#oh the darkfics that live in my head

[ltleflrt]

can i ask - what are you thoughts on the current anti-shipping phenomenon in fandom? I've recently gotten into SPN fandom and fallen in love with your fics, but the state of the fandom puzzles me a bit.

Anti-shipping is not a SPN fandom phenomenon, and maybe it seems to be a bigger deal to you because it's a bigger fandom? Wincest and Destiel shippers have been at war since episode 04x01 aired lol...we even have derogatory names for each other: Wincels and Hellers.

(Jokes on the Wincels, because Heller is a fucking awesome name.)

(Wincestiel shippers are fandom unicorns, and they deserve love and respect.)

I've only been involved in fandom since 2011, so most of what I know about anti-shippers comes from piles and piles of posts talking about fandom history, but the gist of it is that this is not current, it is ongoing since the dawn of fandoms, we just have names for it now. Think about Spirk back in the 60s...there were lots of rabid fangirls who saw nothing romantic between them too. We just don't hear as much about them, because they lost their fandom war lol

It's just really loud right now with the rise of conservatism, fascism, and terfs. And social media amplifies all of the above.

Anyway, my thoughts on anti-shippers is that they need to grow up and mind their own business. I am a pro-shipper, which means I believe that anyone has the right to love any ship, no matter how problematic, no matter how much it squicks me out. I believe everyone should be allowed to read whatever vile smut they want, because thought crimes are not real.

Unless a real person is being hurt, have fun.

Antis claim that problematic ships and kinks hurt people, but I think it's important to understand that there's a big difference between accidental and deliberate harm. And harm mitigation is highly important in a world with 7+ billion people and 7+ billion different lived experiences.

If an anti-shipper is hurt by a ship they don't like, they need to learn how to block and filter content so they don't see it, and on the opposite side of that, the vile shippers/kinksters need to tag their nonsense so that they're not accidentally burning someone's eyes out. Which most people ARE kind enough to do. They sit around in their little ficcing circles and cackle over the evil things they're putting their blorbos through, and they put up warning signs, but the antis come barging in to bug them anyway.

In my opinion, many antis are big fucking bullies and do a lot more harm than they claim to try and prevent, and they can all go fuck themselves with something hard and sandpapery.

So uh... yeah, that's how I feel about it 😁

(okay actually I'm not done, there's a lot of anti-shipping discourse about age gaps and what counts as incest that are just... really fucking stupid, and I honestly believe that shit started out because people were grasping for straws to justify why their ship is better than the ship they don't like. unfortunately, the youngins have been soaking up that moral purity language as Objective Truth because they're little sponges. i hope they outgrow that bullshit eventually. i will forgive and forget if they leave behind their purity police badges.)

[chlobliviate]

Wolfstar Microfic Prompt 3 - Darkfic

TW: Mentions of sexual assault and non-consensual incest. Nothing graphic is described at all. Mentions of Black family homophobia.

Words: 825

@wolfstarmicrofic

***

Sirius looked up at his mother’s portrait, which continued to scream at him.

“Filth! Degenerate! How dare you return to my house?”

He fired off a few curses, none of which made any difference of course. He sat down on the landing and just let her scream.

When Remus returned, several hours later, he found Sirius with a glassy look on his face and Walburga still shrieking.

“Would you shut the fuck up?!” He bellowed.

“Half-breed! Do you think you can command me? You’re lucky not to be put down like the vermin that you are!” Remus rolled his eyes and looked down at Sirius.

“How long have you been sat here?” Sirius remained staring straight ahead. Remus crouched and reached for his hand. “Pads?”

“Do not touch my son! Do not sully this household with your disease. Sodomite! Half-Breed!”

“Oh, so he’s your son now? I don’t remember you being a parent for at least twenty-five years, and you’ve only been dead for ten of those.” Remus squeezed Sirius’ hand. “Muffliato.”

It didn’t silence her completely, but it helped pull Sirius out of his stupor. “Moons?” He said, in a small voice.

“Let’s go downstairs. We won’t hear her from there. I've got you, come on.” He pulled Sirius to his feet and wrapped an arm around his waist so he could lean on him. “Were you sitting there the whole time I was out?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. I just— I started remembering things and they were worse than I thought.” They arrived in the living room and Remus set them both down on the squishy sofa that Remus had transfigured from the old furniture. “I don’t know how much I told you, before.”

Before always meant Before Azkaban. A lot of Sirius’ positive memories of school and the first war were gone, or at least warped and faded. Remus did his best to regale him with tales of the marauders and the flat they’d shared afterward, going as far as secretly writing them down and planning to gift the book to Sirius at some point, and hoping he’d share the stories with Harry.

“You managed to avoid the subject most of the time, I think. Unless there was physical evidence,” Remus looked down at the key-shaped scar on Sirius’ arm, which had been carefully inked around. “You didn’t want to tell us anything you didn’t have to. We knew it was bad, though.”

“Someone told her I had a boyfriend once.” Sirius slumped against Remus’ chest. “Not you, I think it must have been… What was his name? The Ravenclaw, I think.”

“Benjy Fenwick.” Remus stroked Sirius’ hair slowly. “You were together for a few months in fifth year.”

“It must have been one of my cousins. Doubt it was Andromeda. Do you know what my mother did when I came back for the summer?” Remus shook his head. “She locked me in my room with Bellatrix.”

“Why would she—” It suddenly dawned on Remus what he was implying. “Oh, Pads, no.”

He nodded. “She said she was going to cure me. That I was disgusting and unwell. At one point, mother came in and watched.” Remus felt sick. “Practically cheered her on.”

Remus wrapped his arms around him tight. “I am so sorry. That’s awful. If she wasn’t dead I’d kill her myself, and if I ever see Bellatrix again…”

“She’s still in Azkaban.” He said flatly. “They put her in the cell next to mine for a while.”

“We shouldn’t have come back here.” Remus said, “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I have nowhere else to go.” Sirius’ voice broke. “I’m more trapped here now than I was when I was a child.”

“You got out once. We'll get you out again.” Remus reminded him, rubbing soothing circles on his back as he sobbed. “Let me talk to Dumbledore.”

“You can’t tell him.” Sirius sat up, quickly. “Don’t tell him.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Pads.”

“Do not tell him.” Sirius hissed, through sniffles. “He’ll think I’m even weaker than I am.”

“You’re not weak. You have survived so much horrific shit. You’re the strongest person I know. I won’t give him details, I promise, but I need to express to him how vital it is that we move somewhere else.”

“It’ll be just another place for me to wake you up by screaming.”

“But my house won’t scream back at you.” Remus took him by the shoulders. “I need you to trust me on this.”

“I think you’re the only person I do trust.” Sirius’ face was unreadable. “I wish I’d told you back then.”

“I understand why you didn’t. We’ll get you through this, I promise.” He brushed Sirius’ hair off his face and Sirius had a sudden flash of a memory from the summer he’d finally run away to the Potters’. Remus, silhouetted in sunlight, brushing the hair off his wet face, telling him it would all be ok.

[vladdyissues]

(cw for vague mentions of abuse)

Sorry I just saw the tags (which were incredibly accurate and correct btw) on the one post you recently reblogged and it got me thinking: I would argue that the argument for creating complex fiction by pathologization (i.e. some people create complex fic to process trauma, and therefore it's okay) is inherently a little dubious. Not just because it inevitably puts the onus on people to unwillingly disclose experiences that they may want to keep private, not just because it inevitably leads to the brutal scrutiny of said experiences (such as someone telling you your experiences were not bad /enough/ to justify what you've created, which has happened to myself and others), but because it concedes to the moralizing message that is the Core of what antis/social conservatives believe fiction is meant for, treating it as an inconvenient last resort in the same way some Republicans argue that only victims of assault should have access to abortion, as if a superfluity of freedom would inevitably be abused. Even victims of abuse have interests and agency that extend past what abuse they have experienced - I like complex fiction, but I enjoyed it for many years before I experienced any abuse at all and consider my gravitation towards it mostly separate from my real lived experiences. Like people just like what they like in a purely instinctual way most of the time! It's not that deep and there should be no obligation to make it that deep, especially when discussing fiction and cartoons. I understand that this argument is usually made in good faith - and sometimes in a genuine effort to destigmatize the experiences of people who have experienced trauma and how they cope with said experiences - but I just personally find this line of reasoning antithetical to the enterprise of creating fiction itself, which should be the act of extending yourself far beyond your own experiences and beliefs to participate in another reality, to gain empathy and insight into perspectives that would not be accessible in any other way. 

Donald Barthelme once said, in rebuke to Tolstoy's really moralizing essay on the purpose of Art, "It is the meliorative aspect of fiction that forms its ethical dimension". And I don't think something is less meliorative (or ethical) if it exists for mere titillation - like a horror novel, or rule 34 cartoon porn.

-Apropos Nothing anon

(PS: again you're welcome to delete/not engage with this if it's too heavy/rant-y, it's just that your tags made me reflect on this subject again. Why is cartoon pornography taken this seriously? 😂)

Oh no, no, you're right, and you hit the nail on the head. You stated exactly the reason I avoid wading into the "justifying reasons for writing fucked-up things" angle when it comes to this type of discourse because, like you said:

1) we are not required to divulge our entire personal history to strangers on the internet in order to receive our Darkfic Writing Permit, and

2) people who write fucked up things to cope are not inherently more (or less) justified than someone who writes fucked up things purely because they find it fascinating.

Whatever happened to minding one's own business and letting people have fun with media? Is it any coincidence that younger generations are getting sucked into right-wing conservative Thought Crime ideology more than their predecessors? Could it be that the incessant moralizing, agonizing, hand-wringing, pearl-clutching, purity-obsessed hypervigilance over hobbies and fictional characters is actually not a good thing? That it is, in fact, funneling the queerest generation in history straight into an authoritarian utopia?

Not only is this well said but it very much deserves to be seen, and I'm glad you sent it. People are definitely taking cartoon canoodling way too seriously 💀

[woodsling]

Oh my god y'all I think I finished it .. clocked in around 11,500 words.

I've never written anything even close to this long before. Whew! Now just to edit and post.

Halsin/fTav Darkfic! Here there be torture, blood, nudity, and nonconsensual sex. Followed by healing, and love, and confessions. And lots more consensual sex. Knotting sex. This would be a pwp if it didn't have so many plot emotions. Fic snapshots:

Memory slowly returned to him and a wave of fear combined with his headache to make him feel dizzy.

Orin.

He had been careless, and trusting, and allowed himself to be captured. She had wasted no time stringing him up to torture him. When had she put him in these new restraints? How long had he been unconscious? He squeezed his eyes shut and focused on his breathing - he knew he was better served by remaining calm.

-----skip-----

...laughing in his face so closely that he could smell her acrid breath. He turned his face away, trying to get as far from her as he could, and across from him he saw -

Tav?

-----skip-----

What had Orin said to her?

Don’t listen! Don’t let her words poison your mind!

Halsin projects the words from his mind as loudly as he can, but he knows that she can't hear him. He watches in dismay as she breaks his gaze and meets Orin’s to give her a small, bitter nod.

-----skip-----

His body felt like it was burning - everywhere she touched him was like a tongue of flame, and the heat traveled through him until it settled in his spine at the back of his head and made him feel feverish with want.

-----skip-----

He is steeling himself to pull apart from her when her arms around his neck tighten and she pulls him into a kiss.

Halsin can’t help himself - he groans into her mouth. Her lips are the softest flower, parting to allow him to taste her, and Silvanus have mercy, she tastes like the sweetest nectar.

-----skip-----

He meditates in his tent and wanders through nature for the next two days. He can’t seem to bring himself to go to her, afraid of what he’ll see in her eyes, and he can’t seem to process the insanity of their experience without going to her. He’s stuck in a middle-space, feeling lost, and afraid, and very very alone.

-----skip-----

He almost doesn’t hear her when she softly replies, “I think I would very much like to join you, if I am truly welcome.”

She wants to come with him?

-----skip-----

Tav studies him, with her bright eyes, and the moment feels tense. They’re quiet for a while and he doesn’t hide from her gaze, allowing her to see whatever she can as she searches him.

-----skip-----

She says more, but he has a hard time hearing her over his heartbeat suddenly thunder-loud in his ears.

-----skip-----

Perhaps he can just stay here forever with her in this little river in the sunshine.

-----fin-----

Edit: this fic is now LIVE and you can read it here 💚

[ofallthingsnasty]

oh no law is about to make me so much insecure oh god 😭😭 this fucker, he better think im the cutest and hottest thing alive and is horny 24/7 because of me 🙄🙄

That's the trick, that's how they get you 😭😂 But seriously, I had my thoughts about him being a doctor and crazy about someone fat, too, and that's what my brain cooked up for me. I like the psychological aspect of that kind of darkfic, especially because I have lived through that sort of fat-shaming. It made me feel extremely needy, insecure and so small... "Perfect" for when you don't ever want the other party to leave you.

In reality, he'll just park his head on your belly after an especially taxing day to get some rest while the only thing you can do is pout above him. And I wouldn't worry too much about him being a doctor and seeing someone fat. Do you know how many of the general meds smoked in my uni? More than half 😂 Hypocrites, the lot of them ansjjsjs

[dark--whisperings]

💖✨Fic Rec Friday✨💖

Hello all, back with another Fic Rec Friday or... which fics have been living rent free in Jazz's head this week.

This week is a tad different, since I've been reading a lot less and focusing on my writing and editing projects. And because the fic I'm rec'ing happens to be one of the beta projects I'm working on at the moment... but who cares. What are social media platforms for if not for hyping up your friends kickass projects?!?!?!

—

the dream is over

Authors: boguspreston & innominatta (ineptia) (@boguspreston & @innominatta)

Rating: Explicit (mind the fic tags, this one do be dark!!!)

Pairing: Anakin Skywalker/Obi-Wan Kenobi

Summary:

There can only be two Jedi at a time, though there is no such limitation on the Sith. Obi-Wan Kenobi is a Sith recruiter, a siren, who looks for Force sensitives to tempt to the way of the Sith. Anakin Skywalker was a slave until he was bought and freed by Cliegg Lars, where he had a happy adolescence. When his mother dies, he experiences a surge of the Force which alerts the Sith recruiter, Obi-Wan Kenobi, who sets his sights on him to tempt to the Dark Side. Or, sex, drugs and rock'n'roll in a galaxy far far away...

Read it here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51330652/chapters/129701257

—

So to start, it's wildly fucking obvious how much love, blood, sweat, and tears has been put into this fic. Yes, they only have three chapters posted, but the entire fic is written and they are posting weekly, so you'll have something to look forward to! Even though I'm beta'ing this project for them, I'm absolutely not biased when I say that this is a fantastic fic, a super unique and intriguing concept, and has a nail-biter of a plotline. And yes, I've read the entire fic AND YOU'RE IN FOR A WHILE FUCKING RIDE FRIENDS. Yes, it is a dark fic (so mind those tags!), but it's got everything I ever wanted in a darkfic (sex, drugs, rock and roll, and oh so much grit). And also... peep that eventual happy ending tag. 👀👀👀 Even besides the content, the style of these two writers meshes SO WELL together.

1000000/10 recommend reading and following if this these themes are your cup of tea. You absolutely wont regret!

[bettsfic]

i read acquittal earlier today, and then i read it again, and in between those times i've been spinning it around in my head bc you've graced the tgcf tag with another fic. usually when ppl try to write "dark" hualian it's a little eyeroll inducing but you get it. u understood book 4's characterization. nail it every time. my favorite scene was the palm reading scene and my second favorite scene was everything else. tysm for pulling this work out of wip hell, praying that u write more hualian <3

although it's been a while since i read hualian, i remember the darkfic being of a different flavor than what i was looking for. i think some people are in the unrepentantly evil love interest "i love you so much i want to kill you" camp and some people (me) are in the "i love you so much i'm going to kill everyone who has ever wronged you" camp. (i've started calling this the Most Worthy Person trope.)

hualian is a forever ship so i'm sure i'll come back around to it eventually, maybe when the next donghua season comes out or the live action. i forget that tgcf is a big fandom and when i went to check my comments the next day i was like, oh right this is what it feels like to write for a fandom that has more than 5 people in it.

[starboundanon]

Herbie! I don’t know what I haven’t thought of this sooner but here it is!

Vader hasn’t had physical contact with anyone outside of violence for 20 years, that’s canon.

Given that Anakin was relatively a physically affectionate person, I can’t imagine how torturous it is to be separated by other people by a mobile life support suit.

So here comes ‘sunshine boy sonboy baby boy’ Luke, and Vaderkin is like ‘it’s free real-estate’ cause we all know this asshole doesn’t understand boundaries.

Another thing, parents are told that skin to skin contact with a baby strengthens the bond they have with the baby.

Wanna take a guess about what Vaderkin does when he finally has Luke.

Stripped out of his rebel pilot suit and Vader of his, and can only bite back cries and single with struggle as Vader takes his sweet time enjoying the warmth of another’s skin and mapping his sons physicality and features and presses their foreheads together and gives Luke kisses all over his face.

anon you fucking sniped my ass. you got a sniper's spree. omg

tw: darkfic, nonsexual / nonromantic vaderluke, nc touching, somno

His shallow, ragged breaths are drowned out by the frantic beating of his heart.

It is a marvel to have this moment. He knows they cannot stay here long; his meditation chamber is designed for him and him alone, and eventually, the strain of its life support system will begin to make Luke ill. The boy's slow breaths gently ghost over scarred skin, head tipped against his father's shoulder, placid and peaceful.

Oh, how quickly that would change if Luke were to wake. Vader settles more comfortably into his chair, watching the wide breadth of his durasteel hand trail over his son's exposed stomach, up his chest, to the narrow swell of his shoulder. How he wishes he could feel it with his own hands, and not a prosthetic. The loss is vicious, unmerciful. What he wouldn't give to have held his son like this as a babe.

But all is not lost. No, as much as he despises his reliance on it, his life support pod does allow him to experience many things he never believed he would. Maskless, suitless, he was able to gaze upon the sleeping face of his son with his very own eyes, committing each color, each feature, each perfect characteristic to memory, mapping the unexplored wildland of his only living flesh and blood.

He can't feel the expansive softness of Luke's skin with his own hands, but stripped bare of his suit — and Luke, of his filthy, swamp-soaked Rebel fatigues — he achieves the next best thing. His skin is scarred and tough and yet painfully sensitive, so removed from human touch, white light danced across his vision like fireworks when he first held the boy to his chest.

Luke's is the opposite. His skin is warm and wonderfully soft, a healthy golden brown, unblemished, unharmed. He holds the boy flush against him and revels in the pain and pleasure of it, the knife-sharp stab to his nervous system, hypersensitive, biting; the immediate balm Luke's gentle touch provides, soothing the ache as quickly as he caused it.

Vader sighs, as heavily as his meditation chamber will allow, and basks.

He is grateful to have this much. But greed and hunger fester beneath the layers of scars encasing him, like magma bubbling within a planet's outer crust. Even now, it is not enough. He wishes desperately that this chamber was intended for sleeping, and not meditating; that it featured a bed, one big enough for the two of them, so he could hold Luke and see his face at the same time.

Alterations can always be made to this one, he supposes. Or perhaps he can build a replica, large enough to house a two-person cot. Either way, the desire gnaws at him with blunt teeth. What he wouldn't give to cover this warm body with his own, freed from the prison of his suit, scarred to sunkissed skin.

What he wouldn't do to feel it on his face, that irreplaceable human touch.

But wishing is fruitless. For now, there is nothing he can do but adjust his chair to lean back as far as it will go, jostling the boy in his arms slightly as he reclines. Luke makes a discontented sound, brows furrowing as he fights to waken. Vader is quick to cup the side of his face with one hand, pushing him back under with the Force, firm and gentle, until his features soften once again and he rests, unbothered and unaware.

Satisfied, Vader lays as horizontal as his chamber will allow, his son draped across his chest, and presses a gentle kiss to the mop of golden hair tickling his bare throat. Just a little longer. He knows, inevitably, this respite must end. But he is willing to let his life support system momentarily choke the breath from Luke's undamaged lungs if it means they can stay like this, human, living, together, just a little longer.

[fractualized]

Got tagged by the fabulous @distort-opia​! Picking a fifth fave fic was hard, but here's what I landed on:

- On the Mend (Free John Doe Part 1, rated Teen and Up) - Backstitch (Free John Doe Part 2, rated Explicit) I hadn't written fic for 5 years when I played Enemy Within. I started a one-shot when Episode 4 came out, but when Episode 5 emotionally crushed me, it got me thinking about the kind of life John could have had if he stayed within the bounds of the law, if he had the opportunity to actually learn how he wanted to live his life and to have Bruce be a part of it. I pictured John being the lead of a colorful variety show in some run-down club and finally getting a kiss from his beloved buddy. And I could have done it as an AU where Enemy Within didn't happen, or a flash-forward set years later, but I felt so attached to John as he is that I *really, really* wanted that scene to happen in canon, and I wanted it to feel plausible and earned. So over the next 2 years I wrote 212k words. I still need to finish editing it, but I'm pretty proud I saw it through. :)

- Another Version of the Truth (rated Teen and Up) AVotT was a way for me to skip to Bruce and John being cute as hell while plodding through OtM and Backstitch, and I'll admit I'm sometimes a little :\ that it's more popular than those two. But I get it! It's got the Pact acting more like a semi-functional family, it's got Bruce freely being fluffy as heck with John, it's got loads of silliness— uh, until it doesn't. Oh ho, it's all fun and games until the author's angst instincts kick in!

- Give and Take (rated Explicit) I'd written comicsy batjokes darkfic before and was looking for a regular old batjokes idea to take hold, and suddenly a Discord conversation about financial domination kink turned into a speedrun of classic batjokes tropes (and not so much findom). Each plot point flowed so easily into another that I cranked this out in a couple weeks. Why can't that happen more often? x_x

- A Man Possessed (rated Explicit) This is one where I happily flash-forwarded to a postcanon John who managed to get re-released from Arkham because handwavey flibbaflabbum. The idea sprouted from another Discord conversation about incorporating lexjokes into the Telltale universe, and in my head it went from jokey flirting to full relationship drama. John doesn't cheat, but he sure came close with the chemistry he turned out to have with Telltale Luthor and how much fun I was having cutting Bruce down a peg. And then there's rough semi-public make-up sex! (though I sometimes still think about a sexy angsty cheating dramafest don't judge me)

As for my WIP list... oh boy. I haven't posted links to my own darkfic (noncon, etc) on here, and none made the above list, but hey, I’ll discuss the Bad Times WIPs if anyone wants to hear about them. Although picking them out is like half lottery since the word "dark" is missing from most of them. The silliest sounding one is probably the worst!

Even after some curation, the list is still way too long.

I'll just be tagging @fordarkisthesuede​ and @mystrothedefender​, if they want to join in, but anyone else who'd like to should feel free!

[harryspet]

For your holiday darkfics, I'd like to request an angel reader/demon Steve, with "Your soul is mine", "Oh, did someone get lonely?", and "Remind me why I can't kill the carolers?" -🐇

your soul is mine | steve rogers 

[Warnings] dark!steve rogers x reader, demon!steve x angel!reader, noncon, kidnapping

a/n: this was a lot of fun, i hope you enjoy!

In which you’re an angel and a demon named Steve Rogers owns your soul. 

word count: 1.6k 

taglist: @buckysbunny @cherienymphe @hollandsdream @micki-smiles @buckybarnesplumwhore @brattypeony @hermayone @buckysugar @mischiefmanaged011 @visintaes @watercoolerpaint @disaster-rose

A darkness wrapped around you, invading your dream state. You went from imagining a shining sun over a meadow, running with your brothers and sisters to a setting sun and scorched earth. Your eyes snapped open and you found your captor looking at you from across the room. 

“Oh, did someone get lonely?” Steve noticed how you were curled up in your bed, hugging a book and pillow tightly. You sat up quickly, pushing the book to the side and your hair from your face, “You could hold me at night if you wished.”

You had to admit that the body that Steve was inhabiting was quite handsome. He probably chose someone strong and handsome, knowing how far it would get him in the real world. Still, the blonde hair didn’t quite match those black eyes. 

“I’d never be able to sleep with you so close to me,” You said, distaste in your tone, “And you’d probably be miserable showing any ounce of affection.”

Steve smirked, “Who said anything about affection? I imagine sinful things when I think of lying next to you, darling. Rough …. cruel, ungodly things. Your devout leader wouldn’t let you back into his gates after what I’d do to you-”

You looked away, “Stop it, please. I know what you’re trying to do.”

“I know, I know, I won’t get a rise out of you. I’ve been torturing angels for two hundred years and I’ve never made one raise their voice. Even if I’m sawing off their little wings, they won’t say a cruel word towards me … it’s quite infuriating.”

You couldn’t help but imagine that pain, like your soul being torn from your body. 

“If I’m no different than the rest then I’m not sure why you keep me around,” Unexpectedly, you saw his smirk falter. He’d been stoic for your entire kidnapping but your words had struck a chord in his empty heart. 

“Your soul is mine,” He said, “And, sadly, that’s worth quite a lot so I have to get a good use out of you. Speaking of, get up and get dinner ready.”

He snapped his finger and the chain connected to the bed frame detached from the collar around your neck. The sigil engraved into the metal was a kind of angel trap which kept you tethered to the house and your powers at bay. You frowned, “You said you’d give me a break for the Holidays.”

“You know better to trust a Demon, I shouldn’t have to explain that,” Steve spoke, sound amused, “And I’ve decided that I want to get into the holiday spirit and it’s in your best interest to be merry and jolly just like me. Up, up, up.”

You stood up from the bed, your white dress falling down to your ankles, and you made your way past him. He followed you down the hallway and to the stairs. The home was old and gothic, decked out in antiques. As you made your way down the stairs, you realized why he was following. 

The house was decorated in red and green, fairy lights, and even a Christmas tree, “So? Do you feel like a human again?”

You didn’t answer immediately as you admired everything. It reminded you of a time that was very far away, “It’s beautiful,” He sensed your hesitance as you worried this was all an elaborate trick, “Why?”

Steve shrugged, “I wanted to see what the excitement was all about.”

“And do you feel it? The holiday spirit?”

He smiled, ignoring your question “I feel like I could go for a delicious Christmas Eve dinner. Get to work.”

+

You were intently listening to the cascade of angelic of voices coming from outside the door. Looking out the living room, you saw them walking along the sidewalk and singing The Little Drummer Boy. 

“Remind me why I can’t kill the carolers?” Steve asked from his chair as he stared down the burning fire. You’d finish dinner moments ago and had resigned to the living room.

“Just let one beautiful thing exist, please,” You looked at them longingly, wishing you could feel the snow, and sing the lord’s praises. Surprisingly, Steve didn’t immediately respond. A while passed and the voices of the carolers faded away and so did your peace. 

He snapped his fingers and you were out of your trance. You turned to face him, his hellish eyes burning holes into your skin, “Let’s play a game, angel,” He smiled. 

“A game?” At first, your thoughts were innocent. You imagined a board game or cards but those thoughts didn’t last long, “I’d rather not.”

“I’m sure you’d rather keep your wings as well.”

You crossed your arms, “Fine.”

“Good girl,” He smirked, “How about a simple game of Truth or Dare?”

“... Do I get to ask you questions too?” Steve’s eyes narrowed at you, “It’s only fair.”

“Right, it’s only fair. Come, sit,” He beckoned you over and you assumed he wanted you to sit on the couch but he stopped you, “No, here, on your knees.”

You paused, trying to swallow your fear. You stepped in front of him before moving down to your knees. You imagined that he wanted to maintain your power imbalance. He couldn’t have you feeling any sort of pride when you asked him truth or dare. 

“Truth or Dare, angel?” He asked, leaning forward, his eyes on your collar. 

“Truth,” You answered, looking up at him.

“Are you waiting for a particular, little boy angel or girl angel to come and save you?”

You tried to hide the emotion in your eyes, “No … not one that you haven’t already killed.” You couldn’t look at his smile without tears brimming in your eyes. He opened his mouth, probably to say something hurtful but you interrupted, “Your turn. Truth or Dare?”

“Truth.” 

“Why haven’t you killed me?”

He hesitated which you hadn’t expected. Demons weren’t known for having feelings, Satan had tortured it out of all of them, but you thought you saw a glimpse of something in his eyes, “I enjoy watching you break every day. Usually, I get quite bored of angels after a while. Not you.”

“But-”

“Your turn. Truth or Dare?”

“Truth.”

“You can’t say Truth twice.”

“I’ve never heard of such a rule.”

“I just made it up,” Steve grinned, “Now, what’s a good dare for an angel? I dare you to … kiss me.”

Your eyes widened and you shook your head, “No, please, anything else.”

Your words angered him, “You could kiss something else of mine-”

“Steve…” You tried to plead with your big doe eyes, “I know you think I’m different than the others … I’m not.”

He leaned forward, his hand grabbing your face, and you shut your eyes tightly, “You are. I can see something you cannot,” Warmth spread through your body and you felt waves of darkness and violent pictures in your mind, “Kiss me. I won’t ask again.”

Shaking, you leaned forward, your eyes blinking open. Steve had closed his eyes, waiting for your lips to touch his. His fingers touched your neck and hair. Your lips were soft against his, despite how stiff you were from the nervousness. Steve stroked your cheek with his thumb as he slowly moved his lips against yours. 

He heard you whimper and his anger began to grow. The kiss deepened, and Steve got more rough as he explored your mouth. You grabbed his arm, trying to pull away, and Steve felt the light inside you only for a moment before it was stomped out. 

When you roughly pulled away, Steve knew he’d sunk his talons into you. Your eyes were dark, the light fading away, as you were overcome with emotions. You fell back on your elbows, breathing heavily, before you wiped your mouth, “What … what did you do?”

“You don’t know what happens when you kiss a demon?” Steve turned his head, looking down at you curiously. 

You scrambled away, getting to your feet, though you felt a bit lightheaded, “Y-You took my light …,” You breathed out, “No more games. Stay … please don’t touch me.”

Steve stood up, his shadow draping over you, and you stepped back, “I didn’t take it,” Steve chuckled, “I destroyed it, darling. You’ve been here in purgatory for months, you’re incredibly weak, and you won’t survive with all that good inside you. You need me.”

“I’d rather die.”

“I’d rather keep you around,” You turned to run but he grabbed you by your upper arm, pulling you into him, “Destroying that purity… fucking that darkness into you, that’s what I want.”

That winter night, Steve held you down in front of the burning fireplace. He tasted you in unthinkable ways, giving you a pleasure you’d never experienced, dipping his fingers inside of you. It hurt and you screamed but that feeling didn’t last long. He took his time making sure you were a moaning mess and, by the time, he entered you, you were a wet chasm wanting to be filled. 

He’d thrust into you deeply and watch how your eyes grew darker and darker. You tried holding onto whatever good things you could and, because it was your nature, you still wished for him to be saved. 

Your body was still writhing when he collapsed beside you. You had nothing left to say, feeling great shame for letting a demon pleasure you. “You’ll thank me later … for helping you.” Still, he carried you up to bed that night, leaving so you could sleep without the nightmares his touch would bring. 

Before you closed your eyes, you realized he hadn’t connected the chain on your collar to the bed. Though a dark cloud now surrounded your heart, you thought that maybe some of your light had sunk into him. 

[madaboutmunson]

People = Shit (Part 10 of 11 of Let Me Call You Sweetheart)

Warnings for the entire story not just this chapter: Darkfic, out of character Eddie Munson, alternative universe, present day, Death, abuse (emotional, mental and physical, harassment, violence, torture, imprisonment, coersion, unrequited love, drugs, alcohol, illness, blood, gore, food disorder, mental illness, vampirism, hypnotism, weirdness, the upside down, bats, monsters

@munchabunch

You watch the coffee pot gurgle away as you say across the table from Eddie, avoiding his eyes. You'd been putting up a good fight all night, but you weren't sure how much you had left.

You break the silence, "Do you think they'll let me play tomorrow?"

"I think they'd be a sorry lot of dumbasses if they didn't", he answers.

"I just want to play, you know? Nothing comes close to that feeling on stage, not a thing I've experienced in my whole life."

"Look, even if this time isn't your time, there will be other chances. It's not like the planets have to align. You actually have talent. I know you think it's just the guitar, but it's not. She lets you play like that, but she doesn't make you play like that," He says, leaning forward across the table towards you.

You get up quickly from your seat to get the coffee, anything to create distance between you both. You pour two cups and set them in the middle of the table, too afraid to place the cup near him.

He pulls the cup towards him. You roll your eyes at yourself. You forgot the sugar and cream. You reach over the sink to get it when you hear Eddie shout, "Enough!"

You turn towards his voice, but he moves impossibly fast towards you, his face inches from yours. His hands grip the counter top either side of you.

Through clenched teeth, he says, "I need you to relax."

"Jesus, Eddie! I'm calm ok" you say, looking at his face.

His eyes are trained on your neck, "No, you aren't", he says, biting his lips. You hear the countertop beside you crunch under his hand, "I really can't emphasise enough how much you need to relax right now because I am seconds away from draining the ever-living essence out of you" a droplet of blood runs down the side of his bottom lip.

You close your eyes quickly, think of playing the guitar in your closet, and take deep breaths. You were still afraid, but you manage to slow your heartbeat a little.

His eyes soften, and he lets go of the counter and moves back to his seat. You grab your coffee and chuck it down the sink.

You grab a saucepan, fill it with milk and malt powder, and heat it up on the stove.

You dare not look at him through fear of setting yourself off again.

"So...that explains...some things," you try to joke a little, pouring yourself a hot malt drink.

"That wasn't supposed to happen," he says, almost annoyed.

"Would you rather I stayed over here, or may I sit back down?" You ask.

"You can sit," he says

You sit in your chair and take a sip of your drink, looking at the table, "At least I feel slightly less insane about the whole guitar thing now", you laugh.

"How are you like this?" He laughs.

"Dude. I have felt insane all week, and this made me feel normal, like, oh, Vampire, that makes sense. It's the first thing that made sense this time!" You smile at him.

"And you can just accept that?" Eddie says, tilting his head at you.

"Seriously, I threw someone across a room with the power of the guitar, which by the way was talking to me, in my head,  and is like obsessed with you....like, ending people obsessed. I think processing that a person I only see at night, who threatened to, and I quote, 'Drain me' and who can be entirely hypnotic, is a vampire is much easier to accept."

He leans back in his chair and gives a huge grin, exposing his fangs to your unashamedly for the first time.

"Well...I am flattered," he says, laughing.

"Ok, good, maybe you can tell me what the fuck is happening because I am losing my mind."

"Well-" He starts. Only to be interrupted by a knocking at the door.

You sit still in silence until you start hearing a dull thud against the door every few seconds, and you get up to answer it before someone breaks your door in two.

"Hey, please stop. I'm here." You say, putting the door chain across and opening up the door a little bit.

You are met with the sweaty face of Mr Harrington and a little wave from Dustin Henderson, "Is he here?" They say in unison.

You look over at where Eddie was, but he's gone.

"He's gone now," you say, unchaining the door.

Mr Harrington starts shouting into the air, "If you're still here, Eddie, we just want to talk"

"How desperate are you for these reshoots, exactly? " You ask, folding your arms.

"It's pretty urgent," Dustin says, pulling back a curtain sharply to see if Eddie is behind it.

"Now you've invited him in, you should probably come back to mine for safety", Mr Harrington reasons, still searching around.

"No, I'm good, thanks, Mr Harrington," you say kindly.

Dustin rounds on you, "You aren't afraid of Eddie?"

You look confused, "No...well...you know what, no. I have been alone with him often. I don't have many reasons to be afraid of him" this was a half-truth. Being pinned up against the counter had been scary, but now you know his truth. He could have literally killed you at any point but didn't.

"You've been *alone* with him", Mr Harrington panics.

"Oh geez, not like that," you say, disgusted.

Mr Harrington breathes a sigh of relief with his hand on his chest.

"But I mean, who could blame someone if they did, right?" You say a little too thoughtfully.

Mr Harrington shrugs a little, nodding, and Dustin shakes his head at you both.

You look over them both a bit more closely now. They are armed with wooden stakes, crossbows, and daggers.

"What the actual fuck?" You exclaim, "Are you trying to kill him??!"

They both freeze until Mr Harrington speaks, "He is not your friend." He says seriously, searching around the house.

"Ok, well, I'd prefer my home did not become a murder scene, ok? If I ever see him again, I'll ask him to call you. Unless, of course, this isn't about the game at all?" You eye them suspiciously.

Mr Harrington goes to say something, but Dustin stops him, "We just want to talk to him."

You narrow your eyes at them both. Something wasn't right here. Eddie had no reason to hide from them, and yet he did.

"Well, if he turns up again, I'll be sure to let you know" this time, it is actually a lie, and they know it, "I suggest you leave my house before I have to call someone to remove you."

Dustin looks at you like you are insane. Mr Harrington is still shouting into the air, "Eddie...we just want to talk...please...whatever you've got planned...just...we're sorry, ok?"

The sorry hangs in the air, and you feel your lip curl into a sneer.

"I think you should both leave." You say more sternly, your hand inching towards your guitar case.

"Steve...STEVE!!!" Dustin yells, walking backwards away from you.

Mr Harrington eventually diverts his attention from the air to you. He looks between you and the guitar case. You narrow your eyes at him and flick open a clasp.

As Mr Harrington goes to charge forward, Dustin grabs him and starts pulling him towards the door, "They're a lost cause", he looks to you as he shoves Mr Harrington out of the door, "We're leaving, ok" he puts his free hand in the air like he's surrendering.

You let them leave.

You run over to the door, put on all the locks, and barricade the door, moving around the house and ensuring all windows and doors are secured. Finally, you settle in the living room, your guitar case open next to you.

"Eddie?" You call out gently, the guitar strings hum, and a mist crawls along the floor to the armchair opposite, and slowly his form appears.

You breathe a sigh of relief.

"Why did you run?" You ask with genuine concern.

He steeples his fingers, "They won't allow me to explain, or at least won't try to understand, that all of this is a means to an end."

Eddie tells you what happened in 1986 "I couldn't go home, and they couldn't stay where I was. At first, they tried to split their time, but soon they had other responsibilities. As they got older, I stayed the same. As they had families, I stayed the same. As they betrayed me and left me to rot!! I. stayed. The. same." He emphasises each of those last words.

"But with time on my hands, I found I could do more than I realised. The first clue was the guitar, which initially they had been kind enough to leave me. But, if I played it right with all my might, I could see glimmers of the past or the future."

"I was foolish enough to tell them about my discoveries, intentions, and hopes that I could change my fate. They warned me about what could happen, but I just wanted to have my life back, grow old with them, but they refused."

His face looks furious, but his eyes swim with agonising pain.

"So they stole her from me. Hid her away in a vault, where no one could touch her. Then I had to wait. I waited so very long...years...decades. Wasting away. Feeding on wasteland creatures... Until she tempted someone to play her again. Oh, and when I heard her sing my name, I was home." He closes his eyes, and a tear escapes, but his face is pure ecstasy.

He leans forward in his seat, hunched over enthusiastically, "But one day, something weird happened. Someone called me. Some hippy dippy seance shit around Hawkins, and it thinned the veil. So I gave them a show. You know the whole lights flickering thing, spelling out their names, rookie shit. So more people came, and I gave them more theatrics each time the veil thinned. Once it was thin enough in that place, I eventually learned how to pass through the barrier without them. "

"It took me a year to track down both guitars, with the help of some people on this side of things. Minions, if you will. They wanted to be turned, and sure, I promised them I would, but I had no intention of doing it. Humans will do the wildest things if you can give them what they crave." He shakes his head and laughs. "I knew in my cold, dead heart that if it was possible to change my fate, I could change the fate of all of what happened in Hawkins."

He looks over at your open guitar case and looks back at you

"I couldn't get hold of the one in the vault, but I could get the veil thin enough there to pass through whenever I wanted, but to not sound the alarm, I had to leave her there in that...that...prison" his fists clench.

"It was the same story with the other guitar, I could do things, but there was not enough power. I dragged many a famous guitarist to their demise so we could play in unison, and though the power was there, the connection was not. I needed a soul match, one the guitars would respond to like they respond to me. Which I found completely by accident about two years ago."

"Two kids, desperate for love and stardom. All they needed was someone to pave the path for them to walk. Though one was more of a confident walker than the other." He gives you a wry smile

Your jaw drops a little, "Terry and Harley..." You say in a whisper. He nods.

"I gave them the objects of their affection. Jenna was easy. She was free to go wherever. But, for you, I had to lay a complex set-up. An affordable guitar, a job position suddenly opening up, but we got you there " he smiles proudly.

"Thankfully, due to toxic masculinity, Terry had a lot of wrestling with his feelings, or even, you know, expressing them. Which gave me time to get to know you. I saw how you lived. I saw your passions, your failings, your joy, your tears, your heart and soul. I saw it all, and I never once interfered."

"I'd obviously heard about the carnival, and for shits and giggles, I thought I'd scare the living hell out of Steve and Dustin by putting her in the window across the road."

He reaches over and takes your hand, "But then you saw her because she called you over, and the rest is history."

"I hide from them because they don't believe in me and would rather end me than take a chance on a different life."

"How do you know it will work?" You say curiously.

"Because we already did a test, remember?" He says, looking into your eyes.

"My nightmare? The guy with the spear. That was you before this. In the past?"

He nods and smiles happily, "We saved him," he says, gripping your hand between his.

"And I think we can do it for all of Hawkins. We just need enough power" he looks awkwardly at the floor.

"But the power isn't generated by the music alone?" You venture.

He shakes his head, "It isn't enough"

You nod, understanding, "The bat cull, right?"

"Right," he says

"Except the bats are too small fry to undo everything," you say nervously.

He takes your chin on his index finger and lifts it up, so you look at him again. "I'm not asking you to commit a sin you haven't already..." He says tentatively.

"Oh..." You say your eyes fill with tears, and your heart rate picks up, "I didn't imagine those things."

A flash of red glints in Eddie's eyes, "Relax, please", he says, tensing his jaw, "all of that is cleared away for you. No one will know except us."

You shut your eyes again and think about playing your guitar in the closet, but the guitar is dripping with blood, guts and brains.

You bring your knees up to your chest and clasp your hands over your head, gently rocking yourself. Trying to self-soothe to block out the panic. Then, snapshots flash into your mind with the realisation of what you had done. How could you have done those horrific things?!

Eddie snarls and grabs at your throat. He squeezes his eyes shut and just manages to reign it in, "GODDAMMIT!" He yells through his teeth and then shakily says, "I'm going to move away, alright? Do not, and I cannot emphasise this enough, do not make any sudden movements."

"Do you think it would help if you went out and found yourself something to eat?" You say hoarsely, keeping absolutely still, "Mainly because you keep telling me to relax, but it's you that's on a hair trigger."

"Touché," he says, wiping his mouth with his fingers, "I don't know how much it will help but let me see what I can find, and I'll be right back" he turns to mist and leaves again.

You curl up tighter into your ball and sob. You'd killed them. The first might have been an accident, but the second and third were very deliberate. So now you were a murderer. Who could possibly understand that?

Maybe if Eddie was right, he was your best chance. If you could pull this plan off, you could undo all of this.

Your phone buzzes, a message from Terry, "We want you to play with us tomorrow."

You think back to what Eddie had told you about your so-called friends. You weren't anything but a thing to them, a collectable, a lead guitarist, a potential love interest, not a person who could make their own way.

You grip the phone tightly and type through your ire, "Thank you so much. I'll make sure it's unforgettable!"

You take the time Eddie is away to sob and rage as much as you possibly can. You want to make sure to exhaust yourself, so you can remain as calm as possible around him.

You take it out on your surroundings. First, finding an old baseball bat and taking out the cabinets in the living room. Then all the delicate China dolls on display that were a daily reminder of what a less than perfect specimen you were. Next to meet their demise all your father's old sports trophies. A reminder of your own inadequacies.

You only stop when you almost cut yourself on some broken glass and decide to do a careful sweep-up. Before going out to sit on the back porch and try to use some star gazing to relax, so on his return you can understand the plan of action. You needed to be centred, focused, and with no distractions. You could do this. You could make this right.

Eddie assembles next to you, "Bet that can be a lot of fun", you say with half a smile.

"Oh, the mist stuff, yep, very handy. Speaking of...did you clear out your living room or something?" He says curiously.

"Or something", you mumble, looking at the floor.

Eddie puts his arm around your shoulders, and you quickly shrug out of it, "No one who really knew those people will miss them. They were bad, terrible people." He says

"Just because someone is bad doesn't give me the right to hurt them, Eddie."

"We are gonna change all that. We are gonna undo all of this"

"We are? At least that will be some good...I can't undo what I am now...who could ever understand what I did? Everyone hates me now, so fuck it, right?"

"I understand what you did. I'm on your side," Eddie says in earnest.

"Got a funny way of showing it", you laugh, touching your neck.

"Yeah, well, I'm trying my best here. Also, you are one to talk. I can fucking hear you avoiding my eyes," He says, frustrated.

"Because the voice in my head is actually insane for you, and no offence, but I'm like not there with it. In that bar, I felt that jealousy, but I knew it wasn't mine, but it was coursing through me."

"Yes, exactly...How can I put this...I've been at this undead stuff for quite a while. I can handle myself just fine around all sorts of heightened emotions, but when I hear your pulse race, it's not just your pulse. I can hear her too. So you are intertwined, just like me and mine. Except even if you were a Vampire, you wouldn't hear mine because I'm dead so... but just know it is so very, very, very tempting." He says, trailing off, looking at your neck again.

You clap your hands hard in front of his face, "Hey! No!"

He glowers at you.

"I'm just trying to keep it professional in here. Though I do have a couple of questions."

"Ok, shoot "

"You said you promised a bunch of minions you'd turn them, but you never did. Why? Also, have you ever turned anyone else into a vampire?"

"Mainly because they don't understand what they will miss out on or how much extra pain and loss you have to go through, and no, I've never turned anyone else."

"Would you?"

"No," he says quickly" Are you asking for yourself?"

"No, I don't think so. Even though the powers seem very cool, It sounds very lonely."

"So tomorrow..." He quickly changes the subject, "We'll take the encore when the place is full to capacity."

"Do you think this can really work? Like, we can barely sit in the same room as one another without something almost going wrong." You say, rubbing your hand down the side of your face, "And with the bats, you looked real bad at the end."

"In that place, I'm sort of part of all, so when you kill a bat or cut a vine, that happened to me too, but we aren't doing that this time. That won't happen again," he animatedly assures you.

"The other thing? Shit, I don't know. It seemed easier with the guitars there, though. Maybe we could..." He quickly grabs a chunky piece of stick for the floor, quickly slicing off the loose bark with one of his fingernails like it was a pen knife. Once satisfied, he says, "practice?" He puts it between his teeth, bites down on it, and tilts his head at you, raising his eyebrows.

You think for a moment, grab his bandana from his pocket, and hand it to him. He nods and ties it around his face knotting it at the back of his head.

You reach around the back of his head quickly and ensure the knot is tightened.

His head immediately snaps to look at your neck, and you hear a faint crunch sound next to your ear. You move away slowly and dare to look up at him. The whites of his eyes are red, and his usual brown eyes look like his iris has wholly disappeared.

"Sorry, I was just testing," you say, looking at the floor.

Something instinctively raises your hand upwards, so your palm is facing Eddie. He mirrors your actions, so your hands are a few centimetres apart.

You see a tiny dark swirling cloud appear in the gap, like the ones that filled the sky in your nightmare.

Your heart rate starts to pick up. Your eyes move between your hands and Eddies face.

He's trying desperately to keep his eyes on your hands.

"Closer.. " the voice in your head hisses. You slowly push your hand another tiny increment towards Eddie's.

The voice in your head exhales with pleasure, and the tiny swirling cloud disappears into a blip, like turning off an old TV.

Before you can register any disappointment, an explosion of red lightning erupts, encircling your hands and snaking its way up your arms.

You can see Eddie's demonic eyes squinted like he's smiling under there, and a drop of blood falls from his eye. "He's home," two voices say in your mind, you immediately feel your heart slow, and you feel entirely at peace for a few moments, but the electricity having nowhere to go, begins to burn your arm, and you have to tear your hand away.

You shake some sparks from your arm. "Shit!"

Eddie grabs you by your shoulders. You realise his restraints are missing, but he's not aggressively shaking you. It's pure, innocent excitement.

He smiles widely at you, his eyes returning to normal, "Oh my fucking god!!! We can actually do this. I know now, she told me. We are going to fix everything. Right back to Henry. We can save them all."

You look up at him and smile back, feeling for the first time that you were worthwhile, you could make a difference, you mattered, you weren't a waste of oxygen,  and you had a purpose.

You instinctively look away from him.

"Hey! no!" He says excitedly, turning your head back to him," it was just something we had to push past. Look!" He holds your hand near his again, and the sparks and smoke fire up straight away, but you aren't scared this time. Eddie's eyes don't change. "See!" He says, laughing, shaking his head.

You hear a car screech to a halt outside, "EDDIE!!" You hear Mr Harrington yell. Both your heads snap in the direction of the familiar voice.

[sparrow-stunned]

Okay okay i just need to ramble about the yandere xiao fic because woah it was so 😭🥰

It genuinely filled me with pure dread to the point i closed my curtains and it’s been a long time since anyone’s writing was able to do that. So like very props to you because your writing??? Absolutely immaculate 😩👌

A lot of writers forget that the yandere trope is supposed to be terrifying yet also enjoyable for the reader, like they just write a kidnappingbut make the character slightly overprotective, but not really intimidating. But you, oh you managed to capture that feeling of horror, the slow loss of hope, the drowsy feeling of separating yourself from reality because of it all just ugh it’s so perfect, love it so so much.

Also i was crying during the end, when Eula came to save us 🥺 it made me so sad, the lost love between darling and her. I was practically screaming in my head “no!! Eula run away!! Don’t die for this!!” And i’m so glad she (hopefully) got away without any extra harm to her. I hope she got to go live a happy life and find someone else to love her, getting to move on from the reader. Sad but I wish only the best for my favorite woman <\3

Anyways sorry for the rambling!! It’s just that your writing is absolutely perfect and i will be re-reading that fic for a good few weeks, i just absolutely had to let you know how perfect that fic

wow, thank you for such a wonderful comment! please don’t be sorry —it’s not rambling to me—because it honestly made my day. I love reading comments/feedback/thoughts about my fics, since my perspective as a writer is very different from that of a reader.

it’s funny that you mention it filled you with dread, because when I write yandere fics, I don’t consciously go for that kinda mood. it just kinda happened with this fic, with the background and characterization.

the xiao I chose to portray was a bit removed from what I would describe as canon xiao—more animalistic, less restraint, none of that morality struggle nonsense, especially considering that he’s really not grappling with things like karmic debt. less traumatized, and a lot more dangerous. so yeah, that mental divide between him and darling, where he truly does not understand what he’s doing wrong, means fun times for everyone.

as for yandere portrayals, soft or sadistic or whatever, i read depending on mood; coincidentally, before writing, I happened to read this amazing darkfic, dead dove do not eat variety. really made me in the mood to write something fucked up—so with the anon request, i was like... how about 'let’s have sex while i'm forcing you to look at a man I killed for you while in a puddle of his blood'

on the one hand, hot. on the other, what the fuck.

(also, I will be honest and say that my brain was in constant thirst mode while writing some parts…)

fanfics are very much personal preference. different strokes for different folks, as the saying goes! I like yandere fics where the danger is subtle. for me, it’s not so much about the capture, but moreso the ✨implications✨. yes, I am indeed a fan of things like suspense and slow burn haha.

i definitely think there’s room for many types of portrayals, though I’m happy to hear you liked mine! my personal preference is focusing on the psychological aspect, which you can definitely see in the fic when darling just kinda goes.. despondent. your comment about the loss of hope and their separation from reality is spot on!

Poor Eula… I was considering having a more, um, gruesome ending, but I love her too much to really go through with it. she’s quite a comfort character for me, so it'd have been jarring to write. I had a lot of fun writing the Eula and darling scenes though, since they were so cute.

overall, a big thank you for the feedback! I really, really appreciated this ask, and I’m happy to see you enjoyed it so much!

[10millionyearsdungeon]

Kinktober #14 - Blood

A/N: So, after discussing prompts with @hisoknen at great length, we came to a conclusion that there wasn’t enough darkfic content for Mr. Sunshine Personified-- Mirio “Lemillion” Togata. Turn away now if you’re the slightest bit squeamish. Apparently this one has been anxiously awaited for a while...

===============================================

On the surface, everything was smiles and effortless bravado. After regaining his quirk, Lemillion was everything the public wanted to see in one of their top heroes; he was compassionate, devoted to service, and protected the weak. He went out of his way to ensure that justice was served with a million-watt smile. But that wasn’t the Mirio Togata you knew. You had lived with him for a few months in his home, though he wished you would grow to know it as your own. It tugged at his heartstrings to watch you cower away from his shadow when he’d open the door to the room you shared with him. He smiled the same warm smile he flashed the cameras and approached you casually, stripping his costume off with careless, unhurried fingers. Chains tinkled as the links rattled against one another. You scurried to the wall, crouched in on yourself as he continued to change. In the low light of his bedroom, he looked every bit the gilded god he projected himself to be. All blond hair and sky-blue eyes, he strode to meet your curled form and crooned softly as he rested a heavy hand on your head. “Hey, there. Is that any way to welcome me home?”

You whimpered in reply, words long escaped you when he was this close. It had been months since you had seen the sun, let alone interacted with anyone other than the grinning hero bearing down on you. “W-we...w-wel…” He smirked at your attempt to mimic the word. “It’s been a day.” Mirio stretched, his muscles quivering under his tanned skin enticingly. He took a knee and met your frantic gaze, heavy hand still resting atop your head. “It’s time to play!” he sang out, patting your hair like you were just another child he had rescued from the clutches of some villain. You shrunk and whimpered at the phrase, eyes immediately welling with tears as he strode to the nightstand to pull out his toys-- a familiar flash of silver glinted in the light and only added to your growing dread. It had been the same every night since he took you. Every night had been punctuated with blood and silver-- your blood. He took great care in hiding you away, making sure your connections had been tied off so none could discover his dirty little secret. “Oh, you’d think by now you’d enjoy our time together, Y/n.” He took out the first blade, a scalpel sharpened meticulously, and he held it teasingly against your skin. “I mean, you’re the first to have lasted this long.” The first cut always took you the longest to acclimate to-- the sting of the blade dragging in long, loving strokes into your tender flesh coming long after the cut had been made. Mirio sighed audibly at the sight of first blood beading up along the trail left by his tool. By virtue of your quirk the skin mended itself slowly, leaving behind a stream of claret in its wake. You hissed at the sensation of your body knitting itself back together only to be met with another slash at your chest. Skin split, you dared to look down only to be met with the sight of muscle fiber and more red shining back at you. Mirio added a thick finger to the cut and dug around, marvelling at the sensation of slick muscle under the calloused pad. With a loud gasp, you choked out a cry that drew his attention from the red oozing around his fingers. Your skin fought to mend itself around his busy fingers, only to be beaten back by your captor savagely ripping the newly puckered skin open with a finger curl. Your screams were exquisite, every note colored with both fear and anguish as he continued to explore the trail of vessels and arteries running along your exposed meat and tendon. Pulling back his hand, he inhaled the iron and copper scent of your blood as if he were appreciating a rare vintage wine. Dragging his tongue along his bloodstained palm, he moaned low and painted his chin in your colors. His eyes were chips of ice in a sea of gold, sharp enough he could cut you with his gaze alone. Your back thudded against the drywall, a rabbit caught in a snare you knew what would come next. His cock twitched to life against his bare, muscular thighs and dread set back in. Your exhausted body writhed futility against your chains and the cold wall at your back as he closed in, the surgical steel blade shimmering in red and silver. 

It came down quickly. The sudden slash across the tender meat of your neck left you soundless, barely breathless before the spurt of your scent drew him to his work. Your body slunk to the floor, your blood pooling around his feet as he knelt down and watched the life start to leave your eyes hungrily. “You’re so beautiful like this…” he whispered, awed at the red staining your paling skin. Your hand held feebly against the gushing injury, doing little to slow the flow. He made another series of more superficial cuts along your neck and shoulder, all the while minding the depth and rate of your breathing. Your vision was beginning to fade. Tendrils of black invaded and threatened to overtake you. Your body heaved with every struggling breath you took, oxygen failing to meet your ever growing demand as your blood continued to run freely down your arm and onto the floor at your captor’s feet. He dropped to his knees and lowed his head to drag his tongue along the puddle, pulling up with a groan you could only describe as ecstatic. Consciousness was leaving, and the slash was mending under your hand, but the damage was already done. With a third of your blood volume wasted on the floor, coherence was a luxury ripped away with eager hands.

Senses dulled, your scalp burned with the sudden pull to your knees. Your torso was sticky in trails of drying scarlet, a sight that stirred more desire in Mirio. His cock bobbed proudly against his chiseled abs; he drank in your dazed whines and parted your lips with the head of his throbbing girth. “Say aaah,” he grinned, tongue lapping at the remnants of your life drying on his lips. His grip on your hair tight, he pulled you onto his length until tears pricked your eyes and he could see the noticeable bulge of his cock in your throat. Your gag was weak, and your reserves were few when he brought another swift flick of his tool along your cheek. He flayed your skin from your cheekbone to marvel at the tendons holding your face together and shivered at the moist tightness of your esophagus contracting around him. Your quirk was working slower, the healing taking minutes what once took seconds. The sight of his cock peeking between tight cords of sinew and slick muscle made him swoon. It wouldn’t take long for him to hold you until consciousness faded from your eyes and he came into your stomach with a howl. When you came to he was already rutting into your abused hole with abandon. Your body tensed instinctively at the intrusion, but you felt his fingers rummaging through the new gashes he had made just below your ribcage. The sensation of his fingers digging into your wounds left you moaning. His conditioning brought you to the brink of delirium. Pain washed with pleasure, an ocean of suffering meeting an estuary of ecstasy and you were caught in the middle riding each wave with a shriek. “Oh, you’re finally awake. Hope you don’t mind. Of course you don’t mind! Look how tightly you’re squeezing my cock when I do this!” He wiggled his fingers against what you were certain was your liver and your heart rolled over in your chest. Your cunt clenched around him tight enough that you thought you would split in half from the force alone. Legs trembling, you came at the feeling of his head bruising into your cervix and him scissoring your wounds open with curious fingers. Panting, you groped around despite your shackles for something to ground yourself with. In your shuffling, a thought occurred to Mirio. It was one thing to feel your blood rushing around his fingers and under his touch...he wondered…

You came down slowly, still floating in that in-between when you felt cold sink into your bones. Your body convulsed against the permeation hero at the new sensation. He’d never used his quirk on you before, and the sensation filled you with equal parts dread and revulsion. He held you firmly, his fingers like meat hooks into your ribcage as he rooted around through your back until he found  what he was looking for. Your heart thrummed in your chest like a trapped bird in a mine against his fingertips. Breath left you in a sharp exhale as he materialized his hand around your heart and gave it an experimental squeeze. He could live off your screams alone feeling your heart chambers fill and contract with blood in his hand. With nowhere to run to without facing that indescribable pain ripping through your being, you dug your nails into the floor. More pain burned through your nerve endings, reminding you that you were ever present despite the fog of your continued blood loss. Pain kept your mind with him, kept you close. It was as if he had planned it from the start, knowing how he could draw out the most broken parts of you and leave you bare for him to exploit. Your walls clenched tighter with every gentle squeeze and caress of his hand as he salivated at the sensation of your aorta pulsating with every strangled beat. “I could end you, y’know...just one squeeze and your life ends in blissful agony…” he whispered lovingly into your ear. It was almost intimate, the way he held you and your life in his hands. You were cradled against his solid muscles as he draped himself over your back, hips still idly pistoning into your aching heat. Your heart beat tirelessly in his hand; in that moment he felt himself fall even deeper for your broken being. Rapt in your exquisite suffering, he clenched his fist tighter around the pumping chambers and buried himself deeper into your gaping hole, emptying himself into your waiting womb with a joyous groan. 

Your breathing stopped with that final squeeze, cueing him to release and rhythmically massage your exhausted muscle back into being. Your body shuddered; your lungs burned with the promise of more pain in the hours to come. Part of you missed the loss of your captor, but you knew it wouldn’t be long before he had you doubled over for him to wring dry; after all, it was your job to help your hero unwind. Maybe you could learn to love him in spite of the monster bleeding you to unconsciousness to explore your body uninhibited. After all, he has your life in his hands...

[bitchywaldof]

Beth/Daryl Fanfiction Recommendations 2021

Alternative Universe

Call me friend but keep me close – Pietromavximoff

E | Friends to FWB, FWB to lovers, secret relationship, Slow burn| 105k

When Beth Greene starts University and is away from home for the first time since her Mother’s death the freedom and independence could lead her to party and get drunk as most college students do, but Beth isn’t wanting that.  Instead while focusing on her studies in a bar that’s quiet during the day Beth befriends Daryl Dixon a Bartender who is always there to intercept when college boys hit on her.

I loved this fic, the FWB into lovers trope is something I absolutely adore being explored and I don’t think I have seen it in the Bethyl fandom till reading this one.  The writing was really detailed and I loved living in the characters head during the couple of days that I binge read it.   I read this fic while I was in hospital for an endometriosis flare up and was alone as my fiancé couldn’t stay the night and honestly these characters really gave me comfort and positivity while I was going through that J

I’ll be yours for a song – dynamicsymmetry

E | Slow Burn, Friends to lovers, Coming of age, Mental health, Smut, Healing, Demisexuality | 381k

Authors Summary: “In a small town where he doesn’t expect to stay long, Daryl Dixon comes across a girl walking by the side of the road at two in the morning, soaked to the skin.  He could offer to drive her home.  But he very much wants to not seem like a creep.  He also doesn’t want to leave her there.

He has no idea what he’s getting into”

This story really has left an impact on myself long after I finished reading it.   You can tell that a lot went into the writing of this fic and the prose is so beautifully real and honest from Daryl’s perspective.  The growth that Daryl shows in this story is at times hard to read but as someone who has gone through similar situations and mental health issues to the characters I really believe that what is represented in this story is authentic and an important exploration into how trauma impacts your relationships in your life good/bad.  

Big Hands, I know You’re the One – gutsforgarters

E | Daddy Kink, light dom/sub, smut, Porn with plot in the best way 18k

Beth Greene is a girl on a mission.  While on vacation with Rick Grimes and his family she just can’t get a certain muscly man out of her mind so why not just go for it?

Oh I could read gutsforgarters stories over and over and never get bored.  I just love her AU Beth/Daryl so much.  This story is light and sexy and captures those fun moments in the honeymoon period really well.  And this story really got me into reading more Bethyl Daddy kink and loving that so there you go…(if you know you know, and if you don’t honestly give it a crack and you just might enjoy it ;))

Canon Divergence & TWD universe era

Lament – Saya087

E | Reunion, fix-it, season 6 era, happy ending, Grief/mourning | 16k

Inspired by 6x10 when Daryl begs Rick not to play the CD.  While at Hilltop Daryl gets reunited with someone he thought he would never see again.

This little story really got me in the feels and was oh so sweet.  I have found myself reading more and more ‘fix-it’ fics especially after the 10c episodes.

The Broken Ones Series - Badboy_fangirl

E | Reunion, fix-it, picks up post s4, domestic fic | 57k

Authors Summary: “After Daryl goes through some pretty heavy shit, he gets reunited with Beth.”

This series written in 2014 is a really fantastic look at how the show could’ve explored Beth and Daryl is they hadn’t fucked up.  I love the AU universe the author has built and imagined up as it is the perfect setting to explore Bethyl in a domestic setting while still existing in TWD universe.

It’s going to take you people years to recover from all of the damage – Wandering_gypsea_feet

General Audiences |Reunions, fix-its, Team defiance, multi character perspectives | 62k

Authors Summary: “But there’s going to be a party when the wolf comes home.

One’shots focused on how Beth Greene might make it back to her family and different reunions spanning season 5 to season 10, leaning heavily on theories, thoughts and wishes.  Looking at how her family would get her back and how they’d react to our girl.  Different POVs each chapter.”

Oh I loved reading this authors updates of this story and seeing what she would explore next! I loved hearing the perspective from so many different characters and how they interpret Daryl and Beth and each characters reaction was so sweet and funny at times.   Fingers crossed for season 11 to see if they will bring Beth back!

Endurance - SpicyPepper_SweetSugar

M | Angst, Darkfic, check tags for TW, Savior Beth, Negan| 135k - WIP (last updated 2016)

Authors Summary: “Three years have passed since Daryl and the others arrived at the ASZ.  The community is now lead by Rick and Deanna together as they try and keep the balance of living and surviving.  When a new threat arises, however.  Daryl is forced to face the past that he has been trying to put behind, because on the side of the enemy, a familiar face can be seen.”

So this is a fic with dark themes so please check the tags before reading.  I really enjoyed this fic for its commentary on PTSD, mental health and trauma on Beth.  This fic really explores the concept of Beth not wanting to return to her family even though she has the chance and why that could possibly be.  While some of the characterisation could be deemed ooc I really enjoyed what the author was doing in exploring such traumatic impacts on character and how that would result in shifting personalities and core belief systems and values.

Okay so that is it for now J I have seriously enjoyed being a part of the Bethyl fandom over the last few months since discovering it.  It has such amazingly talented writers and I truly feel so lucky to be able to read so many stories about characters I love in such dynamic and interesting ways.  I have been feeling really inspired to get writing myself (something that I have never felt before in any of my previous fandoms) because of this fandom and that has become such a fan and therapeutic outlet for me over the last month or so.  I am excited to just be here and enjoying it J

[mylifeisactuallyamess]

Serial Killer!Armitage Hux x Blood Spatter Analyst F Reader/DCI!Ben Solo x BSA!Fem Reader

A/N: THIS IS A DARKFIC. This is a only prelude for the whole fic which I am still working on. Exploring Hux’s potential darker side is something that’s been on my mind for a really long time and then I watched Hannibal and my serial killer enjoyment kicked up again 🤣 just the picture for this weeks Writer Wednesday prompted this little snippet. Also RC does enjoy her job probably as much as Dexter 🤣The first half is from Hux’s pov and the second is from RC’s. DO NOT READ if you are sensitive to anything remotely dubious. 18+ Minors DNI. @autumnleaves1991-blog @clydesducktape

Warnings: description of taking life, stalker Hux, dark thoughts, he’s a strangler so be warned. Mention of food, moving between jobs, description of blood. Set in London but I am using artistic licence in this fic so not 100% accurate with locations, but I have done my research into BSA and the job they do. (My google search is not something that the police should look at right now 🤣)

Word Count: 1541

Read the Prelude here on AO3.

These places were perfect, it was dark, the lighting wasn’t great and he could hug the shadows as he watched people go about their unsuspecting lives. It had been a few weeks since he’d felt the strain of his garrotte and his hands itched, his mind cried out for that relief he felt when the life left their body.

The heaviness of their form was always a comfort and he wondered often if his father felt the same way after he’d killed his wife. It played in Hux’s mind every time he took a life, he felt like he was in his fathers shoes. The only time he was good enough to step up to his fathers legacy. Killing was a habit now, he craved the rush it gave him that they couldn’t over power him or take anything from him, unlike everyone else in his life. He was taking the most precious thing from them and it gave him such a heady feeling.

He looked up when a few people arrived at the temporary diner, the soft light highlighted you as you stepped up to deliver your order and he was instantly captivated. The way you moved was enchanting, life seemed to blossom from you, alighting everything around you and he couldn’t look away. You looked up at the man you were with, your beautiful face breaking out into a smile and your laugh reached Hux’s ears making his fists clench in desperation. The garrotte was in his pocket ready and waiting to wrap around the column of your beautiful neck but when Hux finally paid attention to the man behind you he withdrew around the tree.

DCI Ben Solo…the copper who had suspicions about Hux but had no proof. Oh, Hux knew about the board of supposed facts the DCI had in his office, like a shrine to Hux’s misdeeds and he smirked into the darkness. Taking one right from under the nose of the DCI was so appealing, a game with high stakes and strict rules, a game Hux wanted to play.

He peered around the trunk of the tree, watching you with a renewed intensity, the desire burned through his blood like a fire that only one action could douse. His eyelids flickered as he imagined the way your throat would constrict, the way you’d fight, he could see you had spirit. You’d be a challenge. His gaze fixated on the column of your throat and he rested heavily against the tree, the longer he watched you the more he wanted….no. He needed you. He needed to feel your soft skin, he needed to hear you struggle, he needed to pull you close to his chest as he choked you. To smell your hair, to feel your warmth, to know that he was in that moment, the most powerful being in your life.

Your gaze swept over his hiding place and he moved, now was not the time. He needed to be patient, it would come down to a particular moment and only when that moment was upon him, would he know how perfect it was.

“What do you fancy? My treat.” You turned to Ben, his cinnamon eyes roaming over the menu over the top of your head because he stood so much taller than anyone else.

“I think you’re doing enough for me, this is my treat,” you exclaimed firmly.

“But I called you here…”

“So? This is on me.” He shrugged, a smile pulling on the corner of his mouth and you swatted his arm, a small laugh bursting forth as you tried not to notice the dimples that appeared in his cheeks. The soft light of the mobile diner gave them a sense of life which he snuffed out as he ran a hand over his stubble.

“Nah, come on. I’m starving,” he moaned and you rolled your eyes.

“Ok ok,” you peered at the menu asking for a basket of loaded fries and Ben ordered the same. You both sat down on the red stools which were much more comfortable than they looked. You turned your seat round, lifting your face up to the dark sky and letting a gentle breeze flow over you. The quiet trickle of conversation filled the air around you and people sat at the tables dotted around enjoying their food, some music played in the background and if you closed your eyes you could easily imagine you were across the pond sat in a real diner. The smell of the coffee, the sizzle of the fries, it all coagulated together into a comforting sensation in the middle of your chest and you let out a little sigh. Ben nudged your arm alerting you to food so you turned and grabbed the Tabasco bottle off the little sauce shelf.

“Tabasco. Really?” You smiled as you dribbled some over the melted cheese.

“Yeah, you don’t like spicy food?” You asked. He wrinkled his face in distaste and you couldn’t stop the giggles.

“Anyway,” he started clearly in an effort to change the subject. “How’s the lab? You think I could persuade you to stay here, permanently?” You shook your head, chewing on a chip and reaching for some napkins before answering.

“I’m a nomad. I like moving around…”

“But you have no home. Doesn’t it get you know, lonely?” You shrugged. You’d never really thought about it, you went where the blood was flowing the most, following the trail of destruction across the country. You didn’t tell many people but you enjoyed the thrill, when you stepped into a new blood soaked crime scene it gave you a sense of awe. None of the patterns were ever the same and it fascinated you how a simple flick of the wrist could produce different results for different killers. Your eyes rose to meet Ben’s and you felt like you wanted to tell him, I wanted to explain the way your job made you feel. As a fellow colleague he might understand but you always kept this part of you locked away. There was a fine line between enjoying your job and enjoying your job.

“No, not lonely, just means I can do what I like or work as long as I like.” Ben licked his fingers, reaching for a napkin he nodded.

“Yeah I get that. My parents are constantly on at me to find someone but I refuse to date a fellow copper and aside from the victims' families I don’t meet anyone else.”

“Oh, that’s not much of a dating pool,” you mumbled and he smirked at your words.

“No, no dating pool. If my mother had her way I’d be all “I’m really sorry your husband died, looking to remarry because my mother wants grandkids!” Yeah, no thanks.” You giggled wiping your greasy hands on another napkin.

“She sounds like she just wants the best for you.”

“The best for me isn’t meeting someone on the worst day of their lives,” he rumbled, suddenly withdrawing into himself and you turned to see him looking down at his food with a vacant expression.

“There’ll be someone. I have to believe there is someone for everyone, otherwise what’s the point of all this.”

“Yeah.” You didn’t like the dip in mood and you looked around trying to see something to distract you both. Some movement caught your eye, over by a tree just outside the pool of light and you squinted, but instantly dismissed it when you saw the railings along the edge of a pond beyond the tree.

“Come on,” you tugged on his arm offering no explanation and dumping your empty basket into the bin provided. You waved and thanked the staff getting a chorus of farewells back and sauntered over to the path.

“Where are we going?” He asked, finally catching up with you. You peered into the darkness, hoping your eyes were playing tricks on you because you swore there had been someone standing next to this tree, but there was no one here.

“I saw a pond, I wanted to see the ducks,” you said without thinking.

“You do know it’s around ten thirty at night the ducks will be sleeping. Like we should be,” he muttered.

“It was your idea to get dinner.” He huffed in resignation, stuffing his hands in his pockets and picking up his pace to follow you to the edge of the lake. You peered into the darkness, something didn’t feel right and your skin prickled. Ben instantly noticed and followed your line of sight.

“What is it?” His tone hushed as though not wanting to disturb you.

“You know, I think I should head back now.” The sense you were being watched was increasing, making your stomach flip uncomfortably with nerves.

“Ok, I’ll walk you back. I left my car at the station anyway. Your hotel is on the way.” You flinched slightly when he pressed his hand against the top of your back steering you back down the path. Finally you turned, telling yourself you were being stupid you were safe here and yet the sense of danger was there, nibbling at your subconscious telling you no matter where you went, you were never completely safe.

[deaddovecoterie]

ntke

[ co-written with @that-non-binary-yeet ]

inspo taken from this tiktok

ao3

series masterlist

fandom: boku no hero academia

genres: angst, drama, darkfic, villain au

warnings: none for now

word count: 1.8k

a/n: hey bitches, pretty sure we wrote this in the span of 6 hours all together or something so here it is :D I'm actually so excited to post this cause it's my first time creating something with this talented mf (@that-non-binary-yeet) and they're so good at writing so go follow them. anyway, I hope you guys like it :')

prologue ii || prologue iii || prologue iv

It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. He was supposed to be the next number one hero, the one that always had a smile on his face. He was supposed to be All Might’s successor, the poster child for hope & peace and all that bullshit; that was his dream. At least that’s what he thought his dream was. Nothing is set in stone: plans change all the time. After all, the world isn't as predictable as we’d like to think it is.

Izuku Midoriya: UA traitor, a mole for the League of Villains. Who would’ve thought? Unsuspecting, kind, always willing to help, the very last person you would’ve dreamt of to drive a knife right through the backs of every hero.

Looking back on it, it made him laugh, maybe even grimace a little too. He was so naive, too willing to take each and every person’s words as truths. Now, the thought was almost sickening: ‘becoming a hero’ he couldn’t believe that used to be his goal. Never again would that thought cross his mind. He couldn’t afford to have something as childish as that holding him back. The people from his past were of no use to him if their ideals weren’t aligned with his.

They were all deluded, delusional, even, to think that the heroes were there to help them. Deku scoffed, the memory of his first doubts about their ‘protectors’ surfacing in his mind.

= 5 months prior =

“What do you have to lose Deku?”

Blood stained the soles of his shoes, heavy breaths filling in the near-deafening silence. It was supposed to be a training camp for the class, an opportunity to develop their quirks and learn from one another. As fate would have it, things were never as simple as that for the students of UA. Bakugo had been taken, Deku separated from his classmates; everything was falling apart too fast for them to fix. Nothing was working and everyone was becoming desperate.

Muttering to himself wasn’t getting him anywhere, and it certainly wasn’t going to help him find Bakugo. He felt like he was running in circles, pretending he was getting somewhere for a fleeting moment before finding himself back in the same spot he was in only seconds before.

“Focus, Izuku,” he muttered, his frustration increasing. It was only a matter of time before someone came across them. The League always seemed to be one step ahead of them, no matter how many shortcuts they took. It was like playing a two-person game at an arcade, except the villains had all the cheat codes.

‘Get in their heads, Izuku, think how they think’

His time was running out - Bakugos time was running out. He was wasting valuable time trying to find the safest way to possibly get him back. He racked his brain for what seemed like ages when a dangerous thought pushed its way through.

‘If the villains aren’t playing by the rules, then why should I? They’re not hesitating to do whatever it takes to secure their victory, so I should do the same. Right?’

Izuku nearly got mental whiplash. ‘What kind of hero thinks that? We’re taught to rescue and save people in the least risky way possible, not… that.’

He scolded himself, the thought lingering in the back of his mind even as he pushed them to the side. It felt illegal to even think about risking the lives of so many others just to save one person.

“Oh, I can smell the innocence all the way from over here,” a cold voice laughed. “So naive to think that there’s an easy way out.”

He knew. He didn’t have to turn around to see who it was: he’d recognize that voice from anywhere.

“Shigiraki,” Izuku greeted him, his voice stony. It took all of Deku’s strength to keep his body from shaking, sensing the villain getting closer with each breath he took.

“How nice to see you again. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Not long enough for my taste, but it’ll do,” he responded, his words dripping with venom.

“You’re scared shitless right now, aren’t you?” he snickered. “You’re doing a pretty poor job of hiding it.”

“Cut the bullshit, Shigiraki. What do you want?” There was no point in small talk. His friend was in danger and he didn’t have the luxury of wasting time.

“Someone’s up past their bedtime,” Shigiraki jeered. Izuku’s throat tightened, trying to swallow the anger that was rising quicker than he would have liked.

“I don’t have the time for this so either you hand over Kacchan or go waste someone else's time.”

“Ah, but that is where you’re wrong, young Midoriya.” This caught his attention. “I have a proposition for you.”

“Unless it’s Katsuki, there’s nothing you could offer me that I would want.”

“You may be right,” he shrugged, “but, maybe you should listen before giving your final answer.”

He took a step closer to the hero-in-training, waiting for his response.

“Fine. I’ll bite,” he snapped. Finally, for the first time in their conversation, Deku’s eyes met with piercing red ones.

“Wise decision.” he sneered. Midoriya kept his mouth shut, waiting expectantly for the offer. He was well aware that the longer he waited, the more danger his friends could be in, and the harder it would be to get Bakugo back.

“The League is looking for new blood. New faces.”

The words that left Tomura’s mouth were not the ones that Deku had expected. “Why should I care? They’ll be nothing more than new weeds I’ll be unrooting anyway,” he assured coldly.

“I don't think you’re hearing what I’m saying,” Shigiraki agitated, his patience wearing thin. He stared down Deku, their gazes locking. “We want you to join the League.”

There was a moment where his words hung heavily in the air. A second later, a clear laugh broke the eerie quietness around them.

Izuku laughed, a real, full laugh. His nerves dissipated, even if it was only for a second, as he listened to Shigiraki.

“You’ve got to be kidding me? Join you?” He breathed out in disbelief. “You do know I’m going to a school dedicated to training the next generation of heroes, right?”

“That’s exactly why we need you; you’re on the inside,” Shigiraki spoke, a small smirk beginning to form on his lips. “You’re the last person they would suspect.”

Though he tried to hide it, Izuku was terrified with the way his mind lingered on the offer for a few seconds too long. There was no immediate “no!” that was waiting to tumble off his lips, no dramatic exclamation of rejection.

“You’re disgusting,” Izuku spat, his hesitation leaving a bad taste in his mouth.

‘What the hell was that Izuku?’

Shirigiaki chuckled, noticing the pause in the young boy’s response. This was going to be easier than he anticipated.

“You know how corrupt hero society is: the rankings, the social aspect, all of that bullshit. They claim to be there to help the citizens of Japan, but the majority of them care more about what plaque their names can get on, what billboards their faces can be plastered to. You’ve seen it first hand, so why aid the initiative? Why stay and watch the inevitable downfall of the heroes? You and I both know that they’re no match for us. We’re always one step ahead of you, no matter how hard you try. Why not join the rest of us in trying to tear down the same hierarchy that planted that doubt into your head, the doubt that you couldn’t become a hero? Why feed into that when you can show them you can be so much more by joining me?”

“That’s bullshit,” Deku hissed. The heroes were created to keep the peace, to make the world a safer place. Going against them would only send the world into chaos, and who would want that? “The heroes were put in place to help people, unlike you,” he retorted, spitting out the last word like poison in his mouth.

“You’re blinded by false hope, Midoryia,” Shigiraki laughed. “You’re following everyone else's lead, never taking a second to consider what you think, what you want.”

“You don't know what I want.”

“I know enough to know you hate people who abuse their power, who use it to their advantage, to scare people into submission. How is that any different than what the heroes do to everyone? Don’t they use their power to keep everyone in line?”

“It’s- it’s different,” Izuku protested. Was it? The voice in the back of his mind nagged at him, planting a seed of doubt.

“Different how? Because they're ‘good’? It’s all perspective,” he countered.

“They- they are good, you’re the villain, not them.” Deku insisted, saying it in an attempt to convince himself more than anything.

The villain scoffed. “No, that’s the lie you’ve been told your whole life, it’s what you’ve been conditioned to believe.”

Deku was frustrated with himself, frustrated that he was even entertaining such a conversation in the first place. How could he claim to be a hero when he could see where Shigiraki was coming from? He grew up idolizing heroes, never once questioning their authority until this very moment.

Was it all a lie? Everything?

Tomura broke the silence, his rough voice cutting through; “I figured as much.”

“Figured what?” Izuku questioned.

“That you’ll need time to make up your mind, of course.”

“You’re a fool if you think I would ever consider.”

Shigiraki smiled wickedly. “If I’m not mistaken, you already have, haven’t you?”

“No, I haven’t,” he lied. It took all of Midoriya’s strength to keep from letting his words falter.

“You’re lying, Midoryia. I can see it in your eyes. You’ve considered it, thought it out. It’ll take time for you to see the truth, to see that we are right, but you will see it.”

Izuku held his breath, not trusting himself to speak.

“We are not demanding an answer right now. We’ll give you a month to think it over, and hopefully, you will accept my offer and join us.”

It was do or die. He was going into the deal completely blind. Izuku was unaware of the consequences he would face if he didn’t agree, yet he also wasn't ready to find out.

“Fine.”

‘Keep him on the line, keep him on the line. Let him think he’s in control.’

Shigiraki’s calm demeanour broke, his facial features contorting in shock. “Fine?”

“You heard me. I’ll think about it. If I find more pros than cons then there's no reason to not accept.”

Deku made sure to keep his voice even, despite how it threatened to shake with every word.

Shigaraki’s crooked smirk grew ever so slightly. “Easier to convince you than I originally thought.”

“You haven’t convinced me, I said I’d think it over.”

“Fair enough,” he acknowledged. “We’ll be awaiting your answer expectantly, Deku. Until then, I can only hope that we will be on the same side of this war when we encounter each other again.”

The blue-haired villain melted back into the shadows, the forest swallowing his figure. Izuku finally let himself take a shaky breath. Was he actually considering this? He wasn’t sure. It felt like he was having an internal war with himself, his conscience being the battlefield: no matter what conclusion he came to, neither option seemed to be the right one.