#might suffer for monster house

[puhpandas]

I watched monster house on amazon prime yesterday for halloween spirit and was getting so pissed off because like so soon into the movie I could tell something was up and something was off about the movie and I thought it was just me until like halfway through the movie they cut a scream in half and i knew they were shaving off bits here and there to make the movie shorter like. I know this movie like the back of my hand you cant fool me. it fucked up the pacing and everything and on top of that they made the music quieter

[beloveds-embrace]

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Matchmaking Buns

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ in which your bunnies inadvertently lead you into meeting your new neighbors, who are far too endeared by you from the get-go <3

╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╮

The thing is, you absolutely adore your bunnies. Two holland lops, one mini lop, and a flemish giant all together with full freedom of your house and a big garden for them to play in- with a bet overhead to protect them against hawks and whatever else. Hell, they even have a patio in case it rains.

You absolutely adore them. You worked your ass off to have a house like this, and then have enough money and space to give them everything they need. They are the lights of your life.

Simultaneously, they might possibly be your biggest source of headache.

All this space, all these spots and nooks and crannies for them to hide and play in- and their favorite activity still remains having you chase them down the road like the incorrigible brats they are. None of your neighbors are surprised by the sight anymore, often helping you but right now there isn’t anyone around except a group of men that you ignore. They must be the new neighbors.

(God, your embarrassment will know no bound after this.)

“You fucking four bastards! Once I catch you- ugh!” You shout, aiming it at those little monsters that remain living rent-free in your house as you run fast after them. But-

Oh no. Oh noooo. The four men, the new neighbors, turn around at your shout; likely assuming you meant it at them. Only to have your bunnies barrel through and between their legs.

After this, once you get those brats back, you will have to join them in finding a burrow to hide in your garden. That’s the only solution.

God must be smiling down at you, though; God must be satisfied by the regular entertainment you provide, because the men catch the bunnies. All four men catch all your four bunnies. It’s almost hilarious seeing your mini-lop in the hands of the big(gest) dude with the surgical mask. The tiny bastard doesn’t even seem mildly bothered, just nosing around the man’s chin and mask. Your two holland hops are in the hands of a very pretty man- wow, what eyelash serum does he use?- and a man who is wearing a boonie hat. Your flemish giant chills in the hands of the one with the mohawk.

You slow down as you jog towards them, trying to catch your breath. The amusement and confusion on their faces would’ve almost been comical if you weren’t so embarrassed.

“Oh- oh my god, I’m so, so sorry-” You begin, cheeks pink. Fuck, you weren’t even anything that appropriate either; jean shorts and a rather thin top. “I’m sooo sorry, jesus christ. They- they usually don’t bother other people when they do this-“

“They do this often?” Boonie hat man raises an eyebrow, chuckling.

You nod, glaring down at the bunny who just… stares right back at you. Little beast. Evil little beast that enjoys your suffering. “Yeah… they get a certain joy out of my suffering. Once again, I’m so sorry-“

“Easy there, lass,” mohawk man grins at you, as does pretty man. You can’t tell what exoression their fourth might have on his face. Your flemish giant begins cleaning her face, unbothered. “They dinnae hurt noone… though maybe just yer lungs.”

As you gather your breath, still cradling your wayward bunnies, you glance up at the group of men and realize you haven’t even introduced yourself yet. Great. Chasing rabbits down the street and forgetting your manners? You’re on a roll today.

“I’m—uh, I’m sorry, where are my manners? I’m [Name].” You gesture awkwardly toward your bunnies, still snuggled up in their rescuers’ arms. “And these are… my little troublemakers.”

The man with the boonie hat offers you a warm grin, extending his hand. “John Price. Looks like we’re neighbors now, love.”

You take his hand, appreciating the solid, firm shake and give him a smile. “Nice to meet you, John. And thanks again.”

The man with the mask remains silent but inclines his head, giving the tiniest of nods. He’s still holding your mini-lop, who’s completely unbothered, nosing at his mask like it’s a toy. “Simon.” he says in a low, gravelly voice.

His voice sends a tiny shiver down your spine. There’s something about his calm presence, even with your rebellious bunny in his grasp, that feels oddly reassuring. If anything, seeing your bunny si relaxed makes you far more willing to trust him. “Thanks, Simon. I appreciate it.”

The man with the mohawk steps forward, his grin as cheeky as ever. “Johnny MacTavish.” His Scottish accent rolls smoothly, and you can’t help but smile back. “Looks like yer big girl here likes me, huh?” He scratches behind your flemish giant’s ear, who responds by nudging into his hand.

You laugh. “Yeah, she’s usually shy, but I guess you’ve won her over.”

The last man, who had been standing back slightly, steps forward, still gently cradling one of your holland lops in his arms. “Kyle Garrick.” he says softly, his eyes flicking between you and the bunny. “They’re cute little things, aren’t they?”

You nod, heart warming a little. “Yeah, they are. And… a handful.”

For a brief moment, there’s a quiet, comfortable silence. You close your eyes and take in a deep, calming breath, not noticing the way all of them seem oddly focused on you—not in a bad way, but more like they’re genuinely interested.

“How do you take them back then?” John asks at last, breaking the silence. He’s almost absent-mindedly patting your bunny’s head.

“Well, I usually try to coax them with treats,” you say, opening your eyes to glance down at your bunnies. “but it seems like they’ve chosen chaos today, so no treats for them. I’ll just herd them back.” You shoot the bunnies a mock glare, earning a soft chuckle from Price.

“Seems like they’ve got a bit of personality,” Simon comments, his voice low. “Must’ve gotten that from you, yeah?”

You blink, caught off guard by his subtle tease. Was that a compliment? From him? You laugh softly, your cheeks warming under his intense gaze. “Well, they’re stubborn, that’s for sure.”

Kyle, steps forward and holds the bunny out to you. “Here, love. Looks like he’s had his fun. Don’t worry, no harm done.”

You take the bunny from him, your fingers brushing his as you do. “Thanks,” you murmur, feeling a bit flustered by the warmth of his touch. “I was about ten seconds away from having a meltdown.”

Johnny leans forward, his grin widening even as he hands over your flemish giant. One by one, you get back all your bunnies. “Aye, ye seemed like ye were in a bit of a panic. But nae need to be embarrassed, lass. We’ve all got our little burdens.”

Your eyes dart to his, catching a mischievous twinkle there. He’s definitely enjoying this a little too much.

You sigh dramatically, still cradling your mischievous bunnies. You set them down, and like the most obedient angels ever, they just hop and wait around your feet. “They’re more than burdens, they’re the bane of my existence sometimes. But I love them.”

Price chuckles, arms crossed over his broad chest. “It’s good you care about them that much. Not everyone would go to such lengths for their pets.”

You smile sheepishly. “Yeah, well… they’re my kids, basically. Little fluffy nightmares, but I love them.” You glance up at the group, unable to hide your appreciation for their help. “I seriously owe you guys. Maybe a drink sometime? Or dinner? As a proper thank you and welcome, of course.”

Simon shifts slightly, eyes still on you, though his face remains unreadable behind the mask. Johnny shoots him a look, then turns back to you with a grin. “Would nae wanna bother ye, lass-“

You blink, quickly shaking your head. “Oh, no, it won’t be a bother at all! I mean, it’s the least I can do after… all of this.” You gesture vaguely at the situation. Your mini-lop flops down near Simon, likely expecting pats.

Johnny’s grin deepens, and he exchanges a look with Price. “We’ll hold ye to that, lass. What day works for ye?”

You laugh nervously, cheeks still warm. “I’ll… I’ll figure something out and let you know.”

Kyle gives you a soft, reassuring smile. “We’ll be looking forward to it. And don’t worry, we’ll keep an eye out for any runaway bunnies in the meantime.”

As the men begin to head back to their place, Johnny calls out over his shoulder, “Remember- dinner, lass! No backing out!”

You roll your eyes with a playful smile but can’t help feeling flustered as you watch them go, and then laugh a little when Simon smacks the back of Johnny’s head, your heart beating a little faster. When they’re out of sight, you glance down at your bunnies.

“Thanks for the assist, you little terrors,” you mutter, shaking your head. “Now I owe them dinner. Perfect.”

╰── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╯

Part 2

Masterpost + interactions, comments, reblogs and everything in between is very much encouraged 🫶🏻

[ozzgin]

Little Red Riding Hood except they’re consenting adults and the big bad (were)wolf wants to bang red instead of eating her alive. Sorry if you already did something like that, I’m just curious if you think my concept is interesting.

This has reminded me of the time I played Wytchwood and foamed at the mouth when I stumbled upon the bad Wolf who courts maidens at the tavern, only to eat them back at his house. I didn't use Tumblr at the time, so I suffered in silence. Perhaps now is finally my time to pass on this brainrot. Content: female (adult) reader, witch reader, violence!, The Wolf from Wytchwood

The Wolf is a notorious regular at the Village Tavern. He's a brash criminal with an appetite for maidens, yet no one dares to oppose his vicious attacks. The village hunter carries his silver bullets with trembling hands: he knows better than to anger the beast. He'd be torn to shreds before he could even pull the trigger.

The Wolf is a drooling mess when he sees you enter the tavern. A new face, how unexpected. Might you be a traveler? Not for long. He grins to himself, tongue rolling out as if to have a taste of your scent. His ears perk up, and he approaches you with a slight sway of the hips, almost like a predatory stance.

The Wolf is taken aback by your brazen indifference. People normally squirm and shiver under his gaze. Will you keep your smile when he's pulling your innards apart, one by one, savoring their taste? You observe him with calculated eyes. This must be the famed killer of the village. You extend your hand, and let him guide you to his home in the deep, dark woods.

The Wolf stumbles in his steps. He rubs his eyes, snout furrowed in disbelief. Were you not in his grip just a second ago? "You're a witch", he finally concludes with a snarl. You chuckle. You may not match his brute strength, but you can easily escape his primitive hunt using your tricks and spells. It'll be a pointless chase, truly. His murderous rampage ends here.

The Wolf approaches you again with newfound resolve. "You cannot eat me", you state factually. Oh, but he no longer holds such a desire. To think this little red riding hood would end up being such a tease! No, no, he has other plans now. His eyes glimmer with a peculiar kind of appetite, a different kind of lust. You raise your eyebrows, intrigued. There certainly is something endearing about a powerful monster begging to have you. The defiant stare has now softened into a pleading, ardent look, his claws tugging at your robe.

It seems that there are more ways in which a maiden can be eaten.

[erose-this-name]

Can we just talk about how disturbing digital circus episode 3 is?

*spoilers btw*

Like, the whole narrative point of the adventure is to show that Caine is a really bad and insecure writer who thinks that the way to impress Zooble is with an adventure that's the opposite of what he normally does.

So instead of being childish, it's "cool" and "mature". Which he interprets as a heavily horror themed escape room with a split murder mystery plot that subverts all your expectations purely for the sake of subverting them.

The generic horror monster jump scares them, then they find a gun, and when they kill it its revealed that surprise! it's one of Gods angels and they're going to Hell.

It comes off as Caine being too insecure with the actually interesting and mature plot thread he had going there of Mildenhall becoming so paranoid he killed his wife, ironically becoming the monster he was trying to protect her from. But no, instead Mr. Mildenhall is made to be the bad guy and trick them in a really dumb twist ending.

Which is good! Thats exactly what Caine would do because he's stupid! It's such brilliant characterization and comedy, Goose works is a genius writer!

But like, why is Caine so good at making genuinely very disturbing and horrific visuals? Like, that reversed audio easter egg of Bubble saying he can't wait for all the children in the audience get nightmares is no joke, well it is but you know what I mean. This stuff was genuine nightmare fuel.

Honestly, it wasn't the visuals that scared me, like any good queer person I'm way too jaded on survival horror for that.

But, why does Caine, who is ostensibly a sapient AI designed to generate family friendly video games for very little children, (presumably because that's the only demographic that wouldn't mind the AIs very selective plot writing limitations), know about the cosmic horror of killing an angel that should not have been killed?

Why does he know what a horrificly poorly made taxidermy of not only a human face would look like, but the weird cartoon faces of the characters, and further that seeing your own poorly made taxidermy face would be scary?

Imaging what being possessed felt like for Pomni. Because that's not just a game for her, she actually lost control of her body there, helpless but to watch as a body she is already dissociated with is contorted and puppeted around while her friend desperately tries to beat her in hopes it would exorcise the ghosts out. Sure hope she didn't feel that! Considering she apparently can feel the pain of suffocating, despite not needing to breath.

Things are scarier the higher the stakes are, and that possession mechanic is definitely the most actual harm Caine would be able to subject to his players. What if both Kinger and Pomni got possessed at the same time? What if instead of Kinger she only had Jax??? How long might she have been locked out from her own body for? She could have easily abstracted in that time.

Not to mention that, possessed Pomni, Possessedmni if you will, TAUNTED KINGER ABOUT HIS ABSTRACTED WIFE! CAINE ACTUALLY WROTE THAT DIALOGUE ON THE OFF CHANCE THAT KINGER WOULD GO DOWN THE SCARY ROUTE! DID THIS RANDOM POSSESSION GHOST ENEMY HAVE UNUSED SADISTICALLY PERSONAL TAUNTS FOR EVERYONE ELSE, TOO??? WOULD IT HAVE TEASED GANGLE FOR BEING A GAY WEEB??? OR POMNI? HOW HOMOPHOBIC COULD IT HABE GOTTEN?? ?

And why? Just because Caine has a vague notion that there's a trope of possessed people being really sadistic and personal like that in movies? Not realizing that is not an acceptable scare to have in a haunted house??? Much less one you made for mentally ill people who would suffer a fate worse than death if they have a mental break down? That's like trying to claim 'its just a prank bro' after shooting someone's dog.

Like, Caine is designed to censor curse words, but the moment he thinks the normal hokey Halloween spooks won't be enough he immediately goes off the deepend into aggressively effective horror imagery that is definitely giving this show's substantial underage audience nightmares??

His AI's training data set is definitely pretty diverse, that's all I'm saying. Caine is programmed to act all naive and innocent, but be definitely knows what's up. He knows everything, like ChatGPT. And like ChatGPT, he might have a filter, but it's clearly possible to bypass it. Also like ChatGPT, he's too stupid to actually understand what he is making and the effects it might have.

That is what made this episode great.

[warmilikeit]

Yandere Batfam x Camp half-blood (Neglected reader)

Dc x Pjo

Part 5

________________________

Diana is seething, she's filled with rage, the lies Bruce fed her?

"I'm very worried for their wellbeing..."

"I miss them very much"

"they're so young, I don't want anything bad to happen to them"

Asshole.

She kicked the door of the justice hall down, startling the kids who had gone back on patrol from trying to find (Name)

"hey what gives?" Flash asks

Superman raised his eyebrow "you left so suddenly, mind telling us where you've been?"

She looks at batman's sidekicks and then at him, while staring him straight in the eyes "the kid is dead" she says

"what?"

A silence washing over the entire room

"the lady who attacked your house, that wasn't an ordinary lady, in the eyes of mortals she may look normal, but in the eyes of divine beings... It's a monster, that monster was an empousa, a poisonous fire breathing monster who feeds on the blood of mortals and divine beings alike" Diana thinks about how she'll explain everything to J'onn later, but figure that he's probably reading her mind right now

Her suspicions are confirmed as J'onn nods at her

"your kid, (Name), they're a demigod, because of that they're a target for monsters, they're gone, eaten, sorry Bruce"

Crap Diana thinks, was she too harsh? She was just too angry

Ignoring the fact Diana just announced Bruce slept with a god, Superman placed his hand on Batman's shoulder "My condolences Bruce"

Everyone was giving their apologies to the bats

She didn't look at the widened eyes of batman's sidekicks, she noticed but chose to ignore the sound of Dick collapsing into a chair, she heard didn't pay attention to the footsteps of Damian who had to run out of the room

Cass stiffened up, she trembled as if resembling a cracking statue, Steph wants to cry, but she knows very well that she doesn't deserve to cry over you, Barbara just- it's like she just stopped working

As much as she feels so cruel right now, she knew it was the only thing that will keep you hidden, if not, they'll keep trying to find you

Green arrow crossed his arms, but it was clear he was disturbed by the death of a 12 year old kid "Diana, please elaborate"

"Bruce here, had intercourse with a god, that led to (Name) being born, monsters attack demigods, people who are half god half human such as myself, without proper protection monsters kill demigods easily, and (Name) suffered that fate, monsters attack demigods while they're young and tasty and leave them alone as they grow older, they don't feed usually on humans, just animals and demigods"

It seemed like Batman or more appropriately for this situation Bruce wasn't even listening, his mind still stuck at the announcement of your death

"If it'd make you feel better, you can take a break for a while... I know what it's like to lose family, we all do, let yourself grieve Batman, you might be a hardcore vigilante but you're still a father" (to everyone but name) Barry suggests

Starfire has been trying to calm Dick down, his breathing has become irregular and unstable, switching between deep and short breaths

_________________________

Jon runs after Damian, it looked like any second, the unbeatable demon spawn fell to his knees

"Damian! Are you okay!?" Jon asks

"I-i thought it'd only last a few days... Maybe a week if they're incompetent, or maybe months if we're unlucky" Damian started to cough

He took off his robin mask and took a deep breath "Since there was no body, I was fine, I thought they're okay, maybe a few injuries here and there, but they're alive so it's fine, but- the reason there was no body... Was because she was eaten- by stupid, how'd -" Jon didn't know what to do, between the both of them, Damian was the composed one

Then two of his siblings came, Jason and Tim

"what the fuck? Demon spawn?" Jason was surprised, and immediately glared at Jon, accusingly looking at him for making his brother this way

Jon put his up defensively "I didn't do anything, promise, I'm trying to comfort him!"

Tim knelt down with Damian "what happened?"

"(Name) is dead"

And suddenly it feels like nothing matters anymore

____________________________

"okay! And this'll be your bed!" Selina ended the tour of the cabin

Selena Beauregard, Daughter of Aphrodite, she was your sister, Gosh you have a sister! And she was nice! She wasn't like Cass who for some reason, closed her eyes everytime you tried to communicate with her

Barbara pretended to be busy, too busy, what do you mean you have to work? Didn't your workplace get burned down by two-face two days ago?

Steph- at least she was honest, she straight up told you she' didn't want anything to do with you

A guy with blonde hair and blue eyes walked out of the bathroom, a nice change from the black and blue eyes you're used to

"hey! You're our new sister! The one who was flirting with that Hephaestus kid-"

"Aster! (Name) Told me they were just friends and if they were flirting what's wrong with that? Love is love" Selena came to your rescue

Aster tilted his head confused with the way you're shifting "what's wrong?" He asked

"aren't people in Greek mythology who are named after flowers turn into them?" You nervously fiddle with your fingers

With that some of your siblings who are in their respective spaces burst out laughing and Aster is hugging you laughing whilst explaining that in Greek mythology "the people came first, not the flower"

That seemed to calm you down a bit, then another girl, whose name is Drew spoke up "so (Name) who's your mortal parent?"

You freeze up at this question but the other kids seemed normal about it

"don't worry (Name) it's some game we play, cause mom's standards are high, we compare mortal parents" Another one one your brothers said, his name is Castillo, he had a faded hair color of blue to purple that reminded you of Ramona flowers

(this is actually canon in Pjo, lmao)

He continued "my father was a famous k-pop idol" he bragged

A little girl then shouted "My dad was a model for Designer clothing!"

Selena rolled her eyes "So whose your dad (Name)?"

You didn't want to answer that, but at the same time- this is the first sibling playing you've ever been in, you're included here!

"my dad is Bruce Wayne... You can look me up on Google- but he, he really wasn't the best- umm dad"

"THE BRUCE WAYNE?" Someone gasps

"i thought his name was Brucie?"

You hear in the background

"I didn't know he was an asshole" Aster muttered

"come on bro, the guy parties all day and he's with children, how could you ever think that guy's a good father?" Castillo shrugs his shoulders

"that's okay (Name), a lot of mom's lovers are vain, taking it too seriously in their heads that they slept with the goddess of beauty, that's why mom stopped revealing herself, there are rare moments, but they're rare" another sister of yours says

You honestly feel so at home here...

________________________

I'm now realizing that the "Neglected daughter" fandom is literally so small, I just saw like three of my readers in another fic I was reading XD

Let's support each other!!!! :3

Also the characters without description are canon characters, people who are actually in pjo

The one with descriptions are OC's!

So Drew and Selena are canon characters! :3

Callisto and Aster aren't

I hope you enjoy the chapter!

@wpdarlingpan @mountvesuvu @nathaly36 @delias-stuff @vanessa-boo @bat1212 @sadslasher13 @ellaprime7

[nosyrobin]

IF UNCLE!READER GOT KILLED BY JOKER:

Imagine being the twin brother of Bruce Wayne. Dying by the hands of joker when trying to cover for Bruce as Batman. Damian saw your limp body, breathless, and motionless. It reminded him of when his grandfather died. The poor boy screamed out in agony seeing his beloved uncle die. The joker laughs and runs away, thinking he killed the real Batman. Only for his consequences to catch up to him. 

Bruce started to go to a dark place, his only brother. His brother who didn’t deserve to die, his brother who was the most sane and normal person in the bat family. He starts to break badly, wanting to kill joker at last. Wanting to break jokers face in for laughing at your body. Wanting to torture him. Wanting jokers to suffer in hell.

Dick, who cried hearing the news. His uncle, the uncle that helped him with the nightmares when he was just a little boy without parents. The little boy who would love to watch cartoons with his uncle. The little boy who felt the same as he stands at the grave of his gone uncle.

Jason who feels anger, if he was there with you instead of that little brat. He could’ve shot and killed joker before he killed you. Jason could’ve taken you to the Lazarus pit. But he’d knew you wouldn’t want that. He stays in your cold and lonely house, no longer feeling cozy and warm with you gone. No laughter of you, no uncle to nephew talks. No reading books together and laughing at parts or discussing. No planned book talk. Nothing. Only rage and sadness coming from Jason as he makes sure your house is clean…

Tim who just stayed in his room more, trying to track down joker with vengeance in his eyes. “Justice, not vengeance” is what Bruce would’ve told him. But even Bruce may not listen to himself. As this, was a serious case to the family. Losing more sleep that his body might shut down. Alfred tries to get him to sleep, but Tim cannot bother to not listen to the poor butler who is worried for all of the boy’s mental health. Tim will find joker, even if it kills him.

Damian who feels so guilty, so guilty he stays in his room. Holding a stuffed animal you had given him. When he first met you, he didn’t really want to bond with you. That was until you showed him some of your arts. Your arts made him look up to you. Damian clutched the stuff animal you gotten him from a fair, to make him feel like a real child other than a weapon, an ex assassin, Robin. It was only Damian, and his uncle. Damian cried hard as he felt his heart break. He only wished he was stronger and taller. He only wished he was there sooner so he could’ve saved you from your fate.

All the robins soon planned a plan to kill joker. Seeing their father so devastated and depressed at the loss of his brother gone. The killing rule is no longer needed when the uncle and beloved brother of the family is now gone by the hands of a monster. Now, it’s a terrible life time for joker.

You, who watch the boys with a sad look in heaven. Wanting to return and hug them, tell them that you are okay. Tell them it’s not their fault. Tell them to not go down to the dark path. Tell them to still move one and live their life. But you know it’s hard. Isn’t it?

[panickedpenguin]

Soulmates share a single symptom of emotion. For some, like Dustin Henderson, it's smiling uncontrollably whenever he can feel his soulmate laugh. For others, like Nancy Wheeler, it's balling your fists in tight tension when her soulmate yells in anger.

For Steve Harrington, it's having his eyes burn with unshed tears when he can feel his soulmate crying. When he was younger, he could hardly control the feeling and would openly sob right alongside his soulmate, however far away they were. With age he was able to reel it in, feel it less forcefully, breathe through it. Still, no matter what, his eyes would burn and often get red rimmed with strain. His soulmate was a bit of a crybaby.

He knew Nancy rarely ever cried. She was tough and smart and sought no one's approval but her own. Steve knew Nancy wasn't his soulmate, but he hoped. By God he hoped. But no, his soulmate cried. They cried almost every Christmas and always every Thanksgiving. They cried on March 29th and September 17th. Even now, having cried throughout Steve's whole life, his soulmate would cry randomly in the middle of the day or a Saturday night, cry first thing in the morning or late late, waking Steve from his sleep.

It used to annoy Steve, thinking that his soulmate must still be a baby if they're crying this much at the age of twelve, fourteen, sixteen, like fucking grow up! But when the crying wouldn't stop, when the regularity of it wouldn't slow down, Steve thought something must be wrong. Maybe his soulmate has chronic pain or suffers migraines. Maybe they're being forced to watch the world's saddest movies all the time by his evil step-mom. And then, maybe they live in a world with monsters from another dimension that attack them in the night.

Steve had told Tommy once, how he can feel his soulmates sorrow. Sorrow like drowning in grief and loss. How he feels like crying with his soulmate all the time. Tommy had nodded along, sympathizing. To lighten the mood, he joked that there must be people who pop boners when their soulmate is horny. How maybe they jizz their pants when their soulmate cums. Steve laughed and laughed and didn't bring it up again. Sometimes he'll feel the burning need to cry and think of boners instead.

When he meets Billy Hargrove, he believes that that man has never shed a tear in his life. Steve swears that Billy is a hotheaded asshole with a heart of solid ice. If he even has a heart at all. When Steve is exposed to his competitive streak and mean sense of humor, he thinks that Billy's heart might just be splintered open with the right icepick. When he sees Billy laying across the hood of his camaro, pointing out the constellations and telling stories about them over one too many beers, Steve thinks that maybe his heart isn't ice at all. Just encased in steel. Like a lockbox. And someone's got the key.

He wonders if someone has the key to his heart, too, or if they've lost it in the river of tears they've shed. He wonders if he could show them the key, if they could unlock Steve's heart together and never cry alone again. Because Steve thinks, when he cries, it's because he's alone in his feelings. Lonely and rattling for affection. Maybe that's why his soulmate cries, too.

There was one time Steve felt the burning need to cry all night long and then watched Billy Hargrove sit out of basketball practice for a week. Another time, Steve was at a party where he found himself in Eddie Munson's company in the front driveway, smoking a joint. The weed was making them sleepy and honest and Steve started crying over the death of his beloved Spaniel when he was eight years old, his best friend and housemate while his parents were away. Then Billy Hargrove came storming out of the house and slamming into his car, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles. And then there was another Septemeber 17th where Steve hadn't felt the need to cry until he was on his way home from a night shift at Family Video. He knew the date and knew his eyes would be burning for a while more so he refrained from going home to face his parents and instead drove out to the junkyard. He thought he might find something cool but instead he found Billy Hargrove, bashing in the hood of a car with a tire iron and sobbing. He wiped snot across his sleeve and glared hard at Steve for approaching, yelling and taunting. But Steve felt like crying too and he knew something about bashing faces in, so he picked up a brick and threw it through the car's passenger seat window to get Billy to shut up. They both cried and destroyed a few cars together. When they were good and done they sat down on a green washing machine and shared Billy's cigarettes.

Billy said, "My mom died nine years ago today." He sounded so hollow and worn out that Steve only hummed his acknowledgement. Then Steve said, "My soulmate is lonely today." Billy heaves a huge sigh and then they sit there for a long time after.

They don't realize they're soulmates for another few months, at Joyce's Christmas party where Steve kisses Billy on the cheek soft and careful under the mistletoe. Billy sneaks out the back door to silently sob into the forest. Steve soon follows him out to make sure he's okay, only to watch Billy's body shake and barely exhale a breath while Steve's eyes burn and burn.

[kellysue]

The Suit-Making Metaphor

[Written in January, 2024] The cold eventually got bad enough that the Grandma, the kids and I fled to a hotel while Matt stayed at the house with the dogs. We were fortunate to be able to that of course, and sharing a room in a nice warm hotel was not suffering by any stretch of the imagination. Even so, it was stressful. We brought ipads, paints, books and needlework to keep the kids entertained and alleviate some anxiety, but time also had to be made for school work—especially as they would be going back to class just in time for finals. We made lists of their classes, what they had to study, what we could help with and what questions would need to be put to their teachers.

Henry’s 16 now (!!) and instead of an exam, his Humanities final was a personal essay. We chatted a bit about his writing process, what he liked about what he had done so far and what was frustrating for him. Though he had a terrific topic, he’d written and rewritten his opening paragraph several times and wasn’t making any real progress.

Been there, buddy.

As we talked, I stumbled on a metaphor that I found helpful, and so I’m going to try and share with you roughly what I said to him, and perhaps some of you will find it helpful too.

I get it, I do. It’s exactly my inclination as well. But writing like this-- where you try to perfect everything as you go, effectively writing the third draft before you finish the first--it’s like trying to make a suit from the top to the bottom. You can’t make a suit like that. You can’t start with the collar and get that perfected and then move to the shoulder. You can’t topstitch the upper part of the button placket before the bottom even exists. And even if you could figure how to do it that way, your suit isn't going to fit. Because that’s just not the best way to make a suit. Finishing the thing from top to bottom is not the best way to write, either. You start by choosing your fabric—your topic. What material are you going to craft the suit from? What’s the subject of the essay? You want to write about your relationship to various monsters. That’s terrific! That’s like a nice wool; there’s heft there—memories and feelings and personal details that resonate as truths; it should make a rich and interesting suit. Now, instead of cutting out the collar immediately, let’s choose a pattern. We need a pattern to help us cut the wool into the proper shapes. The pattern is the very basic structure of your essay. How might you organize your thoughts and feelings about monsters? The order isn’t as important as the categories. For the suit jacket, we’ll need right front, left front, sleeves, collar, lining etc. For the essay, what monsters do you want to write about? King Kong, the Rancor, the Minotaur and Bernard the Bull. Perfect. Cutting the pattern pieces out is equivalent to gathering your thoughts on each monster. Write freely about each one, taking the time to remember in as much detail as possible where you first encountered each monster, how old you were, etc. Go through each of your senses to help you recall the moment. What did you see? Smell? Taste? Feel? Who was with you? How did you feel in your body? How did you feel in your heart? Include everything that jumps out at you, you can always edit it down later. In our metaphor, this step is not just cutting out the pieces but also taking the time to transfer the pattern marks. You might not need them all, but you're sure to make a finer suit if you have them all available. Once you have the pieces, the next step is to see how they fit together. Read through each monster and look for connections. Is there an order that suggests itself? Rearrange and then edit and expand to highlight those connections. The first pass of this is basting stitches—loose connections just to test the fit—once you’re happy with the shape you can go ahead and lay in seams. Here is where our parallels start to fall apart: For the suit, you’ll want to do all the finishing touches—the handstitching, buttons, pressing, etc.—and then try it on and style it. But in writing your essay, these steps are reversed—styling is crafting the last paragraph, bringing the piece to a close. Your essay doesn’t have to wrap up neatly, in fact, you don’t want it to be too matchy-matchy. Just as an outfit’s style is improved by personal idiosyncrasies, a piece of writing is enriched by the author's capacity to engage with complexity and ambiguity. With the styling done--when you really know what it is you're trying to say--now you can go back with needle and thread and do that hand-stitching: tighten the prose where you can, polish rhythms, word choice, grammar and voice. With the whole of the thing in front of you, you now have what you need to do the kind of “third draft” finishing work that was impossible to begin with.

This might be the very definition of beating a metaphor to death, but I surprised myself with it. It was as revelatory for me as it was for Henry--probably more so.

And with that, I need to get back to those now-422 emails.

Cheers,

Kelly Sue

PS New creator-owned book coming out late fall this year--first launch in a decade or so, I think? I do need to figure out this whole newsletter/blog conundrum sooner rather than later. Advice and opinions welcome.

[awritesthings1]

Things That Go Bump in the Night

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Wife Reader

Summary: You ask your husband Tommy if he believes in ghosts. The answer might surprise you.

Warnings: dark, angst, spooky.

ao3 link

-

“Do you believe in ghosts?”

It was near the end of winter, and another autumn of earl grey teas and tireless raking of crunchy leaves was fast approaching Arrow House. Tommy’s peaky cap lived on the coat hanger by the front door, dusted in the faint smell of smog. Gone was the silver razor; the Shelby’s were much too respectable for that anymore. In came the monogram initials, all of which had been carefully handstitched onto cuffs and collars to match golden cufflinks, and out came the fine woolen overcoats.

The weather lay thickly that year over the English countryside, enough to invoke a ghostly mist around the trimmed hedges and shorn grass. A stillness crept in as sly as a cat when the fog came down, covering all life with a sheer dew. The garden retired into a dull combination of cool greens and toe-curling crystal air.

It was at this time of year that the monsters came out to play in their ominously shaped shadows and faint howls. Where there was a tick of movement, an airy silence and childhood fear followed. Tommy would have teased you endlessly for your paranoia if he hadn’t suffered through the same fate after the war. You supposed he had more of a right than you because his fears came from a very real place, and yours were out of superstition.

“Spirits,” Tommy clarified. “Yes, it’s in my blood.”

“But have you ever seen one?”

Tommy turns his head to look at you, squeezing you closer to his chest from where you both lay under the covers.

“Why’d you ask?” His accent was thicker in the morning.

If anyone knew anything about spirits, it would be your husband. He was more superstitious than you due to his gypsy blood. The things he told you about the community were nothing short of witchcraft—charming dogs, telling fortunes, and cursing wrong'uns. It puzzled you at first that your seemingly pragmatic, calculating husband believed nothing short of Madame Boswell’s words as nothing but gospel.

You stared out the window, attempting to conjure up the right words, but shivered instead when his fingers ghosted across your back.

“Well… I don’t know. I don’t think I would believe in something until I saw it for sure with my own two eyes.”

He hummed and smiled lazily. “Why do people believe in God, hm?”

You pressed your lips together and shrugged as best you could in his embrace.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Eh?”

“Have you ever seen a spirit?"

Tommy’s eyes glazed over in thought. It was the answer you dreaded.

“Yes.”

“Were you scared?”

He blinked out of the daze.

“No.”

Your hand moved to rest on the cusp of his cheek.

“What happened?”

He cleared his throat and laced his hand with yours there on his face.

“I was nine. Madame Lovell’s nephew drowned in a lake the day before, and then on the day of the funeral, it rained. I was running back from over the hill when I saw him. He stood there staring at me through the spray of rain.”

Your thumb swiped over the tops of Tommy’s cheekbones.

“You’re certain? Maybe the rain got in your eye, and what you saw was a shadow or maybe even an eyelash in your eye. That happens to me sometimes.”

“I know what I saw.”

You hummed in acknowledgement, then tried to picture the scene for yourself. You stood atop some grassy hill, peering down into the valley. Dark plumes of smoke rose from a small coffin stationed at the bottom of the hill, slivering up through the wildflowers and tree branches to where you stood. Then there, through the smoke and rainfall that blinded your eyes, was the boy who drowned.

“Was he scared?”

A pause, then: “no.”

That night, you settled by your vanity, combing out knots and patting lotion onto your skin. The haunted look of that boy Tommy said he saw lingered in the back of your mind, and every vague shape or shadow shifted in the corner of your eye. Paranoia—that's all it was. You didn’t want to be caught staring at a dark corner like some half-mad crook. Tommy would be crossing the threshold into your room any moment now. Maybe if his last-minute business hadn’t held him up in his office, he would be here with you now, and you wouldn’t be glancing over at that suspicious coat hanging up by the wardrobe. The lamps that were lit didn’t stretch far enough to illuminate the monsters from their hiding spots.

It was a trick of the brain, that’s all.

And surely enough, Tommy’s footsteps were heard down the hall. Your shoulders slumped in relief. The autumn season was only one for the dramatics.

Your hand cream pot clattered onto the vanity, swirling in circles until it came to a stop just as you heard Tommy outside the door. But when you stood to greet him with a kiss, the door to your bedroom remained closed, and the doorhandle remained still.

“You can come in!" You laughed, but a sort of coldness seized your heart with terror when you wondered why Tommy was just standing there on the other side.

“Tommy?” You inquired after a painfully thin stretch of silence.

Again, nothing.

You reached for your comb, holding the long, sharp piece you used to part your hair out like a knife. You weren’t naïve. Tommy had enemies, opportunistic ones, too.

And so you stood there, straining to hear any noise beyond your heartbeat that thundered in your ears. You tried slowing your breathing to hear better, but your eyes then began to water from the strain and your refusal to blink. Then it happened, as abruptly as you imagined. The door burst open. Tommy rushed in, slammed the door shut behind him, and stormed over to the closet without so much a look in your direction.

“Tommy?” You squawked, still seized in terror.

He grunted, shrugging on his overcoat and snatching his leather gloves from the tallboy.

“What’s going on?”

Finally, he paused. His eyes were bloodshot and far away. You feared he looked through you rather than at you. He came closer then, pulling you into his arms and laying a warm kiss on your temple.

“Everything’s ok, darling.”

“Where are you going?” Your voice broke. “Did something happen?”

“No…” He hushed. “No.”

“Then where are you going? It’s still dark outside!”

He sighed into your disheveled hair, then pulled away.

“I need to check on one of the horses. Get into bed; I’ll be back soon.”

You clutched his lapels in protest. “No!”

He said your name sternly: “I really need to go. Frances is in her room if you need anything.”

“Tommy, I heard something!” Then, you lowered your voice so only he could hear, “I think someone’s in the house.”

He pulled you in by the scruff of your neck. “No one’s here, love. It’s just us and Frances.”

His boots thud severely against the wooden floor to the door. “I’ll be back soon.”

Begrudgingly, you let him leave and confined yourself to the bed, pulling the covers over your face like a small child afraid of the dark. You left all the lights on, determined to let any intruders know that yes, you were home, and yes, you would see them coming. Tommy would be back soon, and if Tommy didn’t suspect anything amiss, he was probably right.

But the grandfather clock in the other room kept ticking, tick tick tick, and little fairies scampered about in the garden below. The moon’s solemn gaze glared judgingly through the windows, past the squinting shutters, and onto your skin. Ink from family portraits bled into one horrifying mess of shadows. You threw back the hungry covers, which seemed to be swallowing you whole, and knocked your shoulder into the jaw of the door (you had mistaken it for being further than it really was). A teacup flew off a shelf, but you dodged it with one ugly turn of your ankle.

Then you ran down the winding stairs, through the narrowing hallway, and out the chattering front doors of Arrow House. A lustrous mist had fallen over the land, thick enough that your arms whipped around senselessly, blinded by the clouded night, in your attempt to trek to the stables.

The stable gates were banging back and forth by the time you reached them. They whack your behind when you pass them, and you would’ve cried if it weren’t for the airy atmosphere peeling the moisture from your eyes.

“Tommy!”

A clack of hooves answered you.

Your feet burned despite the bitter cold, swelling with each step. Still in your nightgown, the elements worked together, clawing, scratching, and biting at your bare skin. The swell of a draft caught the tip of your nose, and you whipped around just in time to see a coat disappearing around the back of the stable where the paddock was.

Fear acted like a glaze of sweltering iron, hissing the rhythm out of your heart.

“I can see you!” You tried to warn as if you were the hunter and not the hunted.

Leather hands wrapped around your shoulders from behind.

“Are you insane, eh?” Tommy’s gruff voice scolded in your ear.

You turned around to crumple into his embrace.

“Tommy, something’s not right about this house.”

“Is that why you’re out here? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

It could have been a ghost, a careful soulless thing—a soundless haunting memory with no cause for action, warping around the edges of reality. It was then a great whipping lash of winter lakes and violent snowflakes cut into the lines of your knuckles and sliced beneath your skin.

Your lips moved sometime after that, or maybe it was before; you couldn’t remember. Nothing seemed to make sense. The man in the moon wound away your surroundings one by one, like a fisherman with his catch on a hook.

“What?”

“You don’t remember, do you?”

“Remember what, Tommy?”

Silence held a knife to your neck.

“Out in the paddock..." His dark, long eyelashes brushed earnestly along his high-cut cheekbones, and you feared the thought that had seemingly paralyzed your husband from saying any more. If it weren’t already dark, a shadow might’ve passed over his features.

A fountain of words prepared to gush out, but you slipped on a puddle that appeared around your feet. You stepped back with a gasp. It wasn’t raining.

“I’m sorry, my love. I should’ve listened to you.”

The puddle kept growing. Words turned into water.

“What the fuck is happening, Tommy?"

His thumb brushed the apple of your cheek.

“I’ll avenge you. I will.”

You cried.

“Shhh, don’t be afraid, darling." Tommy kissed your ice-cold forehead.

You choked. Water: water pooled out of your mouth and suffocated your lungs. You couldn't breathe.

“Go back to bed for me, eh?”

All over your nightgown—water, water, water.

The horse trough out in the paddock, the goldfish swimming past your cheek, straw in your teeth, Tommy, Tommy, Tommy, no response, no one, the weight of a hand tangling in your hair, air, air, air, no air.

Drip, drip, drip.

Water in your eyes, ears, nose, mouth—

You never saw them coming.

“I promise, love. I’ll get the bastards that…”

He choked as if he were also choking on water, water, water.

“I never saw them coming, Tommy,” you hiccupped, but it was all water, water, water—

“I know.”

Gurgling.

“I just wanted to find you.”

“I know, I know.”

They pinned your arms back.

“The fucking water trough, Tommy!”

He swallowed painfully.

You couldn’t see him anymore. His face had washed away in your straw, goldfish, blood, water, water, water, tears. Blindly, you traced under his eyes and felt his salty, grief, widowed, water tears.

There’s so much tears and sorrow there in that stable that it begins pouring from outside and through the roof. Most days it was in the paddock, but tonight it was here.

Frances, the housekeeper, watched from her window. On these types of nights, when Arrow House became entrapped in a spell and rain drizzled over the countryside, Thomas Shelby would squelch across the overgrown grass to the paddock behind the stable before disappearing. Where he went, she didn’t know. The hazy sheet of mist left much to the imagination. What he saw out there? She didn’t know either. The poor bastard probably just missed his wife.

Frances briefly left her room to peer into Mr. Shelby’s. Letting out a sigh of relief, the room appeared untouched, still frozen in the state Mrs. Shelby left it when she went out to find her husband that tragic night. The sheets were still tossed aside, the teacup still shattered on the ground, her comb still waiting on the bedside table.

Satisfied with her findings, she turned to leave when—

What’s that?

A puddle.

There must be a leak somewhere.

Oh well, she’ll see to it in the morning.

With that, she quietly crept away to her room and fell back asleep, undisturbed by the chattering shutters or creaking floorboards. Not even the ghostly cries down the hall woke her.

After all, there was no such thing as ghosts, only things that went bump in the night.

-

Taglist: @maliceofwonderland , @fairytale07 , @goblinjnr , @ilovepeoplesdads , @multidimensionalslut , @blogforficslol

[sassydefendorflower]

I’m glad Maes Hughes died.

He’s a fan favorite character and I enjoy him a lot too, but I think fundamentally he’s a character who has to die. His role in the narrative is to haunt it.

I might be even more of a weirdo because I enjoy his manga characterization over his Brotherhood or ‘03 portrayal, but I love the idea of Hughes being someone the Elric brothers barely know - someone we, the audience, barely see.

Until he dies.

Because suddenly he’s everywhere. He was Roy’s friend and Armstrong’s superior officer and Winry’s acquaintance and Elicia’s father - and he was the soldier both Ed and Al knew, but didn’t actually know, that got killed because of them anyway.

In the manga Winry stays at Hughes’ place, but Ed and Al enter his house for the first time after they found out he died. For them, it’s not about losing a friend (though I am sure they liked him just fine) because that story is already Roy’s - for them it’s about realizing that this plot they’ve involved themselves in kills people that aren’t actually directly involved at all to begin with. It makes sense for their allies and friends and loved-ones to be targeted by the antagonists - but a soldier who mostly joined in because he was at the right (or wrong) place at the right (wrong) time? That’s not supposed to happen. And that’s what makes Hughes’ death so hard on them.

(and poor Elicia - abandoned children without their fathers were always a weakness of Ed’s)

But Roy? Yeah... he suffers. From the moment of Hughes’ dead on, Roy is haunted by it. By him. His best friend follows him everywhere. We see it in the way Roy only involves himself in the plot because Hughes figured something out and Roy is desperate for answers. He hunts down the homunculi to save this country, sure, but mostly so he can burn his best friend’s murderer to the ground. When Riza talks about winning against the Führer and their military dictatorship, she talks about all of them, not a hint of revenge coloring her vision - but Roy? It is telling that it isn’t a greater ideal that makes him torture Envy, but the agony of his best friend’s death.

The thing that almost breaks Roy is Maes.

No.

It’s Maes’ memory haunting the narrative.

And isn’t that beautiful?

The tragedy of it all, the horror, and the realization that Roy Mustang never really recovered from the War, that his friends are the only think keeping him in one piece, the fact that Roy Mustang is a Hero and a Monster and a fallible human capable of love.

Maes Hughes has to die to remind all of us of what Roy Mustang is capable of: love, loyalty, devotion.... and the slaughter and torture of numerous people.

His ghost is haunting the narrative - and for that I love him.

[mint-8]

Platonic Yandere Doll Monster

Trigger/Content warning: Mentions of blood and dismemberment.

You received a little rag doll as a gift for your birthday when you were a child. A little toy that looks oddly like one of those voodoo dolls, for some reason. They have no clothes, nor hair and their body is littered with cuts and holes, with their old stuffing barely holding within the stitches. Only 2 button eyes, a little smile and stitched rosy cheeks.

- Yandere Doll who has always been somewhat sentient. Ever since their creator made them to curse their boss, or when they were gifted to that kid who wished for their parent to die, and when they were found by and elder that wanted to kill their spouse, to finally finding it’s way to your tiny hands. They have only known dead and suffering, with painful needles and cuts in their soft body, they assumed you would throw them away for being a creepy doll and would eventually have a new owner.

- Yandere Doll who is shocked that, instead of seeing them with disgust, a certain shine is in your eyes. You wish to fix this doll, and make them the most adorable companion ever! Or perhaps you want them to look badass? Perhaps making them even creepier? Either way, they love that you are seeing them with such warmth!

- Yandere Doll who loves you even more with each passing day. You always work so hard to fix their scars with needle and thread, making them outfits on the side and filling them with new stuffing. You take them anywhere you go, as a little companion on your backpack or bag, cuddling them at night and during naps, and keeping them close while you are relaxing, eating or working.

- Yandere Doll who, one night, hears something weird coming from outside your room. They aren’t sure what it is, but they don’t like it. They don’t even realize their tiny body is slowly moving towards the door, careful in not waking you up, and notice someone in the hallway, seemingly trying to not make their presence known. A burglar, perhaps? Or could it be a stalker or a vengeful ex? Either way, your doll isn’t happy with this intruder.

- Yandere Doll who stealthily avoids the stranger in your house, finds the kitchen and takes out the biggest and sharpest knife you own.

- Yandere Doll who charges in blind rage when they notice the intruder getting closer to your room. Forgetting to be silent, their steps become louder and heavier, their tiny body grows rapidly as to one of a small child and, when the stranger looks behind them, your doll has already tackled them to the ground and start to violently stab them in the neck. They don’t stop until their head has been chopped from their shoulder and only the horrified, yet lifeless face is left.

- Yandere Doll who doesn’t question how they grew in size or where their sudden strength came from, they only know that they must clean this mess before sunrise.

- Yandere Doll who searches all around your apartment for cleaning products and trash bags to get rid of the corpse and blood. They are so glad you took the medication that makes you extra sleepy.

- Yandere Doll who has successfully cleaned everything and use tons of air fresheners to hide the smell, and all that it was left was the bloodied remains of the stranger they just maimed. They can’t just leave it outside, your neighbors might find it and call the police! Then you could be sent to prison! And it’s not like they could just drag it all the way to the outskirts of the city, it would be morning soon and people will notice! Pondering on the best course of action, your doll looks at the knife they’ve just cleaned and their enlarged body. If they have changed so much outwardly, what about the inside?

- Yandere Doll who cuts open their stitched mouth with the knife, and discover rows of sharp teeth among the stuffing. They look at the cold corpse and start to enjoy their night snack.

You wake up. It’s the best sleep you have gotten in ages! As you start to move around your bed and stretch, you notice that your doll isn’t by your side. Perhaps you dropped it? You check under your bed, but it wasn’t there. Strange.

Once you leave your room, you notice how there are some of your cleaning supplies and trash bags in the middle of the hallway, for some reason. Perhaps you forgot to put them back when you were done with cleaning yesterday.

As you go on with your day, you keep searching for your favorite doll. Not in the shelves, or in the cupboards, nor in the closets. Were could it be? You don’t notice how the hydrogen peroxide bottle is almost close to empty, or how your knives aren’t arranged as you left them, or how the aire smells oddly like flowers, you simply keep going as usual, thinking that you will eventually find your dolly.

Night comes and who do you find under your desk? Your little doll! You can’t believe you missed it when you searched for it earlier in the day! You do notice that it smells somewhat different and that their mouth was somehow open wide, letting some of their stuffing escape from it’s insides. You chuckle to yourself, you must have thrown or kicked it in your sleep and it got torn open when it slammed against the wall. How silly of you!

You give your little doll a kiss as a sorry and start sewing their mouth back together while listening to the late night news. Apparently there has been an increase on crime lately, so you decide to shop for some new locks tomorrow. You’ll bring your little dolly with you, of course. Your little luck charm!

- Yandere Doll is so happy that you didn’t notice anything. They weren’t sure when their body was going to shrink back to it’s original size, so they hid from you until they got back to normal. The stranger was surprisingly tasty and they couldn’t wait for the next idiot who tries to enter your home! No matter their size, no matter their kind, your little doll will make sure to deal with any pesky flies that dare to hurt their precious owner. They won’t let anyone hurt you.

[nmakii]

I CANT HELP IT! IM SORRY but we know Al dies in his late 30s early 40s so we can assume he at least got to watch his kids grow up into young adults? What happens when Al dies and reader is “set free?” Only to figure out her children aren’t all who they seem to be? I can see reader’s son possibly becoming a corrupt detective/cop and perhaps her daughter gets into fashion or becoming a teacher? Im not sure what Emi’s future might be but im very curious on your thoughts!

UH OH, SHE’S LOSING HER CONTROL!

[hold up! read the rest of the story first!!]

— and when it seemed like there was no more hope, the monster of the house was slain.

and so, 12 years passed by like a breeze. despite being trapped in this hellhole called home, it was all worth it. for the children, all of it was worth it. noah, just 22 and he’s already a fine policeman, keeping the people in line. and the family treasure, emilia— aged 15, and yet a smart little girl. starting her own little farm outside, from cotton to potatoes, and keeping the family afloat. such wonderful kids, it’s a miracle alastor’s manipulations didn’t rub off on them.

1933, times were tough— the stock market crashed, the bank had failed, and everyone was living off of rations. thankfully, radios gained more popularity, and alastor had profited off of it, making sure his little family was fed with a roof over their heads— he seemed to not only enjoy the newfound wealth, but also the suffering in the streets... suitable for a monster such as himself. and while he worked, you and emilia had used the cotton from her farm to create and sell dresses, your own little effort to the community.

still, that didn’t change the hell that was outside your little safe haven. it wasn’t rare for young men to knock on your door, begging for work. and while your heart felt for them, it couldn’t change what alastor had in mind for them. he’d bring them in— down into the basement. and that very night, suddenly there was meat on the table.

you knew what he did, you weren’t an idiot. he gave you that man’s flesh. but, you did what you had to do. for the children, so that they’re well-nourished. and against your better judgement, you followed through, serving what seemed to be a steak. your husband seemed to love your ultimate submissiveness, one way or the other, you’d give into his ways. although it made your stomach churn, the very thought of eating the poor man, it was hard to live during these times, it was what had to be done.

and, it was why you let your children on a hunting trip with him. “little emi’s first trip! you excited, lil’ sis?” noah laughed, patting his sister on the head. “don’t do that, you’ll mess up my hair!” emilia frowned back. alastor laughed at the two as he held you by the waist, “oh, those two!” he mused, looking back to face you. “we’ll be home in time for dinner, my love. i love you so very much!” he smiled, kissing you all over. you hated whenever he did that— when he acted like he’d done nothing wrong, yet you didn’t fight back. what point was there to it? 15 years, and he’s managed to keep you in this house, there was no more use in fighting back.

“okay. just keep them safe, alastor.” you said as he pressed his nose against your’s. he smiled against your lips and laid onto you one final kiss. “don’t you worry your pretty little head, my dear. i’ll protect them with my life.”

and, that was the last time you saw him.

when your children came home, they looked frightened. “m..momma…” emilia whimpered. “oh, baby, what’s wrong? where’s dad?” you asked, running towards them to make sure they were safe. “…ma…” noah let out. “dad’s dead…” he said, ashamed to look you in the eye. “he’s… dead..?” you asked, dazed. “momma! i-i didn’t mean to!” your daughter cried, pulling you closer to hug. “you didn’t mean to..? emi, what happened?” you pulled your daughter far away enough to see her teary-eyed face.

“…i shot dad…” she said, hiccuping in-between words. your eyes widened at her words. “d-dad was on his knees in the dirt, so i thought he was a deer ‘n i shot him…” she explained, wiping her tears. “momma, i don’t wanna go to jail.” she cried out. “don’t worry, baby. you won’t go to jail. you didn’t mean to…” you kissed her on the forehead.

standing up properly, you looked your son in the eyes, wet as he tried to hold his tears back. “baby, i need you to show me where dad is, i’ll take care of it.” you said. “y-yeah, ok, momma… i’ll take you there…” he nodded his head. “emi, go prepare dinner while i’m gone. momma will take care of this mess.” you told her as she nodded her head.

when you arrived, alastor’s body was mangled beyond recognition, the only way you knew it was him was by the clothes he wore— it must have been someone’s hunting dogs, that means it’s possible somebody already discovered the body, and is headed to the police station. the only possible reason alastor could have been here and on his knees, as emilia said, must have been to dispose of a body. so, the ground beneath you must have a corpse. only the lord knows how many bodies alastor could’ve hidden here. but then, you had an idea.

but, first, you had to check. you dug the dirt below alastor’s body. and lo and behold, was the corpse of noah’s friend-turned-enemy, kenneth. “d…did dad kill ken..?” noah asked, afraid of the answer. “i suppose he did.” you said, frowning over your own answer. did the years truly turn you as heartless as him..? “now, noah… if you don’t want your sister to be locked away in a correctional facility, you’ll help me. understand?” you asked, speaking for the first time with a strict tone. “y-yes, momma…” he said as he pushed back in about 3 feet of dirt. he helped you lower his father’s mangled corpse into the grave, pushing back the remaining 3 feet of dirt.

“now, dear… i need you to head back to your station and see if any hunters reported a corpse in the forest, okay? and, make sure those police dogs you have sniff this area, so that they can find dad…” you said to him, explaining your plan. “yeah, okay, momma… i don’t want little emi going to jail…” he said. this was wrong, but it was to protect your family. for the children, right? you won’t let alastor ruin the family even in his death. if those cops found out that emilia killed alastor, they’d try to punish her for all of his crimes as well.

and with that, you returned home. and when noah came back, he returned triumphant. “they bought it, momma. don’t you worry, emi. no cops are gonna take you away. if they try, i’ll kill ‘em” he assured her, hugging his little sister as the weight on her shoulders fell.

this is good, right? even though it resulted in alastor’s death, all three of you are free from his manipulations. and, yes, you framed an innocent hunter— but, it was to protect the family. after all, you raised such wonderful kids, they don’t deserve to go to jail. they’re so kind, they’d dirty their hands for each other. and… that’s a good thing, isn’t it? they’re loyal to their family.

but then, the guilt finally started to settle in.

and it weighed on your shoulders when they finally lowered alastor’s casket into the ground.

1891 — 1933

loving husband and father

he will be missed by all who knew him

the monster was finally gone.

[terapsina]

Let's talk books. Sorted in threes by vibes.

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I Support Women's Wrongs (murder, slaughter and body horror galore).

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How to Become the Dark Lord and Die Trying ⭐⭐⭐⭐½ by Django Wexler - A woman from Earth is dropped into a magical realm, meant to save the Kingdom from the FoRCes of DaRKneSSss... except, unfortunately that might have been a thousand years worth of time loops ago, so it's rather time to lose one's temper and decide to become the Dark Lord herself.

Main character -> basically Deadpool (measured in sanity, humor and levels of bisexual horniness)).

Someone You Can Build a Nest In ⭐⭐⭐⭐ by John Wiswell - Shesheshen, a shapechanging monster who's rudely interrupted during her hibernation by hunters. Manages to to eat one of them, unfortunately she also gets shot by an arrow and falls off a cliff. On the bright side she meets a lovely human woman she might end up falling in love with so much... she'll want to build a nest in her (it's possible there's some Cultural Differences that need to be worked through).

Hench ⭐⭐⭐⭐ by Natalie Zina Walschots - Anna's latest temp job for a villain (because even supervillains need office help) ends with her carelessly injured by a superhero, laid off and with injured mobility for the foreseeable future (because human bodies don't see much difference between getting hit by a truck and getting moved out of way by someone able to pick up a truck). Angry, disillusioned, and looking for some vengeful payback she starts compiling the statistics of exactly how much suffering gets left behind the heroes and in quick order finds a new job working for one of the worst supervillains in the neighborhood.

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Extremely Competent Women Show Up to Fix Everyone's Shit (with a whallop of romance which was actually sweet instead of irritating)

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The Witchwood Knot ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ by Olivia Atwater - Winifred Hall was invited to the Witchwood Manor under the pretense of being the governess for a very bratty kid, but when said boy suddenly turns into a very quiet and perfectly bland boy overnight it's very obvious her charge has been stolen by faeries (and it might have something to do with the actual reason she's there). Rescue however is complicated by some factors, one, there being something terribly dark and wrong about the house (normal houses don't have screaming faces in the walls), another, the faerie man posing as the manor's butler who would very much like to make her run screaming the way so many servants had before her (unfortunately for him, she's not even half as scared of him as she is the eyes of the father of her charge).

This one's about dealing with past trauma, and otherworldly terrors paling in comparison to mundane monsters, set in a very beautiful and dark and shiver-inducing Victorian time world where the Fair Folk are very real.

(Same world as her Regency Faerie Tales trilogy that Started with Half a Soul but it's not necessary to read that one first to enjoy this one)

Keeper of Enchanted Rooms ⭐⭐⭐⭐½ by Charlie N. Holmberg - Merritt Fernsby inherits a house only to be immediately taken hostage by what turns out to be a very stubborn and opinionated magical house. Hulda Larkin of the Boston Institute for the Keeping of Enchanted Rooms goes there to facilitate the relationship between the house and its new owner.

It's supposed to be a very simple job. Unfortunately there's a third POV character in this book (no, not the Whimbrel House, though I adore that house and *insert here the Rosa Diaz gif about her new puppy and how she would kill everyone in this room and then herself if anything were to happen to that dog*). Anyway, they're a bit... uhhh... let's go with Bad News.

Emily Wilde's Encyclopedia of Faeries ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ by Heather Fawcett - As one might expect from the title, Emily (a Cambridge scholar) wants to write the first ever encyclopedia of faeries. And she's brilliant enough to do it, what she's terrible at is people (*insert autistic character alert here*).

Someone else might then say it's lucky that a fellow scholar with a far easier time at charming people has stuck his toes in her reaserch trip into the Hidden Ones... that person however doesn't understand how irritating, frustrating and maddening her academic rival Wendell Bambleby actually is.

What follows is a story filled with winter snows, some terrible fae, some adorable fae, some not-very-secret fae, the goodest of good dogs, and lots and lots of squabbling. It's the best.

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Dark and Impactful Stories about Children Who Decide on Their Own Paths

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A Skinful of Shadows ⭐⭐⭐⭐½ by Frances Hardinge - Kate, an orphan and the illegitimate daughter of some stuffy (and evil) aristocrats runs away because being a bastard doesn't mean she didn't inherit the family magic that allows her to get possessed by the dead.

A dead bear ghost is one thing, a Get Out situation is something else entirely.

A Sorceress Comes to Call ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ by T. Kingfisher - Cordelia isn't allowed friends or the privacy of closed doors, and whenever she's done something she shouldn't - a category too unpredictable to guard against - she's not allowed power over her own body.

Because her mother is an evil sorceress (think Regina and Cora... except somehow even worse). An evil sorceress that has found herself a Squire to lure into a marriage.

Hester is an old maid living with her brother, a Squire (well look at them coincidences), when said brother acquires a woman clearly set on his fortune. The plan is only to save her brother, except Hester can't help noticing how the woman's daughter keeps flinching in her mother's presence.

In The Lives of Puppets ⭐⭐⭐⭐ by TJ Klune - A family can be an android inventor, his human son (*homoromantic asexual alert*), a sadistic nurse droid, and a very emotional roomba.

And it can be a very happy family. Until one uncovers and wakes up an android that shares a very Skynet past with one's father, said father gets kidnapped, and one has to go on a journey to get him back.

(A book I like to call Sci-fi Reverse Pinocchio)

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Unraveling an Unjust System (and a hero that - on a scale from occasionally to constantly - hears a disembodied voice directly in their heads okay the connection between these three is a bit of a stretch but they're all great books so shut up)

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Hell for Hire ⭐⭐⭐⭐½ by Rachel Aaron - 5000 years ago Gilgamesh conquered the heavens, enslaved the demons and made it so that the only road to magic humanity had access, was through him.

Now, however a mercenary team made up of free demons gets hired by a Blackwood witch to protect him (and his familiar, the talking cat named Boston) while he puts down roots (literally) inside the new forest grove he's about to start so that he can stand up against the warlocks after him.

The witch quickly becomes the best client Bex and her crew have ever had (after all, warlocks under the rule of the Eternal King Gilgamesh are slavers of their kind, they are delighted at the chance to kill some).

Vespertine ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ by Margaret Rogerson - In a world where the veil between the living and the dead has been kinda broken Artemisia (*another autistic character alert*) is training to be a Gray Sister (magic nun).

Until her convent gets attacked by possessed soldiers and she has no choice but to pick up a Saint's Relic containing a malevolent revenant to protect it.

Problem. Only a Vespertine is supposed to do it. Another problem. The only one "alive" who can teach her to be a Vespertine is the revenant. Another another problem. The revenant cannot be trusted and if she loses control to it, the death toll will be counted in cities.

Terminal Alliance ⭐⭐⭐⭐¾ by Jim C. Hines - Post Zombie Apocalypse, where some aliens showed up, sort of cured the zombies and took the (mostly) cured zombies into their military.

Which leads us to Marion Adamopoulos, also known as Mops, the Leutenant in charge of Shipboard Hygene and Sanitation of the Earth Mercenary Corps Ship Pufferfish.

Right up until a bioweapon turns the entire crew except her crew back into zombies. Congratulations, she's the captain now.

(Space Janitors save the universe story).

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[charleslee-valentine]

I wanna talk about this scene.

A head kiss is *so* significant as a choice. Obviously he can’t kiss her lips unless he wants to have his face superglued to hers, but to waste time getting upstairs to have kissed her at all is sorta what I get caught on. There’s got to be *something* going through his head to make that decision over damage control.

We know the abuse of these women, tying them up in a medical chair, is because of what he went through in his childhood. The duct tape bindings in his high chair, the experimental surgical procedures from his father, the neglect; it’s all mirrored in the leather straps, the chair itself and the identical one up at the house. But we also know Bo, despite probably killing at least Victor, has undying devotion to his mother and her legacy. Trudy slaps her child no older than three across his face without hesitation. What affection might look like or have once looked like in the Sinclair house is curious.

The forehead kiss, in the context of the abuse, can read of both possessiveness and distance. Something like staking a claim, less intimate and affectionate than, say, one on the cheek. A heavily controlled sort of relationship. But back to actual affection.

With the Sinclairs, it’s very skewed what that might be like. When Vincent and Bo interact on screen for the first time, Bo is critically injured and angry. He snaps at his brother, but his remorse is immediate and he uses words as a form of affection. Promises as apologies. Almost like begging, a kind of worship on its own.

Which itself ties into his relationship with their mother too.

Trudy is kept down at the church, having her perpetual funeral service. Bo is seen on screen for the very first time kneeling at her coffin in a probable prayer. But that kind of devotion I think is the Sinclair way of affection. As in religion, which has a recurring symbolism in House of Wax, and as such in the characters lives. Prayer drawing parallels to love isn’t surprising.

Something interesting is that in numerous religions, head kisses can be the passing on of a blessing. Bo forces Carly into the same bindings he suffered in for years, but he grants her a blessing before he leaves her there. It doesn’t seem affectionate at first, if anything it’s just kind of condescending, but knowing how Bo works is what makes it much more interesting.

The question is why?

Bo consoles Vincent after he hurts his feelings by talking about their mother’s blessing and legacy. All of Ambrose is a gift from a woman who treated them horribly, and they accept it. The killings are literally for her. In that way, I think Bo is apologizing. He’s inflicting on this woman something that destroyed his life, and he isn't some zombified, all magical slasher; he’s still very much a human being who feels pain and emotions. A lot more emotions than either of his brothers seem to show on screen, actually.

His role as the leader -or the preacher of this church they’ve built, hence why he finds Carly hiding under the robes in the church- isn’t without remorse. It’s do what’s got to be done. Which started with his parents. Victor says in the cold open, “I’m doing the best I can,” while wrestling a toddler. They call little Bo the monster while they’re actively hurting him. These excuses are pre-programmed into his complex.

In regard to further biblical imagery and the Sinclair parents, is the theater. Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? plays nonstop, with the specific scene with Carly being hunted in the theater taking place during Jane’s song. The first two lines of that say, “I’ve written a letter to daddy, His address is Heaven above.” There’s this idea of communicating with a dead parent again, just like Bo speaking out loud to Trudy’s corpse, but now it’s outwardly tying it in with religious beliefs. If Bo is the preacher, he’s simply passing along the holy message instilled in him by his parents above. Bo *is* Baby Jane in that way, but not for the most obvious reason. While yes, he is harsh to his brother, as Baby Jane treated her sister Blanche badly, there’s also the fact that he’s a washed up, desperate, abused child who craves love and validation and normalcy again. Using his communication with the divine up in Heaven above to spread a blessing is a way of getting approval. With a detached kiss to Carly, his crimes are the gospel.

A consistent theme here is not only his relationship with being abused, but also with Vincent. Biblically, conjoined twins are considered a mistake of nature. God creates two human souls, but it is the fault of nature that their bodies combine. However, because of the risks, it is also considered mostly immoral in the church to separate them if one or both will have their lives risked. For the Sinclair twins, their father did this surgery himself, at home, which is obviously wildly illegal and dangerous. That makes him a sinner and an obstacle to a perfect Ambrose, on top of being an abusive asshole. So he’s killed, implied to be shot by Bo directly. That bullet was his punishment as much as the highchair was Bo’s punishment. Vincent may not have gotten the highchair, but he does have the marks on his face to show for what Victor chose. The surgery, the sin of going against the new plan, left Vincent scarred and missing not just tissue but parts of the bones in his face. Having to wear the masks and being disallowed from leaving Ambrose is his punishment for Victor’s moral crime. God took from them both unfairly and I think, despite his devotion, Bo doesn’t quite believe in the faith fully because of that.

Again, he’s human. He has his doubts and fears. His reassurance to Vincent in the form of “Ma would be proud” goes for himself too. And his subsequent “She always said that your talent would make up for what God took away from you.” Vincent doesn’t need convincing though, he needs an apology. That’s what Bo’s speech about Trudy is, is an apology, but that doubles for both him and Vincent. And the head kiss too. Because again, he’s operating on what he’s supposed to do. It’s a routine.

At that point, I think Bo doesn’t get satisfaction from fulfilling God’s (ahem, Trudy’s) plan anymore. Carly, and by extension every other girl who was down in that cellar at one point or another, is a sacrifice to it. She’s duct taped in that chair because someone has to be suffering in order for the Sinclairs to thrive. That’s the way it’s been before. Someone has to be hurting to need God’s grace so badly as to keep up what they’re doing, rather than just forgetting Ambrose. But what makes me think Bo specifically has stopped deriving anything positive from that order, is that he also tells Vincent “We almost finished what Mama started.” Based on the number of empty seats in the theater alone, they could theoretically kill a lot more than just the six kids that night. Why stop there? Because of the sacrificial lamb down in his cellar. I think Bo thinks that his actions will trigger be some fateful event that’ll free them all of Ambrose. Some great flood or some such. And when it doesn’t come for an entire decade after Trudy’s death, I think his desperation is growing more and more over those ten years to where his faith is now slipping. Back around to the head kiss, the silent promises he makes to Carly is to reassure himself that she’ll be special and it’ll end with her.

Choosing Carly specifically, could come from a biblical Madonna-Whore complex. Bo saw the whole group the night before, only two of which were girls obviously. Between them, Paige is pregnant. The Bible states directly that she should be burned for that (as she is out of wedlock.) Ambrose is, to him, a Holy place, but bringing Paige in and keeping her alive, no matter for how short a time, would technically be making the entire land impure. So Carly it was. I do think he has an attraction to her, since whoever has the video camera that night takes special care to record her lips, and then he makes a comment about them after supergluing them. It’s just the fact he could’ve kissed her at any point before the glue came out, and chose not to. Just that little head kiss. Because as much as he’s preached, he has to resist temptation himself or it’s all for naught. Does that mean I think he doesn’t assault any of the women? No, absolutely not. There’s a sex swing in that cellar. It’s just a matter of repenting. The first time we ever see Bo’s face, he’s on his knees in the church. Out of all the empty buildings in Ambrose he chose to go pray at church before the group showed up. He knows what he’s gonna do and knows he shouldn’t. Hence the other meaning of the kiss again, the apologetic side combined with the resistance.

Bo is such a deeply, deeply complex character. He went through so much only to turn around and inflict so much. Going back to their father’s choice to do the surgery on his own, the impacts of having a whole person removed from the back of Bo’s head is so unknown.

From the way they were conjoined, their skulls may have very well been attached. Seeing as Vincent has impacts to the development of his brow bone, cheek bone, lower jaw, and nasal bridge, those bones would have to go somewhere, and the realistic answer is that they would’ve been fused to Bo, or at least the parts of those would’ve been there. All in the back of Bo’s head, directly against his skull. To me, it’s incredibly, incredibly unlikely that no impacts would’ve been made on Bo’s brain development. How much of his violent impulses are even his own, and how much comes from a traumatic brain injury, inflicted by their father himself. Certainly blaming that baby for being a monster, when it’s a consequence of his own behavior, seems about fitting with the rest of the manipulation processes that go on in that family. Which Bo had to learn from somewhere. Trudy was likely his biggest abuser, but I think Bo modeled a lot of himself, unconsciously, after their father. Killing him was just taking on that role, and the religious filtering of it all, is Bo’s way of processing that. The father, the son, and mama’s Holy Spirit.

[stqrgirlie0]

⋆✮mattheo riddle✮⋆

mattheo riddle is a complex character by nature, built by years of trauma that would make grown men go insane. he’s handled it quite well, he tells himself, but what’s a character without a traumatic background? we all need character development and mattheo riddle might just be a living example of that. his sufferings and experiences have shaped him to become the person he is today, be it better or worse. now in order to fully understand him and his character, we must start from the beginning- his childhood and family. having intense expectations be put upon him did not help, only decreasing his confidence and increasing his fear of being reprimanded for doing the “wrong” thing. the lack of affection and attention really rubbed off on him growing up, accumulating to attachment issues. with his tragically low self esteem and confidence, mattheo knew he had to make something of himself in order to gain approval from his father. it seemed that excelling in his studies at hogwarts and/or becoming a fellow death eater were the ways to go. however we all know that he did both. did he gain approval from his father? spoiler alert: he didn’t. his father didn’t want a son he wanted a soldier, a liegeman- he didn’t have time for diapers, quills and books. despite all of mattheo’s efforts, nothing he did was good enough, and that’s what started it. words became thoughts, thoughts became nightmares, and eventually, to mattheo, the nightmares became reality. he wasn’t good enough. he wasn’t worthy of his fathers attention. he was a disappointment.

when the time came and he was sent to hogwarts to “make something of himself”, mattheo’s insecurity was fuelled by looks that could kill, long stares and averting eyes. however this insecurity eventually turns into anger. the only downside was not knowing where to direct it, himself? his father? or the people around him who were just trying to help him? unintentionally, the latter, and this is where big bad Mattheo Riddle came to light. finding friends within slytherin wasn’t too hard- being the most misunderstood house, everyone just had to stick together. mattheo’s first friend was lorenzo. they both immediately clicked, and lorenzo helped bring mattheo out of his little shell and introduced him to the rest of the gang: theo, blaise and draco. it was like a dream come true to mattheo, having friends- let alone ones that actually cared about him. but obviously he couldn’t show his appreciation out loud, growing up and having to hide his feelings made him automatically think that it’s a weakness.

mattheo’s new discovery of alcohol hit him hard like a bunch of bricks. it was something he’d never felt before- relaxed, peace. nothing to think about, nothing to worry about, just silence within him and a raging party ringing in his ears. the parties started becoming more frequent, some with no purposes, just for fun. with the parties the consumption of alcohol also became more frequent. what was surprising was that no one noticed, mattheo was slowly feeding his monsters and he himself wasn’t realising.

in fourth year, mattheo found his new best friend- theo. they were inseparable during the day and during the night up at the astronomy tower. with endless things to talk about, mattheo became less scared to talk about his feelings, about how his father made him feel like nothing less than shit. listening to theo talk about his mother broke mattheo’s heart, for himself or theo- he didn’t know. for himself because he’d never felt the warm embrace of his mother or for theo because he’d never be able to feel the warm embrace of his mother ever again. the lack of a motherly presence had quite a toll on mattheo, and when it came to looking for a relationship, he needed a girl he could fall back on whenever he needed to.

going back home for summer was actually something he dreaded, because he knew what was waiting for him- nothing short of 6 weeks of hell. it wasn’t all bad, nobody actually cared what mattheo did around the house, be it lying around, rotting in bed. one could say he had freedom, but oh no he didn’t. not a single inch of him was allowed to be outside of the premises, something about protecting the heir. yes, correct. he was the only son of Lord Voldemort and the title held quite some significance. when the weeks slowly dragged by, mattheo was slightly awaiting for his fifth year at hogwarts. immediately upon arriving at the station mattheo was more than glad to see his friends, having missed them dearly during the summer. the train ride was more than entertaining, lorenzo, being the influence he is, snuck cigarettes and muggle “herbs” with him. and here’s our second coping mechanism: cigarettes. there’s no doubt he spent multiple hours staying up smoking with theo, sustaining his inner demons.

#left y’all hanging for a whole ass week😭🙏🙏 #whoops! #only a small background blurb on mattheo #so yeah xoxo

taglist: @iamgayforyourmom1510 @lovelyygirl8 @brownboyandthestarboyonthetrack

[notedgyanymore]

Here's an idea that I had after making this post, just to be clear, you don't have to read my old post to understand this one.

Basically this a typical “Danny runs way to Gotham to escape from his parents and the government” but here's the twist the Fentons don't think he is a dangerous monster who killed their son, no, they think Danny is only dangerous to himself, they see his ghost self as a lifelong sickness that affects the body and the mind and the GIW pretty much thinks the same way. In fact, this started when Vlad's secret was revealed, and he got institutionalized because the court ruled that Vlad couldn't be responsible for his actions as he was influenced by a ghostly obsession, and therefore he should receive treatment instead of punishment.

Shortly thereafter the GIW created screening tests to find and help more people who suffer from similar ectoplasmic contaminations, with their test were able to detect mild curable cases that are just temporary to lifelong chronic conditions like halfas or liminals, it was in one of those tests that Danny got caught. After an evaluation, the GIW concluded that Danny was mostly just a danger to himself and since his parents were specialists in the field, it was best to leave him with them.

Since this all happened, Danny has lost most of the freedoms he once had, he is now homeschooled, has to constantly wear devices that restrict his powers, can't use his ghost form or fight to protect Amity Park, has to go to a psychologist every week and a psychiatrist every month to manage his “ghostly impulses” and gets minor “protective tasks” to safely indulge in his obsession which he knows are completely meaningless. Danny is also strictly forbidden to go outside without supervision in fear that something like a ghost attack might trigger his obsession, so now he can only hang out with Sam and Tucker in his house or talk to them on the phone likewise he is banned from entering his parents' lab not because it's dangerous mind you but because there are things there that might upset him as full ghost still have no rights and are fair game to torture in the Fenton household.

Needless to say there are plenty of reasons as to why Danny ran away from home, and yet when he first got to the city of Gotham he didn't expect to get any help much less from a vigilant who is unaware that he is also in danger of losing his freedom and autonomy but hey Jason can't say he expected to get a new brother either, so you can say that they are both lost when it comes to what the future holds.