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javierpena-inatacvest · 3 days ago

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Chapter 5- Miles Between Us

Summary: Frankie's decision to join the Army was the catalyst in the collapse of your friendship. When he's forced to reconcile with his past, packed away in boxes in his childhood basement, he finds pieces of you in everything he's left behind.

Word Count: 5.0K

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader (reader has a name/nickname)

Warnings: Angst, lying, guilt, military deployment, FEELINGS, Frankie's mom not putting up with his shit

A/N: IT'S TIME TO PEEL BACK ANOTHER LAYER OF THE ONION, BABY!!! I hope you guys don't hate me that this is a slow burn- I know this is not how I normally write at all, but it's been really fun to build this story up bit by bit (if you hate it though, please tell me lmao 💀) I'm excited for this chapter and how it hints at next chapter (we're finally getting to some smut y'all, omg) Thank you as always for your kind words, it makes my day to hear what you have to say about these two 🥺💛

All The Things We Never Said Masterlist

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You, Age 17, Spring of 2006

“You’re late, Morales.”

“Can’t be late to something we don’t have a set time for, Anderson.”

It’s true, you and Frankie have never set an official schedule for your afterschool ritual, but it never seems to fail that at 3:45, only 10 minutes after you’ve gotten home from soccer practice, he’s at the foot of your bed with his forest green Jansport backpack, ready to complain about the homework he doesn’t want to finish and the tests he has no interest in studying for, just so he can keep you company while you stress yourself to death about the same assignments.

And for as much as he hated school work, Frankie was never late. Never. So to watch him mope into your bedroom an hour later than his usual arrival time, it almost would have been safer to assume he was dead than anything else.

“What took you so long? Get lost on the way here?” You joke, trying to keep it light while still prodding for an answer about his absence as you write down the answer to the math equation you’re trying to solve.

“No. Don’t worry about it.”

There’s been very few occasions you’ve seen Frankie so stoic. Even on his worst days, he’s at least still got a little tolerance left in him for your stupid banter. It’s enough to draw your attention completely away from your homework and onto him.

“What’s wrong? Why are you being so weird?”

You can tell then that something’s clearly not right, the way he’s angrily yanking loose papers and textbooks from his backpack and nearly slamming them onto the edge of your bed, making you gnaw anxiously at the end of your pencil you’d been using.

You’re too nosy for your own good to let up until you find what you’re looking for.

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“Well obviously something’s wrong.”

“What? I’m not allowed to be late, ever?”

“No? Frankie, I just asked where you were and you’re acting like I’m asking you if you just shot the fucking president or something. What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing, MacKenzie!”

“If it’s nothing, then why are you so upset about it?”

“I’m not upset!”

“You clearly are? Frankie, what the hell are you-”

“I’m joining the Army, okay?!”

Out of all the things you could have expected to come out of Frankie’s mouth, that would have been at the bottom of your list. In fact, it’s so out of left field, you’re not even quite sure you believe him.

Your forehead hurts from how tightly your brows are knitted together in confusion, scowling at Frankie with a dumbfounded intensity that probably had you looking like you had just gotten an unsuspecting whiff of the world’s most sour lemon.

There’s no way he’s being serious. He can’t be.

“Ha ha, very funny, Francisco.” You mock, frown still splayed across your face, “Now will you please tell me what’s actually going on?”

His silence makes your heart drop into the pit of your stomach. You can feel the way your face falls, the muscles once tensed in adamant skepticism now sinking into a quiet panic. You can hear each breath as it flows in through your nose and out through your mouth, blood pounding louder and louder in your ears with each pulse of your veins.

“Frankie, if this is one of your stupid jokes, it’s not funny.”

“It’s not a joke.”

His eyes are still peeled to the floor, too afraid to bring himself to look at you. All he can do is stare at his pinky toe, poking out of the hole in his socks that he refuses to replace. You wait for what feels like hours, days, for him to say something, but his silence is deafening. And the sound of Frankie’s silence is the scariest thing you’ve heard in a very long time.

It’s so terrifying, the only thing you can do to cope is fill the quiet void with your rambling and pray that Frankie Morales is choosing to play the world’s worst joke on you.

“What- what do you mean? Frankie, I thought- When you and Santi talked about doing the same thing as Will- I thought you were fucking kidding? What about college? We already both got accepted to Florida State, what are you gonna do-”

“I didn’t get in.”

Please let him be kidding. Please, please, let this be a sick joke.

You can feel your confusion starting to bubble into anger, jaw clenching at the way Frankie’s too coward to even look in your general direction, gaze still glued to that stupid fucking hole in his worn down sock.

“Frankie, what the fuck? We both got accepted back in January? You’ve been lying to me this whole fucking time?”

“I didn’t wanna lie, okay?!”

He’s riddled with enough guilt to speak up, trying to keep himself from the brink of tears as he works up enough courage to finally look you in the face. You can hear how hard he gulps, like his heart is bobbing in his throat, trying to buy all the time he can to come up with a reason for his deception that won’t hurt you any more than he already has.

“I just- fuck,” he sighs, chewing at his bottom and bouncing his leg against the bed so intensely it’ll make him sore the next day, “I didn’t know what to do, Kenz. I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.”

It’s hard to stay mad at him when you know he means it. It’d be easier if it weren’t for the way his brown eyes flooded with disappointment in himself, spilling out in tears onto his cheeks. For as frustrated as you are, you have enough sympathy to ease up on him enough to at least try to understand.

“Well, not lying to me about it for the last four months probably would have been a good start.” You huff, the air that puffs from your nostrils still tainted with the let down you’re trying so hard to not let override your conversation.

You can’t help but let yourself find a spot next to him on the edge of your bed, a peace offering that you hope is enough to signal to him you’re willing to listen to what he has to say.

“I- I didn’t think you were being serious when you and Santi were talking about it. I- I thought you- I thought the plan was to go to Florida State. Together. What happened, Frankie?”

It’s quiet for a few more moments. Frankie takes a few, slow deep breaths as he runs his hands through the curls twisting at the nape of his neck. The silence isn’t as bitter as before, but it stings enough to gnaw at the edges of your nails, the anxious habit you can’t seem to break, and certainly have no intention of giving up right now.

“Stop chewing at your nails, Kenz. You’re gonna be pissed at yourself later.” Frankie sighs, gently grabbing your wrist to pull your hand away from your mouth, trying to fulfill his duty of being the one to stop you from ripping your nail beds to shreds.

“You’re kinda making it hard not to.” You try your best to attempt a laugh. It’s the only way to keep yourself from crying. “So are you gonna tell me what’s going on or what?”

“Y-yeah.” Frankie re-adjusts himself on the edge of the bed, twisting the fabric of your comforter between his fingers, trying to ground himself in the reality of the truth he’s forced to tell you, “I- I didn’t get into Florida State. I told you I did because I didn’t know what I was gonna do. You were just so excited when you thought we both got in and I- I panicked and I lied. I didn’t even think I was gonna get in anyways. I didn’t think I was gonna get in anywhere. Even if I did, I don’t know if I even could have afforded it. It’s just me and my mom and neither of us-”

“It’s not too late. I can help you look for scholarships. To help you with tuition. I’m sure that there’s a bunch out there that you could apply for. I’ll even write your essays and stuff for you if you want me to-”

“I’m pretty sure you can’t do that, Kenz. Plus, you hate cheaters.”

Frankie tries to reciprocate the same half-assed laugh you gave him. He looks over at you, the small smile he’s forcing to keep between his lips quickly fading as he sees the way you’re pleading with him to realize that you would forge a thousand essays in his name if it meant he wasn’t going to leave you. He’d be a cheater you’d gladly forgive.

“It’s not even just the money. I just- I- I don’t even like school, Kenzie. I suck at it. If school is already hard now, how much harder is it gonna be when I get to college? To study for a job that I’m probably not even gonna want when I graduate? At least with the Army I can have a job and benefits and hopefully make enough money to help my mom so she’s not working at the hospital 6 days a week. MacKenzie, the only reason I applied to Florida State was because of you. I thought that maybe there would be some miracle I got in and I could figure out how to pay for it and I could magically get smarter and better at school so we could spend the next four years together. I wanted it to happen. I wanted it to happen so bad. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I lied to you. I just- fuck- I just didn’t know how to tell you.”

Neither of you are quite sure what to say next. That quiet comes back to fill the space between you, allowing enough room for the silent sobs you’re both trying your best to hold in, small sniffles still escaping from each of you. You’re not sure if your brain has fully processed what he’s had to say. The only thing you can understand is the swirling of sadness and confusion in your gut and the pounding ache in your chest.

You take a scooch closer to him, the outsides of your thighs barely brushing together as you tilt your head to rest against his shoulder. It’s heavy, the weight you can’t help but lean against him, but the arm he wraps behind your back and around your waist tells you that he’ll gladly take it. He’ll take it all, if he has to.

“Did you already sign a contract to go?” The whisper of your words is so soft, like you’re hoping he can’t hear you. If he can’t hear you, then he doesn’t have to tell you the answer you don’t want to hear.

“Yeah. Me and Santi did a few weeks ago.” His voice is almost quieter than yours, convinced he has the same idea as you.

His truth stings worse than the lie he’s been masquerading behind the past four months. You want to scream at him- To curse him with shouts and sobs, question how he could make this choice for himself and leave you in the dark until it’s too late for you to change his mind. You know it’s selfish, the way you want him to stay, the way you would have fought with every bone in your body to keep him from leaving. You know it’s the reason Frankie couldn’t tell you.

It’s the same reason why Frankie couldn’t bring himself to tell you that if he had given you that chance, he probably would have stayed.

“Do um- do you know when you have to leave?”

It hurts to hear the words come out of your mouth. It’s an admittance of defeat. Because once you ask that question, there’s nothing you can do or say that will make him stay. No fighting, no begging, no pleading. You have to accept he’s leaving.

“Not ‘til the end of the summer.”

“Where?”

The more you ask, the more it makes you want to keel over the edge of the bed and vomit, the reality of it all setting in at an alarming pace.

“Missouri for basic training. I don’t know where after.”

He doesn’t have to say where. You both know. Even if he doesn’t know the exact longitude and latitude of where the Army will deploy him, there’s nowhere else they’re sending him besides Iraq or Afghanistan or whatever godforsaken, war ridden country in the Middle East he’ll be forced to put his life on the line for.

And for how much the reality of Frankie leaving scares you, when you’re hit with the reality that Frankie may leave and never come back, you’re absolutely terrified.

“I don’t want you to go, Frankie.”

You can’t beg him to stay. There’s no amount of bargaining you can do with him or the powers that be to change what’s been done. All you can do is tell him your truth as you sob into his chest while he holds you. Maybe if you’re not enough to make him stay, you’re at least enough to make him want to come home.

You’re not sure how long he holds you while you cry. Maybe it’s minutes, maybe it’s hours. However long it is, all the moments you have left with Frankie feel that much more precious. You won’t let any of them slip through your fingers.

“You promise you’ll come home, right?”

“I promise, MacKenzie. I promise.”

If there’s one thing you’ve learned about Francisco Morales, it’s that he’ll never break a promise. You just hope the universe is kind enough to let him keep this one, too.

“I promise that we’ll have a really fun summer together before I leave too, okay? Whatever you wanna do, Kenz, I’ll do it.”

“Anything?”

It’s enough to peek your head out from the crook of his neck, trying your best to wipe away your tears with your sleeve, like you hadn’t just stained the better part of Frankie’s sweatshirt with the same wetness.

“Anything.”

“Alright, well, I guess we’re gonna go to Dairy Queen and get an extra large blizzard every day until you’re too fat for the Army to want you anymore.”

The two of you giggle, a quiet symphony of soft snorts and sobs at the idea of rolling an ice cream filled Frankie off to boot camp. It makes him laugh even harder that he wouldn’t put it past you if you really did try. Perhaps it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if you did.

“Whatever you want, MacKenzie. I’m all yours.”

Frankie, Present

Frankie’s convinced he might as well start training for a marathon at this point.

He’s not really sure how else to spend his time. It’s hard to keep himself occupied when all he can do at home is sit around and wait for your dad to die or stare out the window like a creep to watch your comings and goings.

At least if he’s running, he can’t think about you.

Well, he can’t think about you as much.

It’s been a day and a half since he decided to follow you on your run. He’s already pushed his luck enough that you didn’t damn near kill him for it, let alone that you even gave him a chance to talk to him.

He let you take the first shift on the morning yesterday, despite the fact he’d been awake well before the sun rose. The irony wasn’t lost on him at the way he watched you through his bedroom window the same way he did most Saturday and Sunday mornings for the first few years of your friendship. You’d be up at the same ungodly hour as him, except you’d be pacing up and down your driveway, stretching and lunging across its length as you clicked around on the iPod wrapped around your forearm, searching for whatever song would pump you up for your run.

It wasn’t until you had finally noticed Frankie peering out his bedroom window every weekend that you began to drag him along on your runs with you.

“If you’re awake too, you might as well come running with me, Morales. It’ll be fun!”

“Fine. I gotta warn you though, Kenz, I am actually pretty fast.”

“You barely run the mile in gym class.”

“Savin’ up all my energy for when I need it most, Anderson.”

There was once a time where you would have to beg Frankie to come with you on a run. Now, he’d give anything for you to tolerate his existence ten feet behind you.

But he’ll sacrifice another run alone through all too familiar roads of his childhood subdivision if it helps him kill time and keeps you from hating him anymore than you rightfully deserve to.

Yesterday, he went on two runs to pass the time. Hell, today, he’d consider adding a third run to his underwhelming schedule just to keep himself busy. Fortunately, (or unfortunately, he can’t tell yet) for him, Maria Morales has other plans.

And when Maria Morales has plans, it’s in Frankie’s best interest to drop anything else he had in mind for the day.

Even when it means he’s got a hot date with his basement and a mountain full of boxes in his basement.

“Okay, anything in this pile to the left is for you to go through.” His mom grunts, lifting up one last box to add to the heap labeled “Francisco’s things” in her perfectly curved cursive, “If you want to take it home, find an empty box to put it in, but not my new clear, plastic bins, entiendes (understand)? Those were expensive.”

“No clear plastic bins, got it.” Frankie chuckles, following the exaggerated step his mother takes over his scattered belongings.

“If you see something and you don’t want it now but you want me to keep it for later, you can put it over on the shelf by the stairs. If you think it’s basura (trash), leave it over here and let me look at it first before you throw it away.”

“Comprendido (got it).” Frankie nods, sizing up the stack his mom has set out for him, “Jesus ma, this is gonna take me all morning to go through.”

“If you were home more, there would be less things to go through now.”

“Yeah, well, you got me there.” Frankie grumbles under his breath, grimacing at the harsh reality of his mom’s words. He knows isn’t meant completely out of malice, but he can’t deny it’s certainly got some truth to it as well.

“Okay, well I need to go run some errands, and I want this pile sorted by the end of the day, so standing here and moping certainly isn’t going to help that. Get to work, mijo (son).”

His mom will never be one to throw a pity party for anyone, and most definitely won’t be throwing one for her son, based on his own, self-inflicted problem. Frankie helps her step over another makeshift pile scattered for sorting across the basement floor, giving him a quick pat on the back before disappearing upstairs, leaving him to quite literally unpack his past.

“Fuck. Okay.” He sighs to himself, gently kicking one of the edges of flimsy cardboard at the bottom of the tower, trying to formulate his best plan of attack to make his sorting as painless as possible.

He’s thankful that his brain has always worked in a way that allows him to analyze things so quickly, doing some quiet calculations in his head as to the most effective and efficient way to sort through god knows what may be hidden in the pile his mom has created for him.

He runs his hand through the still messy curls of his morning bed head before selecting what feels like the lightest boxes and moving them off to the side, opening up a cardboard container from the next layer.

Besides the trophies still in his room, every prize he’d ever won for every sport he’d ever played sits in the box below him. Frankie chuckles to himself, picking up some from the top to examine them, thumb gliding over the fake gold plating to read plaques like “Florida Junior Divisional Freestyle Swimming Finalist- 2005” or “Regional Championship Winners- Florida Firebirds 2007” glued to poorly sculpted plastic statues of swimmers. A few more medals and certificates had sunk to the bottom of the box, Frankie quickly grazing through its contents before rehoming it to the “trash” pile, unsure of when he would ever need proof he won several swimming competitions in high school.

The next few boxes were more of the same- His varsity jacket, old t-shirts he wouldn’t stand a chance fitting into, considering the gangly figure that stretched them more than a decade ago, some old books from high school he’d only kept because of how much you loved them and he promised you that one day, he’d read them, too.

It’s the shoe box that catches his eye next, sure that no matter how much his mom loved to hoard, whatever was in there most definitely was not a raggedy, holy pair of Converse from high school.

It’s not until he picks up the box that he knows exactly what’s inside. It’s one of the lightest things he’s picked up in the last hour, but when he knows the weight of its contents, his arms want to tremble.

It’s with a long deep breath that he brings the shoebox over to an open patch of floor, letting out a grunt and cursing his knees as he sits down cross legged with the box in front of him. He gently flips open the lid, hand running over his face and down the back of his neck when his suspicions are confirmed.

Open envelopes spill out over the edges of the worn cardboard, the box stuffed to the brim with every letter you’d ever written to him while he was away.

Even if he wanted to, he’s not sure he could ever physically bring himself to throw them out. Those letters have more miles on them than most people’s cars will ever reach in a lifetime, flimsy, stamped pieces of paper following him to every corner of the globe he’s traveled to.

Some letters he’s read so much, they’re worn on the edges where he’s held the paper, smudging the pen that’s reached the sides of the pages. Others, he’s only read once. He’s not sure he could ever bring himself to read them again. But regardless of their contents, he’d made a promise to you they’d stay with him.

“Better not get rid of those letters, Morales. Do you know how many hand cramps I’ve given myself trying to find the words to send halfway across the world to you? You better promise me you’ll keep ‘em.”

His commitment to the folded pieces of paper ring in his ears as his fingers drag across the tops of the open envelopes. He can’t help the way his index finger and thumb pinch the paper below his grasp, carefully tugging a random letter out of its shoebox storage.

It’s a gut wrenching gamble, the game he’s about to play, a roulette of making his heart ache from joy or pain depending on the one he chooses to pull. He’s already placed his bet as he pulls the lined piece of paper out of the envelope- He’s not getting the money he’s already placed on the table back, so he might as well pray he makes a return on his investment.

With one more deep breath, he unfolds the tri-fold creases, ready to watch his bet play out before him.

August 18th, 2006

Frankie,

I hope I sent this letter to the right place! I looked on the website and it said to send mail to new recruits (that’s you, Morales), to this address, so no one better be holding my letter to you hostage.

Anyways, how’s training so far? Did they make you shave your head yet? I hope not. I’m not sure why the Army insists on making you all look like Dr. Evil from Austin Powers. I’m sure you’ll still look cute even with short hair! I don’t think I can say the same for Santi, but you didn’t hear that from me… hehehe

I just moved into my dorm yesterday! My roommate seems pretty nice. Her name is Jessica and she’s from Georgia. She claims that she’s neat and she better be, or I may lose my mind. I’ll send you pictures of my dorm once it’s all set up! It’s kind of a mess right now, but I made sure to put the picture of us from prom up on my desk :)

I don’t start class until next Tuesday. Hopefully I’ll meet some new people in my dorm or on the soccer team so I’m not a total loser with no friends. LOL.

Have you met anyone new yet? I can’t wait to hear all about your new Army friends! I already started a countdown calendar until we can see each other again. Only 70 days until basic training is done and I can hear about everything in person!

I miss you a lot. I know that’s dumb to say because it’s only been a week, but still. I wish I would have kissed you again before you got on the plane to leave. I promise I will when I see you. Nothing says perfect place to kiss like South Missouri, romance capital of the USA (haha).

I know you’re gonna be busy, but write me back when you have time. The return address on the envelope is my dorm address, so use that, or risk Doug and Michelle reading your mail if you send it to my house!!! I can’t wait to hear from you. Miss you, weirdo.

From,

Kenz :) <3

His luck of the draw sends a wave of relief through him, smiling down at the curvy loops of your perfectly neat printing signed at the bottom of the page. It makes his heart skip a beat, the same kind of butterflies coming to life in his stomach as they did the first time he read it. He’s earned his money back and then some. He gets how casinos never go broke, because the high of good fortune is enough to have him reaching back into the box to put another gamble on the line.

October 13th, 2009

Frankie,

I always feel dumb sending multiple letters before I hear back from you, but you know me, I love to worry. I know you can’t tell me where you are right now (stupid military and their secrets for the safety of society lol) but I’ve been seeing stuff on the news and it makes me scared for you. I just hope wherever you are, you’re safe.

My dad’s cancer is back. He’s been in the hospital for almost two weeks now. They found a new mass on his liver, but they said hopefully they can target it with radiation before it starts to spread. Cassandra at the front desk asked how you were when I was at the hospital yesterday. I said that you were good. I think she’s only asking because if you’re not there, there’s no one to keep me from burning a hole in the waiting room carpet.

I wish you were here. I feel really lost right now. I just know if you were here, you’d find a way to make everything better. You always do.

Sorry this letter isn’t longer. I haven’t been sleeping that great and don’t have enough brainpower to write something decent. Just wanted to let you know what’s going on.

Counting down the days until you make good on your promise. I hope you come home soon, Frankie.

Kenzie

He curses himself for an unlucky draw, heart sinking at the tear stains smearing the blue ink of your trembling letters. An overwhelming wave of guilt washes over him, vivid memories of reading your notes in his bunk alone, wishing there was a way he could fly halfway around the world for a night just to hold you and tell you that everything was going to be okay.

It’s the addictive itch in the back of his brain that makes him decide to pull one more letter from the box, taking one last gamble to see if he can prove the nagging pit in his stomach to quit while he’s ahead, wrong.

February 4th, 2011

Hey,

If you don’t want to write anymore, that’s fine. I was trying to be friendly, but clearly you don’t really care. Just let me know and I’ll stop bombarding you with mail you obviously don’t want. Or I guess you not responding is letting me know. If you want to send anything back you can send it to my parents house. I’m moving into Liam’s house and it’s only 20 minutes away so I can just drive there and pick it up. No need to send you a new address you probably aren’t going to write to, anyways.

I guess I’ll see you when I see you.

MacKenzie

And that’s how Vegas will always stay in business.

Because now Frankie is forced to walk away, all his money stolen from him at the stupid risk he’s decided to take. The one letter he’d give anything not to read again is the one he had to pull.

Heat seethes in his chest- he can’t quite explain why. Because he lost at a rigged game he’d set up for himself? That he still hasn’t quite come to terms with the ugly truth of what he put the both of you through? That he wishes with everything in him, he could go back and change what he’s done?

Or maybe, it’s because now might be the last chance he has to fix what he’s broken, and he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to live with himself if he can’t.

He leaves the pile in the basement unfinished, shoes barely tied to his feet before he bursts out the door in a sprint.

He's not sure where he's going. He's not even sure how long he's run for. All he knows is the pounding of his feet against the pavement, trying to outrun the stupid decisions of his past.

He tells himself if he runs fast enough, he'll beat them.

If he goes far enough, they'll be forgotten.

If he outraces them, you'll be there waiting for him at the finish line.

@chaotic-iguana @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

@pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24

@3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85 @raspberrybesitos

@partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo

@endlessthxxghts @beware-my-thorns @missladym1981 @milly-louise

@jay-zzle @the-one-with-the-grey-color @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled

@pedropascallvr @millennial-teenybopper @vee-bees-blog @itsokbbygrl

@hopplessilse @mxtokko @its-nebuleuse @mandoisapunk @msmorningstaarr

@amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @picketniffler @burningnerdchild

@copperhalfcent @theoraekenslover @bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog

@samgirl4life @pigeonmama @survivingandenduring @jolapeno @ovaryacted

@amanitacowboy @mystickittytaco @anoverwhelmingdin @greenwitchfromthewoods

@witchofthedeepwoods @ericamarie093 @readingiskeepingmegoing @whimsiwitchy @whoaitspascal87

@vickie5446 @katw474 @ravenpoe67 @inthedarkestnight @brittmb115

@harryscherrysugar @wonderpillar @sunnytuliptime @pasc4lfuzz @yesjazzywazzylove-blog

@kungfucapslock @vannabanana1995 @beezusvreeland

@javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

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triglycercule · 1 day ago

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yall who cast reverse animal themes on my horror and dust,,, why we got BUNNY horror and PUPPY dust

ok but on a real note i was DYING drawing this. i cant believe its my first time drawing the 1 of the trio in a maid dress!!!! id like to thank underfella and calvateyla for inspiring me; i wouldn't have graduated from shit art college without you guys ❤️💜 (inspo) (SOMEONE GET THIS DOG OUT OF HERE DUST HAS A FUCKING CHAINED COLLAR???? 💀💀💀)

i didn't know what to do for the background either so i just added funny photos. HERE. yes its a coincidence the memes are both horror and dust themed i totally didn't plan that

#killer come get your animals you dumbass #this has GOT to be the cringiest shit ive ever drawn #both of the references had fell in them and im just amused at the difference in between.......#the fell horror's with is SILLY and GOOFY and just not serious at all #and then the fell dust's with is COOL ans EDGY and SUAVE and THE CONTRAST IS CRAZY #isnt it outrageous that all of the trio have been depicted with fell. fell pulls all the classics #i say as i dont even ship kustard (glances away and tucks afterfell into my pocket discreetly)#dont worry horror you wont need to sweat any longer #the next time i draw any of these guys in anything but the outfits i designed is probably 2025 #this was so fun actually tho :33 if only drawing a simple doodle didn't take 2 FUCKING HOURS #the ONLY reason you guys dont get more triglycercule art is because it takes TOO FUCKING LONG #the dust werewolf Halloween costume image actually did give me an idea 4 a rant but ill write it l8er #ive been trying to get over my weird little perfectionism thing #i avoid coloring like the plague because my smooth lineart doesnt look good with it #probably bc idk what style i want but colors are inherently messy #i should sometimes just color over the goddamn lineart SMH #anyways thats enough of this for the day. i am going to get back to doing nothing #ACTUALLY today was lowkey productive kinda. idk. i dont remember for some reason #tricule art #only reason killer isnt in this one is because i couldnt remember a time he wore something weird n animal themed #if there was a moment where he wore a fucking furrysuit or something he'd be smack dab in the middle :3 #should i even tag this lmao 💀💀💀💀#horror sans #dust sans #murder time trio #utmv #sans au

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hexxedghost · 3 days ago

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Uhh bsky seemed to like this thread when I posted it, so thought I might put it here too.

It's the only smut I've written (and man am I in awe of people who can just write smut all the time, I was in struggle town lads)

Top!Ghost, Bottom!Soap. Little hint of praise kink, I just want Ghost to call Soap a good boy and have Soap's brain melt over it.

Good Boy

In Soap’s defence, it had never happened before. He’d been praised for his work.

A clap on the back and a ‘Good work, son’ from Price.

A cheeky grin and a ‘There’s a good lad.’ from Gaz

It felt good to have his work recognised. It left a warm, comforting sense of pride in his chest.

But when Ghost rested a heavy hand on his shoulder, leaning over with hot breath against his ear to say: “Good boy, Johnny.”

It nearly takes him out at the knees. The blood rushes south so fast, he nearly blacks out. As he walks away he can feel Ghosts eyes on him, face hot as the stumbles the first few steps.

The prick looks amused. Fucker.

It could have been fine, though, a one-off oddity that he can safely ignore until he’s in the privacy of his bunk.

But it wasn’t just once.

He swears Ghost is doing it just to fuck with him now.

He's sly about it, never saying when it's obvious or going to draw attention.

It's almost like he waits until Soap feels like he's back on solid footing before he casually drops it into conversation.

It was a quick murmur as they leave the helo after a mission, the sound of the chopper blades drowning out everything else as the hand on Soap's shoulder sears him like a brand.

Or an offhand comment when they've gone for a smoke, the words cheeky as Soap hands over the rolled cigarette.

The others don’t notice, too used to tuning out their banter by now. The addition of the occassional 'Good Boy' blending in with all the other colourful commentary they normally keep up.

Which is probably why Ghost feels ballsy enough to pull that shit during a mission.

After Soap has a frantic few seconds disarming a tangle of trips rigged to blow the building out from under them.

"Building safe, copy." he radios out, hands still shaking from how close that call had been.

“There’s a good boy, Johnny.” comes the heavy rasp crackling over the speaker.

On comms for fucks sake! Soap wants to fuckin throttle him.

Ghost is doing it just to get a rise out of him. And he hates that it's working.

Even when they’re at mess afterwards, hail and hearty with a successful mission right behind them, he can't seem to help teasing Soap.

“Nice job on that last one, Tav.” Gaz slaps him on the shoulder as he takes his seat.

“Youngest in the SAS for a reason.” Soap says around a mouthful of food, winking as Gaz pulls a face.

“Was well handled, nicely done, Soap." Price murmurs behind his mug.

"Proper good boy aren't you, Johnny?" comes the rumble at the end of the table.

His cheeks burn as Gaz and Price laugh. They don’t mean anything by it, they figure it's just being lads and taking the piss.

Soap risks a glance at Ghost and sees his eyes trained on him, a glint of something burning and dangerous peeking through the mask.

Christ he was so fucked.

It’s later on, past midnight, when he decides that something has to be done about it.

His can't focus when they’re on mission, either fuzzy with lust or trying to walk in a way that doesn't give away he’s hard enough to punch through wood.

He's not putting his squad at risk just because he's tenting his shorts like some hormonal teenager.

The sound of his knuckles rapping against the door feels louder in the late night air. There's no answer at first, and he wonders if he's made a mistake, should just go back to his bunk.

But then the door opens, Ghost blinking languidly at him.

“Took you long enough.” he rasps.

“Piss off, ye feckin reprobate.” Soap shoulders his way past the door into Ghost's room and throws himself into a chair and feeling a little pissy he’ll admit.

Across the room, Ghost leans against the door, arms crossed and looking at Soap expectantly.

This was going to be like pulling teeth, and he can tell the bastard is amused by it all; eyes seeming to brighten under the mask.

“So, what's your reason, then?” he finally gets out.

“For?” Ghost asks, tilting his head.

Of course, the cunt was gonna make him say it. Part of Soap wants to just give up, storm out. Just go to his room, wank himself unconscious to be done with it.

But Ghost was blocking the door. On purpose, Soap would bet.

“Why do ye keep callin' me a fuckin good boy, eh?” he presses

Ghost holds his gaze and blinks slowly, “Morale”

Fuck it, Soap is leaving, he’s not playing this fuckin game. Even if he has to wrestle the man out of the door. He shoves at the big bastard to move.

“Telling me you didn’t like it, Johnny?” Ghost asks, barely moving from the force of the push Soap gave him.

Soap growls, frustrated, “No’ about that, is it? You dinnae call Gaz or feckin Price that. Is only me you do that to.”

“S’right. Only you.” Ghost counters.

He looks up at Ghost to find that gaze burning into him. This feels dangerous.

“Feelin a bit singled out is all, LT.” he mumbles, hand coming up to awkwardly rub at his neck.

He feels like he's on the wrong foot now, not sure where's safe to step in this minefield of a conversation.

Ghost pushes off the door and moves toward him. It feels like being hunted, and Soap is very quickly learning that apparently he likes that.

He stumbles as the back of his knees hit the bunk and suddenly Ghost is looming above him.

His blood feels molten, too close to his skin and rushing through him. There’s a buzz in his ears and his throat clicks when he swallows.

This close, he can feel Ghost chuckle, feel the hot wet breath on his neck when he leans down.

"D'you want this?" he asks, voice low.

Soap's tongue seems to stick to his mouth, unable to form words.

The prospect of finally getting to have the thing he'd been obsessing over for weeks.

The thing he'd spent the dead of night fucking his fist too, face hot with the shame of it.

It left his head spinning.

Eventually he manages to choke out,

"Yes. Fuckin' yes, Ghost, pleas—"

He cuts off as Ghost grabs him by his hair, pulling just enough for his scalp to prickle as he growls in his ear.

"Good boy."

The whine that comes out of Soap should be embarrassing, but he's too gagging for it to care.

Ghost lets go of Soap's hair and stands back, just out of reach.

"Get your kit off then, or do I have to do all the work?"

“Shoulda known you’d be a nasty bastard.” Soap snarks as he pulls his shirt over his head.

“Reckon you like that, Johnny.” comes the smug reply.

Soap ignores him, fumbling for his belt, shoving his pants down to his knees.

His head falls back, groaning lowly as the pressure on his cock finally lets. He goes to take a moment to collect himself. But instead there's rough hands tugging them the rest of the way, boots yanked off and tossed into the corner of the room.

"Impatient aren't we LT?" he jokes weakly, heart hammering in his chest.

The words die out as the bed dips. Ghost straddles him, settling on his chest heavily.

Soap feels like nothing exists beyond him, the way Ghost fills his vision. Calm and collected as he casually unzips and takes himself in hand.

"Done this before, Johnny boy?" he asks lightly, as if he wants to know the weather and not whether Soap's sucked cock before.

"Dinnae flatter yersel' Ghost. No' my first." Soap eventually rasps out, eyeing the thick length in Ghost's hand. "I can take ye."

Ghost chuckles at that, "We'll see about that."

He taps the heavy head of his cock on Soap’s lips.

“Open up.” he orders.

God fuckin help him, Soap does, and tries to ignore the way his blood fucking sings at the single huff of approval out of the man over him

His head swims at the scent of hot skin and musk, mouth flooding with saliva at the taste of salty skin on his tongue as Ghost steadily feeds him his cock.

Part of him wants to drag his teeth against the tender flesh, just to be a brat, but there are strong hands in his hair and his eyes fall half closed.

Ghost hasn’t even taken his gloves off, still practically dressed.

At the realisation, Soap feels himself moan around the length in his mouth, Ghost's hands tightening in his hair.

“Knew you’d be good for me.” Ghost says, his voice is dark, and eyes bright in the dim light of the room

Soap can feel the sticky pool on his stomach from his cock, already angry red and steadily leaking.

“With me, Johnny.” Ghost demands.

Soap tears his eyes back to the man above him, the lighting making it seem like Ghost's eyes are molten gold.

He can tell under the mask he's smiling.

“There you are sweet'eart.”

He can’t stop the groan that comes out of him, stomach clenching at the petname.

Ghost adjusts his grip on Soap's hair, testing how much he can take before adjusting and rocking his hips forward.

“Just take it, there you go. There’s my good boy, eh?”

He relaxes his throat and breathes deep until his eyes start to water and his head swims with it. He’s already so close and he hasn’t even been touched yet, cock twitching each time Ghost bottoms out.

There's a moment, which his nose buried in the coarse hair at the root of Ghost's cock that he looks up and locks eyes with him. It's like staring at glowing coals, flickering embers held in the dark with a smouldering heat that scalds his blood.

Soap's feels his cock twitch in warning, he's so fucking close, he feels his eyes start to roll back.

But then Ghost smoothly pulls out of his mouth, leaving Soap gasping and blinking away the tears. Lightheaded and dizzy from the sudden rush of oxygen into his lungs.

“Not bad. Reckon there's room for improvement.” Ghost says, chuckling at the frustrated sob Soap lets out against his thigh. There's the soft touch of a hand through his hair, before Ghost moves away, sitting at the side of the bed. Soap throws an arm over his eyes, chest heaving with each breath.

There's the feeling of a gloved hand trailing over his stomach, making him jump.

“Nearly made a mess of yourself, though.” he hears Ghost tease.

“Fuck off” Soap's voice cracks, Christ he sounds wrecked

He looks at Ghost from under his arm, seeing his eyes trace the same path as his fingers had.

“Ye could get more comfortable, ye know?” he grumbles, causing Ghost to look over at him. As much as it had been exciting, he's starting to feel awkward completely starkers while Ghost could zip up and be ready for the tarmac.

“I look uncomfortable to you?”

The bastard is grinning, Soap can tell.

“Ye look like yer dressed for a fuckin funeral.” Soap quips, looking at the ceiling, heart still beating too fast.

“Can’t have you dying before I’ve had my fun.” Ghost teases as he gest to his feet and strips off. The pale flesh and scars are devoured by Soap’s hungry gaze as his eyes are drawn back, like a moth to a flame.

As he drops the last piece of clothing to the floor, he looks over to Soap on the bed.

“Mask stays on.” he says, the rest of him bare.

“I dinnae care.” Soap lies.

Both of their eyes tracking how his cock jumped at the idea.

Ghost laughs, not unkindly, “Slag.”

The bed shifts under him as Ghost settles at the end of it. Soap sits up on his elbows, suddenly nervous.

He's no stranger to casual dalliance, to a quick and dirty release stolen in a pub bathroom or if he's lucky someone's flat if they're generous.

But it's Ghost.

It matters. It's not something he leaves in the early hours, hidden in cigarette smoke and strangers mouths. What if it ruins everything?

"Johnny?" Ghost is looking at him, a hand circled around Soap's ankle.

"M'fine," he says without thinking, scrambling for an excuse for his sudden silence, "was jus' wondering how ye want me?"

He goes to roll over, but there's a sudden fierce grip on his hips as Ghost tugs him down the bed, keeping him on his back.

"Wanna see you." is all Ghost says.

Soap feels like his heart is lodged in his throat, as Ghost rummages around in the bedside table.

"You've done this part before, haven't you?" it's a genuine question. But there's that teasing tone to it that has Soap rolling his eyes, falling back into the rhythm of their banter.

"Oh aye, I'm a fuckin blushin virgin." he jokes, kicking out and catching Ghost in the side. "Chaste as a priest, I am."

Ghost glances up at him, the heat still in his eyes.

“Better start praying then Johnny. Won’t be after I’m done with you.“

Soap feels his breath catch at the threat. “That a promise, LT?”

Ghost doesn’t respond, instead just clicks the bottle of lube open, pouring some onto his fingers and pressing two into Soap. There's an intensity to his focus as he presses deeper until they brush against the spot that punches a groan out of Soap.

"There we are."

"Hurry it up will ye?" Soap growls. He'd been trying to ignore the dull ache of being stretched open. But now there was a steady building at the base of his spine, his breath coming in shallow, cock filling out again after flagging.

"Patience is a virtue, Johnny." Ghost murmurs.

Soap winces at the feeling of Ghost removing his fingers, looking down as there’s a pause.

“Ye alright?”

He can't help but ask.

He gets a nod in response.

“Well, come on then. Show me how nasty ye are.” he wiggles his eyebrows and revels in the small huff of a laugh from Ghost as he lines himself up.

“Might regret that, Johnny.” Ghost says, locking eyes with him.

“Regret you takin yer fuckin tim-” he cuts off in a groan as Ghost smoothly presses the head of his cock in, his other hand tightly gripping Soap's waist.

“Fuckin hell, coulda warned me.” he says to Ghost's shoulder.

Ghost hums. "Could’ve.”

“Prick.” Soap lets his head fall back. He relaxes into the feeling, letting his body adjust. Ghost waits until Soap gives him a nod before slowly sheathing himself to the root.

That lightheaded feeling is back as Soap rests his head against Ghost's sternum. That languid bloodwarm feeling of being full trickling up his spine.

“You solid?” he hears from above him.

Soap shifts a bit, feeling the ache of how stretched he was. “Aye.”

“Good.” is all the warning he gets before the first thrust knocks the breath out of Soap’s lungs. His hands come up to grasp at Ghost's biceps, groaning at the drag of skin on skin, wet heat and rushing blood.

It's not gentle, he’s sure he’ll have bruises on his hips to hide for weeks from the whiteknuckle grip Ghost has. But he could tell the bastard was holding back.

“I’m no’ made of glass, Ghost, I can take it.” he bites out.

Ghost laughs in his ear. “Careful Johnny, or I’ll ruin you for anyone else.”

The response is automatic.

“Ye already have.”

Ghost stills and Soap feels immediate panic he’d overstepped.

They hadn’t spoken about what this was.

Whether it was just a bit fun to left off steam or something more that they'd been dancing around for years.

Before he can scramble to come up with an apology, a joke to lessen the seriousness of what he’s just let fall out of his mouth, Ghost gives a snarl.

He snaps his hips forwards and Soap can swear he feels it in his throat.

The grip on his hips tightens so hard it nearly hurts as Ghost drives into him. It feels primal and possessive, heady and addicting as he rakes his nails down pale flesh, urging for more.

Ghost grabs the back of his neck, pulls him forward so he can growl in his ear.

“Made for this aren’t you, made for me.”

It isn’t a question, though Soap thinks he’s nodding. He feels dizzy with it, how much he wants this, how much Ghost wants him.

“Gonna be a good boy for me, Johnny?”

Ghost voice sounds raw, eyes burning as the meet Soap's.

“Fuck.” Soap sobs, it sounds more like a plea than an answer.

“There you are, sweet'eart, show me how well you take me.”

Soap falls back on the bed, Ghost's hand drifting from the back of his neck down to his thighs. He can feel the rough calluses on his skin, feel his teeth nearly rattle as Ghost slams into him.

It’s too much, just on this side of painful and he never wants it to end.

There's a dizzying feeling every time he feels Ghosts cock drag against him in just the right way. There's bruises blooming on his hips under the near deathgrip Ghost has on him.

“Thought about this a lot. How good you'd be for me.”

Soap doesn't have it in him to respond, he feels like he’s sinking deeper into a calm. His body goes lax and boneless, mind buzzing at the pleased growl from Ghost when his body just submits.

“Love seeing you like this Johnny, fucked brainless and still fuckin desperate for me.”

That pulls a whine out him, clenching down around the cock still driving deeper into him. He thought Ghost would be quiet, but each word of praise fills him like warm honey, mind swimming.

“Show me you can come like this, sweet'eart.”

Soap can already feel himself hurtling towards the edge, wrapping an arm around the back of Ghost's neck and pulling him close.

"Fuck, Ghost, please." he pleads.

He hears Ghost's voice in his ear, raw and rough, “That's it love, be pretty for me.”

That does it.

Soap's entire body seems to lock up for a moment, pleasure sparking through him and settling into the base of his skull with a blistering heat. His cock pulses, untouched and painting his stomach.

“There’s a good boy.” he hears Ghost murmur. He bites down on the meat of Ghost's shoulder to muffle the whine that threatens to make its way out, hearing those words.

As he comes down, dizzy still, his head lolls forward, like his strings have been cut. He dimly registers the twitch of Ghost’s cock inside him, and softly groans at the feeling of it slipping out of him spent.

Soap slumps on the bed without Ghost’s grip holding him, body heavy and lax after the orgasm that was wrung out of him. He should get up, he knows the routine. He should leave so he isn't intruding.

Instead, his eyelids grow heavy and he drifts into darkness.

When he comes back to himself, he's been cleaned up, blanket pulled over him to keep out the chill. There’s a solid weight beside him.

“Back with me?” Ghost asks.

“Solid.” his words sound slurred, but the laugh from Ghost isn’t cruel. Soap pushes himself up so he's sitting, before Ghost speaks again.

"Didn't hurt you, did I?" There is a weight to his words, even though he's clearly trying to keep the tone light.

"Reckon me hips'll have a few bruises. I dinnae mind that though." he glances down at the purple on his side. It's not quite a handprint but enough of a suggestion of one. Showers were going to be fun.

He jumps as Ghost trails a finger over one, gentle and completely at odds with what had caused them.

"I'll keep that in mind." Ghost says. There's something about his voice that's off, doesn't feel like it's hitting Soap's ears like it normally does. He looks over to ask him if he's alright. It takes Soap a moment to realise what’s different.

“Ye weren’t lyin. Yer a bonnie bastard beneath the mask.”

He gets a smirk in response, and his heart fuckin clenches with it. He still hadn’t asked what this meant, for them. He suddenly feels vulnerable, naked and tucked into the covers of Ghost’s bunk.

"Eh, sorry for passing out on ye at the end there," Soap mumbles, his ears burning.

Ghost shrugs, "S'fine. Don't mind."

Thre's a quiet, but the buzzing unease under Soap's skin doesn't settle. Just like before, he doesn't know where to put his feet, worried he'll detonate whatever this is between them.

"Do ye want me to leave?" he asks like an idiot.

“Got somewhere to be?” Ghost raises an eyebrow.

"You reckon there's somewhere I should be?" he counters with another question. It's the same dance they've done for years, always toeing the line but neither crossing. Strange to have the feeling after they've fucked like they'd die without it.

Ghost sighs after a moment, and Soap readies himself for the pushback. The return to status quo.

Instead, Ghost grabs him by his chin, holding his gaze steady.

"If I wanted a quick fuck I've got more than enough offers, Johnny. Wouldn't have risked this."

He rests his forehead against Soap's.

Their breaths merge in the space between them,

"Fucking said before, didn't I? Only you." he says softer this time, thumb absently running along Soap's jawline.

It feels like the minefields behind them. Throwing caution to the wind, Soap moves forward and kisses him.

Something in him settles when Ghost's hand shifts from his chin to cup his face, a warm feeling in his chest that burns brighter than pride as he drags his teeth and gets a nip back in retaliation.

It feels just like the normal back and forth in a strange way that makes him laugh, Ghost grumbling a bit.

"Was enjoying that." he murmurs into the crook of Soap's neck.

"Was enjoying not doing missions half mast, but ye ruined that ye fuckin bastard," Soap counters, frowning as he feels Ghost smile against his skin. He shoves him.

"Ye can't be calling me fuckin good boy in front of the others." he says seriously. As much as his blood sings with how good this all feels, he doesn't want it to effect the team, or his ability to do his job.

"I won't." Ghost says, and actually sounds like he means it.

He pulls Soap close to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and pressing his face into his neck. Sleep doesn't make them wait long.

#ghostsoap #hexx fics #smut is scary af to write #and i can't write anything below 4K anymore apparently #uhh also this is the first and only smut i've written so theres room for improvement #i was reading one of jack's nikprice ones earlier and i am in fucking awe of how people write good smut

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pippin-katz · 3 days ago

Text

Random Cute Moments From Dead Boy Detectives - Part 1

Episode 2: The Case of the Dandelion Shrine - Edwin writing new notes into his notebook while Charles watches.

This has to be some of the cutest shit in the entire show to be honest. I mean, just look at them. 🥺

Sorry for how poor the quality is!! I'm not good at this, and they are literally out of focus of the camera for this part, so it's like, doomed to look like shit 😭

There's lots of different interpretations of how Edwin uses his notebook, and how open/closed off he is about sharing its contents. This is mostly because there aren't many scenes of him showing other people, or someone else going through it. No one else but Charles even holds it let alone reads it. Because of this, there’s no evidence from the show itself to determine his real attitude towards other people reading his notebook. But it’s easy to draw the conclusion that Edwin is very protective and attached to the notebook, and many fanfic writers take it a step further into that to make it something that no one else is allowed to touch or look through. Full stop. He will get aggressively defensive if someone tries to. There are plenty of interpretations that are less intense than that too. There’s no wrong answer when writing fanfiction.

But regarding canon, it’s crazy how long it took me to notice, but evidently Edwin is comfortable enough to write in it while Charles hovers. He’s definitely watching what he’s writing down, evening nodding occasionally. I imagine Edwin would stick to case details and whatnot rather than personal entries, but still, the notion is there. While he might try to only show pages with case notes, there’s always a risk that he might open to the wrong page, or pause too long in between. Charles could absolutely catch a glimpse of something Edwin might have wanted to keep to himself. Given Edwin’s level of introversion, it’s probably a safe bet to say that he wouldn’t want anyone to see personal entries. I feel like it says a lot that he allows Charles to hover that close and watch him write.

I tend to agree with the headcannon that Edwin doesn’t allow people to see his notebook, but Charles is always the exception, isn’t he? 🥺

(ko-fi)

#dead boy detectives #save dead boy detectives #renew dead boy detectives #revive dead boy detectives #rambles: dead boy detectives #charles rowland #jayden revri #edwin payne #george rexstrew #payneland

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xo-myloves · 1 day ago

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I have another request but i dont wanna be the weird bitch who keeps asking for imagines lmao 😫😫😫😫 but like if you ever feel like it and you don't need to write it right now or anything BUT IF YOU WANT TO could you do a slash(him rn, oldie) imagine when y/n is friends with london and his relationship isnt going well so Y/N is like his young side bitch LMAO 👉👈😮‍💨 so whenever he fights with his wife he comes to you and like you cook for him and you watch movies etc and y/n makes him feel young and whatever else and HOT!!!!!!!!!!! I WANT THIS MAN NAKED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I really love your writing btw 🫶

it’s okay request as much as you want 😋

(Omg this photo from when he was in velvet revolver🙂‍↔️)

WARNING ‼️ (smut, fingering, pet names, overstimulation, age gap,) I think that’s all🥲

𝚂𝙸𝙳𝙴 𝙸𝚂𝙽𝚃 𝙰𝙻𝚆𝙰𝚈𝚂 𝙱𝙰𝙳

I’ve been friends with this guy named London, he used to go to my high school until we graduated, and we stayed in touch, and guess fucking what, this motherfuckers dad was slash.

Yes the slash.

The fucking guitar player for Guns ‘N’ Roses, my favorite band of all time, I grew up on them, my dad basically raised me on them, and I even started playing guitar because of slash, and now I knew the fucker?

Did I tell London this? No fucking way, he would never let me over, it had to be obvious though, every time I go over there, I’m like a horny spaze over his father, and best believe when I graduated, I lived there basically, did slash have a wife. Yes.

That’s didn’t fucking stop me.

I would always be around him, like a lost puppy, London didn’t notice as much, but slash had too. It was pathetic, wearing subjective clothing, and showing off my breasts since I knew he had a thing for them, it’s not like I haven’t seen his instagram.

But it didn’t seem wrong, we were close, did his wife hate me? Fucking probably, but I honestly didn’t care, she was a bitch to him, and I know I could treat him better.

All I wanted was to be with that man, he was everything I ever wanted, he was a huge horror movie fan, loved music, fucking played the music I loved, and we loved a lot of the same topics, and when I would sleepover, I would go downstairs, knowing slash was a night owl, we would just sit on his couch and talk for hours.

Recently something has been off, London didn’t want to tell me, but I could tell slash and meegan were having problems, I heard them arguing earlier in the day, I tried to talk to him, but he pushed me away, he didn’t want to talk to anyone, it honestly made me upset.

All I wanted was to hold him and play with his hair and tell him how great he is, how he doesn’t deserve her, how I could be better. I can be better. I would be better.

And tonight was like any other night, I was sleeping over at Londons house, I was sitting in his room, bored as all hell, he was out, snoring and everything, so I made my way downstairs, originally wanting to get water, but kinda wishing slash was down there. Maybe I could talk to him about everything.

I tried to be quiet walking down the stairs, they were always so damn creaky.

As I made my way down to the stairs, I heard panting almost? I was confused, as I got to the bottom step, I saw the back of slash head, only his silhouette, since the TV was on, it lit him up.

But his head was throw back, and I realized he was the one that was panting, I got closer to only see him jerking himself off, my legs almost gave up on themselves.

My heat pooled, felt like it was going down my legs, I put my hand over my mouth, trying not to make a sound, but I had a wave of confidence go threw my body, and I walked right up to him, standing in front of him.

Trying not to cringe at myself, I hated being confident, but around him, I felt like I could.

“Oh shit, fuck, sorry.” Slash looked up in worry, covering himself, getting the blanket next to him, I started nodding my head “no” right away.

“No, no, no it’s okay, let me help.” I whispered the last part, sitting down next to him, he raised an eyebrow, I tried to put my head in his thigh and I wanted to rub it up to his member, but he stopped my hand with his.

His eyes went big, I could see his member through the blanket, my pussy was throbbing at this point, “y/n… come on, you know we can’t.” He had a smile on his face, it almost like he wanted too, but he knew he couldn’t.

I smiled at him back, there was so much sexual tension, it wasn’t even funny, are hands were still on top of each others, “slash, let me make you feel good.” I whined to him, squeezing his hand slightly, he looked around, then grabbed my waist, putting me in his lap, grabbing my face, and slamming his lips onto mine.

I felt euphoric. I felt like I was on cloud 9, I have always wanted this moment, for fucking years. Feeling his shaft under me, was… I couldn’t even explain.

His hands traveled to my ass, his hands were soft, yet rough, he massaged my ass softly, kissing down my neck, I couldn’t help myself from grinding on him, I saw his eyebrow go up, “you’re one eager little girl, aren’t ya?” He spoke in a soft deep tone.

“I can’t help it, I mean, look where we are.” I giggled, putting my hands around his neck, titling my head, looking into his eyes, before grinding one more time, it was so fucking amazing, I felt him. Since he only had the blanket under him.

“Can you be quiet?” He grinned, kissing my lips once more, slinging his hand that was previously on my ass to the front of my stomach, I looked down as he started to play with the hem of my shorts.

I nodded my head, biting my lips barely, all I needed was him. I needed something. Anything.

He smiled, pulling down my shorts, I lifted up, leaving them on the ground, leaving my only in my Lacey black thongs, his finger tips went down to my clit, playing with it so softly.

My lips parted at his action, my eyes had a glaze over them, he licked his lips, loving how he had me, only after a few touch’s. “Just stay quiet doll.” He smiled, laying a kiss my exposed neck.

I gave a small whimper in response, he brought his full fingers to my clit, rubbing it roughly now, his other hand was behind my neck now, making me look at him.

“Does this feel good honey?” He was so soft, so gentle. I loved every moment. “Yes, yes, it really does.” I whined, as he slide his fingers down to my entrance, teasing it softly, before slipping his middle finger into me.

Pumping it in and out, making me moan quietly, I gasped when he pushed his second digit into me. “Stay quiet, you don’t wanna get in trouble? Don’t ya? We wouldn’t want that now.” He smirked, bringing my head to the crook of his neck.

After he said those words, I was invested, I needed to know what “trouble” was, whatever it was or is, I needed it. Now.

Soooo I started moaning louder, louder than I should’ve, even though I was in his neck, it was definitely still audible, he pulled me by my hair to make me look at him.

“I told you to be quiet, now shut the fuck up.” He gritted through his teeth, I didn’t even notice that he took off the blanket, pulling his fingers out of me, whining at the lost of him, and then he just slammed into me, giving me now warning, and his thrusts were fast and hard.

He wasn’t stopping anytime soon.

My eyes shoot open, mouth parted wider, and I brought myself closer to him. He grabbed my ass, pounding into me, his hand that was on my hair, is now on my mouth, forcing me to be quiet.

Fuck this is going to be a long night.

𝙾𝙽𝙴 𝙷𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙻𝙰𝚃𝙴𝚁

“FUCK SLASH, NO MORE, IM SO FUCKING SENSITIVE!” I yelled at the top of my lungs, we were in his bedroom now, he had me bent over his bed, still pounding into me, I already cummed four times…

I know.

I felt a hand slap my ass, and I went to look back, his head was fully back, his thrusts got sloppy, I knew he was close, finally.

He grabbed my hips, using me, not caring what I said, it’s not like it didn’t feel good. It was so much at once.

I loved every moment.

“S-SHIT FUCK.” His voice got higher, shooting his seed into me, coating my walls, my legs trembling, I felt his body weight in my back, after he came he just laid on top of me for a good minute. I giggled softly, at this action, he rolled over next to me, looking to the side at me.

“Well, that was…. Um, unexpected.” He chuckled, moving his hair off his sweaty forehead, grabbing my waist, bringing me closer to his sweaty torso. “ I’ve always wanted to do that.” I mumbled under my breath, he scooted up the bed, laying in the middle of the bed with me in his big muscular arms, his hair tickling my shoulder.

“I know, I know.” He laughed, kissing my cheek, before getting off the bed. “Where ya going?” I looked up, he smiled at me, “I’m fucking showering, I have too many body fluids on me.” I laughed at his joke, realizing he was right.

fuck that was a night.

𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙽𝙴𝚇𝚃 𝙼𝙾𝚁𝙽𝙸𝙽𝙶

after a good night sleep in slash’s arms, his shampoo filling my nostrils, having clean clothes on both of our body’s, I was worried his wife was going to walk in on us, but thank fuck she wasn’t coming home anytime soon, she went on a business trip or whatever slash said, I kinda zoned out.

While he was still sleeping like a baby, I decided to be the wife he should have, making him a hearty warm breakfast, when I started cooking the bacon, he immediately got up, walking to the kitchen.

“Are you cooking?” Slash said in a sleepy tone, leaning against the counter, tilting his head, with a big smile on his face, I nodded my head, not looking away from the pan, scared I was going to get burned.

I felt a pair of arms wrap around my waist, and a kiss on my neck, “you doing this for me doll?” He spoke in a whisper tone, my heart felt so warm at his touch.

“I wanted to show you, I could be a better wife.” I heard a deep chuckle from him, making my panties getting wet all over again, even though my body was covered with bruises, hickeys, marks, anything imaginable.

“You proved that last night doll.”

(Sorry it took so long)

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dufferpuffer · 1 day ago

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Tom Riddles orphanage is interesting.

1920s/1930s The idea of not putting children to work was quite new. In fact there were still Workhouses until 1948.

Victorian's commonly thought that people were only poor because they are lazy, plus the well-blossoming ideas of eugenics meant poor people were probably just worse genetically. It was 'Christian values' to at least dress and feed poor children, but if you were too supportive of them they would only grow up to continue to be lazy, probably like their stupid poor lazy parents. They will go off and join the workforce at 14, so you shouldn't coddle them too early or else you'll spoil them.

Most orphanages were set up and funded by whichever rich fuck wanted to boast about how many little kids they 'help'. Some really were trying to help - but yknow... eugh. Rich people. Nothing was particularly regulated and abuse against children was accepted and even encouraged.

Plus its fresh after The Great War, poor street kids fending for themselves were hardly rare, infant mortality was high... Lots of kids and not much demand for them. If they could hurry up and grow up to join the workforce... that would be swell.

Experience of the common orphan in a common orphanage: + Crowded eating halls where they usually didn't eat well. + Beds lining the walls, no privacy, everyone in the same room. + No individuality - kids often forgot their own birthdays or names... adults rarely use them, there's too many kids to remember and they keep dying and shit, honestly who cares - if they get adopted maybe they'll be renamed anyway + Education was often light, just the basics + Sometimes they were also put to a little work beyond their own laundry and cleaning etc. + Sundays they get dressed up, cleaned up - to try and get them adopted. Trot them out like little show ponies to try and tempt some rich person. ''They aren't dirty street shits, they're nice and handsome little children who won't embarrass you.'' + In many places child abuse was just... awful. Being made to eat their own vomit, pushed down stairs, locked into rooms and forgotten about, straight up being murdered by their caretakers... if you can imagine it, it probably happened.

...Why do I say all this? Because barely any of that seems to apply to Tom's experience. That doesn't mean his Orphanage was a nice place for him to grow up... but my god, it sounds like a DREAM compared to the norm-!!!

+ Tom Riddle... had his own fucking bedroom. WOAH. + Privacy. Access to books to read. He could READ. + His own WARDROBE, where he could KEEP HIS OWN THINGS. + It's assumed other children could ALSO keep their own things, as he had stolen their stuff - and some even had PETS??? + No real sign that he is put to any grueling work. + He was calm and impolite in his own room - he isn't terrified to talk back to adults. + Though it did anger and scare him, experts were being brought in to try and evaluate his health. + He looked well. Well fed, healthy, clean, normal.

Mrs. Cole the Matron - though she says judgemental things she says and the mention of 'whacking on the nose with a rusty poker' (which I assume is basic physical abuse...?) - seems shockingly involved with the children. She knows their names, their preferences, their backstories... and despite the orphanage being poor, they take the children on a holiday every year. Even Harry thought she seemed alright.

It is BONKERS how nice it is at Wool's Orphanage. That is an intentional writing decision. They author is British, she knows basic recent British history - the 'suffering orphan' is baked into her very bones as a concept.

He COULD have been depicted as: + Just one dirty face in a room of many beds, many children, that Albus had to weave through to take him somewhere private and tell him he was different from them, he was special. + Keep the smaller rooms - but he has to share with five or so other boys... who have all moved their beds as far from his as possible. + He could have only barely even remembered his own name - there's nobody who cares to call him it anyway, so he dislikes it. + A "Yes Sir, Sorry Sir, Of course Sir" little boy - who then breaks out in joy over going to Hogwarts + ...just straight up could have been in a workhouse.

It wouldn't be far-fetched for it to be described like Oliver Twist (set in 1830s, but there was actually higher child mortality in 1930s) Or more of an Annie situation (set 1930s New York - probably better conditions than 1930s England) The Author has never shied away from displaying child suffering before. Just look at Snape and Harry... and even Neville! Yet Tom Riddle very much has an air of being the Top Rooster. + Even the adults don't know what to do with him. + He is rather comfortable as long as doctors aren't being brought in. + He has gone out of his way to MAKE that comfort for himself, through enforcing a harsh pecking order amongst the other kids. + He is, especially for the time, a bit of a brat. Talks back, snappy, sneering and scoffing, talks over adults, snatches...

That's not unreasonable of him, by the way. He IS treated unfairly due to his powers, he is a poor orphan in a world with an abundance of poor orphans... and he's just a little boy. Of course he acts out.

But he could have been made more sympathetic - and more believable, honestly - with only a slightly more harrowing depiction of his living situation than simply 'a little shabby - and the over stressed but tries-to-care Matron likes a drop of Gin.' Instead he is living better than most of the lower class.

Which to me can only mean he isn't supposed to come across as too sympathetic. He isn't a suffering orphan, he isn't miserable, he isn't abused (too badly), he isn't lonely, he isn't any of the things Harry was... despite being in a similar situation, at first glance. He is still sympathetic. Harry and Albus both thought so. But the reader isn't supposed to see his childhood as terrible. Just sub-par. We are happy he gets a chance at life at Hogwarts... ...but aren't thinking 'Oh man, of course he murdered people, he has had such a harrowing life' Snapes life was worse. Harry's life was worse. Neither of them kill.

#hp #tom riddle #wools orphanage #mywrite #hmm #hp meta #but I dont like tagging things without book quotes as meta usually #lord voldemort

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l0verclown · 2 days ago

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From pressured to driven Part 2

What happens when you feel pressured to do something you never thought you'd do?

Especially if 4 serial killers are the ones pressuring you.

Slight ronin x reader

| spoilers for Killer chat!!! This is part two of "From pressured to driven". As always, my writing sucks so its probably Ooc. I have no idea if i want to continue with more parts, but hey who knows.

TW: Mention of murder, going insane, light gore, SA?(forced kissing)

PSA: I don't support neither am i trying to glorify/Normalize the words mentioned above. SA should be taken serious and it is not meant to be joked around.

Part 1:

You were walking around, searching for any "victims" to kill whilst trying not to freak out by the amount of corpses were in the alley. Damm, you knew Ronin liked going on killing sprees, but this much? If you counted every corpse you have walked past, it would be already above the 20. It didn't feel right, seeing all those unfortunate souls all on the ground, but you also couldn't help continue searching because before you know you are one going to become one of them if they find out.

*Ding!*

A notification?

Dear Reader,

I heard that you were writing a book, which is pretty interesting so my congratulations for that one.

moving on, one of our best reporters, Greg, has unfortunately resigned.

So my question to you is if you are able to make five new articles before the clock hits midnight. I expect at least two articles, but my apologies if this has come to you late, but if you are able to do it, i will try my best to reduce the amount of work you already have.

I wish you the best of luck on this.

Kind regards

Your boss.

You have to be serious. Five whole articles?

Not only did you have to make five new articles, you have to find a way to pretend that you killed a person. Not only that, it was 19:21.

19:21...

Fuck.

You have 4 hours and 30 minutes before midnight. You have to find a solution, and quick. Fuck, maybe you do want to kill someone, and with someone you mean your boss or either Greg.

Greg...

Always him, the 'best' reporter in the company. Total bullshit, he was average, a total pervert even. But the fact he resigned and that you had to chase after his bullshit!?

You felt anger raising up, adrenaline rushing through your veins, the amount of stress and anger that was mixed in your body was insufferable, that if you went to a therapist, they would either send you to a mental hospital or diagnose you with whatever mental disorder is popular.

*Ding!*

Another notification..?

@BestGregg: Hey Reader! Sorry for resigning so early and sudden but i got offered a wayy better job, and i couldn't pass up on that offer. Btw make sure to finish those assignments lol and because i'm resigning, how 'bout we meet up? I mean ur kinda chill and its gonna be fun. So what do you think?

Seriously? A meet up? Who does he think he is? My dad???

@SerialMC: Uhh..

sure i guess. Can we meet up here? *Insert Purgatory location*, i'll wait for u there, I'm here with some friends but i'm sure they don't mind.

@BestGregg: Sweet, i'll be there in 10 minutes, be prepared to have the best night of ur life ;)

Not only is he a total loser, he's a total pervert too. You continued walking, your mind just being full of total bullshit right now. First, your serial killer friends want you to kill somebody, second your stupid boss wants you to write 5 articles, and third your perverted ex-coworker wants to hangout and is going to try to hit on you.

Life's been going shit these weeks, you got hit with an inspiration block which means no more idea's for your next book. You've been trying to find out on how to tell the server that you're not actually a serial killer (What will probably never happen) and now this.

You gripped the knife that you previously found tighter, resisting the urge to even throw it. You can't kill anyone, you don't want to kill anyone, but in your state, it seemed like the only solution left.

"EYY READER, WHERE ARE YOU!?"

"I have a feeling they left"

"No way, they wouldn't leave us, their friends behind, i know them."

"Hah, So they're not as tough as they seem huh?"

"Hey! Don't say that, people like us just have our own struggles. Just let us be you edgeboy"

Fuck fuck fuck.

They were searching for you, and you haven't done anything at all, and looking at the time, that stupid greg should be somewhere here now.

How the fuck did you end up in this position!? Seriously, this would've been some fun hanging out day, but it always ends up in trouble. You just wished you could bury yourself somewhere.

"Yooo Reader it's me Greg!"

How he greeted himself scared the shit out of you, you hid the knife somewhere in your jacket, so he wouldn't notice. It was pretty dark out here, but from the looks of it and how he talked seemed like he had a bit to drink.

"Oh hey.. Greg."

"Whats up with the sad face reader? Are you not happy to see me?"

"No it's just. Work and stuff.. Gotta write 5 articles.. Ha ha.."

"Awh damn, sorry reader. Didn't know i was that important to the company, i mean, being the best reporter in the department? Hell yeah!"

He continued talking about how cool, and important he was that you didn't notice that you were basically backing up into a corner because of how much he talked.

"Ohh yeah, I think you need to confess something, reader."

"Confess.. What?"

He got closer to you, basically trapping you in that corner that you went to yourself. You said you wanted to bury yourself somewhere? Guess that place is here. He leaned into your face, you could feel his intoxicated breath, it reeked of alcohol and whatever cocktails he was drinking, but he didn't seem to go away.

"Don't act stupid, i know how you've been looking at me, you like me, don't you?"

Like. Him?

You hated that man. First, he got with all your female coworkers, he's the so-called "best reporter", he acts like a total asshole, pervert, and his looks are like the devil himself tried making the ugliest person that has ever existed. Not only that, but he has so much controversy, but of course, your boss ignores it because he was a good worker.

"I don't understand? I don't like you?

"Don't be shy, i know what you want"

Before you knew it, he slammed his lips into yours, forcefully kissing you as he held you by the waist. You yelped in disgust, tears starting to form in your eyes. You hated it, you couldn't move, you felt helpless. After he was done kissing you, he looked at you with a grin and you looked terrified.

"Look, you enjoyed that didn't ya? C'monn, i know ya want more"

"And don't worry, i won't go rough on you"

Oh.

Is this your end?

No.

It is not.

You can change

Maybe they will say you became corrupted.

But was it really, if it originated from fear?

You slowly gripped the knife you hid in your jacket, and held it tight in your hand.

"You know what i want..."

You put your free hand on his chest, he leaned in, looking like he wanted to kiss you, but before you could do that, you plunged that knife right into his chest.

He screamed, but you continued. You kept stabbing him near his heart, he tried pushing you off of himself, but you were too determined to finish him. After everything he did, all you wanted to do is never see him again.

Countless screams were forming in his throat, it sounded so god awfull, but that is why it was perfect. That's what stupid, perverted good for nothing deserve. A deep plunge in the heart. At this point, you were sure the rest could've heard the screams and were probably heading your way, but you didn't care about that. For now.

You pushed his body to the ground, before gripping two hands on the handle of the knife, and plunged even harder into his chest. You dragged the knife from his chest to his intestines, before stabbing him again for countless times. You felt anger and stress slowly leave, the crimson staining you. You felt.. Weird. You did feel guilty, yes but after all he did. He deserved it. You ripped out the knife, before hearing some voices behind you.

"Oh my, So Darlin' did end up killin someone huh? And even stabbing the intestines? How gruesome, i like that"

You turned around, hearing the voices of your friends

"Oh shit... Who that guy was, he was definitely hated by them.. Look at the stab marks holy shit, reader went batshit and im here for it"

"Oh.. My, reader, how are you feeling? I don't think that guy was some ordinary guy guys.."

"... The sight is gruesome"

You laughed, you kept laughing before finally stabbing the knife into his skull. He was finally gone.

".. That guy was my ex coworker. He kept stressing me out, making flirty moves, and.. Ended up forcefully kissing me."

Angel looked at you with a mix of reassurance and a look of "I've been there", and she slowly approached you along with Misaki. Meanwhile Misaki was a bit in denial, not because of the fact that you killed him, but because what he did to you. V was crossing his arms and shaking his head, while Ronin was heading towards the guy.

".. What you did there, reader.. I, oddly relate to it. Weird creepy perverted men hitting on you while you weren't doing anything? Killing him was a good choice, reader."

Angel was quite literally an angel. She is nice, she is understanding and she can relate to anyone. You're great full you have her as a friend.

Misaki was giving you constant back pats, trying to comfort you from that guy. You noticed that she was trying to lighten the mood.

"Hey so.. That guy was a total creep, and what you did was totally valid- I mean as a pervert, what did he expect?"

You forced a laugh out of that one, it was funny but for the sake of Misaki, you cracked a laugh so that she wouldn't suspect anything. But you know she meant good, if it was up to her, she would've killed the guy in a second.

V was looking at you and the guy, sighing before muttering out a sentence.

"You finished him, not for fun or for entertainment.. But for your safety and because of fear. Not bad at all."

His words shock you, because you didn't expect him to say that at all. You didn't really speak to him, and when you did, he was always on some "I will find out who you are" shit. Guess V is able to feel some sympathy after all.

You didn't even notice the fact that Ronin was ripping apart that guy's chest to grab his heart, you were starting to hear some weird- crack and bone breaking noises, that you couldn't help but look backwards at the body to find Ronin trying to obtain the guys heart.

Eventually, Ronin had the heart in his hand, and looked at you with a smile

"Darlin', Would ya mind giving me his aorta? And it's that ugly guy's heart, which makes it 10x better. C'monn, do it for the poor little devil."

He looked at you, with that stupid little smile from the first time you kissed, the moment you began rotting and corrupting. You laughed, and took the heart. Since Ronin started talking about the Aorta that much, you decided to google search a bit just to know where it was for a moment like this (which you never actually expected to happen)

You carefully ripped some of the other pieces of the heart, accidentally deattaching the superior vena cava and some artery, but eventually you managed to remove the aorta, and handed it to Ronin.

"To my dearest devil, the one who corrupted me."

Angel looked at Ronin with a look of "What the actual fuck ronin." and he just laughed. You smiled and He gave you a hair ruffle and put the aorta in some weird place in his bag. Gross, but hey, he can do whatever he wants.

You looked at your clothes, It was basically stained red now, but your face, hands and pants were a total mess. You sighed, before thinking of a way on how to get home without getting the police after you.

" You look like a complete fuckin mess. Not that i'm complaining, but you probably are. How 'bout i give you a ride to my house, and stay there?"

You wanted to agree, you didn't mind the idea, but you wondered about the others, what about them? It would be quite rude to leave them here.

Before you could say anything, Misaki overheard the convo and made an idea.

"YOO IS THAT A SLEEPOVER I HEAR!?"

".. I'm not really fond of sleepovers."

"Maybe we could? I mean it is the best way to end the hangout"

". Fuck no, i don't have enough space for five people. And besides, i don't think anyone can survive the devils little hideout"

"Stop being edgy for once ronin, your living room is big enough"

".. Wow, guess i have no choice do i?"

"A sleepover it is, then."

You decided to take a photo of the body, and you were planning on sending it in the server. To have some more 'evidence' that you killed someone. Would your old self be proud of you? Absolutely not, but people change. You changed by being rotten and corrupted, and you wouldn't want it any other way.

weird..

You have this odd feeling that doesn't go away

It feels like a craving.

More killing, it screams your name.

You feel like killing more people.

Their agony, your pleasure.

Time to show them what you have become.

#killer chat #ronin killer chat #ronin beaufort #angel killer chat #misaki killer chat #v killer chat #killer chat misaki #killer chat ronin #killer chat angel #killer chat vn #visual novel #fiction #fanfic #part 2

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alitlantern · 23 hours ago

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#𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐍 ━━━━━━━━━ ⚖️ ɪɴᴅᴇᴘᴇɴᴅᴇɴᴛ / ᴍᴜᴛᴜᴀʟꜱ ᴏɴʟʏ / ꜱᴇʟᴇᴄᴛɪᴠᴇ ᴄᴀʀʀᴅ , ʀᴜʟᴇꜱ , ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ , ᴛᴀɢꜱ

ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʜɪɴɢꜱ ʏᴏᴜ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴊᴜꜱᴛɪᴄᴇ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ꜰɪᴛ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴀ ᴛʜɪᴍʙʟᴇ.

𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐒 ━━━━━━━━━━━━━⚡ an unfriendly aesop: when a moral lesson conflicts with our understanding of "good."

― Melody, 29, they/she

― Account is 18+, NSFW is for 23+

― Disabled, chronically online, horrendous sleep schedule

― Right off the bat, I am sex positive, kink friendly, and a taboo safe haven. I don’t believe in “pro shipping” or anything of that ilk. As long as you’re an adult and not hurting anyone IRL, I beg you to write what you want. With me, even! I’ll write fucked up shit with you gleefully! Censoring will only aid the corrupt.

― Haven’t been on Tumblr in probably 5 years, but I was here in the advent of RP and have a long, sordid history with it

― Iconless bc I’m not trying to screenshot games like that. It’s fine if you use them though!

― Don’t worry about matching my format, of course! I’m very lazy with it as it is

― Have played all the DA games + DLCs, working through the books now

― Constructive criticism about lore is always accepted!

― Brevity is the soul of art or whatever but I suck at it. Sorry :D

― Plotting >>>>

― I can usually bounce off of anything someone sends me, if plotting isn’t your jam, but I am here for the girls, the gays, and the theys that both want a 12 hour long yap session about every intricate detail and also write it all

― Explicit NSFW can be written on the dash if both parties are chill with it. If you wanna write it but don’t want it on the dash, I will be more than happy to move to Discord or Google docs! Also, I’m obviously just as happy to fade to black if need be.

― Favorite genres: Angst, hurt/comfort NSFW/erotica, fluff. I can roll with anything though

― Dark/Mature/Taboo themes will be mentioned; Anders is canonically a victim in many ways and I do not shy away from representing the fact.

― Please move ask responses to separate threads, linking to the original. Also, it doesn’t matter how much time has passed since I answered the ask; always feel free to turn anything into a thread!

― This is controversial but my biggest pet peeve is dropped threads. I’m disabled and have a very limited attention span, but I will still always go out of my way to not drop threads. It may take me weeks to reply, but no thread is ever dropped unless we’ve talked about it. I really hope for the same level of committment to this hobby from those I share it with

― Another controversial take; I don’t always follow with the intent to write. Yes, of course, I would love to write with absolutely everyone and will make that happen as much as I can, but I don’t think it’s a requirement to stay mutuals, or to even be friends! Sometimes I follow people just because I like the way they write, or I want to read their headcanons, or I mean to write with them in the future. I’m not in a rush here to figure out what to do with every last mutual. If that bothers you, please hard block me. No hard feelings!

― Dupes are welcome! We don’t have to write anything but I would love to be friends with people who love Anders as much as I do!

#dragon age roleplay #darp #dragon age 2 roleplay #dragon age rp #CHAMPION ― t. promo.#will people actually reblog this one? :")

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megamindsecretlair · 2 hours ago

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Writing Tip #2

This one may seem a little redundant, forgive me, but it's necessary. I mean this with all the love in my heart, please fall in love with the enter bar. Part of writing is understanding structure and it goes for fics too. No one, and I mean no one, wants to read a block of text.

You start a new paragraph whenever you have a new thought, someone new is talking, or there's a change in scene or location. Heavy on the when someone new is talking. At no point should you have two pieces of dialogue in the same paragraph. I'll use my fic "Sunshine" to illustrate my point.

Don't

He tugged on one of your braids. “You too good to be hanging around here,” he said. Oh god, his voice was fine too. No, he was dangerous. But you couldn’t make your legs move away. “What you talkin’ about?” You managed to ask. “You one of them good girls that always got her nose in a book,” he said. He sipped whatever was in his cup. From the faint smell of it, it was probably Henny. It always was.

Even with dialogue tags (he said, she said), it's clunky and will confuse the reader.

By using a new paragraph, it's softer on the eyes, visually clues you in that someone else is speaking, and allows you to expand on a character's thoughts before you write the response.

You can have a single word paragraph too. If you want to highlight a particular emotion or echo something you just wrote, that works too.

Speaking of dialogue tags, fall in love with using those as well. It's clear to YOU who's speaking, but for a reader, this is the first time they're reading it.

“Not so good, are you?” “Oh shit.” “You tappin’ out?”

Which one is speaking? Which lines belong to Tyrone and which lines belong to the reader? It's hard to tell which. So consider:

“Not so good, are you?” He asked. He pulled you closer. His warm hands circled your waist and pulled you flush against him, you could feel his thick cock against your thigh. “Oh shit,” you gasped. He chuckled. “You tappin’ out?” He asked.

Not only does dialogue tags help orient the reader, using alternatives to "said" help highlight what's going on the characters' minds without needing an extra paragraph. I could have said "said" instead of "gasped" but a stronger verb was needed. "Gasped" gets the point across that Reader is turned on and surprised at finding Tyrone so big and ready.

You don't have to go crazy with dialogue tags. Using "said" is perfectly fine and no, it is not overused. It fades to the background as you're reading. But knowing when to use something different is an important skill you have to develop as a writer. Variety is the spice of life.

Sometimes it's not your writing that needs to improve, it's your structure and formatting. I promise, start breaking up your paragraphs and you'll notice a huge difference in flow.

Idk, I'm not an expert. But try it and see if it works 😗 Find more tips and posts about my process: Behind the Megadome.

#Behind the Megadome #writing tips #writeblr #Black writers #Black fanfic writers #writing resources #on writing #writing

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triglycercule · 2 days ago

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the way youve ONLY spit facts with every ask i've sent you. NOT A SINGLE ONE OF THESE WASN'T PEAK!!! time to discuss every single hc brought up in this,,,, whenever i think about a "dust gets replaced the most in the trio when w nm" i always think about like. the logistics of that. like if horror wasn't such a COWARD when it came to anything deadly to him (i always think about that one panel of him getting pissed at the suggestion of walking through blue snow,,,,, my cowardly son don't stop being the pathetic loser you are) then i totally think that he'd be up there with death count. a horrortale-less horror with no fear and no reason to live would be SO reckless. UAGH but anyways,,,, i love thinking about this. but also i dont know anymore when it comes to dust and his deaths that people make him a bit TOO reckless. remembering this fic where dust was investigating killer's private business or whatever sneaking around he was and im looking back at it like. dude shouldn't you be trying to get back to dusttale??? YOU HAVE HIGHER PRIORITIES (but the fic was actually good i could dismiss the weirdness). idk i just dont think he'd be SPITEFUL SPITEFUL unless provoked imo. i've spent too much time rambling about these 14 words in this ask,,,,,,

ANYWAYS finally onto the next sentence. maybe the whole post i made about killer keeping an elaborate internal profile on dust and horror wasn't enough but killer with a microscope at the little disposable glass slides that feature horror and dust is just one of my favorite FAVORITE THINGS :333 my favorite,,,, they'd hate it SO much!!! so much,,,, and then onto horror i also think Yes. maybe he sees the new dust making the same mistakes the previous dusts did like disobeying some sort of hidden rule of nightmare's (maybe killer would give him little tips and tricks. but also ALSO horror is literally described as "the closest thing to a hint system" in horrortale so yk,,,, wait i should totally think about this more in a seperate post but ANYWAYS) and he's like ughhh shit i should tell him to stop. but would he be pessimistic enough to not want to do anything to help dust after all of these despite the bafflement??? horror would feel like shit for not intervening but also like his incredible awareness that this is a NEW dust. not the old one that he had some form of a shitty bond,,,, so why even help him AAAAND there pop up the pessimistic mindset that all of the trio have soooo

AND I LIKE TOTALLY THOUGHT ABOUT THIS BEFORE IN A PREVIOUS POST!!! YES!!!! he would. horror DEFINITELY doesn't approve of feeding people humans but dust and killer are the exception. just because they deserve it and it's probably some kind of fucked up self punishment anyways since projection onto another you must be some form of SELF harm. mtt parallels,,,, ANYWAYS no WAY they like that shit in my eyes. like if even HORROR who's used to human consumption and even feeds (haha PUN) into the human food system doesn't like the cannibalism then why the HELL would dust or even emotionless killer would like it. killer doesn't realize it in the moment but after eating that shit he's so damn disgusted and he doesn't even know why. its not even JUST his emotions because UAGH!!! THE BODY IS REACTING TOO!!! THIS SUCKS!!! and dust just. why can't he throw up,,,,,,, but in like a less canon adjacent path they'd freak over this shit. awww horror you fed up a special treat made with love?? thats so sweeeeet <333 i can't describe it well through text but i can imagine it in my head. creep time trio my beloved. when they ditch the "danger to eachother" part of "danger to eachother and everyone around them" and instead just decide to be public service enemies to everyone around them!!!!!!

buubonita you sneaky little mosquito THIS NEXT HC IS JUST YOUR LITTLE FIC SNIPPETS YOU POSTED!!! you THOUGHT your amazing writing could sneak past ME; TRIGLYCERCULE: rememberer of nothing but the murder time trio. you fool,,,,, i was wondering what the context behind that snippet was. liiike did killer rip out his eye for some reason??? he got THAT curious??? but yeah that makes more sense for there to be some other reason. but i am not You and The Writer so that's up to you to decide bludbonita. that snippet reminded me of this mini horrordust comic where dust donated his eye to an eyeless horror??? i dont remember it was like last year but anyways

would horror play the trombone in front of the two i Don't Know because that leans more into Sans Undertale canon for me to comment on. i am a LIAR i say i am a fan of the murder tine trio bu i dont even know much about their origin...... (moving on) CAT DOG RABBIT TRIO MENTIONED,,,,, YES!!! YES!!!!!! YEAASASAGGHHHHHHH!!!!! killer likes cats for obvious reasons,,,, horror would like dogs because idk (aside from him giving off dog vibes imo) dogs used to be like. wolves. hunter gatherer helpers. horror "hunts" even though all the hunting is just him playing psychological games with humans and leading them to their demise. HE LITERALLY IS THE PHRASE SLY DOG THAT'S LITERALLY HIM. and then obvious dust bunny pun. if i were well versed enough in like animal symbolism id probably find a serious rabbit connection to him. or maybe hare. perhaps on a rainy day i shall research for my trio!

that sleeping mask hc is SO CUTE,,,, THATS SO FUCKING CUTE I LOVE THAY I LOVE IT SOOOO MUCH EDYAGAHHHH!!!! RUDAGAH!!!!!! kitty face mask perhaps. it might get stained or degraded with his eye goop but still,,,, bro probably doesn't even close his eyes behind the mask but at least he doesn't get the extra sensory stimulation. and they dont get JUMPSCARED seeing killer sleep with his eyes open (they look even more empty than usual when he's asleep). the inner fluff lover in me came out in this little hc (which i will in fact be adopting thank you very much. this one is too good to pass up!)

i ALSO really love this one. dare i say i've never actually considered how they ALL would snap themselves out of dissociation (UNFORTUNATELY i don't have multiple brains. nor is mine fully developed yet. that is Okay) but this is so,,,4 rhavh the way that physical touch is how they all ground themselves??? funny how killer's the only NOT dangerous to himself too💀 i should probably do more research on dissociation but i do like the biting hands thing to snap dust out of what im gonna guess as more of an emotional detachment from the people and situation around him. maybe when things get BAD BAD he like. shoots some bones at himself. as if biting wasn't bad enough but at least he gets some penitentiary retribution through this. and then horror TOO but maybe with the depressive life that he lives in. maybe to remind himself that not EVERYTHING is pointless and wont lead to anything because uhhh it DOES lead to SOMEWHERE. at least what he's reminding himself of is the worst possible somewhere that things could lead to but ehhhh whatever idk im not a professional on this

FINALLY last hc,,,,, yeah he does that. what the fuck man horror could pop out the most HILARIOUS bangers and he gets NOTHING back??? smh he needs to raise his standards and take his ass to someone better (his standards are RAISED it is just that unfortunately horror has no other choice. dust and killer aren't even the best he could settle with)

the way that this was SO long..... enjoy this ramble. i didn't LIE when i said i'd respond to every ask of mine you answer 😈😈😈

dear buubonita,

it's gotten to the point that i'm running out of ask ideas so now i have to resort to my trump card: MTT ASKS!!!! what are you,,,,,r favorite,,,,, mtt hcs that you have for them,,,,,,,, even if its worlds most basic hc IDC (devours the mtt content)

denied from the pearly gates, triglycercule

MTT headcanons! here we go. They're not that big of a deal though.

Dust is the one who's been replaced the most times out of the group, Killer being the detail-oriented guy that he is, is able to tell the slight differences, starting with the fact that Dust doesn't know them, but their tastes tend to vary a bit.

Like the old Dust likes bourbon and the new one prefers vodka instead. Very insignificant things that serve as a reminder that the Dust they know is gone. Horror has a bad memory, but not when it comes to remembering his teammates' antics. He feels baffled, not just because Nightmare took Dust from them one day and shoved another in their faces as if they couldn't possibly know what's going on.

A shorter hc is that Horror has fed Killer and Dust human parts before. It was on a "date". Dust felt a bit uneasy, Killer took it for what it is; something new. Killer never stops trying something new. (We get it, stfu with the joke)

Whether or not they enjoy human flesh, I'll leave to your own amusement.

Dust had his eye ripped out once, Killer took it to dissect (but he wasn't the one who pulled it out) and Nightmare asked him to go get a replacement. Horror had to be the surgeon on duty from experience and put the new thing in its place.

I personally don't see any of the three smoking weed 😭, Dust may have tried but let's just say it's not a good additive to his degraded mind. I don't see Killer smoking anything at all, though he might be willing to try too. I'd say it's not something he'll pick up as a habit in the end.

Horror doesn't consume anything at all.

Killer, Dust and Horror can play the trombone. Though I like to think Horror is the only one still playing it.

Killer likes cats

Horror likes dogs

Dust likes bunnies (and rodents)

Killer sleeps with his eyes open (and his little hands on his soul) Horror and Dust gave him a sleeping mask so they wouldn't have to see him.

Their methods for getting out of dissociation;

Dust has a tendency to bite others, but he mostly bites his hands. Horror sticks his hand in the hole and scratches a lot, and Killer pinches others in the face (although this seems to be canon, I love it)

Horror is the only one who still makes puns, but neither Dust nor Killer usually laugh with him when that happens... (difficult audience)

#the way writing and thinking about this GENUINELY TOOK HOURS #what the FUCK i didnt realize how long these things took #i'm not sick of the murder time trio i'm sick of having to type #CANT SOMEONE JUST TYPE FOR ME I SWEAR I CANT TYPE ANYMORE #tricule rb #i have so much to say and i just realized that #all of these responses to my asks gets me GOING because HOW AM I WRITING SO MUCH ON SOME STUPID RAMBLES

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sequinsandfins · 1 month ago

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A first attempt at writing some Carlos/Oscar… just a little pre-smut in the club drabble. Rated m?

Oscar feels dizzy. The club is warm, but he feels like his body is on fire. Carlos has pulled him away from everyone they know, under the guise of getting another round of drinks.

Oscar had thought that they might steal away to a dark corner, but instead, Carlos pushes him towards the bar.

There are a number of people waiting to be served and Oscar finds himself pushed up against the bar top, Carlos’ is flush up against his back and Oscar is grateful there is no one in front of him.

Everyone seems caught up in their own conversations, or trying to push in to get served before others. Oscar is in no rush. Not with Carlos’ hands finding their way to his hips. His fingers hook into the belt loops of Oscar’s jeans, pulling him back and impossibly closer to Carlos, as his thumbs work their way past the tight denim, stroking Oscar’s hip bones.

Oscar lets his head fall back so that it’s just resting against Carlos’ chest. They are surrounded by people and Oscar fights the urge to tilt his head and beg for Carlos’ lips on his.

One of Carlos’ hands makes its way towards the front of Oscar’s jeans, slipping under the constricting waistband of his underwear. Fuck, Oscar should have gone commando, made it easier for Carlos to reach him.

Oscar wants Carlos’ hand to move further down. Feels desperate for it. But Carlos doesn’t move, and Oscar pushes back in protest. He can feel Carlos hard against him, knows they aren’t going to last long out tonight, but the hand on his hip squeezes tight.

A warning.

Oscar is about to give up and pull Carlos towards the exit when the bartender appears directly in front of him.

“What can I get you?” The guy asks, and Carlos lets go of Oscar, taking a step back.

Oscar orders for the group, what he really wants will have to wait.

#carcar #f1 rpf fic #oscar piastri #carlos sainz jr #not beta read #probably shit but I wanted to try and write them #honestly a little feral for them at the moment #things I might write #carcar public indecency verse

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twistedappletree · 11 months ago

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Arranged marriage zhuiling AU where instead of being arranged to marry each other, Jiang Cheng keeps trying to set Jin Ling up with random girls from other clans after Jin Ling mentions he’s interested in marrying ‘someone’ because he doesn’t know Jin Ling meant Lan Sizhui, so Jin Ling keeps doing the most ridiculously annoying and unappealing things to scare off every girl who comes to Koi Tower and Jiang Cheng is ripping his hair out because you little brat, you said you wanted to get married???

Eventually, both of them are so exhausted from the miscommunication that Jiang Cheng investigates and finally finds out what’s wrong, then tells Jin Ling he has one more potential spouse for him to meet. Jin Ling is a pouting lackluster mess over it until his entire world stops when the doors to Koi Tower open and Lan Sizhui walks through.

#zhuiling #lingzhui #fic ideas #will probably actually write this soon ngl ahahaHAHAHA #poor JC not know wtf is going on #i feel like it’s more IC of him to actually think he’s helping instead of trying to force JL to marry anyone #bc he does love him and wants him to be happy #but both of them are so shit at communicating and JL is never gonna admit he likes LSZ to his uncle #so JC has to do his own digging to find out 😭#zhuiling musings #ok but what if JC finds out JL and LSZ love each other through Jingyi #lmfAOOOOO #Jingyi’s just like ‘your stupid moody niece is in love with my best friend you dumb purple slut’#ffffuuuuuuuuuuUUUUUUCCCCKKKK AHAHAHAHA #apple babble 🍎#mdzs au #arranged marriage au #married aspec ZhuiLing would be so cute tho I think about it a lotttttt 😭✨🌸

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n0bluev · 4 months ago

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@fushiglow hmm….wonder who i’d draw this for all of a sudden and why… 🤔🤔

#your reblog surprised me #THREE BUNS SUGURU (STAR WARS ER JUST FOR YOU!)#theyre covering riko or smt and smuggling her places (??)#drawing this i was like ‘oh suguru’s curses in a star wars environment should be robots and stuff #so this suguru is a mecanic (he makes them from scrappy parts people have thrown out #and trash materials (and hard work 😎)#diy pokemon #because what is the cursed energy people are letting out if not junk theyre letting go of #so yeah ; basic geto takes shit and turns it useful #i do realise thats already very generic for star wars (junk robots junk robots!) but like. yknow. this guy takes shit people wouldnt bother #trying to sell. miam. junk of the junk. geto my favourite recycling bin you were designed for a luxurious lifestyle clearly (gege not me!)#(and stuff…………. but im lazy to put my vision in words rn hah..)#gojo’s probably a princess #(let’s not lie. hes basically a prince already (clan heir is a different look on him))#this made me want to write ?.??#problem is i dont remember much about star wars (watched it as a kid (we have the cds) appart from the very basic storyline… i forgot 😔#then theres the jawa’s first appearance cuz for some reason they scared me and i am marked for life (THEYRE JUST SILLY LITTLE GUYS 😭😭))#thankfully i lowkey want to rewatch everything so these issues can be fixed #(unthankfully either way the chance of me writing anything is very slim BUT WE NEVER KNOW RIGHT)#(hashtag diverging your attention from that other older post is it working /j/j)#omg glo i still didnt read balance (i think of it from time to time but im intimidated to read it because i know its right up my alley and #that i will love it and lately idk why but i need to ready myself emotionally to read peak fiction (this is so dumb but its true 😭😭))#my bad im rambling lol #WAIT FUCK SAME THING FOR BUNNY’S RECENT THINGY THAT GOT IN MY AO3 UPDATE MAIL #A LOVE STORY TOLD THROUGH THE LENS OF A THIRD PARTY MY BELOVED #(itsg ive searchef for these types of stories in advanced search before #AND NOW THAT I HAVE SOME BY AUTHORS I ALREADY ADORE .. IM- I SEE THEM BUT. THEIR CONTENTS STAY A MYSTERY. IS THIS MY BODY SUBCONSCIOUSLY FI #FIGHTING THE TEAR LOSS I WOULD GET??? IS THIS MFING [BALLING-MY-EYES-OUT] PREVENTION !? WITHOUT MY PERMISSION..!? TCH!)#my bad. ramble again o7 — see ya glo !#wip

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imadhatt3r · 2 months ago

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This is going to sound really weird, I know, but I seriously feel like there's a number of like, British communists who desperately wish they were Eastern European??? Like they think that by being into political side of communism (usually not the kind that existed in Eastern Europe), they can be chummy with people who actually grew up in Eastern Europe and were raised with the communist era somewhere in the background their whole life, usually without knowing the nitty gritty of theory but with a lot of cultural herritage from that time...

Like no, there's a big difference between being British, being raised in British culture, with cultural institutions, history, traditions, then getting into communist theory and just assuming that you know everything about life in communist Eastern Europe, and then pulling a "how do you do fellow commies" to people from Eastern Europe whose associations with communism are much different, and they will see you as detached and insensitive at best.

#hatter blathers #ive seen a lot of people like that in the de fandom #and yes this post was inspired by a certain indie game that has been making rounds recently #like... you make a game thats so clearly inspired by de. you clearly want to establish a similar tone in your world #but you cant. because youre trying to make it into a reflection of the uk.#i dont know. its just kinda killing me. i dont know whats more outrageous #a de styled game having a landlord or a gender clinic. both of these things just clash so hard with what i associate with des tone #and from what i can see the tone is all flipped #des world is grimy and poor and has a ton of issues but the overall tone is very hopeful id say #because the world parellels harry: he sucked and was awful but he has a ton of potential and can turn for the better #while in this game the overall tone is everything is shit and theres no hope in anything #and like... again. the author can do whatever they want. but the game is so heavily inspired by de that its impossible to not compare #this whole game feels like a terminally online british communist who marinated their brain in leftist online spaces played de #and all they got out of it is WOW this game has based communism AND a funny failure man as a protag??? and nothing else beside it #again. its great if you love the game. im sure that the creators put a lot of love and passion into it and have a desire to show something #important to them #i just dont think its that good. the writing is corny and too reliant on le internet funnyspeak #and they take a blatant inspiration from de without seemingly understanding what made the game engaging and so moving #plus its taking a sucessful eastern european story and world and forcefully twisting it to fit the british mold while neutering #its very essence #so you can probably see why im not very stoked on it #but again i just dont think im the target audience for it. if you liked it then thats great

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kyliafanfiction · 6 months ago

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I sometimes feel like characters who do truly monstrous things while also having been victims of some pretty insane shit themselves are sort of an exercise in empathy. Or at least, should be seen as such.

Like, in real life, if a person who has been horribly broken by their experiences and failed by society than proceeds to rape someone - it's hard to feel the justifiable sympathy/empathy for that person (without excusing their rape, never do that) because well, you can look at this actual human person they hurt, or worse, and it feels gross and disrespectful to the rape victim.

And this is understandable. (And applies to more than just rapists/rape victims of course, that's just the most visceral one and thus picked for that reason)

But a fictional rape victim is... fictional. You can't 'disrespect' their trauma, and while obviously rape/whatever else is real, and people may related to the rape victim and thus see your comments about the rapist also being a victim as somehow being about their experience...

Well, it's not.

Because the rapist here, didn't actually hurt a real person. Fictional characters are objects. They're objects that often grab us by the throat and refuse to leave our fucking heads, yes, but they're objects. They are tools used by writers to tell a story, and readers to tell a story.

And one of the things fictional characters are good for is allowing us to consider experiences we never had, and imagine ourselves in other circumstances and lives. (Also just fun and fascinating and interesting to watch their stories).

It's very easy to feel for the rape victim in fiction, and rightly so. That's Level 1 Empathy there. Granted, some people IRL fail that, but that's not really what we're talking about here.

Advanced Empathy, hard Empathy is feeling for the rapist. Not for the rape, of course, even if they feel guilt about it, but if someone really was failed on multiple levels and was broken and damaged and went through the sort of psychological wringer that would leave most of us here on tumblr catatonic - they do deserve the same Empathy any human (any person) who went through all that.

Even after they also do the bad thing, critically they still deserve Empathy. And that is fucking hard. I very often have a hard time feeling bad for truly awful people who also deserve empathy and sympathy, real and even fictional (despite all this, yeah, I'm not perfect on this) for what they (separately) went through.

It also becomes even harder when what they went through is utterly bound up with what they did. How what they went through and experiences is in part responsible for what they did - because they still made a choice. The circumstances may have left them not in their right mind, may have left them feeling without choice, may have driven them to things they normally might not think of or do, but they still chose to do that bad thing. And that's not okay. They still hurt someone.

And yet - one cannot remove the action from the circumstances. So you can still feel empathy, and elucidate all the factors and circumstances as to what led up to their choices and why, and it doesn't change that they did the horrible thing. The rape, or the murders, or whatever.

But circling back - with a fictional character... they didn't hurt a real person. There's no one who is real that suffered. The things the character did IRL are bad because they hurt real people.

So you're not being disrespectful to the victim by feeling that empathy, or sympathy. By exploring the things that they were a victim for. Even by wanting to focus on those things - fictional characters should be compelling in all their aspects, if they're written well.

And yet, of course, if you do that empathy and do talk about what the bad person went through and all that context, people come at you. They call you evil, just as bad as the (again, fictional) character, or they say that you're treading dangerously close to the arguments people use to defend the real people who do these things in real life. Or you're disrespecting all the victims of these crimes IRL. Especially of course, if the person coming at you has a reason this comes close to home.

But again - fictional.

In an ideal world, we'd all feel sympathy and empathy when it's called for, regardless of what the person did. Even the worst most monstrous people deserve human treatment in prison. And if you don't have empathy, that's hard. Even if you do have empathy, that's hard.

So if you look at a fictional character (who doesn't hurt a real person by virtue of being fictional) that does horrible, vile things, but went through so much, and you still can't empathize or sympathize with them... I mean, it doesn't make you a bad person, not even close, this is still fiction, and there's people I should empathize with in fiction that I don't, but...

It's still a failure of your ability to be empathetic. And we're all humans. We're all failing at that, among other things, all the time. But... it's good to be aware of that. at least?

At the very least, bear that in mind when other people are talking about that context, and that victimization. And please, for the love of god, don't fucking pretend that the victimization didn't happen, that this person who did do terrible things (in fiction) suddenly didn't also (in fiction) experience awful shit, as if doing a bad thing erases all the bad things done to you.

Again - it doesn't necessarily make you a bad person, but like... the horrible state of prisons in our society is a real, actual problem. The way we as a society dehumanize people who do bad things is a real actual problem for a lot of reasons (not least because it creates an incentive for authority that wants to dehumanize a person or a group to expand the definition of 'did bad things' to make their dehumanization now acceptable, among other things).

So yeah. Fictional character who suffers but than also makes others suffer - that's a useful exercise in Empathy. And doing that doesn't make you or anyone else a bad person, or actually defending the sorts of crimes, IRL or Fictional, that this character did. Contextualizing is not whitewashing, empathy is not erasing, and humanizing is not disrespecting the victim(s).

So yeah, they fictional character did bad things. But there's more to them than that. And you can say but and talk about what comes after but without disrespecting the fictional victim. Because the fictional victim... is just as fictional. Just as not real.

Is it possible for this to end up being taken too far? Yes. But that's a reason to be mindful of yourself when it comes to real people, not to never do it. And when it comes to fictional people - again, fictional. Nobody was actually, really hurt.

(I really do want to make clear, before people read the tags, that this applies to all crimes these sorts of characters do, rape was just picked as the one to use as the example.)

#Anakin Skywalker #Azula #Grant Ward #Amy Dallon #Panacea #Empathy #Sympathy #I kind of used both terms probably a little wrongly I don't know but I think my point is clear #the tagged characters were Just a few of the characters I had in mind while writing this #So many times I see people talking about the context and the way this and that character who did horrible shit and then I see other people #give them so much shit for that and say its not okay to talk about these things because it's victim blaming or erasing the crimes #or disrespecting the victim and like - it's all fictional but also like... even if it were real #a real person who suffered #whatever else they do later #is a real fucking person who fucking suffered #Ultimately if you can't bring yourself to empathize with a given fictional character - whether it's because their crimes hit close to home #or not - it's fine #you're not a bad person for that and I'm not saying that #but if you consistently never empathize with the fictional characters who deserve it and consistently try to downplay their trauma in the #context of the fiction or even try to erase it #Then maybe reflect #and either way - let other people empathize and talk about the context and all the rest for these characters in peace #even if you feel like they're whitewashing or victim blaming they probably aren't in 99% of cases and even if they are when it comes to #fictional characters they're fucking fictional just block or ignore or back button and move on maybe vent in your own space #But just - leave it alone #And maybe - if you haven't before - try to practice the 'Advanced Empathy' required to feel for these fictional monsters. It really is a #good exercise #Also like please reblog this I'm not really on tumblr for the notes most of the time but I really poured out a lot into this one and I'm #tired of doing that only to feel like I'm shouting into an empty void #I am on here because on some level I want engagement I want the connection

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