no quarter. The dragoon shifted to counter Ancel, shoving his lance into the shield and ultimately forcing him backwards.

And within that instant, like molten lava through splintered rock, that steel-clad resolve cracked and bled, and hot black outrage spilled forth in an overwhelming tide.

Ancel lunged at the dragoon. He made no sound, yet a shrill, dizzying screech like iron nails on glass shot through Estinien’s head, near-forcing him to flinch where he stood. What was once a vaguely threatening presence had suddenly blossomed into a foul manifestation, the likes of which he had never seen. The monster roiled before him, defiant, frantic, desirous of naught but murderous relief, victims with which to expend its volatile energy.

Yet behind that spitting rancour was coiling terror, like fingertips breaching a murky surface; a wordless plea for help.

Their weapons clashed, sparks flew, and before Estinien knew it, they were locked within a terrible dance. He blocked each blow, stood his ground, but knew time was slipping fast—that soon it would enmesh his former friend too deeply. Calling out was useless, he knew, but spilling blood would make it worse. 

He had to find an opening. Now. Now—

There. The shoulder.

In a flash, Estinien freed his right hand of his lance and grabbed Ancel’s right shoulder, effectively spanning his forearm over the taller man’s chest. Gathering every ounce of strength, he swung and shoved both himself and the swordsman into the cavern wall, pressing his entire upper body against him and keeping his back pinned to the rocks. Ancel’s sword clattered to the ground, his grip lost from the unexpected force.

The beast bellowed, and Ancel’s body reacted in kind. But Estinien was stronger.

“Unhand me!” Ancel shouted in panic, his now-free hand flying up and grasping desperately at Estinien’s throat—to choke and to push. The dragoon grunted and gasped, focusing entirely on securing his hold, and adjusting his own body for every crack Ancel’s struggling managed to chip.

Once he felt he had a moment, Estinien dropped his lance and lifted his hand to his helm, pulling it shakily from his head and casting it aside. He then reached for Ancel’s mask, and despite the manner in which the man protested and twisted his head away, Estinien managed to peel the bloodied leather down to his jaw. His goggles received the same treatment, now strapped in an awkward angle over his forehead.

“Ancel. Ancel,” Estinien wheezed, forcibly calm. “Look at me.”

The utterance of the name seemed to still the body, and for a mercy, Ancel relieved the pressure over his throat—but it wasn’t enough to quell that howling blood in his veins. Ancel decidedly did not listen, keeping his exposed face angled down and letting tousled bangs fall in the way.

Without thinking, Estinien slipped his hand over Ancel’s cheek and gently coaxed his head to face his own until their eyes could meet.

“Look,” he ordered again. “Breathe.”

“I—…”

“Abandon it and reach for me.”

He wasn’t certain what to expect when Ancel did return his gaze, but the discomforting shiver that coursed up his spine near loosened his hold. 

Pale eyes familiar, but tainted. That same glint of diffidence, that selfless determination of his, now worn and dulled and painted over with anguish and hatred. His pupils were vertically misshapen.

How did you let it go this far, Estinien wanted to ask. But now was not the time.

The insidious fog had begun to disperse, at the very least. Ancel was calming, regaining control; near gasping for breath by now. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes, but he shut them ere they could fall. He was trembling violently.

“Easy,” Estinien soothed. “You are yet your own.”

Ancel surrendered more shuddering breaths, but eventually nodded and leaned his head further into Estinien’s hand. The dragoon found himself automatically curling his fingers in reply, his thumb shifting over his cheek, and a strange warmth washed through him.

It wasn’t as though he hadn’t offered similar solace to others before—fellow dragoons on the cusp of losing themselves in like manner, particularly—but when spoken to Ancel, his words felt different, more personal somehow. They’d been close friends before, certainly, but they were strangers now. They both preferred that, did they not?

But to be so close, to speak so softly, to caress and comfort in utter sincerity, hearkened Estinien to decade-old memories unwanted and uncelebrated.

Namely, the last time he held Ancel’s face thus.

“Estinien, I...” Ancel managed, his voice shriveled and weak. “I apologize… this won’t... happen again...”

Estinien swallowed a lump in his throat, noticing then just how close his face had drawn to his companion’s. Slowly, carefully, he withdrew, watching Ancel through the corner of his eye just in case. Ancel didn’t move, apart from grasping his elbows and letting his head fall forward.

“We’re short on time,” Estinien murmured, kneeling to retrieve his helm. “But I must caution you further: the dragon within is no trifle.” 

“I know,” Ancel breathed.

“You don’t.” 

Somewhat surprised by his own interjection, and thankful that Ancel didn’t seem to react, Estinien exhaled and slipped his helm back over his head. “You fight its urge, but you are not controlling it,” he clarified. “If you’re to continue on this journey or any other, you must tighten the reins. Else...”

Estinien retrieved his lance and rose to his feet. Ancel was looking at him now, wearing a lost, exhausted expression he had not the time nor energy to decipher in full. The dragoon, in turn, regarded him with a grim look.

“... Else, you will force my hand—and it will not flinch.”

dragon stuff! dragon stuff! dragon stuff!!!! sour interpersonal relationship... dragon stuff!!!!!! thank you for the prompt @azure-dragonsinger​!!! happy to report he got deftly bullied here :3c (and finally.... a fic that takes place in MSQ..... thank u god) 

I got carried away (as usual) but this gave me a great excuse to write this scenario out ;w; (and thank u @lilbittymonster for the ‘dragoons losing control’ brainwyrms bows bows bows)

from touch prompts!

[kkkkkafka]

Swap AU Charlotte Emily

• Like the AU's name, roles were swapped. Which is mean Charlie now in Michael's place, and the same goes with their dads. But, there are something still the same

• Michael still bullied Evan, but this time accompanied by Charlie who was in Marionette mask too

• Elizabeth was still being killed by an animatronic, but she was killer by Toy Freddy, and not Circus Baby. SL now has the Toy animatronics instead, Funtime animatronics can be purchased in PS and appeared in FNAF 2 as antagonists

• The Toy animatronics were fused into an amalgation named "The Mangle" and scooped Charlie's body to escape just like Ennard. After Elizabeth got kicked out, they turned into "Molten Bonnie"

• Following the fact that only Withered Foxy and Marionette were the only one cannot be tricked by Freddy mask, and the theory Funtime animatronics represented the Aftons, Michael possessed Withered Foxy and then William turned him into Lolbit, just like in canon game having Henry captured The Puppet in Lefty. And Michael was the one giving life to the missing kids too

• And yes, William and Henry's roles were changed as well. The ones who made dangerous animatronics and springlock suits was Henry, and he ended up getting springlocked in the Fredbear suit

[modgirlyreposts-revamped]

Dark fact about every main character in the Christmas Kids AU

TW for child abuse, extreme violence and mentions of suicide.

William: Don’t know if I can say anything not inherent to him being William aside from the thing about him trying to steal a dead raccoon’s guts as a kid.

Michael: Attempted to, shall we say, follow his siblings’ footsteps around 1985. Survived, obviously, and this was part of when Michael finally began to lean on the people reaching out to him.

Amalie: Ok she’s a minor character but she never got to see her children’s bodies. She was told as little of what happened to them as the general public. Elizabeth was missing, and Cassidy died in an accident. That was all she ever knew her whole life.

Elizabeth: I have no intent to compare the siblings’ trauma, but Elizabeth being isolated from her brothers and abused by William fucked her up bad. She became a compulsive liar and people pleaser, and ended up with BPD. She tended to fawn over those she wanted to love her as a coping mechanism making her even more susceptible to her father’s abuse.

Cassidy: Most likely wouldn’t have lived very long even without the bite. William would’ve decided Cassidy wasn’t “fit” to live sooner or later.

Charlie: While Charlie was a sweet girl who took it upon herself to look out for those who couldn’t look out for themselves, she was never treated with that same kindness. The children who locked her out of the restaurant the day she died were her primary bullies, who she considered some of her best friends.

Susie: She saw her dog get run over. She threw his favorite toy out a bit too far when they were playing on a rainy night, and he chased it into the street. She followed William because she wanted to believe he was still there, and it wasn’t her fault. Her throat was slit, and her face mangled so if her corpse was found it couldn’t be recognized.

Jeremy: William set up a “puzzle game” for him and Gabriel, his best friend and basically his brother. Jeremy, excited by the game, ran straight into the trap. He was stabbed three times before having his throat slit and dying. His face was torn up similarly.

Gabriel: He was stabbed almost fifteen times before he finally died. The one blow he took after death was straight through his face.

Mitzi/Fritz: Her cause of death was similar to Cassidy, though a far less gruesome head trauma. William attempted to kill her the same as the others, but she refused to go down without a fight. She made a huge scene, pounding at the walls, kicking and punching William, and even managed to knock the knife out of his hand and run away. She didn’t get very far, though, before William, panicked and angry at her resistance, reached for her and got his hands around her pigtails. Her head was beaten against a wall until she passed out, at which point William stabbed her to “finish her off”, however the head trauma was actually what killed her.

Henry Emily: The darkest fact of all is that I somehow have not fleshed him out yet.

Jeremy Fitzgerald: Cassidy saw the Freddy masked bully in him, which is why his agony drove Toy Chica to bite him. Whether he’s the Freddy bully or unrelated I’m not sure, but I kind of like the parallel of him being the Freddy bully, I just also like the BC Jeremy so-

Scott Leskowitz (Phone Guy): It took him several hours to die in the Bonnie suit Cassidy stuffed him in. His death and the time it took knowing no one was going to help him was practically like being tortured, his body barely held together from dismemberment, and he’d begun to wonder if he’d ever die by the time it finally happened. He knew about the MCI, and realized as he was dying that he would be killed to keep it under wraps if that was what was needed. If calling him insane and gaslighting him over his schizophrenia saying he made it all up wasn’t enough because he was still alive and still knew, then this was how it was going to fucking end.

Caleb Martz: The vengeful spirits often target him for “rebirthing” Springtrap, making his life a living hell.

Vanessa: She acts as almost a mother figure to Gregory due to their own mother being neglectful and abandoning Gregory as a child. While she did lie to her therapist about her trauma, claiming her trauma matched Jesse’s, she still had a sucky childhood as she was neglected by her mother and learned to shrug off her trauma to cope. Furthermore, she was also taken advantage of by a partner in her teen years, and completely distances herself from it to the point of joking about it and insisting “no, it’s funny” so she doesn’t have to feel the pain.

Gregory: Has somniphobia and extreme fear of vulnerability. He tends to break down when he has to be emotionally vulnerable to others.

Jennifer: Her mother died shortly after her parents’ divorce. It was determined she had gotten drunk and died in a self inflicted car crash. Her dad conditioned her to believe this was her fault. She carries a ton of guilt over all these incidents and traumas that weren’t her fault.

Other random not-dark fact: Vanny and Vanessa are parallels to Caleb and Michael. Michael also serves as a similar figure to Gregory as Charlie did to the missing children, especially Cassidy. (Gregory is an obvious parallel to Cassidy lmao)

For everyone else I was like "oh my god, that's horrible" but for Vanessa I was like "hahaha, I do that :D"