#no I will not practice fucked up gore art even though I would like to get better at it and want to make cool stuff I cannot Im usn't

[kakyogay]

ah yes time to come up with a totally cool srs drawing idea THAT DOESN'T INVOLVE THEIR HORRIBLE COPING MECHANISM that is really cool and really awesome and DOEN'T EVEN INCLUDE ANYTHING ABOUT THEIR FUCKED UP PAST THAT I REFUSE TO SHARE that will be cute and fluffy and NOT BE AFTER SOME FUCKED UP SHIT oh boy that would be so cool and awesome and cool and awesome and cool and awesome

...

...

I got nothing...

[multi-fandomsfreak]

Okay now xenophanes and his litte darling toy reader is actually a Cannibal like him. But not showing it, after all, reader is playing the innocent role but xenophanes will probably notice it so reader is acting a little smart, let's say. I actually had a few questions, but let's say I found the answers now. I will just move directly to the point again, whatever I said. One night reader had successfully left the house but xenophanes of course notices it immediately so he prefers to follow instead of catching her and finds reader in the middle of the forest, doing nam nam to the human yk the rest.. Xenophanes was confused when reader turned back to her normal form xeno catch her and go back to their house what will xenophanes do or his obsessive behave will high up even more or not?

Also Xenophanes is doing his usual things, torture, gore but he cannot lose his only toy, so he heals back of course. For example, when there is torture, he says things like '𝔂𝚘ᴜ are only mine, they can't even come near you 1 millimeter.' or 'you can't run litte one' or 'my,my,what do we have here' etc.

I wanna it to be like platonic but like enemys to lovers and smut (a litte not much) at the sametime but I don't know I have a lot on my mind, but it might seem foolish, maybe I don't know, so I leave the rest to you, if you don't like it, I can do something else, no problem,

You know it already, also reader looks like This character when she turns her exe form)

It would be more sensible to take inspiration from her because I currently have no other character in mind.

Xenophane With A Demon!Reader

Hey there! Thanks for the ask!

Homestly, I think I may of had a bit too much fun writing this lol. Not sure what came over me writing this. Also, I hope this is alright. I tried my best to include a bit of everything so sorry if it ain’t the best. Regardless I hope you like it. ~Blaze/Dawn

Pronouns: Not Mentioned

Warning: ⚠️Cannibalism + Torture/Harm Done To Reader + Kind Of Suggestive? + Mentions Of Murder and Corpses⚠️

Requested: Yes/No

Characters: Xenophanes

Proofread: ❌

Credits: Art by Zerophao on Deviantart + Banner by itzmelonii (Edited By Me) on Pinterest

———————————

- It’s been awhile since you’ve been a victim of Xeno and to say he likes you is an underestimate. One day everything was normal and boom you were blessed with his presence. That’s how it is and always will be. Everyday honestly felt like a long day for you with him starting to slowly become more and more every time you're still here with him. He just can’t help but love your reactions when he comes to visit you. Your body writhing in pain when he digs his nails deep in your skin causing blood to draw from the wounds seeing tears form in your eyes while he licks your blood off of his gloves keeping your body close towards him wanting to make you feel like you could rely on him even though you experience nothing but pain from him. If it gets you to stay with him then he will do it. Harming you only to heal you straight after just to torture you gets him off in a sadistic way.

- He finds you very interesting even before he figures out your true self. He can’t really explain, he just does. Due to his little obsession over you, you practically can’t have any time to yourself. Every second you're not asleep assuming he lets you if he’s not torturing you he needs to have you by his side. Wherever you are he’s next to you the same goes the other way round. It doesn’t matter if the situation you two are in is dangerous he needs to be with you in order you don’t escape. If you just so happen to get hurt he can easily heal you again. It’s as simple as that.

- It’s pretty rare that you have been able to get away from him. After a few steps outside assuming you didn’t get caught trying to get out you still get caught after a bit by him. He honestly doesn’t understand why you want to escape him. Isn’t he not perfect for you? Like sure he has gotten you fucked up before but that’s just how he shows how much he loves you. What else do you need to be shown to prove he’s right for you? Just tell him and he’ll do it. Unless it’s for him to let you go then he’s not doing that.

- However, there was a bit when you did manage to escape him for a bit and it kind of pissed him off once he figured you were off and that he let you get away. What he didn’t know was your little ‘adventure’ you had while you had some time to yourself. You found yourself getting more and more hungrier the longer you were out. This was mostly because you were some sort of demon/entity yourself and had to feast upon humans for sustenance. At first you didn’t want to do it but to be honest you couldn’t hold it back any longer so you ended up feasting upon a dead corpse to satisfy yourself.

- Leading up to discovering your little secret he was pretty much feeling a mix of emotions. A combination of pissed, dread and really impatient. Did he really let you get away for good? This thought was continuing in his mind as he desperately tried to find you until he managed to find some sort of figure which had the same figure as you. Then the previous emotions were replaced with excited, in a twisted way excited to finally finding you. That’s his face shifted into confusion. He saw you lumping over what seemed like a dead body, maybe a recent victim he had killed but he couldn’t understand why you would be near a corpse. You don’t have any reason to. But when he started to get closer towards you planning on catching you off guard but then once he gave himself a moment to process what was noticing something different about you. You looked completely different to what you usually do.

- Then when he got even closer he noticed you feasting upon the corpse. Then I guess when it started to click for Xeno. Were you a demon like him? It looked like it so with a smirk on his face he went up to you unaware of his presence before placing a hand on your shoulder catching you off guard before saying “well hello again little devil” he said his voice was very sultry yet you can clearly hear the evil intentions he was planning on doing to you after being separated from you for however many days.

- I’d like to think his opinion of you wouldn’t change once he had discovered that you were a demon. You still belonged to him, nothing has changed about that. However, I feel like he would try to encourage for you to let your inner demon (sorry if that sounded cringe lol couldn’t rephrase it any other way) but not in the way of ‘I want you to be more open about yourself’ but more of a way to torture you more. Probably using ways to try to coax it out despite you trying to make sure it doesn’t. He’ll try to use your need to feast on bodies to his advantage. Knowing that your hunger can change depending on how bad your day has been.

- “Aw come on [Name], I know you want this” he says as he flaunts an arm that once belonged to someone “you can’t handle the sensation any longer. It would be best if you just give into the urges.” He says dragging a claw towards your chin making you look at him. These are the types of things he might say to you. Teasing you about your needs, flaunting parts of bodies in front of you. Doing this until he forces you to give in. Once you do he praises you while also teasing you for giving into your urges. I swear you can’t win with this man.

- I also feel that since he discovered that you're a demon he’d like to test your limits when it comes to certain things. Knowing that what he did before was possibly child’s play for you makes him admittingly very excited to see. As I said in the first point this type of shit gets him off. The tougher he is towards you the more turned on he gets. He gets some sort of euphoria off of it. The sight of your groan in pain makes him more and more determined to see you like that.

- Overall, regardless if you were a demon or not he is still the sadistic hedgehog you know him to how craves nothing but having you by his side despite the things he makes you go through just to prove that you are his.

———————————

[zenythycal]

YOU KNOW WHAT FUCK YOU IM RANTING ABOUT THE THING 2011

Okay I don't mean to be such a fucking hater, BUT I DID GIVE THE MOVIE A CHANCE. I had low hopes after hearing that there was practical effects originally! Just like the original film. And yes! I can agree that the original The Thing's practical effects aren't perfect but holy shit covering, CAKING EVEN, a movie in CGI is always a bad sign. And it was because the director thought the practical effects would "age poorly"

Brother what is this...he looks like hes made of cake.

This was at least fine, the faces SPECIFICALLY though. The body was incredibly jarring and uncanny to look at and not in a good way. Not in the same way the original made their body horror uncanny

I couldn't find a lot of gifs but these are some good standout! EVEN THE TITLE SCREEN IS PRACTICAL EFFECTS! THEY USED A TRASH BAG!

I REMEMBER BEING AMAZED THAT THIS THING WAS NOT CGI.

THESE AREN'T JUST HORROR MOVIE MONSTERS...THEY ARE BEAUTIFUL AND INTRICATE WORKS OF ART!!! I HIGHLY RECOMMEND LOOKING UP HOW SOME OF THESE WERE DONE (my favorite is how they did the mouth stomach scene!!!)

And CGI isn't completely bad but if it's the only thing, it'll age poorly. It's great for stunts that are too dangerous or difficult. It's also great for touching up practical effects! Not enough people realize actual gore or body horror is SUPPOSED to look a bit uncanny and off. That's how the human brain works! And besides I'd rather take a monster that looks interesting over a monster that looks realistic.

[dio-the-thot-exterminator]

Can I have a list of some of your favorite obscure horror movies so I can watch them at some point?

Of course! hehe not sure how obscure these films actually are, but I like them, and people don’t talk about them enough 😞

Housebound (2014) [so fun, so silly!]

Die Säge des Todes (1981)

Ticks (1993) [YEEEAH buggies]

Starry Eyes (2014) [god tier blood, grime, and UNEASE]

The Suckling (1990) [yummy creature design]

Broken (2006)

The Initiation of Sarah (1978)

The Beast Within (1982)

Terror Train (1980) [i like miss jamie <3]

The Premonition (1976)

The Unborn (1991)

Squirm (1976) [more bugs! cute lil worms]

Don't Go In The House (1979)

Satan’s Little Helper (2004)

Prophecy (1979)

We Are What We Are (2013)

Don’t Go Into The Woods (1981)

Graduation Day (1981)

The Incredible Melting Man (1977)

Jason X (2001) [This movie is solid! Everyone’s such a hater 😡]

—

Oh! Then I have some films that are more popular.

The Brood (1979)

Tokyo Gore Police (2008) [mouth watering practical effects!!!]

A Reflection Of Fear (1973)

Trouble Every Day (2001) [This actress man, just WOW]

Repulsion (1965)

Pieces (1982)

Triangle (2009)

—

Now I wouldn't call these obscure but i like them so much, and any chance I get, I will tell people to watch them 🥺🥺

Possession (1981) [One of my favourite movies of all time! The story, the acting, the effects UGH. Gagged me for sure.]

Dead Alive/Braindead (1992) [Honestly up there with Possession. So good but in a completely different way. It’s high camp, high gore, and it felt like i was high while watching it]

Lake Mungo (2008) [A movie that actually scared me while i was watching it, and stuck with me for a good week. Triggered my fight or flight like no other. rawr]

No One Lives (2012) [This would run all the time when I had cable. And I'd sit and watch it every time this came on. There are...certain scenes that are just burned into my mind]

The Cell (2000) [I don’t even know what to say. The visuals in this movie are just SO GOOD. I want to tongue kiss the entire art direction team. The costumes, the cinematography, it’s so creative and so lovely]

—

I have to give a mini shout out to Lucio Fulci, he is my favourite director. Period. If you’re interested in his movies [some focus on zombie, slasher, Giallo] his Gates of Hell Trilogy is always a good start!

—

Ah alright now onto production companies [yay? Woohoooo??]

Troma. Fucking Troma, a lot of the movies they make are gross, stupid and cheap. So if you want something that’s absurd but still strangely entertaining. I’d recommend looking through their catalog of movies, picking a random one and seeing what happens.

Full Moon Features <3 If you want some film series, I’d recommend Puppet Master and Subspecies! [I’ve seen every Subspecies]. Full Moon has a lot of killer doll and toy films. But they do branch out. Castle Freak kinda wild though.

—

Ok i'm done now.

If you have any movie recs for me, send them my way :D

[silverspleen]

Watched Midnight Meat Train! I liked it overall.

SPOILER THOUGHTS

Liked the practical gore (BLOOD BLOOD BLOOD!), ambivalent towards the super cheesy CGI splatter nonsense, it was bad but also.... it was a little fun. It was a little fun to see those eyeballs go everywhere.

Like the alteration to make the protagonist a photographer and give him a girlfriend, it helped pad out the short story in a way that had me pleasantly engaged, this may be entirely because I like when disheveled scruffy white men go crazy in movies. Need a girlfriend to be there like "babe what's wrong you're being consumed by your weird obsession with this guy, babe pls :(" I'm down with the way that Mahogany had a sixth sense and especially liked how it tied him to Leon. They were vibing in nemeses together.

Deeply disappointed to have no giant lovecraftian horror at the end. I don't think I liked the ending all that much? The conductor was ok, but it's more enjoyable to have whatever the fuck was in the short story. And that little film fight setpiece area was so cool! All nasty and bone covered, you should have just slapped a shadowed horror in there to deliver your expository dialogue about

I feel like you lose something having movie!Leon completely consumed by the Butcher role, it's more fun in the short story where like, the City Fathers are this huge revelation about him understanding the city and finding super fucked up meaning in his life. They set this up at the beginning of the film! It's all about movie!Leon's desire to understand the city and see it and he does by the end! But it cost him everything! But like, idk it's a little goofy to see him wear the suit and do the thing with his hair, especially when you know he's not like, all gone personality wise because of the photo. Idk too much emphasis on him losing his girlfriend (even though I liked her, sorry Maya) by the end, not enough mind-being-blown-by-the-ramifications, especially since the film sort of sets it up like he's being like, supernaturally chosen by the city to do this duty. The little speech went on for a tiny bit too long and the heart thing made me LAUGH and we didn't even get to see him eat it or anything, should have been like a minute longer to lose himself and he should have eaten that heart. ....This isn't weird I'm not being weird about it. <^< I think he should have killed her. It's about being consumed by the thing, you know, becoming a part of the system. He should have been pushed to do that himself would have been more gut wrenching. This is why I like the short story. ANYWAY.

Was very pleased to see so much Clive Barker art in that gallery though. VERY fun little treat for me specifically.

also bless Vinnie Jones he was an absolute gem in this, definitely the star, you will watch it for this man butchering people with a meat cleaver and sitting in his little subway seat like >:I

I think.... I think I've seen all the "core" Clive Barker movies now? I keep forgetting I've seen Rawhead Rex, but I'm pretty sure I've seen Rawhead Rex.

[klwl-truck]

Shiratorizawa as Demons from DemonSlayer (part 1)

This will have multiple parts because it is SO LONG HOLY SHIT. Uh- minor CW for general talk of death/gore/cannibalism etc, as well as some neglect and child abuse/trauma (this will likely apply for all the parts of this). Anyways- let's get on with it!

Ushijima Wakatoshi:

Okay so- if Ushijima was a demon he would be TERRIFYING

He reminds me a lot of Kokushibo for some reason??

But anyways- he became a demon in the pursuit of power. He had been a powerful swordsman in the late sengoku period (he was not a demon slayer at the time).

During one of his training sessions he encountered Muzan, who told him that he could become even more powerful if he let Muzan help him.

Ushijima refused vehemently at first, but after losing several matches against another swordsman, he reluctantly agreed to let Muzan help him.

Let me be clear, he did not know that he was signing up to be a demon. He just thought that some sword master was letting him come over to train and drink wine with him.

Said wine had Muzan's blood in it (yeesh that's gross-)

Now that he's become a demon, let's talk Blood Demon Arts!

Ushijima's blood demon art is meant to create large and devastating blows (much like stone breathing or an earthquake).

He incorporates some of his sword styles (again not breathing styles) into his attacks. He uses his sword as a finishing blow, so it is usually at his side.

His blood demon art can manifest large predatory birds, which rip their victims to shreds (via their steel-like tallons or beaks). He prefers to manifest eagles, but he will choose other birds if needed.

The combination of all of these has rightfully earned him the title of Uppermoon 2.

His presence alone has killed several, and he refuses to eat humans that he has not fought himself.

He hates weakness above all else, and he also refuses to fight demon slayers that are below the Kinoto rank (he literally just asks them their ranking- like in the middle of battle lmao).

He prefers to keep to himself, and he stays in his room in the infinity castle training most of the time (when he isn't told to go on missions to fight demon slayers).

Some of the other Uppermoons will come and visit him (*cough* Tendou *cough*). He favors Tendou over the others, and he's not sorry about it.

I just realized- I never told y'all what he looked like!

After becoming a demon, not much changed. However, he did become A LOT taller. He stands at a whopping 8 feet tall now (which is roughly 2.44 meters tall)!

His hair is practically the same, save for the color being about two shades darker.

His eyes hold the engraving for Uppermoon 2, and the sclera of his eyes are a dark – almost black – shade of red.

The iris of his eyes are the same light green-gold as they are cannonically.

He wears traditional swordsman clothing typical of the sengoku period, with a beautiful combination of dark purples, rusts, and golds sewn together to create a mosaic of dragons, eagles, and tigers.

He holds his sword on his right side, but he rarely actually uses it.

All in all, he's a very beautiful, yet intimidating Uppermoon demon.

Sadly enough, after a long battle against two hashiras, he is beheaded.

They do end up keeping his robes though. (what? they're pretty asf)

Tendou Satori:

This man would also be scary as FUCK as a demon

His life as human had been pretty sad before (but that's not entirely why he became a demon, you'll see why soon).

He was born into a relatively poor family as an only child.

His parents held little to no care for him, so he spent his time at home alone most of the time. They didn't bother with most things that cost money, so he got no schooling (they used the money for themselves).

Because of this parental neglect (and the poor area that he lived in) he was filthy most of the time. He had to cut his own hair, make his own meals, and do most self-care for himself since his was around five years old.

Also as a result of this neglect and his lack of proper hygiene, other better-off children would make fun of him (my baby :()

It wasn't just verbal beat-downs, but physical beat-downs as well. He would come home covered in bruises, and sometimes even broken bones. And he usually had to care for his wounds himself.

Fast-forward a couple years, and he runs away from home. He hitch-hikes, becomes a stowaway a couple times, y'know the usual runaway stuff.

He finds himself at the "Bringers of Red Trails" cult (he has no idea that it's a cult at first, but he is suspicious).

He spends a couple years there, rises up the ranks with his humor and charm~

And at this point he's around 20 years old (this is about 50 years before the actual DS timeline, so he's a younger demon than Ushijima), and he's now the "right-hand man" to the cult-leader.

One thing led to another, and he decides to kill the old cult-leader and he takes his place.

So now he's the cult-leader, and he is BORED. wtf is he doing?? he just sits still all day on his little throne.

But he wants something EXCITING, he wants CHAOS

So he asks around, and he overhears some of the other people there talking about some demon guy named "Muzan Kibutsuji" (it's a cult of course they know SOMETHING about the demon king living next door)

At this point he's very interested, and he finds Muzan.

Muzan doesn't even need to coerce him or anything, Tendou's just like "gimme ur blood, I'm really fucking bored around here man"

Muzan’s just like, ”aight kid, whatever you want ig 🤷‍♂️“

Also, after he becomes a demon, he does not give a SHIT about Muzan. Sure, he follows his orders, but he doesn't worship the ground he walks on.

In some ways he hates him.

Let's talk Blood Demon Arts again >:)

His blood demon art is called "Ruby Gates" (ik Ushi doesn't have a name for his, I couldn't think of anything lmao, but y'all can tell me ur recs if you want!)

This art allows him to create Ruby sculptures of anything he wants, with two objects being the most common.

The first being the reason for his name-sake, and also his choice method of defense, he can create large Ruby hedges/pillars that he either uses to crush or block Demon Slayers.

The second being his own "Ruby Soldiers", most of them hold a striking resemblance to Ushijima... huh. They come in various sizes, some even as large as 12 feet tall.

He enjoys toying with Demon Slayers when fighting them. He’ll take their swords, dance with them, crack jokes, make fun of them, etc

He adores the chaos being a demon creates, and in most of his fights you will see him laughing and smiling the entire time.

He has INCREDIBLE intuition, and in most fights Demon Slayers can't even get within 14 feet of him. It's almost like he sees them coming before they even get there.

He hates all things boring and uneventful. His least favorite breathing style is water breathing, he thinks most water breath users have boring personalities

He's very similar to Douma in the sense that he wants to be friends with all the other Uppermoons (Tendou is ranked as Uppermoon 4). He's not very well liked by some of the other Uppermoons.

He prefers to cook the people he eats (that is such a weird thing to say wtf-), and he turns them into rather lavish meals for himself. He will offer them to Ushijima, despite him generally refusing.

Unlike many demons, he quite enjoys the smell of human food. He will eat it for his enjoyment.

Let's move on to what he looked like again, woo hoo!

Tendou is also very tall, and he stands at nearly the same height as Ushijima. Although he is only 7'11" (which is roughly 2.42 meters tall).

His hair is closely cropped to his head, like in the time-skip. And it is the same firetruck red as it always is.

His ears are pointed, and he had two large black horns protruding out of the sides of his head (they kinda look like bull horns??)

The skin on the tips of his ears, hands, and feet are tinted black and they gradually blend into his natural skin-tone. The sides of his face also are tinted black (think raccoon)

Speaking of skin-tone- mans is PALE. Like he was pale before but he's almost white as a sheet now.

He also has a long and thin tail, it's not really used for anything. It just is there to look cool.

His eyes hold the engraving for uppermoon 4. They're a significantly more vibrant red than when he was human, with small flecks of gold.

He LOVES jewelry (idk he just seemed like that kinda guy).

Everything is ruby or ruby encrusted. Ruby bracelets? check. Ruby encrusted/Ruby rings? check. RUBY EARRINGS?? check, check, and check.

He painted his nails a deep maroon color, and sharpened them to a point. He figured that, "hey, I'm already gonna kill people- why not make it look cool?"

He wears rather expensive clothing, except it's more like luxurious lounge wear.

All his clothing, accessories, etc are very colorful and vibrant (fitting for his chaotic lifestyle as a demon).

He smokes, so he uses one of those old-timey pipes (visual aid)

Anyways- he lasts a long while but he is ultimately killed by the water pillar using the fifth breathing form, blessed rain after the drought. This form is only used when a demon surrenders/bares their neck, so you can get what happens :(

– ❤︎︎ –

Whew, okay we're done! Hope you enjoyed what I thought of, ik it's a lot lmao. I hope to do more when I can think of stuff for (most) of the other team members!

(P.S. these posts will be under the tag "ShiratorizawaDSAU")

[zepskies]

Home Cooking

Summary: Now that you and Dean have a daughter, living at the bunker with Sam means you get to be more domestic, to varying degrees of success. Dean learns to enjoy your attempts at cooking.  

Pairing: Dean x Female Reader  Word Count: 1,200 Warnings: Implied sexy times, mostly fluff

Sure, Sam’s got the whole brooding nerd thing covered.

He could tell you about a piece of art modeled off some technique people came up with centuries ago, and come up with math in his head faster than Dean can eat a Snickers (and Dean proudly owns a record of 3.6 seconds).

Hell, between Sam and Charlie, they could probably hack into the Pentagon if you give them twenty-four hours.

So yeah, the guy knows a lot of shit about a lot of shit. But Dean likes to think he knows some shit too.

He may not have his brother’s IQ, but he knows how to read people. He knows when something’s not on the up and up, can watch people lie and maneuver them right where he needs them to get a breakthrough on a job.

He’s seen a couple hundred species of monster in his life, and he’s cut up a few hundred. Maybe a thousand.

He sees more blood and gruesome gore than he cares for.

Maybe that’s why he stops, and can’t help but watch you cook. 

It’s part of the reason why Dean is glad they moved more permanently into the bunker, that they have the time to make actual food. He thinks you do it out of habit, from when it was just the two of you, plus your infant daughter in that house for a year. When he thought Sam was in Hell.

It still feels kind of like that now, just with the addition of Sam (not soulless), and now Kevin in their makeshift family.

Dean thinks, by the way you concentrate when you’re measuring—pouring water exactly to the little blue line on the measuring cup, sucking in your lower lip until he’s sure you must be hurting yourself—that you’re an absolute perfectionist. Which is what’s getting you so frustrated.

It’s also what makes you their sniper shot on the hunt, and damn-near elegant at carving up monsters.  

But when it comes to food (bless your heart), Dean knows you’re trying your best. Even though the meals are pretty hit or miss (especially breakfast), he’s no chef, so he really can’t judge. He also doesn’t have the heart to tell you when the pancakes are so burnt they smell a bit like sulfur.

(Actually, it’s really because he can’t afford any more bruises.)

But it’s also kind of adorable that you try so hard to give him what he loves. And what he loves is good food, and you.

However.

Dean likes to sit from his chair at the kitchen table with a newspaper and uses his mug of coffee (or a beer) to supervise when you fry things.

“Fuck you, Dean. I know what the hell I’m doing!” you gripe at him, pretending to be annoyed by his presence while scooping a burger patty out of the boiling oil.

“Pay attention to what you’re doing,” he reminds you while flipping the page, and almost sighs when he hears a pained squeak and a string of colorful, muttered curses.

“Let me know when to break out the ice,” he adds, hiding a grin behind his newspaper.

“Shut up,” you grouse. “I’m trying to meat-flip here!”

Sam, Dean and Kevin stay out of the literal hot zone that is the four-foot perimeter around the stove when you fry things.

And more often than not, it’s the three of them that get stuck with the mess of exploded oil afterward, when you so conveniently pull the “our baby girl wants me to read to her before bed” card, when they all know the four-year-old reserves that role almost exclusively for Sam.

But Dean would be lying if he said he doesn’t stare when you dance to the radio, spatula in one hand and a salt canister in the other. You bounce to the beat long enough to season what might turn out to be a good meal (you do pretty good on spaghetti), then lose track of yourself trying to stir sauce at the same time.

Dean watches you practically skip to each of your stations—stove, cutting counter for vegetables, and the cherry pie in the oven that you don’t know he knows you’re baking—until you pause, glancing over your shoulder.

You quirk a brow at him, curiosity in your eyes.

“What’re you smiling about?” you ask.

Dean catches himself and goes back to scanning the news.

“Food smells good.”

“Well, you asked for chicken parm, so that’s what you’re getting,” you reply, and you check the meat to see if it’s cooked through yet.

“…Probably. Shit,” you mutter quietly, so you think Dean doesn’t hear you panicking. “Looked different on Pinterest.”

Dean unconsciously smiles as he watches you test the tomato sauce out of the corner of his eye.

“Can’t wait,” he says.

“And there’s a surprise dessert…just promise you won’t steal any from your daughter’s plate this time.” You send him a pointed look. “She’s just as sensitive as you are with your food.”

This time, Dean has to chuckle and can’t help but tease you a little. “No promises.”

He’s not surprised when you bring out the pie after dinner. The candle on top throws him off, though. He didn’t even remember…

“Happy Birthday,” your lips whisper against his after you kiss him thoroughly, despite complaints in the background from both your daughter and Kevin. Sam just smiles a small, contented smile.

Dean pulls you onto his lap. He feels warm, complete in a way he never thought possible again. His grip on your hips tighten, and he presses a lingering kiss to your forehead. 

“Thanks, sweetheart,” is all he can say.

The pie is actually pretty fucking delicious. The crust is all buttery and the filling is rich and melty at the same time. Dean hates to be cliché, but it’s a small piece of literal heaven on a goddamn plate.

Then he has to kiss you again, properly, because even with all your mishaps, Dean knows you just want to give him and Sam a good home-cooked meal every time they’re home. Because for once they have a home. No one’s missing their soul and they’re finally getting to live like a family.

So, maybe Dean doesn’t catch everything.

But eventually his surprise birthday dinner comes to an end. Kevin disappears into his room and Sam ushers your little girl upstairs to get ready for bed.

Dean realizes how domestic he looks, is, while washing the army of pots and pans you used for cooking while you put away the leftovers. He doesn’t mind doing these kinds of chores, because it gives him quiet moments like these with you.

And you’re fucking beautiful to him, even now, with a piece of crusty tomato in your hair from when it splattered in the pan earlier. (And shit, is that another oil burn on your neck?)

“Dean,” you call him quietly, rousing him from his bout of staring at you.

“Yeah?”

A sly smile spreads across your face as you slowly pull a can of whipped cream from behind your back, along with the last slice of pie.

“Ready for your real present?”

Dean’s brows shoot up, a smirk curving his lips. Well, he always has room for his two favorite desserts.

The suggestive sway of your hips while Dean follows you up the stairs to your shared room is all he needs to really appreciate your cooking.   

Here’s another lil’ oneshot for Dean. Let me know what you think!

Dean Winchester One-Shots

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Supernatural Masterlist

Main Masterlist

[stuckasmain]

Scream 1996 review -

What a Normal friend group. It’d be a shame if anything happened…

Yes it’s my first time watching this movie, and how popular it’s become in media over the years has kind of ruined the :0 who done it? Effect of the movie, huh yeah I wonder if it’s ‘I speak exclusively in movie/horror movie references’ mcdreamy over here.

But in already knowing who the killer(s) is/are it gave me a appreciation? Both for the writers and for their planning as well as I have to give credit for a lot of what they do though the movie to perfectly craft out this ‘grand plan’ and the movie throwing in Red herrings like candy, even if it’s clearly Mr. NC-17.

Falling for tropes while being a parody-

Scream , while very clearly being a spoof/parody of horror movies in the day, also falls for many itself. Which is the point but again I can’t help but admire it? However Casey was mainly just plain stupid and I’ll admit that (keep him on the phone 😫 talk and play along, lock doors , grab something, call someone else etc.) but I LOVE her death scene as something about the tragedy of your salvation being RIGHT there but your screams make no noise is absolutely beautiful?

My favorite play on tropes is In the last act of the movie itself, after Billy’s fairly over dramatic death which features said “to red “ blood (by the way, poor criticism of Halloween, it has little)

When theyre revealed , they fall for the classic formula of any horror movie. They have a extremely complex and practically perfect plan that goes brilliant and then they’re extremely ducking stupid and get killed. As does every villian until ultimately it’s time for a sequel and some BS  explanation is given to how they’re alive. They were caught monologuing smh, never get caught monologuing. That and being overly excited over killing a reporter— it’s just a fun aspect, that and the end with a Tripple sort of jump scare? Also fucking love Sidney for just shooting that milasecond, not even thinking 👏 thank you for having brain cells and just so blank about it sjsksksksksk

Charecters-

Who’s the best charecter and why is is Stu and Tatum

Seriously they completely steal whatever scene they’re in , and since they’re dating it’s often sharing scenes. Which also just? Leads to best parts like smacking him with a lollipop or “oh that movie lol”. Seriously, their dynamic.

Also all my love to randy? Being the movie logic guy and logic in general, that and comedic art (also was NOT expecting him to be the 5th wheel of the group, if anyone I thought it’d be Stu or Sidney, rip randy)

Thought dump-

But if anything, my general question is:

Sidney is clearly dealing with some pretty major issues do to her mother’s murder and her initial jumping (on what she realizes to be the wrong suspect). So why is her friend group PEOPLE WHO TALK ABOUT NOTHING BUT HORROR MOVIES AND GORE ALL DAY? ??? But she does genuinely have some compelling/ messed up stuff going on which I could rant about forever but that’s another time

I’m also thinking about Billy preaching how great and glorious it is to not have a motive at all, isn’t that funny? Etc and then proceeding to just toss in ✨ I have mommy issues✨ while stus’s bleeding out on the counter In the background all ✌️.

Also not a question but I genuinely think they could have done something with stu’s “I’ll be right back” moment, but then again they weren’t out to kill anyone else at the party. Still though, would have been perfect moment for a fake death.

I found ‘liver alone’ funny Stu, your friends just don’t  appreciate humor (seriously this movie is so fucking funny I have at least a full page of good lines)

Also solidly convinced there was something going on between Billy and Stu- they got it for each other. At least Stu  definitely has a thing for Billy ‘peer pressure’ you love him-

10/10

[antifainternational]

Im vocal about supporting antifa and now im afraid a local altright/fascist group has my contact info (email, phone, address, pictures) because they've been using my email to sign me up for alt right mailing lists and one of em send some of my holiday pictures in a string of gore-y photos in a political group chat (hes banned now) .. is there something i can do? Im really scared even though i know thats exactly what they want :/

Oh, we feel for you.  A lot of us have been in your shoes in the past.  So we reached out to some experts for advice for you; here’s what they had to say, followed by some of our own advice: “Well first of all, what a fucking nightmare. This sounds really hard and terrifying. It seems to me that yes, they already have this persons info so my recommendation would be to start wiping their info from public places and use a service like DeleteMe, if they have the option. It is a paid service. At this point the fash are already engaged in a harassment campaign so it’s likely the worst is already happening but you can’t be too careful. If they have the capacity to get a new email, I would suggest it. As well as a phone number. If they can’t get a new number or don’t want to, they can avoid answering calls they don’t recognize the numbers for. I would say that they can continue to be open about their support for antifa but be mindful of what might happen. I’m happy to help w emotional support or practical support in terms of changing contact info, getting linked up with deleteme, etc” “If you want to keep their current email address, set up a spam filter to reject the alt-right stuff, and mark it as "Spam" when it comes in. They should also set two-factor authentication on every social media account they have. If they want to remove their data from the internet, so that this doesn't happen again, have them either buy a DeleteMe package, or else follow the steps in this free 30-page guide to remove their data from every peoplesearch engine.  In my experience, if you put in about a half hour a night, you can have it done in a month or so. From what I've seen in past harassment campaigns, they don't tend to last very long. The far-right is great at conducting kind of 24-48 hour blitzkrieg campaigns, but they don't have a lot of staying power. After two days, it's usually over unless their name pops up in the news again.” In addition, we’d recommend reading this article from Crash Override, which covers how to protect yourself if you’ve been doxxed.  That probably covers you digitally, but let’s talk IRL as well, Anon.  If they have your address, you should consider moving if it’s possible.  If you are staying put, you should beef up your private security.  Install floodlights outside and better-quality locks.  Consider a home security system and/or cameras.  If you’re tight with your neighbours, let them know you’re being harassed and encourage them to call you, the police (if you’re comfortable with that), or both if they spot anyone/anything suspicious going on around your place.  Set up a code w/ friend where you can call them or text them a single word & they’ll drop everything and come running.  Maybe have some friends stay over with you for a few days; maybe even sleep in shifts so someone’s always up & keeping an eye out for stuff.  If you are in a place where you’re allowed to own a firearm, consider it; if you decide to get one, get trained up on its use. You might want to let your school or workplace know what’s up as well so they can be on the alert.  Try to not stick to your regular routines - change up where you shop, the routes you travel, the times you’re out in public, etc. to make it as difficult as possible to surveil you. If you haven’t taken any self-defence or martial arts before, consider committing to it for a year or two.  Everyone is going to tell you a different style is best for self-defence (we’re partial to kali/escrima for close-combat weapons fighting/disarming + muay thai for striking + Brazilian jiu jitsu for takedowns, grappling, and groundwork ourselves).   This is probably all very overwhelming for you.  Please take a moment to take some deep breaths, know that people have your back (even people you haven’t met yet like us!), and that in most of these cases, the threat blows over after a few days when the nazis lose interest/move on to their next harassment target.  You can get through this, Anon, and you will be safer & stronger having gotten through it!

[the-slasher-files]

Lester n Vincent ( hcs) reacting to reader who is having a really bad anxiety attack and they pass out in their arms please and happy new year 🥺✨

Congrats you're my first person to request Lester lol Happy new year to you as well!... Ok so I went kind of wild with these and made them longer story based hcs, also added more slashers just for fun :) Hopefully I did Lester justice since this is my first write for him! Also warning, there is gore, blood and stress lol.. enjoy🔪💕

MASTERLIST

SLASHERS REACT TO S/O THAT HAS A PANIC ATTACK

INCLUDES JASON, MICHAEL, BO, VINCENT and LESTER

JASON VOORHEES

It was a night you saw him kill for the first time. The blood covered the branches of the bushes and oozed in the soil around you. The moonlight illuminated the plastic hockey mask now sprayed in a crimson paint, his chest rose and fell deeply, enough to see some bones sticking out from unhealed wounds.

At Jason’s feet were 3 teenagers' corpses. You knew what he did but seeing the bodies be brutally cut down 10 feet away from you was another story.

When you had woken up from a nap Jason was gone, he didn’t tell you people had been at the camp, if he did you would not have been on this walk in the first place, but you knew he would never wake you up. The words stupid, stupid, stupid screamed in your brain as you watched the bodies twitch and pour streams of blood. Would Jason be mad at you? Would he hurt you too? oh my god is that person really dead or still breathing?

You started to breathe heavy and choke when they caught the back of your throat violently, Jason moved towards you slowly. Even though you knew how gentle he was with you, you still questioned him at this moment; the blood flowing beneath boots, the smell of rich dirt and copper, the way the nature fell eerily silent following the high pitched wails of the victims, and the way the creature tore through the bodies with ease. It was all so animalistic. Wicked and ruthless.

Locking eyes with Jason you walked back a few steps, his blue eyes were dark, pupils blown with something you had never seen before, this was the killer of camp crystal lake. Throwing his machete to the ground he held out his large hands, gently pulling up his mask as if that might help.

Your throat was closing and hot tears started to flow down your cheeks, broken gasps and whimpers rose from your chest as Jason stood towering over you.

“J-jay..” you cried and felt yourself go lightheaded as his large bloodied hand reached for you, one last tough inhale and your world went black.

Coming to, you were in the cabin, with the fire roaring and about 3 blankets on top of you. A large shadow stirred from the kitchen and came into the light. It was Jason with a hot towel and your favourite drink, softly he smiled rushing to your side. He was maskless and all cleaned up, looking under the blanket you were just in your underwear and a t-shirt, cleaned from any blood.

Kneeling down beside you Jason gingerly brushed a few stray hairs from your face and kissed your forehead. You could tell by the way he lingered and how soft his touch was that you scared him and made him worry. Pressing his forehead against yours Jason squeezed his eyes almost trying to tell you that it hurt, you hurt his heart, scared him so badly and made his nightmares come true. It wasn’t your fault he knew and made you aware of that by his touches and kisses.

The sight of you sprayed with blood and going limp under his grasp was something Jason had only seen in the darkest corners of his mind. He is making sure you stay put and knows exactly where he is going next time.

MICHAEL MYERS  

The door creaked open to the bedroom, you had been laying there for a while in and out of sleep, just waiting for Michael’s return. He never slept well, so often Michael found himself lurking in the shadows of the night, or just watching some tv downstairs not wanting to disturb you.

Rolling over you squinted, trying to see in the darkness “Michael..” you whined, reaching out slightly into the shadows.

Soft eyes started to adjust to the darkness and you were met with eyes that weren’t the cold gaze of your lovers, they were alive with curiosity and there was a different maliciousness. This was a much different predator, one the shadows rejected and gave up to you. It was a smaller man in height and muscle, dressed head to toe in black tight-fitting clothes.  

A scream left your lips and you tried to scramble away when gloved hands grabbed your ankles pulling you closer to the stranger. His body weight leaned against your frame, his smell revoltingly encapsulated yours; sure to the average person he might've smelled nice but you only had taste for one dangerous cologne, the one of rich copper and animalistic musk.

Kicking and screaming only one name left your lips, "Michael". It was the only thought you had. You knew Michael would come for you, he always did in bad situations. Your scream was his soft siren call and he was the broken sailor beckoned; however, it was much more possessive and raw than that. Michael never liked his things to be tampered with. You were his and that was that.    

The stranger above you reached in his pockets and found some zip ties, struggling but bounding your legs and wrists together. “what a little fighter” His words sharp and almost making you gag.

Your breath became more and more ragged, blood pumping and heart racing loudly in your ears, while streams of tears flowed. Crippled whimpers and wails caught in your throat more and more with each stroke of the stranger's gloved hands.

That’s when something stirred in the hallway, a flash of navy and white them seamlessly blending into the shadows like a perfected craft. This was his art, not the strangers. “You should be afraid” you choked out. The man gave a laugh “of what?”

“Of me” a deep growl spoke from the shadows. The man widened his eyes looking directly into yours, as Michael reached around and slit his throat from ear to ear. Blood spraying over you, the bed and running a deep crimson river to the floor, choking and deep gurgles filled the air. You watched the life drain from the man's green eyes and he reached out for you to help him ironically. Michael grabbed the man looking him in the eyes, feeding his own sick desires of watching a soul leave the body or maybe wanting the stranger to meet the cold inhumane gaze, making him terrified as he died.

Even though you knew the more than tense situation was over, you just witnessed a man die; he was bleeding, clutching his throat fruitlessly, life leaving his eyes and grabbing for you. It was all too raw and your throat was closing, you could taste the unfamiliar copper on your lips making you shudder in disgust. Michael ripped off the white mask and he propped you up under his knee and one arm, while the other was on his dripping blade.

“Mi-Michael, please” you whimpered against his chest feeling yourself go fuzzy and limp. A rough shake kept you awake for a moment then you saw his knife coming towards you to cut the zip ties and that was it, the world went black.

Waking up, you coughed and sputtered at the warm water that was splashed in your face. You were in the bathtub, warm pinkish water surrounded you and a large hand cupped your jaw while the other wiped some blood away from you and rubbed at the marks on your wrists.

Meeting Michael’s cold gaze, it wasn’t cold, it was oddly warm still with that edge that his damaged eye gave him. “Baby” you whispered reaching a shaky hand to run along his cheek and sharp jaw. Michael didn’t turn away or roughly remove your hand like normal, he allowed your touch and leaned into it, closing his eyes and whispering barely audible “I’m sorry”

BO SINCLAIR

The screams and gunshots had stopped. Only the muffled classical music flowed from the basement where Vincent was working. Usually, Bo would come immediately back home, dragging his bloodied adrenaline-filled frame through the front door. 10 minutes went by then another and another. You began to grow worried and sick to your stomach with anxiety.

Hesitantly you grabbed one of Bo's jackets and heading out to the garage. The familiar scent of ash, teakwood and grease eased you enough to walk down the dimly lit abandoned streets.

Rounding a corner, from the shadows a man reached out for you, it was a man you had seen from this morning and left with Bo in the gas station. He was still alive, covered in blood but still alive. The man pulled you against the wall of the old building. Your heart pounded in your skull and your breath became broken and hitched, hearing footsteps pounding towards you the man whipped you around, placing you in front of him like a shield.

You met the dangerous baby blues of Bo, he was seething, shoulders tensed, neck stiff with veins popping and hands on his shotgun. "Let. Her. Go." Bo's words coated in venom, a wickedness you had never heard before. "Bo" you whimpered as the stranger tightened his hold on you, now placing a sliver shiv to your collar bone.

"If you let me leave, I will let her go.." the stranger negotiated. "We both know that can't happen... how ‘bout you let her go and I won't make ya suffer" Bo shifted his hand on the gun and the stranger raised the blade to your chin, your tears were uncontrolled at this point, silently pleading with Bo to do whatever the man said. "Fuck.. Alright, alright" Bo began to place the gun on the ground slowly, but nodded twice at you, a signal he practiced with you, closing your eyes and inhaling as much as you could, you knew what you had to do. Do what Bo taught you, just in case this might ever happen.

With one quick motion you grabbed the man's wrist pulling and twisting, using your hip to fuel momentum, yanking the man down in a struggle you managed to grab the blade and stab into his neck. At this point it was just adrenaline, you were never supposed to actually kill him, Bo taught you just to wait, but the damage had been done. Blood was on your hands, oozing and spraying with each thump of the man's heart. The scared look in his eyes made you wanna choke, you would never forget this. The whole scene was too raw. You had just killed a man.

Quickly Bo came to your side and beat the strangers' skull in with the end of his shotgun, it was brutal, gory, unmerciful assault. He was gone but Bo was lost in rage, the man touched and threatened what was his.

“Bo... Bo p-please, Bo” your cried pushing yourself along the cold asphalt. Whipping around Bo was not human, he was a beast, covered in blood, huffing and bearing his teeth. “Bo enough” you shook frozen in his gaze “B-baby” whispering to try and bring him back. Bo dropped the bloody gun and stepped towards you, kneeling down he held you, felt every broken gasp and shake. The scene replayed in your head over and over again, suddenly you gave a whimper and felt yourself go limp under Bo’s grasp.

Waking up your eyes adjusted to the warm yellow lighting of the old house, loud footsteps moved in a pattern, back and forth Bo paced until there was some muffled yelling “What do you mean there is nothing you can do?!... she just went limp... Fuck I don’t know... how could she just be fine?!” You let out a whimper and shifted on the old couch and Bo practically ran to you, cupping your face gently but always with a rough edge. His eyes were red, possibly from tears or adrenaline, he shook and breathed heavily.

“Baby, don’t ever do that again!” Bo yelled, most likely rougher than he initially intended but he kissed your forehead gingerly. “You scared the shit outta me!” You knew his yelling was just his fear. The nightmare of losing you could’ve come true tonight, and once the adrenaline wore off you knew he would be gentle again and hold you all night.

VINCENT SINCLAIR

Coming home from a shitty day your anxiety was already higher than normal, you labelled papers wrong at work and just couldn't seem to do anything right today; All you wanted was to just get comfy with some bad food and lay in your boyfriend's arms, forgetting the world. Carrying your exhausted stressed body into the old home, it was quiet; Bo must have been at the garage and maybe Vincent was downstairs.

Tossing your bags and shoes off to the side, you made your way to the basement, guided by candlelight. The eerie silence, the hot air and the creepy faces in the wall made a less than relaxing atmosphere. With each creek of the stairs, your heart seemed to race faster, even though you had made your way down these stairs hundreds of times before there was a different energy here, one with malice, one that drew tingles up your spine.

Rounding the corner, Vincent stood behind some sort of contraption made of metal and leftover medical supplies. The structure held a wax-coated body, one of the men you had lured into town yesterday. Vincent had always kept you away from the making of his creations, it was a brutal process, especially when he usually left the victims alive, Bo said “it gave them more expression if they’re still livin”

Vincent was lost in focus, smoothing the skin and creating delicate textures, if you didn’t know it was a real life person under the wax it honestly might have been soothing to watch, but you swallowed hard at the reality. You felt your throat started to become scratchy and closed with anxiety, clearing your throat it drew the attention of your boyfriend across the room.

You must’ve scared Vincent by your presence because he jolted the metal structure and there was a loud snap. A deep red oozed from the neck of the wax body and pooling on the floor. Vincent’s blue eye looked down to the body then back to you, watching as you covered your mouth and shook.

Rushing over to you Vincent gently placed a hand in your hair and one on your arm trying to steady you, pulling your chin up you saw the worry on his face under the wax mask. He could feel your ragged breathing, shaking and Vincent could have sworn he heard your heartbeat. Clutching his chest you felt yourself go lightheaded and fall into him, your eyes closed as Vincent held you.  

Gingerly opening your eyes you felt a hard body underneath you, the room was dimly lit by the lamp on the bedside table, and you noticed a glass of water was next to the lamp. A hand carded through your hair while the other ran a cool towel against your forehead, Vincent sat up slightly so he could meet your eyes when he noticed you had woken up.

Softly smiling you spoke “Di-Did I pass out?” Vincent just nodded slowly and signed ‘Do you feel ok?’ “yeah.. I think it was just an anxiety attack” Vincent kissed your head as you continued “...and I didn’t each much today” He frowned but nodded again, ‘Stay... I will grab you some food’    

LESTER SINCLAIR    

“Why the hell is Louisiana so damn hot?” you ask irritably uncomfortable in the truck as Lester came into the drivers side. This morning wasn’t exactly ideal and you got a terrible sleep, Lester tried to help but it just gave you anxiety. You hated these days when just out of nowhere you would feel anxious for simply no reason, but thankfully Lester never blamed you or made you feel bad.

“I know baby girl, it’s s’possed to be in the hundreds all week” He said turning the key making the old truck come to life. Groaning, you tried to roll down the window and it wouldn't budge just adding to the torture "oh man, I forgot to ask Bo to fix that, sorry cupcake" you glared at the name he gave while Lester just laughed rolling down his window.

This morning you decided to drive around with your boyfriend, cleaning up the roads of any roadkill. You had never done it with him before and honestly you kind of felt bad just sitting at home, not ever helping him.

Mindless chatter and laughter made the ride short and Lester tried to distract you from your own anxious mind. Pulling over it was not a pleasant scene, the poor thing was bent and broken with blood smeared all over the road. “oh my god Lester... poor little deer” you stood back allowing Lester to pull the deer over by the truck.

“Necks broke.. the thing didn’t suffer” Lester gave you a gentle smile and nodded trying to make light of his gory job. “Ready?” he asked as you helped lift the deer onto the flatbed of the truck.

Picking up one more deer carcass along the way, you were now headed to ‘the pit’. You had been there only once before, when you met Lester but he had never let you go back since. Even he didn’t stick around the dumping grounds often.

“If ya wanna stay in the truck it’s fine” Lester smiled. “No, no I’m ok” you insisted jumping out of the truck. The smell was unbearable, flies swarmed and the gore was horrifying, especially to an animal lover. Your heart started to race and you felt like throwing up, but you tried to push it away and continue to help Lester dragging the deer into the pit.

“Ya alright?” he asked looking at your frozen figure. There was a hand. A human hand sticking up from the middle of a deer carcass. You couldn’t hear Lester’s calls for you, your heart pounded too hard and your breath seemed to be stuck in your throat. Quickly Lester moved behind you trying to move you away from the scene but suddenly you went limp and passed out.

Coming to, you were laying in some grass, a nice shady spot away far away from the pit. Lester was running toward you with a water bottle from the truck and coming to sit next you, he propped you up on his knee handing you the bottle “Fuck ya scared me baby” the stroked your hair and held you tight. “Sorry Les” you whispered looking into his soft brown eyes. “Don’ be sorry.. I never should’a let ya join” Lester bent down to kiss your cheek and wipe some blood away “Can we just go home and shower?” you giggled.    

[hrodvitnon]

The Elder Scrolls TV Idea

Someone’s probably already said this, but if The Elder Scrolls gets a Netflix adaptation (or so the rumor goes), it can go the way of Netflix’s adaptations of either Castlevania (excellent) or Dragon’s Dogma (an on fire garbage can). Because Skyrim is probably the series’ most well-known installment — to the point where I’ve met a guy who was genuinely surprised to learn it’s the fifth main entry — it would be extremely easy, and lazy, to simply adapt the story of Skyrim; the game’s been rereleased and ported so many times that anyone can tell you every single plot beat in this or that questline. It would give the impression of TES just being another generic fantasy world, or that Skyrim’s the only TES game worth playing, and some critic who doesn't know The Witcher from The Legend of Zelda will look at it and go "ho hum, another Game of Thrones wannabe. I don't need to play the game to know otherwise."

And so, I have a proposal: Do it like Halo Legends.

For the uninitiated, Halo Legends is a compilation of seven short animated films set in the Halo universe, telling a different story and animated by a different anime studio, from Studio Bones to Production I.G. to Toei Animation. They’re quite good; “The Duel” is my personal favorite.

So why should an Elder Scrolls adaptation be like Halo Legends? Because TES and its lore is simply too big and weird to brush aside in favor of rehashing Skyrim; from Tamriel’s two moons being the rotting corpse of a long dead god to the sun being a hole in the sky leading to Aetherius, to the very concept of Dragon Breaks, the Daedric Princes and their respective planes of Oblivion, to all the metaphysical stuff, and so on.

And then there’s the CHIM.

There’s so much potential! You can tell established stories in the lore, historical figures and events, you can even adapt the stories of books you can literally read in the games since some of them are actually plays intended to be acted out (including The Lusty Argonian Maid). Here are just a few examples of what can be done (also my lore knowledge is isn't perfect so there might be mistakes here).

Saint Alessia

Picture it: The Ayleid Empire, the First Era. The Ayleid elves employed cruelty and Daedra worship, utilizing slaves not just for practical purposes but also for “art-torture,” including but not limited to setting human children on fire for sport. If it weren’t for the aesthetics you’d think they were Warhammer’s Drukhari. Enter one of countless humans born into slavery, a woman who will become known as Alessia, who prays to Akatosh and the Aedra for liberation. She receives three visions from the Aedra; she escapes her slave masters and establishes a holy city, starting the first slave riots; she meets Morihaus the Man Bull, raises an army, teams up with the legendary elf-hating psycho Pelinal Whitestrake, and royally fucks over the Ayleids. Alessia declares herself the first Empress of Cyrodiil and is imbued with the “Dragon Blood” by Akatosh, and upon death her soul is placed into the Amulet of Kings, to seal the barrier between Mundus and Oblivion...

Also, Morihaus? The winged man bull demigod, son of Kynareth, one of Alessia’s champions? He was also her consort. Their son was one of, if not the first minotaur. It’s like, Joan of Arc meets Beauty and the Beast, and the beast stays a beast.

Pelinal Whitestrake

Remember Pelinal up there? Alessia’s other champion, all decked out in crusader knight armor, considered family by Morihaus, and depicted as a hero in modern Imperial dogma and also the Knights of the Nine DLC? Not only is he actually a batshit insane genocidal elf-hating engine of mass destruction, he’s implied to be a time-traveling semi-divine kinda cyborg from the future. Don’t indicate he’s got some divinity in him or you’ll be smothered by moths in your sleep, though. 

Seriously, dude HATES elves like the Doom Slayer hates demons; Pelinal first meets Alessia when he’s caked in Ayleid gore and viscera. Pelinal nearly caused the Aedra to abandon Mundus in disgust after he erased Ayleid lands from existence in his psychotic rage (then again, this is the Ayleids we’re talking about, and they also killed his boyfriend). So yeah, Pelinal Whitestrake. Champion of Saint Alessia, Slaughterer of Ayleids, and an insane screaming vortex of gore and racism in an approximately humanoid shape! Proof that not all characters need be a perfect golden child.

The Dwemer

The Dwemer (deep elves) are TES' version of dwarves. One of the biggest in-universe mysteries is "what the fuck happened to the Dwemer?" They were hyper advanced, creating steampunk robots that still function after thousands of years, their ruins dotting the landscape and providing all sorts of questions for in-universe scholars to ponder over, casting off conventional magic and worshipping Aedra or Daedra in favor of something called tonal manipulation, they're even responsible for making the Falmer (snow elves) what they are now, built the Numidium (a giant automaton intended to be a new god and a weapon of mass devastation). And then the Dwemer vanished. Why wouldn't they get their own episode?

The Nerevarine

This is one of those episodes that could be an abridged retelling of games in the series, and this one tackles the plot of TES3: Morrowind; in which a certain someone fresh off the boat arrives in Vvardenfell, is inducted into the Blades, is declared a reincarnation of the hero Nerevar, and must fulfill prophecies regarding the Nerevarine in order to defeat Dagoth Ur and his cult.

The Oblivion Crisis

Of course it’d be an abridged retelling of TES4: Oblivion, but you can also show how it impacted the other provinces (or at least what we know about); like the Collapse of the Crystal Tower, the resurrection of the Ald Skar Emperor Crab who ultimately died fighting off the Daedric hordes, and how the Hist trees of Black Marsh called back the Argonians so they can make like an army of Doomguys.

Hircine and the Hunter

Here’s a story that doesn’t have to be tied with anything specific and can even be pulled from various quests involving our favorite Lord of the Hunt; just the tale of a hunter encountering the Daedric Prince Hircine and is given a task, whether it’s hunting down a unicorn or a werewolf or something along those lines. The hunter may choose to go along with Hircine’s commands or disobey them and must survive some cat and mouse game; at the end, when the hunter expects to die, Hircine instead congratulates the hunter for their cunning and rewards them with one of his artifacts. 

Whodunnit?

You know that one job in the Dark Brotherhood questline in TES4: Oblivion that’s basically a murder mystery where you’re the killer? You can make an entire episode based on that. Either make it into a slasher movie where the victims try (and fail) to outrun or defeat their assassin; or go the more interesting route and not reveal the killer until the very end, manipulating everyone at the party to distrust and eventually kill each other until there's only one left...

And finally, The Hypothetical TES Version of “Odd One Out” in Halo Legends:

A Day in Skyrim

The obligatory comedy episode, nothing but pure zany screwball slapstick. Picture it: The Dragonborn and Lydia are wandering the lands of Skyrim when suddenly! A dragon attacks! Naturally our heroes take up arms against the beast, but something goes wrong; the Dragonborn is caught in the dragon’s talons, or their weapon is stuck and the Dragonborn is somehow tied to the dragon, and so the big scaly thing decides “fuck this shit I’m out” and leaves the field... with the Dragonborn stuck to it, screaming with indignation and rage, throwing Shout after Shout, forcing the dragon to do whatever it can to remove the annoying screaming thing from its scales. Lydia, undyingly loyal to the Chaotic Mess that is her thane, is like “ah shit, here we go again,” gets on horseback, and resigns herself to chasing a dragon across the province.

They go through towns, skirmishes between the Imperial Legion and Stormcloaks, interrupt a Daedric ritual that naturally goes horribly wrong, run past an Orc stronghold dealing with a giant attack and two dragons, and eventually the dragon stuck to our Dovahkiin is so worn down it collapses into a bandit fort. Lydia follows the telltale whistling rainbow winds of a soul being vacuumed and catches up, butchering her way through the bandits, and finally finds her very tired thane who now just wants to go home and sleep for like a week... but they might as well loot the place while they’re here, get some money for all the trouble. The episode ends with Lydia checking out a little chest somewhere up in the fort’s tower.

“A NEW HAND TOUCHES THE—”

Lydia slams the chest shut and throws it out of the tower. The Dragonborn shows up. “Find anything good?”

“Nope.”

*distant crash*

There’s simply too many things I could list that could be episodes in a TES TV show; Vivec, the Aedra and Daedra, Ysgramor and the Companions, the Battle of Red Mountain, Queen Barenziah, Tiber Septim/Talos, the tragedy of the Falmer (Snow Elves), the Sword-singers of Yokuda, the Pride of Alkosh, Gaiden Shinji, THERE’S SO MUCH! 

And that’s why an Elder Scrolls adaptation should be like Halo Legends. It should be made by people who love TES and play the games and deep dive into the lore. It’s likely never going to happen, but one can still dream.

[sideofmango]

You Have My Heart...

Word Count: 2.14 k Pronouns: feminine (she/her) Pairings: K. Bakugou x reader Warnings: gore, dark fic ahead, violence, cursing, death

Thanks Marie ( @dailydoseofscenarios​) for letting me be part of the server event! I had a lot of fun writing this, and as you can tell, I took the prompt kinda literally...anyways....I hope you like it! Don’t forget to check out all of the other fics in this event under the server event hashtag!

The ash blonde sat in the oversized red leather arm chair that faced the large window overlooking her garden. He let out a soft sigh, readjusting his position to get more comfortable as he leaned his chin in the palm of his hand. 

“What am I supposed to get her, that she doesn’t already have?” He questioned aloud, his crimson eyes shifting to the side as the large dog beside the chair let out a sigh himself moving into a laying down position, as if to say, I don’t know why you’re asking me. 

“You aren’t very helpful, Khan.” Katsuki muttered, as his eyes focused back on the window, a ghost of a smile pulling at his lips at the sight of his beloved wife in the garden below. Khan let out a whine in protest, as a close lipped smile grew on his owner’s face a moment later. “I’ll ask Shitty Hair.” Katsuki stood to his full height, the large black dog standing as well, prepared to follow him.

The ash blonde and his loyal dog walked down the long expanses of hallway, ornately decorated with golden accents, on the way to his private quarters. “Good day, Master Bakugou. Please give my best to the Mistress.” A few servants said as he passed them in the hallway, simply nodding in acknowledgement before he closed the heavy wooden doors to his study.

“Khan get me the ink.” Bakugou stated without looking up from where he was writing, the quill held firmly in his left hand, an almost empty ink well beside the letter he was in the process of writing to his best friend. “Good boy.” He threw the dog a treat as a reward before going back to writing, Khan settling at Bakugou’s feet once more in content silence.

“Dear Shitty Hair, Help me or else. What do I get Big Hair for Valentine’s Day? Come over and help me now. I won’t help you next time with Raccoon Eyes if you don’t help me. Signed, K. Bakugou.” The explosive man read aloud, nodding once before shoving it roughly into an envelope. He scribbled the information down before sealing the expensive stationary with golden wax, pressing the Bakugou Family Crest into the warm wax to leave an imprint.

“You!” Bakugou’s loud voice startled the butler walking past him in the hallway, the man blinking up at his employer nervously. 

“Master Bakugou?”

“I don’t care how you get this to Kirishima, just do it. And get it there by this afternoon.” Bakugou told him before walking away. He didn’t have to tell anyone anything twice, and he liked that.

A number of hours later, one of the servants announced that Kirishima had arrived, while Mina went to the garden to spend time with (y/n). 

“So is there a reason a winded man servant showed up at my door some time ago? You aren’t a father yet...are you?”

The ash blonde scoffed, quickly dismissing the idea with a roll of his eyes. “Fuck no.”

“Well, you aren’t getting any younger...”

“Well, I’m not getting any older either...”

“Don’t counter my point with another point.” Kirishima argued back as Bakugou rolled his eyes and flipped the redhead off with a small smirk.

“Whatever.” Bakugou stated as they both sat down in a chair. “I can’t think of anything to get (y/n) for Valentine’s Day.”

“It’s your anniversary, too right?” Bakugou nodded. “How many years?”

“183.” Bakugou said after a moment in thought. Kirishima stayed quiet as he thought.

“Do you remember how we all met each other?”

“You mean on our wedding night?” The blonde snorted as Kirishima rolled his eyes.

“Well, I guess...but you remember the first time you saw her right?”

“Well yeah, but she was just an extra then...I didn’t even know she was the woman I was going to marry.”

“What did you do? You weren’t an asshole to her, were you?” Bakugou simply glared at Kirishima. “Damn, you were.” Kirishima frowned.

“That’s a lie, Shitty Hair!”

“Whatever, just give her something super unconventional. Mina loves those types of gifts.” 

“Like what?”

“Well, you remember those super exclusive auction seats that we scored a few decades back?”

“Which ones? The Body is Art ones?”

“Yeah...well, I contacted Pierre and he lined up this whole private show and he let me harvest the different pieces...anyways, Mina loved it....We ended up keeping a few things.” Kirishima shrugged.

“How did you contact Pierre? Didn’t he say he hated technology?”

“That just what he tells everyone. He owed me a favor from a while ago. Anyways, the man loves you, I’m sure he’d do it for you in a heartbeat.”

“Whatever.” Katsuki shrugged dismissing the idea, but he would definitely look into it later. “Are you staying for dinner or not?”

“Are you asking?”

“Answer the question, Shitty Hair.”

“Sure!” Kirishima smiled widely, showing off his sharp teeth before the pair of friends decided to join their partners outside in the garden.

“Hey Mina?” (Y/n) questioned, looking over at the pink skinned girl who had her back against a tree. Mina’s eyes focused on her, a kind smile on her face.

“I’ve been thinking of what to get Katsuki for Valentine’s Day...and I want your opinion on it...” (y/n) trailed off, growing slightly nervous that Mina would think the gift was weird or stupid.

“If you wanted to model lingerie for me, you could’ve just said that...though Bakugou wouldn’t care if you were in a sack or lace...have you seen the way he looks at you? How do you not have gremlins...I mean children yet?”

“Mina! Get your head out of the gutter! I’m not modeling lingerie for you...right now at least...and we’re too young for children...”

“You’re 200 years old, but keep lying to yourself.” Mina teased as (y/n) rolled her eyes at one of her best friends, her face still slightly hot from what Mina had said earlier.

“What’s the surprise then? If it isn’t you in new lingerie or a child?”

“So...I thought it would be fun to recreate the night we first met?”

“But you literally just said you weren’t giving him lingerie.”

“Mina! The actual first night we met! Not our wedding day!” (Y/n) laughed, throwing her hands up in mock exasperation.

“Oh...the hunt? Ohhhh, the hunt.” Mina’s smile grew wider the longer she thought about it.

“That’s perfect! But the lingerie thing would’ve been nice too.”

“Mina! If you wanna see me in lingerie, then you should’ve just said that.” (Y/n) giggled before further explaining her plans for Valentine’s Day. 

It was the only plan she could think of for the man she had loved for almost all of her life...a man that seemed to have everything he could ever want.

ON VALENTINE’S DAY...

“I don’t understand why you couldn’t have just hired more people to help.” Mina complained while straightening a string of lights. 

“It’s more fun, and besides, all of the girls are back together!” (y/n) commented, gesturing towards all of the girls that were gathered around the room, each hanging different decorations.

“How long has it been since we’ve all been in the same place?” Ururaka questioned with a wistful sigh.

“At least 30 years.” Momo chimed in. “We really do need to see each other more.”

“Then we should have more balls, like we used to.”

“This isn’t a ball, Tsu.” Mina pointed out. “It’s the hunt. You know, like we used to have way back when.”

“Wait a second...where are we getting the prey from?”

“Aren’t you vegetarian?”

“No, Iida and I gave that up like 5 years ago.” Midoriya laughed. “Iida just likes sustainably sourced and organic.”

“Oh come on, you haven’t ever just gone to a night club to pick up a few?” Mina teased as the girls, Midoriya, and Denki laughed. 

“No, that’s so 1960s, Mina.”

“No, that’s date night.” Mina corrects as (y/n)’s face heats up slightly as she laughs.

“We’ve done it a few times...not recently though, we’ve been pretty busy...one of our neighbors called the cops because she thought she saw us doing something suspicious.”

“What were you doing?”

“Well we may have been hiding a body, but that’s besides the point. That old lady should’ve minded her own business. It’d be a shame if she were to suddenly...go missing.” (Y/n) mumbled with a roll of her eyes as they all laughed.

“Alright, everyone go change! We’ll be starting in three hours!” Jirou announced, ushering everyone to different parts of the large castle to change into their special outfits. 

It only took everyone an hour and a half to two hours to get ready, the last hour was spent doing finishing touches and everyone calling their partners to come as a surprise.

“Oi Shitty Girl! What’s the problem? You aren’t hurt are you?” The aggressive blonde questioned quickly, his red eyes gliding over (y/n)’s body as if checking she was ok for himself. 

“Then what’s the problem?” He questioned, raising an eyebrow at her as she placed a blindfold over his eyes. “Shitty Girl, what are you doing?”

“Be patient, Katsuki. You’ll like the surprise.” (y/n) said in a teasing voice as she led him into the large ballroom. The sun had just sat and the night sky was dark and littered with stars that could be seen from the windows.

“What’s all of this?” Katsuki questioned, finally removing the black blindfold as he scanned the room, surprised to see all of his friends equally surprised from where they stood with their partners. 

“Surprise! I thought it would be fun to recreate the party that happened the first time we met each other. Happy Valentine’s Day!”

“We’re going on a hunt?” Denki questioned excitedly, practically bouncing up and down as Jirou just smiled lightly at his antics.

“Duh.” Jirou mumbled from beside him with a quick roll of her eyes as everyone made their way outside. 

“Ok here’s the rules...and it’s the Valentine’s Day edition! So there’s 20, whichever couple can get the most hearts wins.” Midoriya announced with a large smile on his face. “(y/n) release them, and we’ll give them a minute long head start.”

(y/n) walked over to the where the 20 individuals were lined up single file, metal cuffs around their wrists and longer ones around their ankles. Each one wore a black leather collar with a number from 1 to 20 on it. “You evil bitch! Let me go!”

“Where are your manners, Thomas? You were so good up until now...I wouldn’t want to have to make an example out of you.” (y/n)’s voice was kind and soft, but the look in her eyes was anything but that. 

“Why are you doing this?” Thomas questioned, his blonde hair falling into his light eyes as she stared in fear at the group around him before meeting (y/n)’s eyes once more.

“It’s fun, Thomas.” (y/n) told him, patting him on the head before releasing everyone’s cuffs. “Go ahead...you’re free now.” (y/n) urged as they all just stood there with blank stares. They continued to stand there, looking at each other. “I said go!” (y/n) repeated, her eyes practically glowing in the light of the full moon. The soft light shining against the sharp points of her canine teeth. 

The group of 20 broke off into a sprint, disappearing into the tree line as Iida looked down at his watch. “Is it time yet?” Denki questioned, obviously ready to begin.

“Almost.” Iida replied shortly, a smile growing on his own face as the seconds counted down to zero. “Now!”

Everyone ran after that, disappearing into blurs with the speed they were moving. (y/n) ran with a long spear, the silver tip shining in the moonlight as she jumped forward, releasing the spear into the unsuspecting number 13. 

13 fell to the ground after looking down at the sharp spear poking through his chest. No sound leaving his lips since it had all happened too quickly. “One down!” (y/n) called out, seeing the recognizable flash of blonde that belonged to her husband. 

Katsuki came to a stop beside her, his hands stained red along with his lips. He smiled at her. “Two, actually.” He told her, showing her the heart in one of his hands. “Happy Valentine’s Day...I’ve already given you my heart figuratively, so now I’m giving it to you physically.”

“Aw, that was cute.” (y/n) laughed before accepting the gesture. “You can have mine too.” She added after her laughter died down, picking up the bloody organ from number 13 before holding it out to Bakugou.

Tags:

[darkeninganon]

(I wanted to write what I thought Quackity did to Dream. Warning for gore, blood, very heavy torture, passing out (as a fear/pain response), and willful ignorance of torture. If you spot something else, message me and I will add it and apologize profusely. How I described Dream was based off @winifreyd and their White Enderman Dream Design. Go check out their art!)

"SAM!" Sam practically lept through the lava at that moment. The fear in the voice calling his name overriding all common sense. But he froze, Tommy was no longer in there. "SAM!" The voice calling out for Sam was the voice of a monster who deserved to be in there, a monster that killed people for fun. A monster that was finally feeling fear. "You can scream as much as you want, Sam's not coming." Dream stared at Quackity, the scarred man held a hammer and kife, casually swining both as if they weren't weapons. "How?! What are you.... Why?!" Quackity barked out a fit of laughter, resulting in Dream cowering into the corner more. So, so close to the lava. "I already told you Dream..." He raised the hammer up slightly, holding the top towards Dream, "I want that fucking Book." "I...I burned it, I told you that!" "Then tell me what was in the fucking book!" "N.... NO!" Dream straightened up, trying to put on a brave face. "You think I'm going to make myself obsolete? You're dumber than-" Dream's head was whipped to the side, his mask flying off into the lava. His body collapsed as his brain fought to register what just happened. "Maybe, just maybe, if I beat your skull enough, I can crack your head open and actually see what is going on in that brain of yours." Quackity spoke so casually, the hammer having a dash of blood on it already. Dream shook his head, ears pinned against his head, backing even further into the corner. Quackity smiled as he stepped closer to Dream, invading the prisoner's personal space. "Man, I see why George could have loved you. Without that ugly-ass mask on, you actually have a nice face." He casually put the hammer away, raising the knife up to eye level. "Shame I have to ruin it. I'm sure Gogy will forgive me." A hand wrapped around Dream's mouth, pinning his head to the wall, wile Quackity straddled Dream's waist, keeping himself safe from the prisoner's thrashing legs. Dream's hands flew up, clawing at the on pinning his head and keeping him from talking, muffled scream accompanying the chaos of flailing limbs. The knife came closer and closer to Dream's face, and, unable to contain his fear, Dream closed his eyes. A shooting pain blossomed in the left side of his face; his right eyes flying open as he tried to scream, jaw unhinged, tried to claw Quackity's hand to the bone, tried to throw Quackity off into the lava, tried to do something to make it stop. Quackity eventually pulled away, staring in utter fascination at a weird, fleshy-looking ball that he had pinned against the knife. "Huh, you know, I always thought your eyes would be green, what with how much you liked the color. You don't mind if I keep this as a reminder of what they actually look like, do you? Maybe give it to your precious Gogy? Show it off to Tubbo and Tommy?" He was laughing, pocketing Dream's.... Dream covered the left side of his face, realizing that everything had shifted to the right. No, no Quackity couldn't do this.... what would Sapnap and Karl think? "Who cares what they would think?! Who would be afraid of you if they found out you pissed you fucking pants!" Quackity barked out, still laughing and pointing at Dream. Sure enough, a darkened stain spread from his crotch down his pant legs. Tears began to burn Dream's cheeks as he pulled his legs up to his chest, tail curling around the stained area, hoping to hide what his body just did. Except, Quackity grabbed his right ankle and pulled it towards himself, dragging Dream away from the wall. "No no no. We aren't done yet, not until you tell me what was in that book!" He took out the hammer, lightly pressing it to Dream's knee. Dream shook his head, still refusing to give Quackity the desired information. Dream would not be removed from the story, not yet. "All right then pal, you asked for it." With that Quackity raised the hammer and brought it down on Dream's knee. A sickening crunch-crack resonated through the cell, followed by a scream. Sam cringed, throwing his hands over his ears to block out the screaming and crying. "This is all for Tommy.... You did this for Tommy.... You are protecting Tommy..... If someone else knows what is in the book.... You can kill Dream, and Tommy will be safe..... Tommy can relax once Dream is dead..... This is for Tommy...." Tears fell from his eyes, but he just kept repeating his own personal mantra, praying that the screaming would stop soon. "SAAM!" Dream sobbed, crawling towards the lava, his legs dragging uselessly behind him. Quackity kept laughing, even as Dream's voice slowly gave out. "Sam.... please, I'm sorry.... Please...." "Oh, now you're sorry?" Quackity chuckled, slamming a foot down on Dream's shattered knees. Dream cried out weakly, reaching out for the lava. Quackity huffed at the lack of response, walking up and resting his full weight on Dream's shoulders, making sure to place his knee right between the blades. Quackity then grabbed Dream's outstretched hand, taking the knife back out. "You'll never hold another weapon, so long as I can help it." Dream watched in horror as Quackity cut off all his fingers in one fluid motion. A loud ringing filled Dream's ears, Quackity was talking, but it sounded so far away. His head suddenly felt weightless.... in fact his whole body did, and he felt.... cold? Where was that ringing coming from?! It was so loud and annoying. And why was the lava suddenly much brighter? "Sam! Something happened!" Sam jumped up at Quackity's yelling, lowering the lava to bring the cell into view. He took out his staff, the Warden's Will Breaker. But nothing could have prepared him for what greeted him. Quackity was fine, blood smeared across his face, hands, and shirt collar; Dream was on the floor, muttering and twitching, drool frothing from between his lips. Sam was quick to head over, nearly vomiting as he got closer and could see what happened in detail. Dream was missing an eye, blood from the socket matting his once white fur, his legs were bent in strange directions right at his knees, one of his hands was missing all its fingers, urine, blood, and drool stained his prison garb . And now he was on the floor, muttering nonsense, his remaining eye rolled up into his skull as if he were possessed; his mask was nowhere to be seen. Sam snapped out of his horror just long enough to grab Quackity and drag him out of the cell, leaving Dream to deal with whatever was going on. Sam could never let anyone find out what he had done, or they would hate him more than they already did. They needed Dream alive and, in some mental capacity to bring back Wilbur. Sam could only hope not too much damage was done. Ranboo stared out at the snow-covered landscape. Someone, somewhere, was crying out for help. Begging for mercy. Ranboo found himself crying, his red eye burning more than usual. He had been enderwalking just moments before. Ranmoo the bear woke him up with a nudge. He didn't want to be alone tonight though. He walked, to the portal, through the community house, past the badlands and the prison. He walked to the little cottage Tubbo called home, all the way in Snowchester. Ranboo was practically silent as he climbed the ladder, curling around Michael in his tiny bed. His son woke, slightly, giving a confused honk as he looked at his dad. Ranboo shushed him, and the two fell asleep peacefully. If only the same could be said about the prisoner, just a couple hundred miles away, in his cell.

[whump-town]

Professors

No one asked for more of this AU and, truthfully, I don’t even know why I keep writing it. We all know I have other things to be doing. The Cancer AU, the PowerPoint, and other fics left unfinished. Yet, here I am offering garbage

WARNING FOR Reid whump, implied abuse

Growing up, Spencer Reid relished his escapism. Spending hours, days even, cooped into the smallest holes of his mother’s house with nothing but books and the ability to lose track of time and space. More importantly, his ability to ignore the obvious. Here it did not matter that his mother thought he was a spy. That she’d slapped him so hard he’d felt his teeth smack together and his eyes shake in their sockets. 

Now, he’s a little too old for that. Escaping is so much harder to do. 

“Reid?”

The lights of his office are off, the door shut firmly behind him. With every ounce of his concentration on steading his ataxic gait and forcing his trembling hands around the doorknob of his office, he would have remembered to lock the door on his way in. Unfortunately, his days of complete solitude are behind him. A toll often paid for in order to acquire friends. His fellow professors of-- whatever it is they all teach. 

“Spencer--” Hotch. Thank god. “I’m going to come in okay?”

Now, Reid can remember the distinct tap of Hotch’s approaching figure. Closing his eyes and pushing his head further into his couch, Reid hears the door open. Tap. Hotch’s old shoes scuffing across the unforgivingly rough carpet. Tap, more muffled now. One more half-raised step and the sound of the real, thick wood of Hotch’s cane being hooked over the arm of the plastic chair painted to look wooden to his left. 

“What can I do?”

Reid doesn’t answer, just keeps his sweaty palms pressing into his ears. If he moves, he’s certain that his body will explode. Little bits of genius coating all for walls. His books covered in gore. Another mess. 

“You haven’t been sleeping.”

Hard, calloused fingers wrap around the back of his neck. The tips digging into the stiffened muscles until Reid lets out a whimper. Then, with certainty and reflexive habit, one hand remains kneading the muscles until they ease while the other plants itself firmly on his flank. Stilling his body. Well, to be as still as Reid can. 

His body has been out of his control since he was nine. The maternal drive had not been enough to protect him. For years, his mother had been distracted with work and by his father. She made time for him amidst the books but he was spared her anger and confusion. Until his father left and she could no longer work reliably. Then, one night in a fit of paranoia, his mother had hit him. She’d hit him so hard that no amount of genius had sparred him.

His cerebellum is damaged. 

Garcia could tell you far more about the reasoning behind how he is now. He can too but it’s far too taxing to recount each of his bodily flaws. His disabilities. 

Their silence is interrupted by a soft knock at the door and peaking out from under the suit jacket Reid hadn’t realized Hotch had tucked around him, he can see Emily. Her dark eyes flash twice over the scene before her and immediately she sinks. That’s what he loves most about her. In all her hardness, Emily is easily one of the kindest people he’s ever met.

Raised by her mother’s hip, Emily had known too much about politics and little of the reflexive kindness of those around her. To be born good and to choose good is always a rewarded ideology. People like Penelope Garcia and Derek Morgan. Born good, surrounded by good, and only learning of the evil much later are fantastic people. They have their own struggles but they overcame them. To Reid, there is nothing more interesting than those surrounded by the cold curling fingers of the world but come out good. Emily wasn’t hugged as a child. Praise came at the expense of crushing her peers and never knowing what a good friend was. Hotch was raised by two abusive, domineering parents. For them to choose kindness, to willingly soften their edges is… it’s commendable. 

But maybe that’s all the pointless rambling of a book nerd. 

“Que pasa?” Spanish has always lent itself to be Emily’s most practice language. Perhaps, it has to do with the softened curls and rolls of the language. It’s never sounded rough, coarse coming out of her mouth. She sounds like the women who raised her. The maids who cleaned gravel out of her knees when she fell in the driveway and the calloused fingertips that ran under her eyes to quickly wipe her tears. 

With a soft, tsks Emily comes into the room. “Get off the floor,” she whispers to Hotch. His long spider-like legs curled every which way. She has no way of being able to tell how he’s been on the floor but she knows any length of time will come with repercussions. “If you can,” there is an emphasis on his abilities. Not to push himself. “Get Penelope-- wait…” She realizes a moment too soon that won’t work. “She’s got a class. I need you to get Derek.” 

Garcia is like their shady doctor. She went through all the training-- undergraduate, medical school, and interned. After a bit though, she realized that stitches, sutures, and contusions were not in fact something she loved. Not even a little. So, she went to computers. A huge financial burden to take on but that was her calling. Now she has tenure and spends her time balancing JJ’s art classes with her own class on programming. 

Derek is an actual doctor but he only practice theoretical medicine. Too busy teaching know-it-all medical school students about ethics. Reid likes to joke that he’s just a philosophy professor. Being an english literature professor leaves him pretty open to any comebacks Morgan can think of in the moment. 

Slowly rising to his feet, Hotch totters. Emily’s long fingers curl around his bicep, an unspoken order to hold still for just a moment. Long enough for his labored breathing to calm back down and his back to stop aching so feverishly. “You’ll be no help hurting yourself,” she comments, releasing him. She avoids his eyes, almost flushed having been caught touching him. Stepping into his space. It’s nothing for someone else but Hotch isn’t someone like Garcia and she’s not gentle like Reid. Turning her back, she’s stops any further comment. Any looks or reciprocation of that touch. 

Hotch leans heavily into the cane curling into his right palm. The wood slick with the calmness of his hand. “I’ll be back,” he promises, feeling a sickening twist in his stomach. All too conscious of every step being measured out by the tap, tap of his cane on the cold tiled floor. 

It’s that very sound that alerts Derek to Hotch closing in. 

Unlike Reid, what ails Hotch is undetermined. People, like puzzles, are simple enough to put together with enough the edges put together. For Reid, the edge pieces are his mother’s schizophrenia, her bouts of aggression, and her love of books. From there, blossoms the genius of the youngest professor the school has ever had. His cerebral injury is accounted for by his mother’s illness. Her abuse. No matter how much Reid dances around the use of that word. Her love had taken him here, to this university and to his profound love of books. To Reid, that love, has always mattered more than the rest. 

Hotch, though, he is a man completely lacking in edges. 

What does Derek Morgan know about Aaron Hotchner? He used to work at the District Attorney’s office. There is a mark on his record but the matters of it have been expunged, he was about sixteen according to the date. Those are matter of public record. He likes orange juice better than apple juice. If someone else is making it, he takes his coffee black, but when he makes it for himself it’s a mess of gradually adding sugar and creamer until he’s content. And the cane. It’s purpose is clear. The why is more important. It’s not very typical of men not yet fifty to need mobility aides.  

The tapping stops at his open door, he doesn’t need to look up from what he’s doing to know who it is or where he is. “You’re going to royally fuck your shoulder up if you don’t start using that cane on the other side.” 

As it always does, his comment is ignored. The excuse is always the same. Hotch is left handed, he simply prefers to keep his left hand free. It’s a matter of convenience. “Reid is having an episode--” 

Pushing himself up, Derek doesn’t need to hear the rest. For a moment he does falter. Unsure if should falter back with Hotch, allowing the older man to set their pace rather than making Hotch’s slow, zombie like lurches seem exaggeratedly slowed by Derek’s easy, long pace. Deciding Reid to be what he needs to focus on he simply walks around Hotch. “Use the cane on the other side,” Derek says, as he steps on. “Or I’m going to start emailing you articles about the damage you’re doing to your body.”

Hotch huffs.

“If that doesn’t work I’ll send them to JJ and Emily.”

Hotch curses softly, “you wouldn’t.”

Morgan just smiles, jogging on down the hall, and knowing by the paced tap, tap that Hotch is coming in behind him. 

“Pretty boy.” Sinking to his knees with an ease Hotch could not afford earlier in his comfort, Morgan pushes Reid’s sweat soaked hair back from his skin. The fever and tension become immediately apparent. Reid’s brain, as genius as it is, often forgets that Reid and his body are one. Not two separate things in which one needs to be attacked to protect itself. Today, his entire body suffers with the attack. His stomach aching, brain swelling, and back in flames. His body often betrays him. 

Emily moves away from the pair, untangling her own body to stand and leave the room. Reid won’t appreciate a crowd and Morgan can handle this. Plus, she’s a coward. She doesn’t want to see him in pain any longer. 

“He’s okay.”

Emily steps out into the hall to find JJ and Hotch. Having found a seat in the hall, Hotch is failing to subtly rub at his aching side. JJ, covered in red paint, is only finding his pain as fuel to the fire. Obviously, she is taking his word for a grain of rice. 

“Emily,” JJ greets. “How is he?”

Hotch just shakes his head, leaning his head forward onto his cane. 

“Derek’s with him. He’s just having an… a moment.” Episode sounds too harsh. A thing that Reid can never be. His skeletole, looming gentleness is tender. Clammy, at times, but nothing but loving. “He just needs a moment.” None-the-less, JJ understands exactly what she means. 

But that is, in a way, simply a lie. There is nothing that can be done for Reid in these moments. blinded by pain, he still will not cave. Never, not once, has Reid ever allowed them to give him something to manage the pain. He’ll take vitamins and ibuprofen for headaches but not for the other things. Not for this. 

“Just breathe.”

All they can do is be there. Rub their fingers into the tension and hold his hand. 

[capriciouslyterminal]

Wolves Don’t Do True Love’s Kiss

(Aka I wrote an Ishimondo Wolf Among Us oneshot thing instead of editing a paper and I’ve never posted my writing on tumblr before).

~Full idea credit goes to @andy-deer​ and his amazing art if you like Danganronpa or just cool art you really should follow him~

~Mondo’s the big bad wolf, Ishimaru’s the blind prince from Rapunzel. I know in the original fairytale I think the prince is blinded by thorns but listen a version of him being blinded by snakes lives in my brain from somewhere and I couldn’t not write it.~

~P.S. I don’t know that much about Wolf Among Us and I am sorry about that~

Mondo Oowada had been having the same dream a lot lately, ever since that night he shoved the guy who used to be The Minotaur through the display case of a yarn shop.

Normally he and the other fables didn’t have such violent altercations now that he split off from the pack, but then the detective called in a fucking favor from the big bad wolf himself.

And what else was he supposed to do? When the guy wouldn’t own up to the blood of all those teenagers stuck in his teeth and he wanted to put his horns through the dancing princess turned detective and her naive sidekick?

If he’d known the whole thing was going to lead to a blind prince from another story storming up to his apartment from the DA’s office to yell at him about property damage and chances of exposing the whole fable community at two in the morning while he was trying to sleep of the few times he got gored, he wouldn’t have bothered. 

It really wasn’t his fault The Minotaur couldn’t afford enough glamor to withstand a single punch. And he’d told the annoying little shit as much, but the whole thing inevitably meant that he was seeing a lot of Kiyotaka Ishimaru whenever he was roped into being the muscle behind Kirigiri’s investigations. Which was fine. And normal.

But then the dreams started after that night at the bar, and everything changed.

~*~

He doesn’t know when it changed, when he went from running in the forest of his mind on four feet to two as he slept.

He never lost the sights or the smells of the old forest that had no name. But now he ran it as a man. No matter the wolf he would always be deep in his heart.

It was something like when his brother died. He’d been too young, hadn’t even finished cutting his teeth, when he was shunted from the dreams of hurtling through the night at the front of the pack to hurtling alone through the end of days.

There the isolation was a nightmare, a punishment, but this is not the same. This is a simple shifting of reality.

Sometimes he wonders, looking at the webs of veins stretched under the skin on the backs of his hands in the gray light of morning, when the glamor started to feel more real than his body. 

When he grew so used to the delicate tapping of hands, to standing tall and far from the ground, that the memory of the nights spent slinking through the shadows on his belly faded. He would never truly know when that was lost.

All that meant was that now, whenever he had to shift back, it was no longer the shrugging off of a costume like in the early days in this new town. 

It was shouldering back into an old coat, ill-fitting and smelling of pine, that stretched at the seams to hold him.

He was freezing now, dreaming, skin unprotected from the winter that could steal the breath from your lungs. He was running towards the tower with a panting in his heart and a frenzied howl in his mind. 

~*~

He mentioned it only once, over drinks.

Or, well, more specifically, only Mondo had the real drinks. Something old and amber that burned as it went down. Something served in a glass of gently melting ice that was always refilled whenever he shot a slip of teeth to the bartender and flexed his bloody knuckles while eyeing the shelves of glassware behind him.

The bartender in another life, another place, not that it mattered much anymore, had been a pig. Mondo could tell not just from the swell of his pale throat and the slight tilt of his nose, but the fear that sprang in the air as soon as Mondo had entered that first night in town. The man froze like he was still the prey.

As soon as he’d entered the establishment for the first time, and seen the bartender shakily reach to stroke the brick wall for comfort, he knew the little pig remembered him. Mondo hadn’t paid for drinks in four years, and he hadn’t even needed to threaten to blow down the joint.

Not that he would do that anymore. Now, with cigarettes and cash in the pockets of his long coat, he would have had some complaints for the structure of the building and nothing more to add. Now, he could have figured out how to bring it down with his fist in moments instead of having to empty his lungs.  

Getting Kiyotaka within the brickwork bar’s confines had been an accomplishment of its own, a sign of respect for their still growing friendship that made Mondo swell with pride and grin to himself at the sight of an old world prince crammed into a booth at his favorite dingy bar.

The first time he asked for drinks after a successful arrest, and had seen Kiyotaka nod against the neon backdrop of the city with an uncertain smile, he’d practically howled with glee. If he still had his tail it would have wagged.

 But getting him to sip anything harder than soda water was a losing man’s game.

~*~

The pines are so familiar he could think of them as his own brothers, feeding the deer whose innards he lived on before he found new villages to savage. Even as he left the skin of the wolf, he would never be free of this forest that still shuddered with his howls if he stopped to listen.

But the tower, crooked and dark against the snowy sky, is new. Rising from the thorny ground as if it had been summoned from Hell itself.

A break in the tree-line, a monument of dark stone frozen in a twisting shudder as it reached for the clouds. The single shining yellow window gleams like an eye watching him approach. 

If he saw eyes like than in an animal he’d think it was rotting from the inside out. He wouldn’t eat it, and instead leave it to bleed sluggishly into the soft earth.

The tower is sick.

A man is climbing it.

~*~

He’d been five drinks deep, warm in the belly and ready to curl up by the golden hearth that kept the bar warm, when it finally happened. He hadn’t actually curled up by a hearth in years, and would only consider it after five more drinks.

But needless to say, he was drowning in golden comfort when he’d asked about the tower. 

When he felt the air that had been so warm a moment ago freeze as the words left his mouth. A question that had been scratching at the backdoor of his mind since Kiyotaka had pounded on his door and demanded Mondo put on a proper glamor when he accidentally grabbed a hunk of his hair.

“It just doesn’t seem like you,” Mondo said. The words slurred, flowing between his teeth and tongue like a river. “A blind prince of all fuckin’ people. Breaking and entering.”

There was that twitch of an eyebrow, displeasure kept on a tight leash, that made Mondo’s heart clench with fondness. 

It was a feeling like he swallowed the sun, his gut full of light, only for it try to kick its way back up out of his throat.

“I wasn’t always–I did not break anything! And I entered with permission.” 

Kiyotaka had discovered the napkin dispenser on the table earlier in the night, sopping up a ring of condensation that Mondo had been happy to leave to sink into the table. He made use of it now, and quickly shredded a napkin between his pale fingers.

“Come off it, man.” Mondo chuckled, raised the glass to his lips, and took another swig. “What would permission to break into a tower in the middle of the fuckin’ woods even sound like?”

“I didn’t break into her tower.” Even blind, Kiyotaka knew how to glare with the best of them. Another napkin was plucked from the table, but he worried at it for a bit longer this time.

“She was screaming,” Kiyotaka said. “I was nearby, hunting, and at first I thought it was the wind. But then I really listened. And she was screaming.”

~*~

The man is up higher than the treetops, clutching the stones of the tower with his bare hands. The wind is whispering, the clouds humming in anticipation.

Mondo breaks into the space, and a name rings out like a bell in his throat. He howls with it, staring up at the figure as he runs. He is too far away to catch him should anything happen.

When the man turns to look down, all Mondo can see is the red pinprick of his eyes burning against the grey eternity of the sky. And his hands.

His fingers are bloody at the tips, streaks of crimson left on the stones. He broke his nails against the brick of the tower, flecks of scratched into his pale skin. He surely has been climbing for days and is nowhere closer to the top.

Even as he runs, Mondo knows that though he has hands, he cannot climb fast enough to reach him.

“Stop!” He hears himself roar. “You’ll fall.”

The man looks down, and Mondo feels his smile on the wind. He is weeping, tears freezing before they reach the ground to shatter into icy shards.

~*~

“What did you hunt?” Mondo was not sure where the words came from inside of him.

Kiyotaka’s sightless eyes were pale flecks of ice under his furrowed brow. He crumpled the napkin in his hands, and immediately tried to smooth it out with a regretful twist to his mouth.

“I don’t know for sure anymore…it was so long ago. But there was talk of a wolf, I think.”

He let the space hang between them, gave Mondo a chance to haul him up by his collar with a growl. But the rage never came. Mondo knew him now.

He continued on.

“I wasn’t much of a hunter. But I knew that my grandfather should have–,” his voice melted as it always did when the old king came into the conversation. “It is the royal family’s duty to protect their people.”

The freezing slush of the past seeped down Mondo’s spine. For a second he almost could see his breath, as if the old forest had risen back up around him.

For a second he could almost imagine it. Them meeting there. 

He could imagine himself standing on all fours heaving, staring into burning red eyes against a dark and ancient sky. A figure fit to stop his rampaging ways. Not a woodsman, crude and homely, but a prince. 

Would he have used a bow? A sword? What would have come first? A slice through Mondo’s belly or Mondo’s teeth in his neck?

But those times were long gone, and the quiet murmur of bar patrons tethered the two of them in the present.

“She screamed, and I followed the sound…and I found the tower. I called up to her.”

Mondo could imagine that with ease. Kiyotaka thundering out of the forest like a madman, yelling up at a witch’s tower to try and ascertain if a screaming woman needed his help. 

Kiyotaka trying to figure out the best way to help her as the sun went down and the temperature fell. 

Kiyotaka shedding a finely embroidered coat to climb a random ass tower despite any good sense he might have been taught.

His princely fingers, tapered and gentle.

“I thought she had lowered a rope. I didn’t know until I held it in my hands that it was her hair. Sometimes I can still feel the slick weight it.” 

His hands clenched, old scars scraped into the pads of his fingertips drawing across the table.

~*~

The man leans back, and with the gentle gasp of the wind, he falls.

Mondo is sure his heart falls with him

~*~

“She was so young. And so frightened, Mondo. I don’t think I’ll ever forget her face,” Kiyotaka said, stricken. “Her hair falling to the floor.”

Mondo was only aware of the thundering breaths he drew in and had to focus to release with care. The howling of the wind was still inside of him, screaming to be let out.

“I promised her I’d help her, find a way to get her out of that place. I had to.  It was a single room and it was freezing. In the middle of winter! Imagine it, Mondo, a single stone room is all you know for eighteen years. I think I was the first man she’d ever seen. She stared at me like she couldn’t understand what I was. She held my hands and…and she wept.”

His hands were shaking bad. Mondo focused on his breath and felt claws scrape somewhere down deep with his bones, hiding under the skin of a man.

“I promised her I’d help her because that was my duty to my people. Because she deserved more than to be a witch’s prisoner. I promised her that I’d keep her safe. I just needed a ladder, something so she could climb down. I had to go back for one, and she didn’t want to let go of my hand. I had to pry her fingers off my wrist. She cried after me.” He admitted it like some shame, like something heavy on his chest that Mondo understood.

“It took a full day’s ride to return. I hadn’t realized how far I’d travelled. And as soon as I found a ladder long enough I turned and went straight back. I think I almost killed my horse, but I couldn’t stop to think.” 

The words were falling out of him faster and faster. Mondo didn’t know how to stop him.

“When I got back, when I called up to her, there was no sound. She tossed nothing down for me. So I climbed on my own.” His fingertips twitched, a sardonic grin followed them and looked wrong on his face. “But I was too late. I wasn’t fast enough. She was not there to greet me upon my return. But the witch was.”

~*~

The man is caught in thorns. His fine clothes in the style of their homeland torn and dirtied. He is bleeding from his crown and moaning, but he does not scream. His bones are broken, his skin is bloody, his eyes are screwed tightly shut.

Mondo feels something terrible will happen once he opens them.

The snakes are looming, dry static across the ground.

Mondo flings himself into the thorns on instinct bred by his old skin and bellows at the pain of it.

~*~

Mondo suddenly reached out, on instinct bred by his old skin, and felt himself take Kiyotaka’s hand.

The prince of the old world was startled. Mondo heard the stutter of his heart. The gasp of his breath.

Mondo knew a want like a chasm, stretching and straining from his chest through his whole body. It drove him to hunt, to shatter, to shrink his pupils to slits, and to take all the world had with a guttural howl. This want shuddered through his body at the sight of Kiyotaka, golden in the light, parting his lips to speak.

He wants–he wants–he wants–

In a way he had not wanted since the old days.

~*~

He rips into the throats and bellies of snake after snake. He tears scale and muscle with his teeth and flings the corpses away with his hands until the ground is littered with them.

Only when they are all dead, when the root-like curve of their bodies are all he can see, does he turn back to the man. He whimpers and the tears leak from under his closed eyes. He is beautiful.

Mondo takes his face in his hands, feels the sharp press of his cheekbone against the palm of his hand, and moves close enough to feel the warmth of his shuddering breath on his face. Holding him close, their foreheads almost touching.

Mondo feels the venom drip from his lips now, venom from the throats of the snakes that would fall to the man’s eyes and have force him cry out while his body recoiled. Venom that would steal his sight and cast his eyes in icy nothingness.

But it is all he can do to press even closer, feel the man’s heart beat in one with his own, and ghost his lips over the chilled ones.

The man screams into the kiss, and Mondo howls with him.

He always wakes in a cold sweat, and the moon is full and staring down at him from the sky.

~*~

Kiyotaka had continued the story, Mondo had not listened, too entranced by the simple impossibility of holding Kiyotaka’s hand.

“I think she kept her there the whole time, Mondo. And I don’t know what I wanted to do but that woman…she told me I had failed to protect the girl and she–she grabbed me and…” 

Mondo could hear Kiyotaka’s heart thundering in his chest. Sweat was pouring down his forehead, tears welling up the creases of his eyes. It was like he could feel Mondo looking at him even as he kept his eyes downcast.

“And I fell.” His voice was hardly a rasp, utterly hollow. 

Again, Mondo moved on instinct.

Pulling Kiyotaka to him felt like coming home, squeezing his arms around his back as tight as he dared felt like obeying a rule of the new world. Like casting a glamor.

“Hey man, it’s alright now,” Mondo murmured. Something warm blossomed through the want in his chest, and it coated his voice.

“Mondo.” Kiyotaka’s voice was strangled, his arms hovered above Mondo’s back, as if he were unsure how to put them down.

“None of that shit matters anymore, yeah? You’re here now. With me. And I wouldn’t let anything like that happen to you again, swear on my fuckin’ life.”

Kiyotaka took in a shaking breath that hitched in his chest.

“We’re out of the woods, Taka. You and me.”

Kiyotaka let out the slightest sob, equal parts relieved and haunted, and finally wrapped his arms around Mondo. He surrendered himself into the embrace, and Mondo felt everything inside of him shift as Kiyotaka Ishimaru took up residence within the beating of his heart.

And everything changed, simple as that.

~Thank you for reading this, if you did! And thank you again to @andy-deer for their amazing art which has made me smile any day when I was feeling particularly down~

[wienerbarnes]

Stressor

Pairing: Bucky x Reader (Cheek to Cheek)

Word Count: 2,622

Warnings: murder lol, mentions of gore/blood, mentions of rape (its described in like two sentences and theres a short non-graphic flashback, but pls pls pls message me if you dont wanna read and ill give u a sparknotes version), so theres angst but also some nice parts like bucky meditating okay

A/N: wrote this while procrastinating my art commissions but i bought my first laptop BY MYSELF after saving for months and im v excited :) lmk what yall think of this, i promise next part will be goofier/happier lol

MAIN MASTERLIST | CHEEK TO CHEEK MASTERLIST

“Shit… Fuck… Fuck! He’s gonna fucking kill me… fuck…”

The mumbles spill from your lips as you take in the scene in front of you. Puddles and puddles of blood covered the floor of your apartment, dirtying your beige tile and all the other surfaces with splatters. David lays in the middle, with about thirty-six stab wounds in his body.

When you and Bucky started the arrangement regarding your list, there were two rules you two agreed to follow - no matter what. First rule: Kills are never completed alone. You two are to complete the list together and help each other with everything that involves the person. Second rule: Bucky is to know everything about the person they’re killing. What they did to you, their name, their remaining family, where they live, what they eat for breakfast; everything. 

And here you were breaking both of those rules.

It was too good of an opportunity, you try and convince yourself. Bucky will understand, he’s always so understanding, he never yells, he’s always so nice to you; a choked sob escaped your body as your dirty hands fly to cover your face, tears flowing down your cheeks mixing with the blood now smeared across your skin.

…

TWO HOURS EARLIER

Bucky always told you to be extremely cautious when leaving the apartment. Even though it had been well over a year, almost two, since your prison escape, you never knew who could be watching. Every few weeks or so, your name pops up in the news, Whatever happened to one of the worst killers in modern history, How did she pull off such an escape from such a high security facility, Is she even still alive, etc.

But as soon as your name appears, it vanishes once more, replaced by some other injustice happening in the world.

Your feet take you inside a small bar, the musky scent intrigues you along with the copious amounts of peanut shells littering the floor. You take a seat on the stool and try not to pay attention to the fact that every single person in the room is staring at you right now. But you can’t blame them; you’ve dyed your hair a pastel pink now, body covered in baggy jeans and baby blue long-sleeved milkmaid top, a gift from Bucky. “You can’t wear that one t-shirt, that’s mine, by the way, forever.” He’d told you. Your rainbow painted toes and fingernails stand out under the dimmed lights of the place.

An older man behind the bar approaches you and places a napkin in front of you, “What can I get ya’?” You order some beer plastered on the wall because as far as you know, you’ve never even tried alcohol before, let alone know enough about it to have any kind of preference.

You take sips of the beer for a while, aimlessly watching the sports game playing on the TV, every once in a while glancing at the pool table where a group of older men play a game together. Suddenly, the stool beside you becomes occupied. You know it’s not Bucky, he doesn’t know you’re here and it’s not his cologne, but for a second you were hoping it was. A parallel to when you sat with him in that cafe all that time ago. When he bought you that apple pie and hot chocolate. I miss him…

You refuse to look over at the man sitting next to you, but you can feel his eyes blatantly staring at you. 

“So… what’s your name?” He breaks the silence and asks you. You don’t respond, simply just continue sipping away at your beer.

“My name is David.” He offers. A chill runs up your spine at the name and you look over at him. He looks so familiar… Where do I know him from? Have I seen him at the food market before? Is he Hydra? Did we go to school together? Were we in the Marines-

“Hey officer,” A deep voice curls into your ear, causing a chill to run up your spine.

“Fuck off, David. I’m trying to do my hair.” You don’t bother glancing at him in the mirror as you scoop more gel into your hands and smooth it onto the top of your head. You’ve let your hair grow to long and the strands keep sticking out of the bun, but the thought of asking any of the other women, or worse - the men, for help cutting it terrifies you. You’re still too new.

“Now, is that any way to talk to your higher up?” A large hand wraps around your middle and gropes your breast.

“I said fuck off.” A pointy elbow slams back into his chest, knocking the wind out of him.

“I’ll get you for that, just you wait. Fresh meat.”

Your body runs cold as you make the connection and you feel as though your entire body has shut down. You can feel the cold sweat gathering in your palms and your lower back. A lump forms in your throat and you want to cry; you want to scream. But something takes over, and although you feel terrified, you keep yourself composed; hide your anxiety.

“Do you want to get out of here? My place is only a few blocks away.” You ask, false sultriness dripping from your voice. David smirks at you, clearly not recognizing you from nearly a decade ago. 

He takes out some cash and places it on the bar, grabbing your beer from your hands and placing it on top, grabbing your hands after and leading you out of the bar.

…

Bucky sits on the floor of his living room, practicing his twenty minutes of meditation before bed. Alpine rubs her cheek against the bare top of his foot that’s crossed under his knee, but eventually gets bored before trotting around behind him to start climbing her way up his back. Bucky tries his best to ignore her tiny nails digging through his shirt, but can’t help but chuckle as she makes herself comfortable in the curve of his neck. “Guess meditation time is over, huh baby?” He whispers before gathering her in his hands and plopping her on his bed. He reaches down to roll up his yoga mat when he hears a silent buzzing from his kitchen.

Confused on who would be calling him this late, knowing that Sharon’s visiting a college friend over in SoHo and Sam’s on a date, he sees a number he doesn’t recognize flash on the screen. Bucky hesitates answering, but he knows telemarketers rarely call this late.

“Hello?” Bucky answers.

“B-Bucky?” Your shaky voice sounds on the other end. The sound is watery and raspy, like you've been sobbing your eyes out and screaming for hours.

“Bucky, I-I-I need y-your help… I fucked up,” Your voice is cut off by a hiccup as Bucky goes to grab his closest pair of pants to go over his boxers and he pulls on sneakers before grabbing the keys to his bike.

“Hey, sweetheart? Do me a favor and relax, okay? Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Bucky rushes out as he locks his door behind him before making his way to the staircase.

“I’m so so so sorry, Bucky… please don’t be mad at me-e… I broke t-the rules,” Choked sobs escape you and Bucky has never heard you cry like that before.

“Listen, I’m already on my way, okay? I’ll be at yours in twenty minutes, okay?” You don’t respond as Bucky listens to your crying and you eventually hang up.

Broke the rules? What does she mean by… oh. She couldn’t have… we had our next hit planned for a few days from now. Did she do someone else on the list? Bucky tries not to think too much about it until he can get to yours and figure out what’s going on, his motorcycle screaming through the quiet night.

…

You’ve been sitting in David’s blood for about an hour now. The liquid is cold, his body is cold, the phone in your hand is cold. Nice going, you’ve really done it now. Not only have you probably just cost yourself your freedom, but you’ve ruined your jeans and the top Bucky bought you. He’s going to be so mad at you; he’s going to be so mad that he’s going to have no choice but to bring you in. He’ll be laughing as the cops drag you away-

Your thoughts are interrupted by a frantic knock on your door, Bucky’s voice calling your name on the other side.

“If you don’t open the door, I’m breaking it down!” He calls. 

You slowly stand, trying not to slip in the puddle, before walking over to the door and opening it about halfway. Bucky’s eyes widen and his brows furrowed together as he looks your body up and down.

The blood on your clothes is starting to brown and you’re covered up to your forearms in blood. Splatters decorate your face, neck and hair, and your eyes are puffy from crying.

“I-I-” You begin to stutter. Bucky silently pushes his way inside to see the bloodbath waiting for him. He pushes the door closed behind him and stares at the body laying in the middle of the floor. Your knife still sits standing out of his face.

“Who the fuck is that?”

“Bu-Bucky- I can,”

“What, you-you can explain?!” Bucky snaps, turning to face you, and you’ve never seen him look at you like this. You flinch and take a half-step backwards, bumping into the door behind you.

Bucky turns back around, a flesh and silver hand running through his hair and roughly over his face.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” He begins, voice eerily even, still staring at the body. “You're going to go shower and wash all of the blood off your body. Then you’re going to make sure this apartment is spotless. I’ll take care of… him. And then we’ll talk when I get back. Are we understood?”

You can’t seem to make any words come out so you quickly make your way to your bathroom and close the door behind you softly.

You shower until the water runs cold and your skin is tinted red. Either from the blood or how hard you were scrubbing, you’re not sure, you just didn’t want Bucky to still be in your apartment when you stepped out.

It’s not that you were scared of him, because you weren’t. You knew that Bucky would never intentionally harm you, both physically or mentally. You were more angry at yourself. Bucky's done nothing but protect you; he’s kept you a secret, helped you indirectly work through your trauma, stitched you up, made you smile and laugh when you didn’t even think that was ever going to be possible for you anymore. You broke the only rules he asked of you. You disappointed him. You’ve put him in an even worse position than he’s already in by protecting your existence.

You turn the knob of the water to the right before stepping out and wrapping your fluffy yellow robe around your body, tying it at the waist. Your apartment is empty when you step out of the bathroom, Bucky nor David occupying the space. Your walk over to your sink and open the cabinet on the bottom to take out your cleaning supplies before getting to work.

…

Bucky’s calmed down significantly by the time he gets back to your apartment. He checks his phone to see that it’s almost five in the morning before reaching in his other pocket for your keys that he took off the table, slipping the key into the lock and jiggling it until pushing the door open. 

He’s not mad at you. Perhaps he was for a bit, but he realized that anger was just fear. Had anyone seen you? Did this guy do something to you? Did he recognize you and that’s why you needed to kill him? Did you kill him because you actually wanted to experience that again? He really hoped it wasn’t the last one.

You're sitting on your bed in the corner of the apartment, splatters still visible on the sheets but the floors are clean. The room doesn’t have an overpowering smell of bleach or cleaner, but there is no trace of a body here, besides the small splatters, but those can be passed off as splashes of wine. You did good.

Your feet are stretched out in front of your as your hands are planted behind your back, propping you up. Your yellow robe is tied around your waist but the edges sit high up on your thighs.

He sets your keys on your table, kicks off his shoes, and walks over to take a seat next to you.

“Did you know I was a Marine before all of this? When I was, like, eighteen?” You break the silence, still staring at the wall in front of you.

“Yes.” 

“The guy was my unit chief. He raped me twice during my first week there.” 

Bucky remains quiet as you explain, watching your face and it’s calm expression. You hesitate, opening and closing your mouth before opening it once more to continue.

“I went to some bar tonight and he hit on me. He didn’t recognize me, and… I don’t know. I thought I’d scare him or something, remind him what he’d done. But then he was here and he kept trying to feel me up even though I’d push him away. I didn’t have a plan yet. And then he snapped at me and then I snapped back…” You trailed off. 

“After I realized what happened, I panicked and I used his phone to call you.”

“I’m really sorry, Bucky.” You say, softer now. You bring your legs up to your chest, wrapping your arms around your shins.

“Okay. I forgive you.” Bucky responds after a moment.

The two of you sit in silence next to each other on the thin sheets. You’re staring at the passing cars out the window. He’s staring at your plant that’s sitting on the small night stand next to your mattress. You’ve changed out the silver tin it was sitting in to a light blue one covered in green polka dots. 

You tilt your head to meet his eyes and look away briefly before meeting them again.

“Can… Can I have a hug, Bucky?” You ask, with the smallest voice in the world, your sentence ending in a small crack.

Bucky doesn’t answer and instead scoots closer to you, wrapping his arms around your body and pulling you onto his lap, your thighs on either side of him, chests touching. His left arm wraps around your back and drags slowly up and down while his right hand rests on the back of your head, softly scratching through your still damp hair. Your hands are tucked close between both your chests and your breath fans softly against his neck where your head is tucked into. He silently breathes in your scent, the children’s strawberry soap you use mixed with a homey, warm small that’s just you. He watches out the window as the sky turns from a dark blue to a deep orange; it should be about five-thirty right about now and the morning traffic is about to start.

“There’s a ton of white cat hair on your shoulder, Buck.” He hears you whisper against him, voice slurring a bit with drowsiness, the last bits of adrenaline wearing off.

He smiles to himself and holds you until you're fast asleep, and then stays for a while after that, too.