#not even respectfully they can rot

[girlboypersonthingy]

Hazbin Boys x reader- Comfort ❤️‍🩹

This is a request from an anon- hazbin boys comforting reader with depression/mental illness. Includes Lucifer, Angel, Husk, Sir Pentious, Vox and just a dab of Alastor. Original request here + a heart felt message from yours truly 💌

TW: depression, mental illness, sickeningly sweet fluff

Notes: gn!reader, NSFW during Angel’s part 18+ plz

Lucifer 🍎

Oh my goodnessssssss, prepare to be treated like absolute royalty.

I’m talking foot rubs, back rubs, playing with your hair

Not only will he make you food, he’ll literally try to feed you and offer you sweet praises when you do eat. Eating can be a real chore sometimes…

“Good job, my love. It’s gonna be okay…okay?”

I think Luci is pretty touchy in general, but when you’re down in the dumps, he gets extra clingy and touchy

He’ll pretty much constantly have a hand on you- holding your hand, a hand on your back, a gentle rub on your shoulder

Will unfurl his wings and drag you close to him in bed, wrapping his arms and silky feathers around you as he lulls you to sleep

Like imagine a midday depression nap all tangled up with Luci, curtains drawn so the room is nice and dark, the temp is perfect, the bed is hugging you just as good as your babe next to is. Ugh. Plz, I want this. I need this.

Will try to gently coax you out of bed and try to get you out of the house. He knows it won’t be easy for you but he thinks getting you cleaned up, dressed and out doing something fun you’ll feel a bit better. You’ll at least be distracted from your sadness for a bit.

He’s so kind and nonjudgmental too. He gets it completely. He has depression too. Even the king of hell deals with mental illness, okay? Mental illness does not discriminate

He’ll offer the best advice he can muster up, using his own experiences to help you out of your funk

All in all, he’s just an absolute sweet pea. So doting, so caring.

Angel Dust 🕸️

Also has mental illness, also gets it completely.

KING OF DISTRACTIONS

Angel is a sweet boy but I don’t think he’d be too great at offering advice…

So he does his best to distract you from your feelings, doing whatever it takes to get you to smile, even just for a second.

Will ask you what you want to do first, whatever will make you happy, he’ll go along with it.

If you insist on rotting in bed, he’ll probably respectfully pull you out of bed, tell you “this ain’t good for ya, babe” and force you to go do something fun, something relaxing, something for yourself

Sorry not sorry but he’ll def offer to cheer you up by fucking you, letting you fuck him, eating you out, sucking your dick. Go ahead, take your stress out on him, he can take it ;)

Also the king of self care.

SPA DAY SPA DAY SPA DAY

Will draw you and him a bath, rub your shoulders while you sit in the warm water together, will even wash your hair for you

Forces you to wear a face mask with him lmao

“C’mon, (Y/N)! Lemme paint ya nails! You’ll look sooooo cuuuuuute~”

Expect lots of touching and kisses with him at night, especially if you’re having trouble sleeping

Rubs your back, rubs your arms, will rub gentle circles on your butt if you’ll let him, kisses your head, kisses your cheeks, kisses your nose

ALL THE KISSESSSSSS 💋💋💋

Husk 🃏

Okay listen…this guy is obvi a great listener and he’s pretty good at giving advice. Honestly, he’s probably the best person to go to.

Husk is an old soul, he’s pretty wise, has a lot of life experience, death experience, his own experience with mental illness and even addiction.

He could just listen to you talk for hours, waiting for you to pause before he replies. He’d never interrupt. He’s so patient with you 🥹

Will keep a close eye on you and any new habits you’ve seemed to pick up. He fixes his own issues with booze but he’s the type to say “do as I say, not as I do”

Won’t let you spiral into addiction like he did…it’s not an option.

I think Husk would be a good mix of “Come here, give Husker a hug. It’s alright, hun. Let’s go take a little nap, yeah?” and “Hey, I know what’ll cheer ya up!” *proceeds to show you the coolest, craziest magic tricks*

He’s a good balance of comfort and distraction

Anything he can do to help, just say the word

Will tell you funny shit he’s seen the folks around the hotel do just to see you laugh for a moment

“One time, Angel was walking right in front of the bar at like 7 in the morning and tripped over literally nothing and face planted! I had the best seat in the house. It was hilarious.”

This is my own personal headcanon, idk why but I feel like Husk can cook really well. He’d totally make you food, even bring it to you in bed if you don’t feel like getting up

Will absolutely let you play with him like a kitten, won’t even be upset about it. Play with his ears, give him pets, let his fur be your stim toy, let his purr soothe your achy heart

Sir Pentious 🐍

Plzzzz, he’s such a simp. I love this slippery, special little guy 💚

Big on cuddles! Will cuddle you all day, all night if you want. Loves the physical contact, and loves it even more when he can feel you relax a bit against him.

Will make his eggs boys do anything for you. Whatever you want, you tell them and they’ll happily oblige.

Kinda random but I think he’d be the type to try and pull silly little pranks on ppl around the hotel just to get you to laugh. He’s such a silly goose omg

He doesn’t really understand what you’re going through so he’ll just keep asking you what he can do, how he can help, what you want, what you need from him.

He doesn’t get it but he’ll do anything for you.

When you’re feeling particularly lazy and it’s extra hard to leave your bed, he’ll literally carry you around. Just lounge in his arms, darling, he’ll take you wherever you need to go. Don’t need to go anywhere? Fine, you’re gonna come along with him to do his daily tasks. Sit in his lap and just watch as he works.

Just wants to keep you close. He can’t stand the thought of you being alone when you feel like this. No matter where he is or what he’s doing, he wants you close.

Unless you insist on having some alone time or needing some space. Again, whatever you need from him, you got it.

Although, he may get a little teary eyed and pouty when he leaves you. Can’t stop thinking about you all day and probably comes and checks on you several times.

Vox 🖥️

“CANCEL MY MEETINGS, HOLD ALL MY CALLS, TELL EVERYONE IM NOT RESPONDING TO EMAILS UNTIL TOMORROW!”

Guy needs to focus on his baby right now. You are his top priority, everything else can wait. You are just too precious to put on the back burner.

Will be sure to tell Val and Velvette to leave you two alone. He doesn’t want them upsetting you any more than you already are.

This man has his assistants waiting on you hand and foot. He’s gonna stay in your bed with you, cuddled up with tons of blankets, both in your pajamas as you watch movies while ordering his staff to bring you whatever it is you desire.

Will eventually yank you out of bed bc he can’t stay still for too long but you’re coming with him. Wants to keep you company always

In public, Vox isn’t the most romantic or touchy. He’s a busy man with a huge reputation to uphold. While he would never completely ignore you and he’s no ashamed to show some PDA with you, you sort of always find yourself following in his shadow when he’s hard at work.

Once he sees how much your mental health is affecting you, he becomes much more attentive, much more protective of you.

He’ll hold your hand or keep his arm around you when out and about. Will give you a gentle kiss and a prideful smile before getting on set for a news shoot.

If you’re having a particularly hard day, everyone get out of the way! Hes taking the day off, he doesn’t give a fuck what anyone says or thinks.

You are too important to him. Without you, what good would all his accomplishments be? Without you, who would he share all this with?

He needs you to stick around 🩵

Alastor🩸

I think Alastor would be absolutely clueless but he’d try his best nonetheless!

He’d also be one to try and distract you.

Wanna go to cannibal town and visit Rosie? She’ll help cheer you up! She’s a great listener with tons of good advice to give

Will reluctantly invite you into his room and lead you to the half of it that looks like a swamp/forest. He will take off his coat and sit in the grass with you, staying silent but watching you look around in awe.

He’s got lots of cool powers and will summon or manifest little things here that he thinks will bring a smile to your face.

Summons little lightning bugs to carefully dance around your face, holds back from slaughtering a deer that’s approaching just so you can admire it from afar, will watch with a genuine smile as you lay back in the grass and relax to the sound of crickets chirping and light jazz music.

If you asked…he might give you a hug. Might.

Also sends his shadow to check up on you every so often but if you notice this, he will deny it with all his might.

[daenysx]

respectfully i need more dad!aemond, you write it so well and it just makes me so so happy 🫶🏻🥹

like i’m just imagining him with his babies as they grow older, like maybe something with them starting school and reader and aemond have to help them with projects etc ,,, just any domestic fluffy ideas you have 🤍

thank you for requesting, i hope you enjoy <3333 requests are open for dad!aemond

modern!aemond targaryen x fem!reader , tooth rotting fluff

"lyx, you're doing it wrong."

if there's one thing alyssa targaryen loves to do, it's being a big sister. she's doing a pretty good job on it, too, even when sometimes she's being a bit annoying to aelyx. she has the words of her mom and charms of her dad. an unbeatable duo.

"no." aelyx says. "i want that picture."

"okay, but you're spreading the glue wrong." alyssa says. "it's gonna stick to your fingers now."

the scene aemond witnesses when he comes into the room is exactly like this. his babies, trying to make a school project on their own, dealing with many papers and crayons and glue. alyssa seems like she's bored of it all but aelyx is patient. his tiny tongue sticking up to the corner of his mouth as he tries to press the picture on another paper.

"daddy!"

aemond smiles, leaving his jacket on the couch as he comes closer. "hi, little love." he hugs alyssa first. "hey, buddy." aelyx doesn't give him any attention other than a smile, boy has got things to do. "what's this?" aemond asks.

"it's for aelyx's class tomorrow." his girl explains. "we need to pick pictures and glue them here."

"like a collage?"

"what's a collage?"

turns out it's exactly like a collage. aemond looks at the pictures briefly before watching his son. his tiny hands try to spread the glue nicely.

"would you like some help?" aemond asks, gently. aelyx looks at his dad with big eyes. he looks like he wants to do it by himself but the glue is hard to deal with alone.

"can you just spread the glue?" alyssa asks with convincing smile that always works for her daddy. "we can do the rest."

"of course, baby." aemond rolls up his sleeves before reaching for aelyx's hand. "i'll just hold your hands, you're doing the rest. okay, buddy?"

aelyx nods, his silver curls shaking with the motion. aemond gently holds his son's tiny hands to lead him as he places the glue on the paper.

"are you almost done?" you ask them as you walk inside. you have a little kitchen towel to dry up your hands. "it's dinner time."

you're cheerful every time you see them do something together. watching aemond take care of kids is always a delight and you get to see him doing it a lot more lately, now that they go to school and come back with lots of fun projects to do.

aelyx looks at you as he sees you stand by the door, when aemond finishes with the glue he's quick to run to your arms. aemond sometimes complains he's such a mommy's boy, but he also knows alyssa is definitely enamored by him. it's the teasing part he loves the most, though.

"i'm taking my boy to kitchen, come meet us when you finish!" you say happily, kissing aelyx's chubby cheek.

"come here, baby." aemond extends a hand to alyssa. "let's pick up some pictures."

"that looks nice." she says, her small finger on paper. "and this one."

"i guess we're gonna be done after them, huh?"

"yes, daddy."

a few minutes are spent in silence as they both concentrate on their work. at the end, everything looks nice. alyssa has a satisfied smile on her lips.

"did we do good?" aemond asks, stealing a quick kiss from her cheek.

she nods, wrapping an arm around his neck. "thank you, daddy."

"you're welcome, little love." aemond gets a kiss on his cheek this time. "let's go have dinner."

[rodamned]

✨ Conclave (2024) @ao3org Fic Overview & AWARD SEASON – As of Feb 4, 2025✨

TOTAL FICS:

Conclave (2024) → 208 fics

Conclave - Robert Harris → 52 fics

Conclave RPF → 7 fics (the authors here are braver than the marines)

Fandom Shipping Report

We are a M/M hellhole (in Vatican? who’s shocked? not me) with 159 fics in that category. Gen (56 fics) is holding on like a Victorian child, and Multi (6), F/M (5), Other (2), and F/F (1) are basically cryptids.

Top Ships

Vincent/Thomas (98 fics) – Winning by a landslide. "I can fix him" meets "I can break him."

Aldo/Thomas (41 fics) – They’re divorced, they’re yearning, they’re devastating.

Vincent & Thomas (22 fics) – Oh, you don’t ship them? You just think about them 24/7? Okay.

Aldo & Thomas (11 fics) – Relying on the worst emotional support system imaginable. My boys...

Aldo/Goffredo (9 fics) – This one’s for the toxic, nasty little freaks (respectfully as I'm actively one of you)

Thomas/Raymond (9 fics) – …ok, og book shipers <3

Thomas/Goffredo (8 fics) – Why is Thomas collecting these flawed men like Pokémon?

Aldo & Vincent (7 fics) – YES & "We don’t talk about it."

Aldo/Vincent (6 fics) – Oh, but some of us do.

Aldo/Vincent/Thomas (6 fics) – So you want to destroy three men at once? Good. The Holy Trinity for real!

Ratings & Warnings

General (72 fics) – Congrats, some of you are sane.

Explicit (54 fics) – And some of you really, really aren’t.

Teen & Up (52 fics) – Angst hours.

Mature (17 fics) – "I could make this smutty, but what if I made it devastating instead?"

Not Rated (13 fics) – The wild west. No rules, just vibes.

Warnings:

No Archive Warnings (142 fics) – We are a people of peace.

Chose Not To Use (60 fics) – You don’t want to spoil the suffering.

Major Character Death (7 fics) – But when it hits, it hits. (RIP)

Graphic Violence (7 fics) – Vatican MMA when? 👀

Rape/Non-Con (3 fics) – ...

Character Leaderboard

Thomas Lawrence (172 fics) – Poster boy, poor little meow meow, king of suffering.

Vincent Benítez (138 fics) – Beloved. I will haunt you even in death.

Aldo Bellini (84 fics) – Doing so much and nothing at the same time.

Goffredo Tedesco (36 fics) – Problematic fave, menace behavior, probably gives people ulcers.

Raymond O'Malley (30 fics) – Short king <3

Sister Agnes (24 fics) – "Guys, can you be normal for five seconds?"

Cardinal Sabbadin (11 fics) – Our 🇬🇪 king of "I have three scenes, and you’re gonna make it your entire personality."

Joseph Tremblay (11 fics) – Exists. Oh Canada. Alexa play 'Money Money Money'.

Original Characters (9 fics) – Love a good self-insert. Or just any sorts of unhinged creativity!

Joshua Adeyemi (8 fics) – Sir, you are so underwritten, but we got you.

Top Tropes & Tags

What’s the Conclave fandom obsessed with?

Post-Canon (29 fics) – "So anyway, what happened AFTER?"

Character Study (27 fics) – Read: brain rot with love <3

Hurt/Comfort (20 fics) – It’s never just hurt. We need a little fix-it.

Pining (20 fics) – They will NEVER be normal. They swore not to after all. Collars and all...

Angst (17 fics) – The pain is the point.

Fluff (12 fics) – You’re lying to yourself, but okay.

Pre-Relationship (12 fics) – 40k words of slow burn eye contact.

Pre-Canon (11 fics) – "Before the disaster, before the trauma…"

Religious Imagery (10 fics) – Bible study, but make it ✨gay✨

Religious Guilt (9 fics) – These numbers feel low, honestly.

Longest Fics (Congrats, You (We) Win at Word Count)

Some of y’all (us) are writing entire novels.

1. Crown of Thorns (183,786 words) by rodamned – An actual brick. A thorn in my ass (disrespectfuly).

2. 21 Syllables (49,116 words) by Piersanti - “I have nothing to grieve for.” 👀 I'm still speechless here.

3. Everything’s Alright (44,016 words) by rodamned – No, it’s not <3 Jesus Christ Superstar reference, whoo?

4. Divine Revelations of Love (27,606 words) by Piersanti - We are kept all as securely in Love in woe as in weal, by the Goodness of God. - Julian of Norwich, Revelations of Divine Love 🥹

5. Stories from the Vatican (25,602 words) by Lost_In_Ace – Fic drabbles but make it THE saga 🫶

Most Beloved (Kudos Kings) 👑

Fanart Collection (Kudos: 601) – 1848/YOSB owns us all and we're grateful <3

Canticle (Kudos: 546) – Marie (VampireSpider) supremacy.

Like a Heathen Clung (Kudos: 467) – unrealshrike is making everyone insane.

Oldest vs. Newest ⌛🕰️⏳

📜 Oldest Fic:

Uncertainty by funnybabyvideos (Nov 11, 2024) – They were first, respect, love, thoughs and prayers!

🆕 Newest Fic:

Iliw (longing) by A_Retired_TimeTraveler – We love fresh pain.

🏆 CONCLAVE (2024) AO3 WINNERS (so far) 🏆

🏅 Most Popular Ship (aka ‘Fandom’s One True Pair’)

🏆 Vincent Benítez/Thomas Lawrence (98 fics)

You guys saw two old men making intense eye contact, one (1) single date by the turtle fountain, and collectively decided this is a love story now. Good.

🥈 Runner-Up: Aldo Bellini/Thomas Lawrence (41 fics)

The divorced vibes were too strong for you to ignore. The ultimate work husbands. The blorbos of the year!

🔥 Most Unhinged Ship (aka ‘Why Are We Like This?’)

🏆 Aldo Bellini/Goffredo Tedesco (9 fics)

Oh, so we looked at Aldo Bellini, the most emotionally repressed man alive, and said “give him a nemesis with unresolved tension”? Okay.

🥈 Thomas Lawrence/Goffredo Tedesco (8 fics) – same thing, different font.

Special mention to:

Aldo Bellini/Goffredo Tedesco/Sister Agnes (one fic) - literal perfection 🫶

😭 Most Devastating Tag (aka ‘Fandom Pain Olympics’)

🏆 Pining (20 fics)

Half this fandom is just writing 30k of two men not touching.

🥈 Religious Guilt (9 fics)

No one is enjoying their romance here. They are suffering through it.

💀 Most Tragic Fic Trend (aka ‘How Many Times Must A Man Die’ Award)

🏆 Major Character Death (7 fics)

Seven people said, "this isn’t sad enough."

🎭 Most Likely to Be an Accidental Bible Study

🏆 Religious Imagery & Symbolism (10 fics)

"Oh, it’s just Vatican aesthetics!" No. You’re writing 4,000 words about a man standing under a stained-glass window, questioning his faith and his love for another man. This is Bible study.

📈 Fastest Growing Ship (aka ‘The Dark Horse’)

🏆 Aldo Bellini/Thomas Lawrence

Started from the bottom, now we’re here. This ship DOUBLED in the past month. Aldo/Thomas truthers are rising. Hi :)

🥈 Thomas Lawrence/Goffredo Tedesco

I don’t wanna ask why, but I feel like I should. I have some reading to do.

🫂 Most “Just Kiss Already” (or don't) Pairing

🏆 Aldo Bellini & Thomas Lawrence (Gen) (11 fics)

These fics are like "they are JUST FRIENDS," but also, he looks at him with tears in his eyes.

🥈 Vincent Benítez & Thomas Lawrence (Gen) (22 fics)

I know what you’re trying to do, but it’s still fruity (respectfully).

⬇️📚📈

https://archiveofourown.org/tags/Conclave%20(2024)/works

[becauseicantthinkwritings]

An Altar For Our Sins

Part 10// Masterlist

Demon! Billy Russo x Reader

Warnings: Canon typical violence and death, angst, pain, sorrow, torment, delving into Billy's past, mentions of smut, and eventual fluff.

A/N: I was so confident about this and now I am not.

You press the weight of your body against the church doors nervously, stepping in.

There's a sermon happening, Father Matt's gentle voice echoes through the open space, tickling the insides of your ears.

Billy's waiting outside, you told him you wanted to come in alone first and then you'd tug on the bond once Matt accepted.

He's finishing up, one last closing prayer, and though you bow your head and clasp your hands respectfully after sliding into the very last pew, you have no idea if you really want to pray or not.

If you were thankful to God for anything, it would be for allowing Billy and you to meet. The irony wasn't lost on you, thanking God for sending you a demon.

You feel the demon in question send a lingering touch over the bond, like gentle fingers smoothing through the back of your head.

You smile to yourself, pushing him away before he can arouse you in a sacred place of worship, his essence drawing back with a feeling of mirth sticking to the back of your throat.

You try not to think too much of how he makes you feel. You know that the minute you realise the inevitable, he’s going to know it too. So instead of dwelling, you study the wooden pattern of the pew in front of you. You make shapes, and faces, and you drown out the sounds around you until you hear footsteps approach.

Matt, moving stiffly to you as everyone disperses. You sit up, smiling at him politely as he comes within earshot.

“What are you doing here, demon?” He whispers, voice heavy with distaste.

It takes you aback.

“Matt?” You say in confusion.

He pauses, seemingly surprised behind his red-rimmed glasses before giving a small tilt of his head.

He says your name in doubt.

“Yes?” You answer, unsure of what was happening.

He sucks in a deep breath, looks around, before leaning closer.

“I couldn’t recognise you. Your aura- it’s just like his.”

You feel something twist inside of you, a seed of fear planting itself and you don’t really know why, but you’re pretty sure that having the aura of a demon couldn’t possibly be a good thing.

Your eyes widen a little, completely forgetting what you were even here for.

“Is that bad?” You ask him in a small voice.

“Of course it’s bad- how could anything about being soul bonded to a demon be good?”

You shrink back, and at the same moment, Matt realises his mistake.

“I didn’t mean it like that-”

“-How else could you have meant it?” You ask helplessly.

He lets out a soft breath, stepping into the row, and taking a seat beside you.

“I’m sorry,” he says after a moment, “I let my emotions get the best of me.”

“Whatever.” You whisper, “My soul is damned and I’m going to rot in Hell it’s fine.”

He takes in a slow breath, and you wait patiently for his priestly wisdom.

“What brings you here?” He asks finally.

You study your hands, observing the little lines and folds, the way some of the curves looked like smiles.

“I was in his head, in his dreams. I could feel so much of him.”

Matt nods in understanding, drawing conclusions from what he can sense and what you've come to him for.

“I don’t know what happens from this point on, I can only assume that his soul will consume yours whole, that you’ll become one, condemning yourself to eternal suffering for the sins he’s committed.”

You remain silent, truly thinking about the consequences.

“What other choice do I have? It's not like I caused this.”

He seems to be lost in as much thought as you are.

“Perhaps, with distance, and devotion to being a better person, you could erase some of the stains on your soul.”

You nod, understanding his point. You didn’t want that though, you wanted him, in any way you could have him.

“Is Hell even that bad?” You protest softly.

“I know you didn't just ask me that.”

It makes you laugh suddenly. Matt angles his head, smiles along with you.

You enjoy laughing with him about the absurdity of your conversation, finally settling after a few moments, going back to your thoughts.

“I keep weighing it in my head, you know? Staying away from him, or spending eternity in suffering, and honestly, I keep thinking that Hell wouldn't be so bad.”

Matt says your name softly, almost apologetically.

“Forever is a very long time.” He utters finally.

“Yeah… but…”

Matt turns to you suddenly, standing and extending his hand in a guiding motion.

“Come, I have something for you to see.”

You stand, following him as he seems to move with purpose, down the aisle of the church and toward the back where his office is. You tug gently on the bond and feel Billy’s responding pull followed by a soothing touch, no doubt trying to ease the tension he'd been feeling from you before.

You feel your trepidation ease, the reminder that he was so close easing your nerves.

Matt opens the door for you, and you step in, turning to watch him shut the door, before he speaks.

“I haven't had a chance to look through everything yet, but I thought I could show you…” Matt doesn't finish the sentence, instead pulling out a large leather bound binder. Some of the pages are marked with little page tabs and you watch him flip to one.

It's an admittance registry for an orphanage dated 1891. You see that Matt has highlighted one name in particular, a William Russo, age 6, his height and weight recorded, followed by some details of his birthmark. Finally, there is some information of how he was found, hungry on the streets after his mother was found dead of narcotics poisoning.

You glance up at Matt, your teeth pressed together in distaste that he would look up these details, as if they were in his right to do so.

If Matt senses any of your anger, he doesn't show it, instead sliding his hand forward and flipping to another page mark.

It's a doctor's report, barely legible on the discolored paper. You squint at Matt suspiciously, wondering how he even read this to know which pages to mark.

You see his name again, William Russo, dated December 8th 1896, aged 12.

It takes you a moment to make out the words, but the doctor reports of severe assault, and damage to his shoulder that will require surgery to fix. They mention his physical state next, pale and shaking, visible signs of distress and a refusal of pain medication.

Your stomach turns, and the pieces fall into place at a bone jarring speed.

He'd been through this, that little boy you'd seen in your dreams, attacked by the very people that should have protected him.

You sink into the chair, pressing your hand to your mouth, flipping the page to see the post surgery report, and the doctor describing how the shoulder was repaired. You feel an aching pain that goes through your whole body, the hurt of knowing what he's been through.

Behind you, the door rattles.

“Call your demon off.” Matt says evenly.

You glance up at him, before turning to look at the door. Glowing sigils as the door shakes, you stand, approaching curiously, reaching a hand up to touch it, before drawing back as the light from the sigil stings you.

“Billy?” You call through the door.

It stops shaking.

“Mistress? Are you alright?”

“I'm okay, I'll be out in a few minutes I promise.” You reach for him down the bond, reassuring him that you were okay.

You feel his hesitation, his power, that the door might hold him temporarily, but not forever. You don't think it's necessary, easing his displeasure with a playful tug on the bond.

It surprises him, eases his concern, he tugs back, so strongly that you feel a physical manifestation of it, stepping forward to catch yourself from tumbling.

You let out a little huff of amusement before turning back to Matt, eyeing his patient disposition with renewed suspicion.

You want to ask him what's the purpose of this, but you already have a general idea that he wants to show you Billy's sins in hopes that you abandon him. 

You sit, flipping through the pages to the next mark.

It's a photo, a man and woman in the center, looking at each other with soft smiles, dressed In wedding attire. You can't see much of the woman's face, but her dress is beautiful, flowing down the length of her body, covered in beading that you can't properly discern with the black and white image.

The man beside her, looks at her as if it's the happiest day of his life and you feel your stomach twists in longing to be looked at like that.

Beside her are her family you assume, an older couple and two younger looking siblings that all hold some resemblance to each other. Standing next to the man, are two men, one you recognize is Billy.

You find yourself smiling, staring at the photo, a sense of warmth washes over you that he had friends, that he'd lived this whole other life that you'd never really seen.

You turn to the back of the photo in hopes that there's a description.

Castle Wedding, April 11th, 1909.

You blink, flipping back to the photo. This was Frank and Maria? The people he-

You let out a soft breath, trying to keep your shock in check so that Billy isn't alarmed.

There's a painful twist inside of you, you almost dread to continue on.

You turn the page, finding a baptism certificate, Lisa Castle not even a year later. You suspect that Maria must have been pregnant at the time of the wedding.

At the very bottom, the certificate names Billy as her godfather.

It hurts in a way you don't realize, a story you already know ends badly. You want to stop, to shut the book and pretend you never saw it, but you needed to know.

After all, if you were going to spend eternity in Hell for him, you should at least know the sins you would be paying for.

You flip through, finding a few mentions of him, another photograph of him at an event beside a beautiful woman, no description on the back. You spare a few moments to study the way he looked, dressed in a fine black suit appropriate for the era. Handsome, as only he could be.

Then, a hospital form catches your eye, for Frank Jr. aged nine, filled out by Billy. His handwriting is scratchy, lots of sharp lines made by a steady hand, describing an accident where the younger Frank had fallen off his bicycle and sustained damage to his shoulder. 

You wonder if this incident had reminded Billy of his own, and the vast differences between the nature of the injuries, and yet the similarity of the injuries themselves. Billy, who hadn’t had someone to protect his childhood, had found a way to protect little Frank’s.

Another photo, Frank, Maria and their two children, with Billy, Lisa’s godfather, and Curtis, Frank Jr.’s godfather. The entire Castle family.

You stop, glancing up at Matt, bringing yourself back into the present for a moment. He sits, examining the rosary caught between his fingers, his thumb gently tracing the crucifix, allowing you all the time you need to go through the information.

“I already know how this ends, Matt, he’s already told me what he did.”

Matt nods, tugs on the collar of his shirt for a moment, a sign of discomfort, though, you’re unsure of why.

“I wanted you to see it from their point of view. To understand the betrayal from their side.”

You swallow, brows furrowing, understanding his point but still not liking it.

You find a deed, partially burned, a house in Manhattan owned by Billy. Next, a car, and then another property on his name.

You realise this must have been at the peak of his service to the man he's never named, reaping all the benefits of shooting whenever this man had asked. You wonder, how many people he'd killed up to this point, how many families he'd destroyed to get ahead in the world.

A mugshot next. It makes you smile to see Billy's stern face, a little younger than he looks now, the corner of his mouth bruised, his knuckles red where they hold up the placard with his name on it. You check the charge- fighting in public. 

The affray charge is dropped the day after, and you wonder what the fight was even about in the first place.

You pause for a moment when you flip the page, realising that this was the part you'd been dreading.

A news article, wrinkled and yellow, three killed at the Castle residence. There are individual photos of them, Maria, Lisa, Frank Jr.

It hurts to read it, the article goes into detail of how the bodies were found. No signs of forced entry, someone must have opened the door to let him in. Why wouldn't they? He was family after all.

Maria is found at the base of the stairs, a bullet in her chest from close range, small defensive wounds as though she'd put up a fight. Lisa, in her bedroom, two sets of bloody footprints around her body, Frank Jr. hiding in his sister's closet, shot through the door, found barely alive and rushed to the hospital where he succumbs. 

You shove the book away, rising to your feet. You can feel your body shake with the emotion you feel. The hurt threatens to break you. You can't even imagine the terror that the Castle family went through.

Billy had done that. He'd spread carnage wherever he went and he hadn’t stopped when his own family was in the line of fire.

“I'll tell you how it ends.” Matt says, closing the book, “The next page is an autopsy report for William, face carved beyond recognition, shot several times by Frank Castle, then a news article, reporting on Frank's death, having been mortally injured by Billy in their fight.”

There's a twisting in your chest, you turn, reaching for the door of Matt's office, ignoring the stinging pain as you wrench the door open.

He's leaning against the opposite wall just outside, when you pull the door open, he raises his head to look at you with red eyes.

His face is calm, yet you can feel the hurt, the anger, the self loathing running through him. You can tell that he's just waiting for your rejection.

You consider reaching for him, soothing his pain, but you hesitate, reminded of Lisa's happy face.

“Did you kill your family, Billy?” You ask, your voice unable to rise above a whisper.

He's silent for a very long moment.

“I did.” He finally says, and there's so much finality in his voice that you almost miss the flickering of pain inside of him.

It's an odd kind of pain, one that leads you to believe that he isn't being entirely truthful.

“Did you shoot them all yourself?” You ask, probing into his emotions through the bond.

He swallows.

“I might as well have.”

Your eyebrows draw together.

“Tell me the truth, please.”

He hesitates, you can tell he doesn't want to talk about it, but you need to know.

“It's okay,” you step forward, reaching out to take his hand. You feel the pit in his stomach ease.

“It's my fault. I killed them. It doesn't matter who pulled the trigger. It might as well have been me.”

“Show me the memory.” You plead, reaching up to cup either side of his face. He squeezes his eyes shut, shakes his head.

“My demon,” you whisper gently, raising onto your toes to rub your nose along his, “Show me.”

He makes a small noise of distress, of defeat, cupping the back of your head, worried that it may be for the last time, his lips meet yours.

It plays like a dream, he faithfully reports to a man named Rawlins, that Frank wants out of their organization. Rawlins informs him that someone's been talking to the police and Frank is the top suspect. He sends Billy to dispatch the Castle family as a last show of loyalty.

Frank isn't home, but Maria is so insistent that he comes inside, offers him a glass of water before he pulls the gun on her.

She thinks it's a joke at first. Why would the man who helped paint her daughter's room blush pink ever pull a gun on her?

But as he goes on, as he explains how terrified he is of being on the streets again, her face falls, and a betrayal so raw fills her expression instead.

Billy is erratic, he’s unfocused, you can tell by the way Maria’s eyes shift side to side as he paces, as he wrestles with the worst decision of his life.

She takes her chance while he’s distracted, throwing a vase so hard at his head that the pain blinds him for a few seconds. He drops the gun and she reaches for it. He grabs her just as her fingers close around it, she scratches his face, he twists her wrist in an attempt to free the gun.

It’s pressed between them when it goes off. Her eyes widen, his steely resolve shatters. He presses a hand to her chest as he lowers them to the floor, he can’t believe what he’s done.

He says her name, tries to figure out how he could have done this to her, the woman that so readily accepted him into her home.

She bleeds out quickly, the bullet having gone straight through her heart. He holds her hand while she dies.

He stands, walks with heavy feet up the stairs to the second floor where her children are no doubt hiding.

He didn’t mean to do it, but he doubts that will save him from Frank’s fury. The only way out of this now, is through.

Lisa’s breathing is shallow, echoing through her room, coming from the closet where she’s hidden. He wrenches the door open, watches her young ashen face. She says his name cautiously.

The gun is cold in his hand. In an instant, he knows can’t do it. He remembers holding her for the very first time, remembers soothing her little cries. He can’t take the life of the little girl he promised to protect.

A noise downstairs catches his ear, the sound of glass crunching under a boot. He knows it’s not Frank, knows by the absence of screaming that this is a stranger to Maria.

He raises his fingers to his lips, before closing the closet door.

Rawlins hadn’t trusted him.

The man he’d put above family itself had sent someone else to make sure the act was done.

Billy tries to find Frank Jr. before the man finds him, but as he’s tugging the boy from under his bed, he hears Lisa’s terrified gasp.

He runs, gets there just in time to shove the man away from his goddaughter. A fight breaks out, and he loses track of the kids. 

He’s winning at first, manages to hold the upper hand, but eventually he falters, doesn’t dodge a right hook, and it disorients him for long enough for the man to grab the gun.

It’s not like the movies, where someone saves them at the last second by sheer luck. The man fires blindly into the room, before running off.

Billy somehow manages nothing more than a graze to his thigh, but as he turns, he realises that he wasn’t the man’s intended target.

Lisa is already dead by the time she hits the floor. Billy can barely breathe as he crawls his way over to her, trying to stop the blood from pouring out of her neck. He whispers her name, crouches over her body, hoping to shield her from any hurt, but she’s already gone, and vengeance is the only thing Billy can see.

He grabs his gun, and races out of the house, past Maria’s still warm body, desperate to fix something irreparably shattered.

You pull back from his mouth, blinking into awareness, realising that not much time had passed at all.

You withdraw, bending over, one hand braced on the wall to catch your breath from what you’ve seen and felt.

“It was all my fault.” Billy murmurs finally, his guilt and shame swelling in the back of your throat.

You straighten, looking up at him. He studies you for a moment before turning away.

“It doesn’t matter who fired. It was my fault.”

“He would have killed all of you either way. He would have found someone else-”

“-I could have saved them, I could have gotten them out. I chose not to. I was a coward, chasing after wealth as if it could ever give me what I already had.”

He turns away from you, his fists curling.

You know he’s right, that he’s not innocent just because he didn’t pull the trigger. Their blood is still in part on his hands.

Matt draws your attention, stepping into the doorway of his office.

You know what he wants. He wants you to cast judgement on Billy and abandon him.

You blink, deep in thought, unsure of how to proceed, unsure of which voice in your head is the right one.

Billy isn’t a good person, has never claimed to be one, has done things so terrible that it hurts you just to think about it.

But you also know that Billy still thinks he’s in Hell, and leaving him would only reinforce that fallacy.

“I won’t do it.” You finally say to Matt.

He responds by saying your name in protest.

“-No,” You interrupt, “He’s paid for his sins, he’s endured torment for what feels like an eternity and he has already been judged.”

You reach for Billy’s hand, tugging him with both your strength and the bond between you until he turns to face you.

“It doesn’t matter if my soul is damned. What’s one more soul in Hell anyway?” You gaze up at him, pressing your emotions into the bond, wanting him to feel exactly what you were. 

“What difference could I possibly make to Heaven?” You question aloud, taunting the universe for an answer.

His eyes settle on you, his hands reach up to cup your face, wonder fills the bond as if he’s seeing you for the very first time, like a familiar breath against a spot deep inside of you that you think might be your soul.

“What does Heaven have, that I can’t find when I reach for you?” You ask him simply.

His shaky breath brushes against your lips.

“I can’t ask this of you.” Billy utters, his lips barely moving.

You smile, a little one filled with amusement and something deeper.

“You don’t have to ask.” You respond, rising onto your toes.

The kiss is blisteringly sweet, tongues feverishly hot, you can feel his desire, and he can feel yours and it secures in your mind, that there was no other way for this to be.

Lost, is an understatement. All you can feel is his mouth and his soul and his unending need for you to be a real person that really wants him.

You giggle into his mouth, tugging playfully on the bond, and when he winds his arms around you to lift you, the clearing of Matt's throat interrupts your tryst. You smile, feeling Billy’s anger at being interrupted, squeezing his bicep to soothe him.

“I respect your decision, even though I disagree. I think I understand, a little bit more than I did before, about the two of you, and how you balance each other out.”

Your smile widens.

“I appreciate that, Matt, and oddly enough, I consider you a friend.” You say, extracting yourself from Billy’s grabby hands to approach the priest in question.

“And,” You relent, “I also appreciate your attempt to show me the truth. If I didn’t know my demon, I might have done what you suggested.”

You feel a slither of delight go over him, hearing you claim him so openly.

“And if she’d let me,” Billy interjects, “I’d pluck those useless eyes from your head in a heartbeat.”

You gasp in horror, spinning to face your demon.

“You will do no such thing! That’s our cue to leave- Thank you for everything Matt- Billy no-” You spin him around, pushing him toward the door, stopping him from approaching the priest, currently shaking his head in disbelief.

Matt listens patiently as you leave, letting out a sigh when the door finally closes, and he turns, stepping into his office, to begin cleansing his church of residual demonic energy.

.

You drag your fingers along the smooth skin of his back, exploring the feeling, committing his skin to memory.

Between your thighs are sore, having begged Billy not ten minutes before to fill you, hoping for his cock, but experiencing some of the dilators instead.

Apparently, one time wasn’t enough, and you had in fact needed more practice in order to be able to take him.

Unfortunately, based on the way your nether regions were pulsing, he was right, and anything bigger might have hurt you.

Still, you wanted his cock, and you could only shiver with excitement everytime you thought about his massive-

“Mistress.” Billy groans, feeling your desire, he turns to face you, one hand wrapping around your waist to tug you closer to his warm body, his tail curling itself more securely around your thigh.

“Have I not satisfied you enough? Would you like my tongue again?”

You laugh softly, resting your palm against his stubbled jaw.

“No, my demon, I was just thinking.”

He exhales, nods in understanding. You move your hand to continue trailing your fingertips over his back. When you brush the edge of his shoulder blade a little too lightly, you feel something stir within him.

You do it again, focusing on that one spot, and when you try a third time, Billy lets out a low groan of protest.

“Ticklish?” You ask, sliding a lone finger between his shoulder blades, smiling when you feel that same feeling again, like a small wave of heat going through you.

You press your hand to his back, soothing over his skin before looking into his eyes.

They're so dark, almost bottomless, glittering occasionally with the light of the Eiffel tower coming through the window behind you.

“There was a picture of you, with a woman, short brown hair, pretty eyes, um…” You try to remember anything else about her.

“Dinah. That was Dinah.”

You blink, thinking that even her name was pretty.

“Girlfriend?” You ask, trying your hardest not to feel jealous.

“In a way. We both had our problems.” 

“I'm sorry to hear that.”

He fights a devious smile, the corner of his mouth lifting, he shifts his body to face you.

“Are you?” He teases.

“Yeah,” You say defensively, raising your head off the pillow, “I'm not here just wishing all your relationships were bad.”

“No?”

“No!” You pout, “I hope all your past lovers were nice to you.” 

He chuckles lowly amused by your words.

“And what about my current one?”

You raise your body, a little defensive.

“What about me? Are we even lovers? You haven't even been inside me properly yet-” You pause for a moment, “Holy shit I just realised that other women have taken that monster between your legs.”

He tilts his head back laughing.

“I'm serious! Were the rest of them as bad as me?”

He stops, looking down at you with a semi serious expression.

“First of all, you're not bad, you're different. Good different.” He says, noticing your parted lips and answering your question before you can ask it.

“It's just taking a little bit more effort to get you to take me and I enjoy that.”

He exhales, rolling his eyes when he realises you're not letting this go without an answer.

“The women in my past before had varying degrees of ability in taking me, does that answer your question?”

“Not really- well-” You tilt your head, thinking about it, “Sure. I don't know what answer I expected.”

He pauses, smiles at you.

“You were trying to compare yourself to women in my past, which makes no sense because I'm not that man anymore, and the things I wanted then, I do not want now.”

You open your mouth to ask him what he wants now but he stops you by pressing a finger to your lips.

“You also asked that question because deep down you were wondering if there was someone I'd prefer over you and while that's your insecurity talking, the answer is still no.”

Wow, he was in in your head.

“You have to say that, you're bonded to me.”

“I think you'd know if I was lying.” He counters.

You press your lips together, looking down at the soft white sheets between you.

“And now,” he says softly, “You're wondering if I'm only saying this because our souls are connected, and my answer to that is also no.”

You feel doubt rise up inside of you.

You hear him exhale sharply.

“Mistress, I'm not just saying these things because I have to. I mean them, every word.”

He moves closer, pushing you back until he's hovering over you. You look up at him calmly, watching his dark eyes shift to a deep red the longer he studies you. He reaches up, brushing the very tips of his fingers along the side of your face, leaving little tingles behind.

“Things are different now, and I'm glad they are, and if I had a chance to break this connection between us, I wouldn't take it. Ever.”

Kiss me, you think toward him.

He smiles, dipping his head.

.

.

.

[phightingheadcanons]

i compiled a bunch of subspace and medkit headcanons because they plague me. they plague me. they anyways . uhjjmmm subspace headcanons r. im not gonna lie i got some of these from deadplate. but. THERES!! a lot of these. be prepared 1. I don't think he can eat properly. Not only because of the rot, but because not being able to taste things irks him, so he has to make a smoothie out of it 2. I thuuink i think he already. was struggling with an ED before the disaster. and not being able to taste/the rot makes it. way worse 3. I think! I think he has bipolar and audhd. 4. He keeps his hair short on the side of the rot so it doesn't irritate it 5. hes. extremely touchy. not to be affectionate. he's just always in peoples personal space 6. Often chews on his fingernails and/or picks at his skin. bad habit of his methinks 7. i think he listens to like. metal. specifically freak on a leash and rotting in vain by korn really reminds me of him 8. scarring and burns. like. everywhere. coupled with the rot obviously. i think in his line of work he gets injuries pretty easily even when trying to be careful 9. EXTREMELY tone deaf. but also sometimes ignores social cues on purpose because he knows it annoys people 10. hates the rain. he hates the sound of it. he hates the water. it ruins his day. heres medkits ... 1. Also can't eat very well but its mostly from. after the disaster. he completely lost his appetite and also lost a lot of weight just because it was. really hard for him to find the energy to even get up let alone eat 2. generally kind of. not able to take care of himself very well. even if he can take care of others 3. extremely depressed. like. really bad seasonal depression + chronic (it gets worse when he sees snow though. reminds him of blackrock) 4. during his blackrock days he would straighten his hair. he can't afford to do that now though because its too expensive + too much energy 5. god AWFUL doctors handwriting. scythe hates it. nobody can fucking read it except for medkit 6. He has generalized anxiety, depression, and PTSD, as well as autism 7. hates being touched except for in very specific situations. he also hates being close (physically) to people 8. adding onto the last one, he HATES when people touch his back or his shoulders. IMMEDIATE fight or flight response 9. extremely bad posture. shrimp posture. im telling u 10. painted his horns teal because they were originally green. he doesn't like the color green very much. nor does he like that pinkish-red color (reminds him of subspace) 11. (somewhat canon? not the indie part) usually likes classical music. sometimes dabbles in indie music. he's not into the loud shit 12. violin and piano player .... 13. tried to sand down his fangs at one point. why? i dont know! 14. his sarcasm is crazy. if he's not being sarcastic its not him 15. loves the rain. he likes the quiet and being alone but when it's deathly silent it spikes his anxiety. so the background noise is nice. it also means he has an excuse to stay inside AND!! combined headcanons. things i have that i hc for. both of them 1. both of them have hand tremors. subspace's are a little worse though 2. even though they both have separated (and medkit really tries to stay away) they both still have habits that they got used to from being around the other. medkit still makes extra of things by accident because subspace would always steal it. subspace still keeps a blanket in the lab because medkit would always fall asleep at the desk. i could keep going on im so serious. they are so horribly intertwined in the worst way possible and even if they hate each other that red string is still there. its still there. do u get it. in this essay i will- anyways! thats it for today. sorry guys i needed to YAP

"Looking. Respectfully. Peak as always. This fits them so well that I can't even explain. I would yap more, but I'm tired, and my shoulder hurts from a shot I had recently, so another time TwT"

[thechaoticcheese]

Thinking about Soap and Suds(COD OC jokingly named after Soap before I knew anything about him) meeting and KNOWING Suds is supposed to be jokingly named after Soap. Soap: How'd they even let you in? Yer shorter than a damn wall! Suds: Experience. Soap: Doubt that comin' from a Canadian. Suds: You wanna bet?

-

Suds: So you also work with explosives? Soap: Yeap.

Suds: Cool.

_

Soap: So howd'ya lose yer arm? Suds: Had to cut it off after escapin' a POW camp. Blew up a wall and my arm got crushed underneath one of the damned soldiers. It's rotting somewhere in the middle of nowhere. Soap: O-oh... (Damn that's cool)

-

Soap: So why they call you Suds?

Suds: Good at cleaning the base, basically the janitor. Why Soap? Soap: Grinning 'Cause I clean house.

Suds: Nods respectfully

-

Soap: So who's yer previous team?

Suds: A family long gone. Soap: So ye don' talk to 'em?

Suds: No. Excuse me Leaves table they were eating at. Soap: Whispering Well now ye done it Soap.

-

If anyone wants more just let me know. I wanna branch out more for Suds and her character - Ask box can be used!

[loveindefinitely]

00. prologue

༊*·˚ ALWAYS HAVE, ALWAYS WILL — task force 141 x reader

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, slow burn, friends to lovers, drama, action, hurt/comfort, mystery, polyamory, angst, mental health issues, minor character death, angst w a happy ending

series masterlist. read on ao3. fanfic playlist.

You’ve been to more funerals than you can count on your blood-stained hands.

Family, friends, teammates, superiors – at the end of the day, you’ve always found yourself staring at a casket being lowered into the earth. Or an urn.

Sometimes, there’s not enough of the body to bury, or burn. Just an arm, a jawbone, a blood splatter with a trace of ripped hair. Even then, the ceremonies are similar – morose and stagnant with the tension that only comes with grieving humans, merely waiting for the moment that their hourglass will fully tip. For when, they too, will be grieved. Lowered into the ground. Cremated.

If there is such a thing as an afterlife, you’re not too sure that you’ll want to endure more living, when the end goal is such a cruel one.

To love, to cherish, and then to wither away into nothing.

A fucked up joke.

The muddy ground squelches as you take a step back, hands tightly clasped together in front of your chest. Not a prayer, but a gesture similar enough to the patrons around you that you won’t be given a second glance.

Rain falls in thick sheets, but there’s no wind, and most of the people around you are underneath the dark grey marquee set up in front of the ceremony.

You aren’t. There’s something familiar about the clothes soaking your body, your body trembling just slightly from the chill, the dampness. A small punishment for your actions, small enough to not be noticed, but enough to repent just a thousandth of what you owe.

The Funeral Director gives his speech. Some religious nonsense, you’re sure, and the words wash over you like the torrents of rain.

You almost wish they could wash the guilt off of your mind, wash the blood that still feels sticky in your hands.

When you look down, they're pure and clean.

There’s crying. You’re not sure who from, how many, where. All that you register is the sound of gut wrenching heartbreak in the most raw, most physical of forms.

You swallow, once, your throat dry and tongue sticking to the roof of your mouth.

Needles, drugs, passing out, cells, torture –

“Sergeant.”

Even years of military training doesn’t keep you from flinching at the title. Turning your head, you’re greeted by a man that’s never failed to make your blood run cold.

His grey hair sticks to his forehead, his wrinkles highlighted by the dreary, bleak sky.

“General,” you incline your head respectfully. He stands to your right, arms folded behind his back. He’s suited in full black, and your stomach roils at the idea of this man grieving.

“You have been assigned a new unit,” he states, as one would discuss last night’s game over morning tea. “You’re set to leave at eighteen-hundred.”

You nod.

What else is there to do? Get down to your knees and beg for some time off, when you know that’ll leave you rotting in your bed for two weeks? Ask for him to be kind in his placement, because you’re not sure you can handle more of the emotional torment you’ve dealt with over the past three years?

Instead, no words fall from your cold-bitten lips, and your legs don’t buckle.

General Shepherd walks away without a simple ‘I’m sorry for your loss’. You’re sure that even if he had said as such, the words would’ve held no earnesty, no warmth.

It’s perhaps better this way.

So, you stand, and the rain hits your body in a relentless rhythm. So different to the torture of waterboarding, the cruelty of drowning.

Although, you can’t say that the mental whirlwind you’re stuck in the eye of is any less impactful. If you open your mouth, you’re sure that water will flood every crevice, leaving you to scream soundlessly for eternity, death sweeping you in with the turn of the waves.

You wonder, for a single moment, how many grievers would attend your ceremony.

By the time the rain stops, if only for a short period, everyone has left. The marquee’s been taken down, and there’s only you and your guilt left behind to stare at the stone. It takes everything in you to walk to it, your legs almost as weak as your will.

The headstone and rectangle of dirt dedicated to the fallen are both covered in flowers.

Bending down to your knees, you softly place a single blue hyacinth at the base. You allow yourself just a moment to close your eyes, deeply exhale, and revel in your guilt.

When you stand once more, it’s with a renewed strength.

Your Captain would have been proud.

The other seven fallen men – the ones that were under your care to heal – would’ve laughed in your face. You would’ve let them.

Now, you can only hope that their bodies will be found soon, so that they too, can be put to rest beside your Captain.

a/n. jus a VERY short prologue/teaser. this is by far my fav piece i've been writing yet. each chapter will be about 7-9k words long, so it'll take much longer to update, but i'm SO excited for it!! i hope u all will enjoy this journey as much as me :)

[pppeachyyys]

✩ nagi as a bf >>

✩ relationships with nagi seishiro would be very laidback. he's known to be lazy, so you're in luck if you're introverted just like him.

✩ most dates are at home; he loves watching movies, cooking together, having at-home spa days, and just generally staying home with you all day long.

✩ nagi secretly LOVES when you pamper him or just decorate him with cute accessories. (never admits to it though) he loves the way you squeal at how cute he is with his painted nails and bows in his hair.

✩ he's obsessed whenever you do skincare on him, your hands on his face, thighs wrapped around his waist, and the way you're so close that he could just kiss you right then and there.

✩ i like to believe that nagis big on physical touch and words of affirmation. he's never not touching you and loves to ramble about how much he loves you.

✩ since he lives alone, you spend a lot of your time at his place.

✩ it's become so often that parts of you would remain in his house. an extra toothbrush, a small set of makeup in the corner of his restroom, a pillow right next to his own, and your shirts are neatly placed in it's own spot in his closet.

✩ never shuts up about you. ESPECIALLY to reo and he's tired of it 😭

✩ "oh y/n would love this. speaking of y/n, they actually came over yesterday and cooked some really good food for me. they even fed me cause eating's such a hassle."

✩ "nagi respectfully shut up because everyone on the team is going to strangle you."

✩ also never shuts up about you in interviews for soccer. if your relationship is public, he gladly let's everyone know you're his. if it's private, he'll give off signs that you already took his heart.

✩ "what are your plans for the future nagi ? you're already such an amazing player and the crowd is wondering what your next step is to become the worlds best striker."

✩ "well, i plan on marrying y/n which sounds like a good start to me."

✩ "nagi, they're asking about soccer."

✩ the BIGGEST BABY OHKYGOD. he loves pouting to you cause he knows you can't resist when he's touching you everywhere with the cutest eyes.

✩ super needy 24/7. follows you around everywhere too.

✩ going to the restroom ? nagis already in there waiting for you. oh you're going to check the mail ? he's following you like a puppy. going to bed ? it's his bedtime too.

✩ his affection can be a bit too overwhelming sometimes, especially when you aren't in the mood for his hugs and kisses.

✩ it's hard to communicate with him at first since he's so lazy and has a reluctant mindset, so the first few months of the relationship is a bit rocky.

✩ as you progress though, dating him is generally something you love and becomes something extremely special to both you and him.

✩ he loves giving you his clothing. it let's him know that you truly do belong to him. (and he likes how it smells like you after)

✩ speaking of smell, i think nagi has a distinct scent of laundry that is also unique to him. he smells comforting and light.

✩ you get him anything that is matching and he's keeping it with him forever. that keychain you gave him is now permanently part of his school bag. the bracelet made of strings is literally rotting but it's still tight on his wrist. regularly stares at your matching phone cases because it gets him all giddy.

✩ doesn't use petnames too often but when he does, it's usually angel or pretty. he loves calling you things that are related to beauty since he thinks you're the most gorgeous being alive.

✩ ugh i just want him so bad

[the-moon-files]

the concept of humans are hyilan space orcs are fascinating to me and i an searching for more crumbs i am respectfully begging you for just crumbs plz

Idk when u sent this bestie but I got you

Srry to give yall a taste then ghost you constantly 😭💔

Luckily I got some other blogs into the idea I think, so my HaNH agenda is spreading

(Sidenote: which looks better, HANH or HaNH for future reference for this AU?)

Hope this satisfies u some in the meantime!!

Inspo off this post*

☆

"What do you mean you can't walk on the bridge? It's a bridge. What else are you gonna take??"

The red and green tunic wearing hylian turns to ask you, face scrunched up unamused and sassing you.

You an entire foot taller than Legend, huff at him.

"I meant what I said. I can't walk on the bridge. It's wooden."

The teal dropping pointed elf hat that most Links have worn at some point, just in green, swings around as he looks back at the bridge, then you. Then back at the bridge again.

"Yes. It is. I can see that. We all can see that, right guys?"

You roll your eyes as you hear a few chuckles, Warriors gloved hand swating at Legend's covered head in rebuke. The veteran hero squawks at him as he slaps at his hair in retailation.

You sigh, continuing for the Links that are slowly making their way closer behind you and beginning to pass by you three, coming up to the beginning of the long wooden bridge that drapes across a small valley.

"It's a wooden bridge, that's been outside, exposed to the elements and probably has some wood rot genius. It's held up by ropes not even wooden poles. There's no way that's holding me."

To show them, you step around the two drama queens as they stop slowly to watch you demonstrate. The other hylians pause, the heroes watching with various levels of curiousity and boredom.

You stand on the cliff edge just in front of the wooden bridge, reaching your tenny shoe covered foot out to lightly tap on the bridge, putting no weight behind it. The bridge creaks ominously. You carefully keep your other leg straight to hold you on steady land as you let your extended leg's weight rest more and more on the wooden bridge. It whines high-pitched, like a haunted house begging for mercy before a sharp crack! resounds through the air.

You immediately pull your weight and leg back. The wooden bridge groaning back into steadiness.

You turn around on to face the hylians behind you, some gaping (Wind, amazed and clearly wanting to harass you more about your human biology). While most stare with widened eyes or eyebrows pinching hard in confusion. You subtly take out your phone and catch a few Twitter reaction meme worthy pictures.

Legend coughs, rubbing the back of his hooded head, his pink streak looking brighter next to his (pinkened?) cheeks.

"Well. I'll go with him to find another way down."

"Thanks."

A few other excited heroes voices piping up out of their shock to join in, the more excitable ones crowding you. Legend complains loudly he offered first.

☆

Ahh, I hope that was smth interesting or at least a decent crumb, I was improvising/freewrjting it so :/

This was meant to be a quick scenario of the other post abt humans weighing more than hylians that i just had stuck in my head

Peace out,

🌙

[kayesfanfics]

hiii love ur writing btw, I’ve never submitted an ask before so idk what I’m doing 😭😭

I was wondering if you could write more about Dracula’s daughter x hector? I enjoy this concept so much 😭🩷

(respectfully)

-🌙

A/N: YES IM SO GLAD YOU LIKED THE HEADCANONS!!<3

You wandered around your fathers castle, bored with his moping and annoyed with his Vampire Court bickering and arguing constantly. You wanted some peace and quiet that wasn’t plagued with your fathers grief, so you wandered the halls to find something more interesting. You found yourself near one of the forgemasters workshops, hearing a loud ringing and fire crackling in a dimly lit room. You went to the doorway, seeing the silver haired forgemaster at work, his back towards you as he hammered away at a new night creature. You leaned against the doorway, watching in awe as the battered, half rotting human morphed into a beast of the darkness, growling in your direction as it rose. This gained Hector’s attention, turning around to see what his creature was glaring at.

“Pardon for the interruption.” You smiled, Hector’s blue eyes widening slightly.

“It’s quite alright.” He finally said, leading the night creature off to the guards before facing you fully, bowing to you. “My apologies, Mistress, I didn’t realize you were there.”

“Don’t call me Mistress.” You giggled. “You only have to in front of my father, he’s the one who insists.”

“You don’t like the title?” He asked as he straightened to his full height, towering over you.

“I enjoy it when it’s someone I’m not keen on, like Godbrand.” You said, earning a chuckle from him. “I like it when he is forced to kneel and refer to me in such a manner, it reminds him of his place. But I do not detest you like I do he, I do not need to see you kneel before me.”

“We’ve only spoken once before, how do you know I’m not an annoyance like Godbrand?” He inquired.

“You’re quiet. I like that in a man.” You grinned, showing off your fangs before your attention was turned away by something touching your legs. You looked down, seeing a cat missing skin and muscle rubbing up against your dress, getting a bit of blood on it from its open wounds.

“I’m terribly sorry!” Hector panicked, picking up the cat at once. “She’s very friendly, I didn’t realize she was still bleeding. Please allow me to clean your dress for you.”

“Hector, you can relax!” You laughed at how stiff he was being. You reached out for the cat, taking it in your arms and not caring that more blood got on the bodice of your dress. “I adore animals, and I’m a vampire. Blood on my clothes isn’t exactly abnormal.”

“R-Right…I apologize, I just don’t really know how to act around you sometimes.” He admitted, arms folding behind him politely as he looked down at his cat, purring as you pet it. “She seems to like you very much.”

“Animals have always loved me.” You smiled, before it sank into a frown. “Humans…not so much.”

“Agreed. Which is why I surround myself with them.” Hector gestured to a dog napping in a bed, a bird perched overhead, another cat jumping up onto his table. “They don’t judge like humans do. If you show them kindness and love, they will reciprocate it. Humans have a tendency to not take that kindness and return it.”

“You do.” You smiled up at him, handing him his cat back.

“Yes, well…” he trailed off, a blush adorning his tanned skin as you leaned up towards him. “I um…I should probably get back to work. Your father-“

He was cut off by your lips, locking his in a kiss. The cat jumped out of his arms to the table, leaving you to rest your hands on his chest. His own were still gripping the edge of his table in shock, eyes still wide even when you pulled away, making you giggle.

“I’ll see you later, Hm?”

���Y-Yes….” He watched you turn and walk away, his hand coming up to touch his hot, blushing face. He hoped you hadn’t seen that…

[arkham-guard-dp-au]

*Slowly slides a new ask idea thing*

... Ok, but like, like most inmates/patients in Arkham, Danny does not like Lyle Bolton (Batman: The Animated Series) at all, not when the man is blatantly abusing his power through (rather severe) punishments that end up setting back any sort of progress for anyone. Danny does his best to avoid most interactions with Bolton if he can.

Bolton, as the chief of security for Arkham, can respect Danny for not chickening out like most new hires during the first escape, but over time, as the man watches Danny seemingly perfect track record of no escapes while on duty along with him befriending the main rogues gallery especially, well, the man's suspicious of Danny.

Oh, and what's this? Cameras tend to Glitch and go static when Danny's nearby, especially during escape attempts. Bolton begins to grow wary and paranoid with Danny, so much so that, while most of the staff appreciate Danny, they all notice the blatant disrespect Bolton shows to him.

The longer Danny stays working at Arkham, the closer Bolton descends to becoming Lock Up. However, for this AU, his goal is simple. Locking Danny up in someway so Arkham stays intact and the prisoners stay where they're meant. After all, how else is this non-gothamite shrimp-looking kid able to cow the inmates to behave as they do? Bolton starts to believe Danny is allied with all the inmates and is doing the long-con of their inevitable escape and destruction of Arkham. Well, not under his watch!

He ends up somehow learning of the GIW and gain their sponsor of sorts, who fills him in about Danny being a person of interest and is to be detained and sent to their nearest lab immediately. As long as Danny's gone from Gotham, Lock Up will gladly help the GIW to keep the inmates in their cells till they rot. As they should be anyways.

Inmates notice Bolton's descent to seemingly madness and how he grumbles a lot about Danny. Not good. They grow protective of Danny. After all, despite how terrifying and creepy he may be, he's one of the very few who treat them well and respectfully. Like hell they'll let Bolton of all people try and hurt Arkham's favorite guard for any reason.

When the day Bolton manages to get his hands on Danny for GIW, a war might as well rain over Gotham now.

(Unsure if any of this makes sense anymore)

Now I don't know this Bolton but he sounds like a jerk. I wonder if he would try to get Batman in on his anti Danny campaign. Mabye even bringing the GIW into Bat's radar.

It could become extra angst if Batman believes the GIW lies and thinks they are in the right as a government organization, or be against them. Thinking the GIW runs a bit too close to anti meta campaigns.

[suhjihanma]

Ghostface Rindou like I’m talkin serial killer Rindou

Apologies for making this a couple days late. Work and getting prepared to travel this weekend has been draining. Hope you like it.

☩Pairing: Rindou Haitani / Female Reader ☩Word Count: 1,045 words ☩Content: Dubious content heading towards non-con, sex with strangers, mask kink, semi-blood play, knife play, hinting of death, drug and alcohol use, intoxicated female reader, characters under the influence, dirty talk, morbid fetishes, unfamiliar environments. ☩Author's Note: So, with kinktober closed and myself barely finishing it, I'm glad that you guys are reblogging and liking my content. I appreciate everyone who looks over my stories. You guys are awesome. This story can contain disturbing imagery so, read at your own risk. As always, minors, ageless blogs, and kink shamers do not interact. Thank you, guys.

The coldness compliments the warmth of two bodies. One that towered above a drugged-out body of a woman drunk in her mindless stupor. The other body, a man towered you with a presence that lingered nothing but caution, yet for some reason the ignorance of your arousal wanted more.

While fondling over the endless bliss of wanting to get handled raw over a rotting tree that stood on its last bits of life, you looked over to the man. Your drunken face quip his uncertainty. The glasses that rested against the bridge of his nose gleamed. Each head movement given to make sense of his environment.

An environment that made you question your gullibleness in people.

The atmosphere became filled with humidity, wet earth, and the lingering cologne that hindered the senses of smell. You wonder about the questionable events being at play. As the moonlight luminates the open space of hidden wetlands to marshes, the effects of the various drugs in your system were beginning to wear off. Looking around your surroundings, you questioned yourself about the situation that you were in.

The only memory that you had was that a man in glasses was conversing to you about random things at a gathering. You remembered how his warming, yet not intimidating charisma won you over. A soft smile crept through his face as you talked to him about the dull atmosphere surrounding the party. If memory serves correct, you told him your name and exchanged friendly formalities. Then, those friendly formalities changed into sensual conversing. Body exchanges coming closer as you complimented his costume of choice. You didn’t mind the stench of alcohol that reeked across his breath. A choice that many others like yourself have seen before with given popularity. Hell, you didn’t even seem to notice it until you got closer to his neck and whispered suggestive compliments.

Rindou...

Rindou was his name.

You wondered why costumes like his give off the arousal of the unknown. An unknown face that could be anyone, along with anonymity. It wasn’t something to dwell upon hardly. It was something more of a simple fetish that deemed attractive enough to mindlessly suggest a spot to talk more in “private”. Or, what he says.

Still, it was nice to let a masked person know about your sexual fetishes and how it correlated to his fetishes.

What wasn’t nice is that you were now in a position of something more than hooking up with a random stranger. A random stranger that was fully studying his surroundings. Looking around the dreaded atmosphere, the sounds of crunched, wetted leaves sounded from the bottom of your feet. You readjusted your standing position, unsure about what was going to happen next. The sounds weren’t comfortable at best, but realized now that the man standing above you grew to come closer. The personal space that was present grew to be more slim as the man now studied your frightening stance.

“I won't bite.” He laughs, a soft click of the tongue was made as his breath dances across the goosebumps of your neck. The uncalm nature of your stance was soon to fall as you respectfully joked back. You knew full well that the uneasiness was growing to be more uncomfortable. As you were about to retort with a smart remark of your own, you noticed his eyes grew more narrowed behind his glasses. The brown eyes that you were now enticed with were unrecognizable.

A low chuckle came from his chest as Rindou licked his tongue across the nape of your neck. A rough feeling of sorts, you couldn’t help but to squirm in front of his view. The sexual, yet uneasiness tension is continuing to cloud your hazy judgment as you look at him with a small pout, quite fitting for the moonlight.

“Why is it that I can tell that you’re lying?” You slurred your question, barely knowing that you almost tripped against a rooted tree stump hidden in the leaves. Rindou looks at you with quick concern before grabbing you by your wrist. A meek yelp came from your lips as you reacted from the quickness that came from your body movements.

“Promise. I won't bite.” He repeated his words, this time in a deeper tone of voice. It rumbles against his chest as he brushes something against your legs. While going through guessing games in your head, it was sharp to the touch, and cold. The object carelessly drags across the skin as your breathing begins to hitch. Your breathing begins to come shallow as you are now putting the pieces of what yet is to come. As each breath rises from your opened chest, the pressure from the object becomes harder to your skin. The bluntness of the object that slowly sank to your skin, soon to penetrate your opening layers.

You tried to back into the nearest rotting tree, hopefully the leverage of placing your back against something will hinder the pain but, the constant stabs of the man's knife grew to be unbearable.

A shrill scream came from your hitched voice. The pooling of a warm liquid that came from the open wound slowly ran across the opening layer of your skin, Rindou looked at the wound site, pleased. The sight of a woman in her most vulnerable state sent him to the edge of ecstasy. He continued to mark deep, puncturing wounds in your skin, ignoring the heads of mercy that spilled endlessly from your agape lips.

Each stab made you cry out in fear.

Each stab made Rindou moan out.

“Then again, of all the times I’ve done this with drugged out sluts like you, I probably will.”

The atmosphere filled with ominous sounds overlapped with Rindou’s barking laughter. Hearing it made you wince out in pain, along with fright.

You wanted him to stop, but your begging fell on deaf ears. Rindou wanted this as an opportunity for dominance. Having you fall to your bloody knees, begging for your life while shamelessly suggesting sexual favors was ideal. The thought of a person pleading something so desperate was enough to make the man grow a familiar dent in his jeans.

Even more so to a full-fledged orgasm as the thought of you clinging to the last pieces of life.

Rindou hoped that you wouldn’t pass out before receiving his pleasure.

It just wouldn't be fair.

[cripplecharacters]

Hi! I apologize if it's not 100% in your stands. I'm not sure where to ask. This isn't "can I write about X". I try to just think with others, if you may have advice?

I was thinking about writing a story, in which MC is HIV-positive.

The thing is. He dies in a part of the story, and then comes back with a new body. Which is very much "healing" trope.

Another thing I'm not sure about is that he was in sex work as a minor.

Problem: I don't want to stereotypical, or bring stigma.

Thing is, if I go this root:

It brings a whole new underlayer to his story.

1. He was a superhero as a teen (that's how he dies).

2. when he comes back, he's a crime lord. But very in helping people. It's important to me to add that he's funding PEP and PREP for sex workers, and an anonymous free clinic.

I know this can all be made by having a side character with HIV, but. I want to talk about it (and shame and stigma and life long implications of things).

Background: I'm not HIV-positive, but I do have an invisible disability, and was/am in sex work. We never see STDs in fiction or treatment (I know it's not the only way to transform HIV, I'm talking in general.)

Thank you ❤️

Hello, thank you for your ask! I don’t know how revival works in your story, but there are plenty of ways to bring him back without curing him! I’m assuming his ‘old’ body won’t be used, but what if his blood needed to be used to make the new body? You could also change it to make his previous body used to make the new one. He could even briefly go back to sex work to fund his plans and contract it again. There’s so little representation of HIV positive characters in media that I’d really love if your character didn’t magically stop having it.

The idea of a hero turning grey to support their morals isn’t an uncommon one, and I don’t think it would be necessarily bad! Just on the safe side I’d recommend adding morally good characters who are also HIV positive and making it clear his diagnosis wasn’t what caused his shift in morals.

I don’t believe having him be in sex work as a minor is stereotypical, especially if he was initially forced into this line of work. Just be very careful and respectful of writing about it, I’d recommend reading (non biographical) works from survivors to get an idea of how to respectfully discuss it if you don’t know anyone to ask.

Have a lovely day!

Mod Rot

[phantomram-b00]

Why is Harry Potter trending (or was)? Can it not? Like deadass I’m being fr can it plz not. Especially that J.K Rowling is a massive TERF, a raging antisemite, and disgustingly try to deny that trans people were not affected by the Holocaust (which she was ratio’d by George Takei).

“Proof?”

Way ahead of you: (Tw: transphobia, racism, antisemitism, holocaust, Harry Potter)

Oh and don’t get me started how Hogwart Legacy, you know that game that was sworn Jk Rowling wasn’t apart of (yeah sure-) is blood libel story. Not to mention that trans people have told you not to especially since there is a canonical transgender character named Sirona. (People said Sirona is a Celtic goddess for healing. but- come on. You can’t bullshit out of this one. There are OTHER NAMES TO NAME A TRANSGENDER CHARACTER— it make those joke with how Jk Rowling naming not far off. Because it like naming a nonbinary character “NoGendora” or smth (before you say, I’m nonbinary myself—) so idc if it already have a meaning, it still is tone deaf to name a transgender women Sirona).

“But but- you can separate the art from the artist?”

Yes. You can separate art from the artist. HOWEVER before you celebrate thinking you had a gotcha moment. You can only separate if the art itself isn’t problematic or is bigotry itself. Harry Potter is as mention in the links. Not to mention, Harry Potter himself become a cop despite the cop in that world didn’t do jack shit. And don’t get me started on how they handle the whole elf slavery. Also there is heavy fatphobia in this story, proof, look at how they would talk about Harry’s abusive aunt and uncle from his mother’s side. Don’t get me started how she would describe Rita Skeeter. There even a black character who’s last names is Shacklebolt— do I need to say more (if I’m missing any other examples please tell me)

Not to mention she benefits off of it and uses her money to donate to transphobia and just don’t give a flying fuck if she offend people (which seem to usually be the case for trans/homophobia but moving on). like, this is who you wanna support? You still want to read this wizard book when there are other that don’t have transphobia, racist, antisemitic, or any problematic rhetoric and are objectively better than Harry Potter? Really? You wanna die on this hill?

Look. I used to like Harry Potter. but that was before I knew what a dirtbag of a fucking human she is (I didn’t really have social media at the time), and I cringe as I wish I learn sooner that she was a deplorable person who hates trans people like myself (nonbinary respectfully). But, I can happily say Fuck Harry Potter that series can burn in a trash for all I care and I hope the hbo series flops on its ass. And also fuck Jk Rowling, she can fuck off for all I care. That being said, If you support Harry Potter/Jk Rowling, unfollow me. Block me. Because I do not support Harry Potter/Jk Rowling. Because Trans rights/Gender Equality, Human rights are infinitely more important than a basic ass wizard book/movie with a even basic ass magic system when there are objectively better wizard/magic books that are respectful.

Anyway, that being said, Trans and basic human rights matter 🩵🩷🤍🩷🩵 🤭

Click here before liking the post

[dmwrites]

The royal archer brought his king the head Impulsesv, blood still dripping from where the neck had been severed from its body.

“Thank you, Sir HotGuy,” Rentheking said, voice strong and demanding obedience. He took the head, grasping the hairs of its Mohawk and holding it up for all of the royal court to see. “This, my subjects, is what happens to those who dareth oppose me!”

In the eyes of his subordinates, he saw fear and disgust. Lady Cleo rolled her eyes, but that was to be expected of her. What mattered is that they saw, that this head served as a reminder of consequence, of victory.

After the general assembly finished, and Scar was given a hefty tip for the murder, the hermits left, aside from the king’s right hand man, Bdubs. He bustled around, cleaning up water bottles and crumbs left behind. Ren watched him work, lounging on his throne, one hand idly playing with Impulse’s hair.

“Bdubs. Approach thine king,” King Ren said suddenly.

“Of course,” Bdubs replied warmly, and bowed in front of Ren. “What do you need, my king?”

“You know, as my right hand to the throne, much consideration must be done on the employment of the wenches that serve me.”

“The wenches,” Bdubs echoed. “Of course.”

“How do I know those in the court do not secretly want me gone and dead? How do I know those closest to me do not plan my demise while I sleep?”

“Loyalty tests! Those knaves must prove their loyalty! I could rig up some kind of test, parkour and puzzles and-”

“I like the idea of a loyalty test,” Ren mused, stroking the hair on the decapitated head. “But skill can be faked. True loyalty is proving that you give yourself to me. You are loyal to me, right, Sir Bdubs?”

“Of course I am,” Bdubs replied, bowing again.

“But how do I know that? After all, the wounds are still fresh from our last bout in the death games. And you were on the side of the enemy.”

“You mean Double Life?” Bdubs looked at Ren, confused. “That’s a whole different world, baby. I don’t feel Impulse’s pain here, and BigB isn’t even here. What are you talking about? Respectfully, of course.”

“Are you willing to prove your loyalty, sir Bdubs?” Ren asked.

“Yes. Of course I am,” Bdubs said with a sigh. “Whatever puts these fears to bed, my king.”

“Kiss the head of thine enemy.”

“What?” Bdubs asked, clearly taken aback.

“You would kiss my shoes, no? What difference is this?”

“I…”

“Your soul was bound to this man once, lest ye forget. What difference is a kiss alive or dead?” Ren held out the decapitate head of Impulse, his hand deep in his hair.

Bdubs stared at the head, the open mouth and the blood that dripped from the end of it. It was Impulse, yes, but a gorey, horrible version of him, death leaking from every pore of what remained of him. His scalp stretched horribly from where Ren was holding him by the hair. Bdubs gulped, glancing at his king.

“You know, i was the one who came up with this whole kind idea in the first place, Ren,” Bdubs said nervously. “I don’t think I, of all people, need to prove my loyalty…”

“Kiss the head, Sir Bdubs. Prove you care not for the enemy any longer,” Ren growled, thrusting the head towards Bdubs. More blood sprinkled onto the floor with heavy splats.

Bdubs approached the throne, every fiber of his body telling him to run from this horrid scene. He held Impulse’s dead, rotting head by the sides of his face, and pressed his lips to Impulse’s cold, rubbery ones. Impulse tasted like blood. Bdubs opened his eyes and stared into blank, soulless ones.

RentheKing put a hand to the back of Bdubs’ head, scratching and petting his hair like he was a well behaved dog. “A final kiss to a love no more- you have proved your loyalty well today, Sir Bdubs,” he was holding Bdubs head in such a way that he was forced to stay nose-to-nose with the corpse.

Bdubs swallowed down a shuddering sob. “Of course, your majesty. I am loyal.”

[rowanyx]

So in the Adventuring Party, Brennan asked Beardsley whether there is a world in which Kristen gives up being a Cleric.

Mechanics-wise, I understand why the response was a no. That kind of big change would have a lot of restructuring to do, from the character sheet to minis to even plot changes, which would be difficult mid-season like this. (See Riz's sub-class change from Inquisitor to Arcane Trickster happening now, rather than when we actually met Pok)

Story-wise, though, I respectfully disagree. In fact, I posit there is many a world in which Kristen could change her class.

The big one, I think, would be Paladin. Especially either Redemption or Oathbreaker. After all, you could easily argue that this whole situation (i.e. Cassandra seeing Kristen not putting her priesthood first, dying, and the new mysterious voice that taunted the party with the rotting corpse of the god Kristen already failed) cumulates into exactly the type of description for an Oathbreaker (going back on their word and then joining up with some evil entity instead). And, well, after two gods dying, one you've very much stated to want to be good for but can't get yourself to do so, sounds very much like the type of person that would seek Redemption. If not for themselves, at least for others.

And this could also work to show sort of backslide into the Applebee's family drama. After all, we know Bucky just started as a Paladin himself. He's probably not high enough leveled to have a sub-class of his own, but doesn't Redemption fit? The kid who was forced into Kristen's old role, who is already going around trying to save his classmates from Hell? If Kristen did switch to Paladin, they would most likely share classes (something like Gorgug's Artificier track, school-wise). A perfect opportunity to flesh out the relationship there, either to save Bucky from Mac and Donna or have him 'save' Kristen.

Of course, these are just two of the easier paths to see.

Porter did want another Bad Kid in his classes, didn't he?

Maybe Kristen finds she desires a guide and becomes a Totem Warrior Barbarian.

Maybe Kristen decides that just because her parents suck, doesn't mean the whole bloodline did. This causes her to delve into old records and come out of it as a Path of the Ancestral Guardian Barbarian.

Another idea, given the Buff Kristen movement, is a Fighter. Especially the training and power describing a Champion or the fighting spirit of a Samurai, to lose so many gods and keep going.

Or maybe she finds the issue is the evangelizing. That she cannot dedicate herself to bringing others into her path, but still desiring a higher being to help her. There are many to make a Warlock Contract with. She's even living with one, technically, by way of Fig's Archdevil job.

You could even argue for an Eloquence Bard, with all the speeches and now the Presidency campaign.

Or hey, Cassandra was a moon goddess, wasn't she? Maybe even a Lunar Sorcerer.

Unlikely but theoretically possible, she's just desperate to fix something and takes up Artificing. After all, how different can a Battle Smith really be? It's still healing and protecting, right?

Or, let's revisit an old topic. At the top of the game, Kristen was called the Chosen One. We saw that title following her even after leaving Helio. Sol treated her kindly for it, she invented YES! and even reinvented it into YES?. An argument can even be made that that's part of why Cassandra was fixed so easily after clinging to her. But what is that? Where is that power from? Perhaps some new magic awakens in Kristen. That of a Divine Soul Sorcerer.

Just, Kristen, taking a hard look at religion and Clericdom and deciding maybe it wasn't right for her.