#shame bc house of horrors had me by the THROAT

[raredrop]

bye time princess

enjoy ur increasing p2w tactics and ai i guess :/

[duckymcdoorknob]

I am actually genuinely sorry for this shit.

THE IDEA WOULD NOT LEAVE MY HEAD.

But yk, I just have to accept the challenge of being the hurt/comfort queen for another fandom.

2.2k ish words of hurt/comfort for you beautiful souls.

Big Bro Tajima

Warning! This shit sad!

Ships: None!

Warnings: In depth description of a panic attack, nightmares, Mihashi is in absolute stitches.

Prompt: When Mihashi has a dream that’s all too real, it’s Tajima who rushes to his aid. (Hurt/comfort time)

Tags: NO ONE BESIDE @myreygn BC YOU ASKED ME SO NICELY! THIS IS SAD AS FUCK!!

Mihashi was off his game today. His arm was sore from over-pitching at practice yesterday, so he wasn’t as accurate as he had wished to be.

After missing the strike zone for the fifth time in a row, Mihashi slumped slightly, staring at the ground.

Abe glared at his pitcher in disgust, his top lip curling into a dissatisfied scowl.

“That’s it, I’m done.”

He threw his glove on the ground and began to walk toward the dugout to remove his gear.

“W-what?”

“I said I’m done, Mihashi!” Abe snapped, “See! This is your problem! You never listen to me!”

“I-I listen to you p-plenty! I never shake m-my head at you-“ tears started to well up into the pitcher’s eyes as he stuttered out his reply.

As if Mihashi couldn’t be more mortified, Abe started to laugh at him. “And he’s crying again as usual! Who could’ve guessed!”

The catcher threw his gear off hastily, chucking it onto a bench.

“Abe wait!”

“Why, Mihashi? Why should I stay for someone like you? Sure, you have good control…” the catcher trailed off, “Your speed is inconsistent, your curves are barely accurate anymore, not the mention that you’ve almost hit me in the face three times today!”

Mihashi couldn’t reply, he could only stare at the ground in shame. Abe was right.

“Hah, your performance is just all the more proof that they only chose you to start cause of your grandpa.” Abe said with a sneer, “I’ve seen zero improvement in you, so I’m done wasting my time.”

“ABE!” Mihashi cried, watching his friend walk away from him in anger, “ABE PLEASE DON’T GO!

—

Mihashi awoke with a start, gasping quietly. What the hell was that? Did Abe really leave? Was it really because of him?

The blonde looked around to see nothing but darkness, minus a single white light in the corner, courtesy of Mr. Shiga.

Where even was he? What’s going on?

As the pitcher carded a hand through his hair, he braced himself on the fluffy ground beneath him.

Fluffy ground…?

That’s right! The team was back at the house for another training camp!

So he was just dreaming?

Thank goodness… Mihashi’s had this dream before. And when he did, Abe was right next to him and holding his hand securely! His breath quavered a tad as he tried to shake the feeling; doing so quite literally by whipping his head back and forth.

Everything would be fine!

The pitcher reached over to his left, gently feeling around the space next to him. He was half expecting to accidentally slap his partner in the face.

“Abe…?”

To his horror, Mihashi felt nothing but an empty futon beneath his hand.

Wait a minute… His dream was… real?

Upon this realization, Mihashi felt his heart drop, yet also rise to sit uncomfortably in his throat. His eyes were wider than his mouth, which was desperately panting for air. His eyes quickly flushed with a deluge of uncontrollable tears.

Abe was gone, and it was his fault.

“Abe!?” the pitcher was able to choke out as he frantically felt around the futon. “Abe please… c-come back!”

But the empty blanket next to him seemed to only mock him.

“Abe please!” Mihashi’s voice rose in volume, more than likely waking up the room full of his teammates, “ABE PLEASE COME BACK! I’LL BE BETTER! I-I-I’LL BE M-MORE ACCURATE! ! PLEASE!”

It didn’t matter that he was in a room full of other boys, he just wanted his partner- no, best friend, back.

“ABE Y-YOU CAN’T LEAVE ME LIKE THIS…ABE PLEASE! I CAN’T DO THIS W-WITHOUT YOU!” The broken plea escaped Mihashi’s lips as he sobbed desperately. “TAKAYA!“

Tajima, among the others, awoke with a jolt after hearing his friend calling vainly for his partner. At first, he was shocked. He didn’t know what was going on, but he knew that he had heard something.

“Mihashi…?” he asked groggily. As he re-entered the world of the awake, his senses were shot by the poor boy’s cries, “Hey, Mihashi talk to me!”

The pitcher failed to reply, only shouting Abe’s name, through fits of sobs, he would continue screaming until his voice was hoarse and sore.

Truth be told, Tajima had seen Mihashi cry a plethora of times. But never like this…

The pitcher seemed like he had no idea where he truly was, as if he couldn’t deduce dream from reality. The anguish in the poor boy’s cry shattered Tajima’s heart on the spot.

All of the team stopped and gazed in shock, never having seen Mihashi look so hurt and terrified.

As the pitcher started to hiccup through his pleads, Tajima’s body moved faster than his brain did.

“Don’t stare at him! He isn’t a circus freak!” Tajima hissed, scrambling to his feet and padding quickly across the room.

“Mihashi, Mihashi, Mihashi. Come here… come here. You’re okay.” The cleanup hitter smiled as terrified and teary eyes met his secretly frightened ones. He grabbed the pitcher’s hands firmly, squeezing tightly to show that he wasn’t dreaming. “You’re okay.”

“T-Tajima??“ Mihashi’s grip loosened on the latter’s hand as he felt another player’s hand on the small of his back. He turned quickly to see a deeply concerned Hanai showing his support.

Sobs began to rake the poor boy’s frame once again. His shoulders heaved as he felt his lungs contract once more, “Oh god… p-please, Tajima… Hanai… Y-you can’t…I-I-I I can’t- please! D-Don’t leave m-me too!”

The cleanup hitter’s heart sank to the floor, “Mihashi what? What are you talking ab-“

“T-Tajima you c-can’t leave me too! Abe’s gone b-because of me!”

Finally the cleanup hitter understood, “It’s okay Mihashi, I’m not going anywhere. You’re okay and I’m okay. I’m not leaving.” Tajima replied in a hushed voice, wrapping secure arms around Mihashi’s trembling figure. “Shh, shhh. It’s okay, Ren. You’re okay. Shhhhh. It was all a bad dream.”

The pitcher latched onto Tajima, desperately clawing at his back, as if he was afraid that this teammate would leave too. The cleanup hitter gently guided Mihashi’s head into the crevice of his shoulder, and used his other hand to rest securely on the small of his back.

“I won’t leave you. I’m right here. S’okay, Mihashi.”

Tajima sat flat on the floor and rocked the terrified boy back and forth in his embrace. It took every fiber of his being to not cry alongside his teammate. Hearing the distressed wailing that was muffled by his shoulder completely broke him. Mihashi continued to blubber out deprecations against himself as the situation escalated.

The cleanup hitter’s anxiety grew as Mihashi’s cries failed to falter. He began to hum a song he had heard on the radio, trying desperately to keep the pitcher calm.

“A-Abe’s GONE, Tajima! I-it’s all my f-fault!” The blonde boy yelped, “A-All the things he s-said were true!”

“No, no no! Shhh Shh, it’s okay Mihashi. It’s just a bad dream, I promise you. Y-you’re doing so well and we’re all very proud of you!”

“T-then why d-did he lea-ve us?”

“He didn’t leave, Mihashi I promise you. And he won’t leave because you’re doing so well here. He’s proud of you, buddy.”

The team watched in despair as the one who always encouraged them was reduced to nothing but a puddle of panicked tears.

Tajima coughed gently to gain the attention of their captain, “Go find Abe.” He mouthed. “Everything’s gonna be okay. Abe would never leave us, you know that, don’t you?”

At a calm pace, Hanai was on his feet and quickly padding around the house to find their catcher.

“I-I- I don’t-“

“It’s okay Mihashi, don’t speak. Shhh Shhh Shhh, you’re safe with me, okay?” Tajima whispered in a sweet voice, gently running his hand along the boy’s hair, “Abe’s around here somewhere, I just know it.”

‘Please hurry, Hanai. I can’t bear this…’

As soon as Hanai was out of Mihashi’s earshot, he desperately bounded around the house in his socks. His speeding figure slipped on every corner as he tried to find Abe.

Boy was Hanai happy that coach had him run all of those laps the other day, since he was dipping in and out of rooms to find the missing catcher.

He wasn’t in the bathroom, but he called for him anyway.

He wouldn’t be in Coach Momoe’s room, but he called anyway.

He wasn’t in the storage room, but he still called for him.

He wasn’t outside; his calls were now a little panicked.

What if Mihashi was right…?

No sense in giving up yet. Hanai ran to the other side of the house. “ABE?” Hanai rose his beckoning voice just a tad.

“In the kitchen!” A tired voice replied.

As it turns out, Abe had woken up and had an awfully dry throat. So, the catcher went to the kitchen for a glass of water. He was completely oblivious to the events happening on the other side of the house.

The captain skidded his rushing feet to a stop, clutching the doorframe of the kitchen and panting. “ABE! YougottagetbacktotheroomMihashiis-“

“Woah woah, Hanai.” Abe set his glass down and lifted both hands, as to steady the boy before him, “Slow down. What’s going on, man?” Abe took hold of his shoulder.

“Abe you- you gotta get back to the room.” Hanai said between desperate breaths, “Tajima’s with Mihashi, and I-I don’t know how much more h-he can take with the poor kid. M-Mihashi’s freaking out. He had a really b-bad dream and he… he thinks you quit. A-And he thinks it’s his fault.”

“Damnit… this one again.” He muttered, “Alright Hanai, lead the way.” Abe followed anxiously behind his co-captain, terrified for what he would be met with.

As the two boys got closer to the room once again, they could hear that Mihashi’s anguished cries were yet to stop. Abe felt his heart snap in two and quickened his pace, all the more desperate to reach his partner.

Tajima’s desperate attempts to calm the pitcher down had only been an outlet for the boy, to dump his insecurities.

“T-Tajima, ‘msorry.” Mihashi said as he hiccuped, still sobbing furiously.

“You don’t have to be sorry, I’m right here, Mihashi. I’ll never leave you.” The cleanup hitter took a shaky breath.

‘Come on Hanai… please. This hurts so bad.”

The two arrived at the room and Abe immediately called out to his friend. “Mihashi? Hey, I’m here, I’m right here, man. You know that you can’t get rid of me that easily.” The catcher smiled and kneeled at his pitcher’s side and placed the gentlest of touches on his shoulder, as if the poor boy was made of porcelain.

“I just had to get some water. But don’t worry, I’m not leaving your side anymore.”

Mihashi’s eyes widened and he began to hiccup. Although he was relieved to see his best friend, he wasn’t clear as to whether or not he had escaped his dream yet. “A-Abe? it’s… I-is it r-r-really you? Y-you didn’t quit?”

“No, Mihashi I’m still on the team. I would never leave you, you’re my best friend.” The catcher replied with a sympathetic smile.

Mihashi’s grip on Tajima had reduced to none, and he fell forward onto his partner, who wrapped the pitcher securely in his arms.

“I’m right here, Ren.” Abe said softly, resting his head on Mihashi’s shoulder. “I’m right here. Shh Shh Shh. It’s okay. I’m right here”

Shortly after, Abe sat criss-crossed on the floor with Mihashi in his lap, rocking ever so slightly back and forth. The boy was slowly calming down, but still crying quite loudly. Except this time, he was so relieved that he hadn’t driven Abe away that he couldn’t hold back.

The catcher held onto his pitcher in the same way Tajima did, a hand on the back of his head, and one on his lower back.

Except for Abe, the position of Mihashi’s head was different. The blonde’s head was resting gently against Abe’s chest, so he could listen to his heartbeat.

He felt that since it had always helped him calm down when he was little, that maybe it would work for Mihashi.

Meanwhile, after Mihashi had released Tajima and latched onto Abe, the cleanup hitter retreated back to his futon and tried laying down. However, he couldn’t stop his body shuddering from the aftershock.

Hanai had made his way over to Tajima’s futon to check on him. “Hey man, how’re you holdi- Tajima? You okay, man?”

“Hanai…” Tajima said softly, “Please don’t make me do that again…”

“Tajima…?”

“Hanai, please.” he choked on his words as a whimper ripped out of his throat.

The captain knelt down next to Tajima and placed a gentle hand on the boy’s shoulder, “hey, hey, hey. Are you alright? What do you mean?”

“I-It was too much, Hanai. I-I don’t know how much longer I would’ve lasted having t-to listen to him cry like that. It was… it was… it was awful. My god, m-my chest hurt so badly, I-I thought my heart actually b-broke.”

“Tajima…”

“No, Hanai you-you don’t get it. A-after you left he just w-wouldn’t stop. To think th-that he really thinks that about h-himself…”

Hanai suddenly pulled the cleanup hitter into a gentle hug, the boy’s eyes widening in shock as he did so.

“You did well, Tajima.” Hanai whispered, squeezing the boy gently, “Thank you… thank you so much.”

Tajima squeezed his eyes shut as tears began to gently fall out of them, ‘thank god it’s all over.’

Hanai whispered sweet praises into Tajima’s ear as the boy whimpered and trembled in the captain’s firm grip.

Their teammates watched as the captains tried to calm down their sunshine boys, every one of them visibly exhausted.

Nights like these were always a test for the Nishiura boys. Their road of trials to make Mihashi feel safe, secure and welcome only seemed to get worse as soon as they had a milestone. The team felt nothing but pure anger towards Mihoshi for inducing so much trauma into their teammate.

Well, it wouldn’t come easily.

And it wouldn’t come overnight.

But those boys would be damned if they would give up on their pitcher like that.

Three spaced out and heavy knocks broke everyone’s concentration.

“Hanai…? Do you want to explain why the hell I heard you yelling Abe’s name earlier? Do you know what time it-oh…” Coach Momoe’s lethargic voice immediately dropped as she took in the sight in front of her:

All of her boys, exhausted and visibly distressed.

Her two captains desperately trying to comfort her two, normally happy, players.

And her two happy boys, weeping in the arms of their partners.

“Do you want me to stay in here with you all?” She asked, quietly squatting by Abe’s side.

“I think we’re okay coach, thank you.” The catcher replied with a gentle grin, “But can you get me a glass of water for Mihashi? He’s had a rough night.”

“And one for Tajima too please?” Hanai’s gentle voice sounded from where he was rubbing the cleanup hitter’s back gently.

Coach Momoe smiled, “Of course, boys. Thank you.”

After some time, their coach returned with two large cups of water and great news:

No practice tomorrow, only board games and relaxation.

—————♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎—————

[cloudycrystalkpop]

Cutting Edge

pairing: trickster! Hongjoong x surviver! reader

summery: dead by daylight au

words: 1.2k 

warnings: gender neutral reader (but one masculine word is used for them bc most of Korean uses gendered language ), violence, gore, murder

notes: I wanted to use actual Korean in this since Ji Woon (Trickster) does in the game, buuuut my knowledge is limited and trying to write anything gender neutral in Korean is very difficult if you are a beginner to the language. 

*동생 [dongseng] : literally translated to “younger sibling”. something you would call a friend younger than you. 

** 미친놈 [mi-chin-nom] : profanity. literally translated to “crazy bastard”. 

you covered your head as the generator groaned and sputtered. cursing under your breath you quickly regained your work until the broken-down generator hummed to life. you grinned triumphantly, before you felt a sinking feeling in your gut. 

racing to your feet to went to dash away, but cried out in pain as a dagger embedded itself in your shoulder. 

a horrifying giggle was heard, far too close for your own comfort. you dashed off as fast as you could, the sound of footsteps followed close behind you. 

the manic laughter never stopped, neither did the knives. one, two, three, four, you dodged them as best you could. two found their mark, embedding themselves in your back. 

you let out a scream of pain as a large bat struck your shoulder, knocking you to the ground. 

the world fuzzed around you as your head filled with the cutting pain. dizzy you crawled away as best you could, knowing what awaited you. the man stepped on your back, shoving one of the knives deeper into your muscle as you screamed. 

his giggling only turned too full, cruel laughter. you shoved with all your strength, catching the man above you off guard. you rolled to your side and hiked to your feet, shoving your attacker hard enough to stumble. 

scooping up an abandoned dagger on the ground, one now covered in your own blood, you turned on him, rage in your eyes and pouring in red ribbons down your back. 

“FUCK YOU!” you screamed, stabbing the knife in his bare chest. 

he yelled in pain and shock, but grabbed your wrist, still holding the knife embedded in his chest. he dragged you closer against him, madness in his eyes. 

“you’ve still got fight in you huh? good. I’ll make a murder of you yet.” the words danced on his tongue with a foreign pull. 

recall buzzed across you mind. Kim Hongjoong, ex Korean idol turned serial killer. after the tragic death of his group he began torturing and murdering people, recording them and using it his producing. you'd heard his music, he was talented. what a shame it was waisted on a psychopath. 

wait, make a, murder out of you? 

you hesitated too long.

the bat came crashing down on your skull. your world pulled black as it felt as though your head split open like an earthquake. 

when you returned to your senses you found yourself slung over his shoulder, humming happily to himself. you tried to struggle but your body was too broken. 

he giggled, tapping your ass with the side of his bat. 

“hush now my 동생*, i’ll see you again later~” your head spun as he hoisted you above his head, a hook piercing through your shoulder, holding you there by your shoulder and collarbone. 

you screamed in agony, swinging at his head with your arms and legs in a desperate attempt for revenge. he just grinned, your blood painting his shoulder, mixed with his own skidded over his chest. he giggled waving you goodbye as your world slowly turned black. 

~

when you saw him again, was in a yellow field. dead grass and abandoned farming equipment scattered around. crows cried above you, the trees hung with slaughtered pigs. 

you'd watched two other survivors hung from the hooks. one generator left, and by the sounds of the screaming, your killer was distracted. 

the generator sputtered, blowing smoke in your face. your fingers were raw and scared, lungs burning from the gas. 

the screaming stopped. you were the last one left. footsteps, run. 

run, run, run. you bolted away, generator be damned. you still had hope, if you were the last one, the hatch would be open, allowing you escape into the inky black mist. 

your lungs burned as you bolted towards the tree, corpses hung like Christmas lights from the branches, dead grass stained deep red below. you could see it, the wooden hatch waiting black mist pouring from the corners. 

a yellow coat dashed from your vision. Hongjoong, grin wide as ever, kicked the door closed. laughter loud as he watched the hope fade from your eyes. 

“my favorite 동생* is back!” he sung happily. you darted out of the way of a plethora of knives. 

you'd had enough.

a small scythe rested against a rock, rusted, the wooden handle splintered. rage burned in your blood. you wouldn't die today, not again. never again.

you ducked down, scooping one of his knives and placing it in your boot. with that, you too the broken scythe in your hands, blood dripping down your hands from the splinters. 

Hongjoong raised a brow as you let out a yell, sprinting towards him. his laugh died in his throat as you hooked the half moon blade around his shoulder, pulling as hard as you could. the rusted blade tore through his yellow coat, causing a yell to fall from his lips as it yanked through him not long after. 

“미친놈**!” he swung his bat at your head, but you caught his arm. 

“try again, fucker.” you spat, cracking the side of the scythe against his wrist. he yelps, dropping his bat. you reached to try and hook your blade around his throat, but he steps away, burying a blade in your stomach. you gasp at the stabbing pain, gritting your teeth. he twists it in your gut, before kicking your knees. 

you fall to the dirt, and Hongjoong kicks the scythe out of your hands. he laughs manically as he retrieves his bat, raising it over his head. 

“you impress me!” he spat, his own blood now dotting the ground. “maybe you’ll be more successful next time~” he cooed. 

before his bat could come down on your head, you pulled the blade from your sock, darting up as the bat came down, the blade on the side burins itself in your shoulder, and the blade in your hand buried in his neck. 

Hongjoong sputters, shock in his eyes. you grit your teeth, and drag the dagger across his throat, watching the horror in his eyes as you cut him open. the crimson river pours down his bare chest as he tries to gasp, but only a horrible wheezing sound occurs. 

“a real shame you waisted that lovely voice.” you growled. he falls to his knees, the bat in your shoulder falling away as you hissed. 

Hongjoong stares up at you as the life slowly drains from his face. he continues to make wheezing noises, wether attempts at speech or screaming you didn’t know. but finally as the color disappears from his skin, a large grin paints his face. 

“you fucking psychopath.” you growl down at the corpse. 

the sound of a loud and low hum begins, the ground cracking in colors of red and orange. blank mist begins to gather at your ankles.

today you win. you didn’t run away. you didn’t make it out. today, you won. but, at what cost?

~

when you awoke, you were on a street. abandoned cop cars, suburban houses, and hooks instead of light polls.  you felt something heavy in your hand, looking down, you found the scythe. now polished and gleaming in the moonlight. 

you heard as a generator hummed to life, watching as four survivors scattered, running away in fear of the killer sent to hunt them.

[turntechgoddesshead]

Promise

Hey guys! Remember me? I was the rando that said i was gonna write Sally Face fanfic, wrote one headcanons post and yeeted off the internet for a couple days. Well, i’m back and I did indeed write a thing. This is the beginning of a series, if ya’ll like it that is. I don’t know if this will end up as Larry x Reader or Sal x Reader but hell, i guess we’ll see. Anyways, here ya go!

Also feel free to hit me up for Headcanons, they’re fun warm ups. 

Words: 1624

TW: Mention of animal death, Parents leaving, and Juvy.

Y/n Is a girl and uses she/her pronouns, has freckles and glasses. Sorry haha, i have a hard time not writing in those features bc this did indeed start off as a shameless self insert. Y/N also has two dads bc happy pride month. 

~~~~~~

A tiny cry echoed through the hallways of the labor ward, as a new life had blossomed just merely a few moments ago. Her fathers welcomed her into their lives with open arms and tears shedding from their eyes, as they drank in ever tiny inch of her brand-new body. She was absolutely perfect to them, and everything that they had worked so hard for. Her tiny hand gripped tightly onto the finger of the man who held her, her small green eyes cried tears of confusion as the second man beside her smiled and placed a gentle hand onto the top of her tiny head of H/C hair.

               “She’s so beautiful,” The first man spoke to the other, failing to contain his tears. The nurses watched in silent anticipation as the two finally introduced themselves to the newest member of their family. The woman who sat in the bed, smiled happily watching the two interact with the baby which she had carried inside her for nine months. She was finally meeting the family she forever deserved to be apart of, and the family which she had so graciously chosen to give her baby up to. After passing the baby girl off to the nurses, the two men embraced the woman into a teary hug, thanking her for all of her kindness.

               “Thank you so much, for our little Y/N Moore.”

               Days turned into weeks, which casually turned into months, leading to the sudden and unexpected change that occurs within the years of growing up. Five years into her young life, little Y/N and her fathers moved into their own little slice of heaven, room 402 of the Addison apartments in Nockfell.  They happily lived along with the other residents, making friends with the Johnson family which resided in the basement below. Larry Johnson was the only child of his parents, Lisa and Jim, who was just excited to have another child his age in the complex. The two children eventually became inseparable, always in one room or the other inevitably getting into whatever trouble children at the age of five or six get into. Y/N eventually grew into a worrisome little girl, always anxious over whether or not the duo would get away with their latest antics while Larry easily concocted them in that little brain of his. Three years Into the Moore’s and Johnsons friendship Young Y/N and Larry played outside excitedly with a handful of firecrackers which Mrs. Lisa had brought home. Y/N expressed to the young boy how anxious she was about playing with something which her fathers would inevitably be angry about, but eventually calmed down and began to play after her best friend convinced her it would be alright.

               “Larry, be sure to aim it away from the building!” She told him in between her high-pitched giggles. Snow outside fell from the sky and landed delicately into her hair, just to melt moments after.

               “I don’t think you can aim them He-" Before the boy could finish his sentence, the firecracker went off, flying towards the building and into an open window, before exploding into a flurry of pops and whistles. The sudden silence after the firecracker ceased lasted for only a moment as a sudden screech emitted from Mrs. Gibson, the old woman who resided within the apartment. All color drained from the freckled face of the little girl as she gazed up at the window in horror, listening to the screams of terror and anger that omitted from just a few floors above her.

               “L-Larry,” Larry had cut Y/N off before she could even form words. He gripped her wrist tightly, pulling her out of the sight of the window. Hurriedly he tugged her along to the side of the building so neither of them could be seen, glancing around the corner once for caution, before turning his attention to his friend. Y/N’s face had grown ghost-like as fat tears began to form in her eyes and roll down the center of her cheek.

               “Larry, did we hurt her?” She cried, putting her face into her hands. Her sobs turned into hiccups as she constantly attempted to wipe the water off her face. The pressure of her best friends hands gripping tightly onto her shoulders, suddenly pulled her out of her panicked state. She looked up at Larry who seemed as cool as possible, his eyes were sharp as he looked down at her with determination.

               “No Y/N, we didn’t,” He told her, nodding his head, “You were up in the treehouse by yourself, I asked you to play, and you were angry at me remember?”

               Y/N’s breath hitched in her throat as she realized the weight of the situation, “No, Larry, I can’t leave you by yourself!”

               Larry shook his head.

               “Go sit in the treehouse, and count to a thousand. Once you do, climb down, and go straight home. When your dad asks you what you did, you say you played in the treehouse by yourself,” He ordered her, as though he hadn’t been coming up with this plan on the spot.

               “It’s not going to work!” Y/N continued to sob.

               “Yes, it is! Tell them you were mad because I nocked your glasses off with a snowball! But you didn’t play with me today, promise me you’ll do what I say!” Larry shook her shoulders slightly in desperation, before the girl eventually nodded to him.

               “Good,” Larry sighed, releasing the grip he had on her shoulders. He watched as his best friend turned on her heal and began to run towards the tree house.

               Y/N didn’t hear from Larry for two weeks after that. Her parents kept her at arm’s reach for what felt like an eternity, as she constantly wondered what her friend was up to. Every day she would ask permission to make her way down to the basement to see her friend, and every day she was denied. Weeks turned into months, as her parents protective grip seemed to loosen ever so slightly, reluctantly allowing her to wander the complex on her own after a plethora of begging on the young girls part.  She sauntered through the hallway, her eyes glued to the stained hardwood floor as she walked mindlessly, wondering about her friend who she knew was just five floors below. It wasn’t until the little girl had bumped mindlessly into another person that she was snatched from her anxiety inducing thoughts.

               “Oh, I’m sorry,” She spoke meekly, fixing the round glasses that sat delicately on her nose. Upon looking up, Y/N immediately recognized the woman with long brunette hair and much more empty than usual eyes.

               “Mrs. Lisa!” Y/N replied, her emotions suddenly too much for her small body to handle, “Is Larry here?”

               Lisa looked down at little Y/N almost painfully, her eyes bore dark circles under them, and she held the mop in her hand tightly, “Larry is down in the basement right now Y/N,” She replied calmly.

               Sheepishly, Y/N let out a small, “Oh,” and stared down at her feet as she rocked back and forth anxiously.

               Lisa smiled just a little bit at the little girl and pulled a small card out of the back of her pocket, “Tell you what though, why don’t you just go visit him now?”

               Excitedly, Y/N snatched the card from Lisa’s hand and hugged her with all her strength, excited at the opportunity to see her best friend once again, “Thank you Mrs. Lisa! You’re the best!”

               In a hurry she quickly ran towards the elevator and stuck the keycard in, which allowed her access to the basement. It took her only a moment to get to the apartment that was underground, but when she did, she eagerly ran to the door. Not even bothering to nock, the little girl opened the door and ran straight for the room where she knew Larry was. She opened the door to his room, noticing him laying on his bed with his hands behind his head and bulky headphones covering his ears as his foot tapped ever so lightly.

               “Larry!” She cried excitedly, jumping on top of the poor unexpecting boy, “I’ve missed you so much!”

               Larry scrambled to take his headphones off and toss his Walkman to the side, “Y/N?! Where have you been?”

               “Where have you been?!” She replied to his question, crushing him in the largest hug all while attempting to hold back her cries.

               Larry grew silent, looking down at his hands before looking at Y/N in embarrassment, “The firecracker killed Mrs. Gibsons pet rabbit.”

               Y/N let out a gasp and covered her mouth.

               “And they sent me to Juvie for a couple weeks.”

               “No!” Y/N cried, grabbing his hand in instinct.

               “Y/N I-“ Larry paused, looking at her before sighing, “I think it drove my dad away.”

               Y/N cocked her head in confusion and tightened the grip on Larry’s hand, “What do you mean?”

               “My dad left a couple days after they sent me away,” He confessed, his face burning red in shame. He looked away from his friend and steadied his breathing, as though trying to contain his own emotions, “I thought I drove you away too.”

               Y/N’s heart jumped to her throat as she defensively rose to her feet, “Larry, you couldn’t ever drive me away! Daddy and Papa have been acting so weird and protective, and now I guess I know why… but it wasn’t my choice I promise.”

               Tears fell down her face, but she quickly wiped them from her face and continued to talk, “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you, but from now on, we do everything together!”

               Larry smiled at her, pulling her into a hug.

               “You promise?”

               “Pinky.”

[vancilocs]

Im gonna throw some words and see what inspires you, no need to complete all, i know i dont have anything worth publishing for hands but i got a grand idea for sunrise. Beloved, mercy, mightnight? (Again no need to write all)

midnight is smth i wrote a little while ago that i figured i would never publish bc i think it's Bad but oh well (does it fit the prompt perfectly? nah not really but night is an element)

Beloved

The night was harsh and the wind bitter cold. The woman bundled her delicate quarry tighter into the furs, protecting him from the elements, as she made her slow but meticulous way forward with her companion. The taller man held aloft a persistent torch that battled against the wind, bringing some clarity to the path ahead. Not too long after two others joined, coming to greet the travelers from the other direction.

A few pleasantries were shared, quick and hushed. The mission was dire, and delicate. The taller man followed as the two newcomers lead the woman further, to the door of a solitary, silent hut. The man and the locals stayed outside as the woman quietly cracked the door open and stepped in.

The house was cold and dark, but in there was safety from the whistling wind. The woman brought up light with her own magic and the small bundle in her arms stirred, making some small noises. She shushed the baby and sat down to a vacant chair in front of the cold fireplace.

Now she would wait. She calmed her fussy package, the small boy in her arms soon settling down and closing his eyes for another, well-deserved nap.

Time passed. The woman knew these things were not to be hurried. She only wished she had been right.

The wind outside calmed a little and stopped whistling in the crooks of the chimney and at the door hinges. The atmosphere in the dim light became cozy, welcoming - warm, almost, but not in the sense of actual temperature. Mahran had known what to expect, when she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder.

She looked up and was greeted by the translucent, spectral face of a young woman. "Hello", she said, her voice thin and echoing, but still clear.

"Nesia, was it", said Mahran and the shade nodded. "I am- I was Qharil's wife."

The shade turned her head down in shame and regret. "I never knew", she then said and Mahran nodded.

"I blame you for nothing that happened. It's I who grieves for you", she said. "There are no words for me to express my sorrow for what he did to you."

Nesia nodded, grief still evident on her face - and the vicious wounds evident on her body. The attack had been swift and cruel. "But the most important is safe?" she then said, lifting her eyes to the bundle in Mahran's arms. Mahran gently revealed a bit more of the baby boy she had brought to see his mother.

"He's safe. And perfectly healthy. A beautiful child", she said and Nesia smiled, reaching out a spectral hand to touch the face of her beloved, the one she was ripped away from all too soon. Kaede yawned, eliciting a delighted gasp from Nesia, reaching out his little hands to swish past her outstretched fingers.

"You will keep him safe? You will raise him?" Nesia asked, voice strained, tears already glimmering in the corners of her eyes. Mahran nodded gravely.

"As if he was my own", she promised. Nesia simply nodded, choking back her tears, hand shaking ever so slightly as she reached out for Kaede's small hands. She mumbled something in a language Mahran didn't understand outright, but as a mother, she could guess the meaning.

"Thank you", Nesia whispered.

"And I'm sorry", said Mahran.

"You will tell him of me?"

"Everything he wishes to know."

Nesia nodded a final time and retreated, as Mahran bundled Kaede back into the warmth and comfort, him soon nodding back off into sleep in Mahran's arms. Nesia blew him a kiss, waved, with tearful smiles.

Mahran stood up and made her way to the door, when the lingering shade spoke once more. "Promise me something?" she asked.

Mahran turned, waiting for the request.

"Get that son of a bitch."

Mahran chuckled. "Count on it."

----------------------

Mercy

An eery disquiet held a grip of the barracks as he walked in through the gates. He paid no mind to the gate guards as they let him pass without question, said no word, made no eye contact. He had always disliked the barracks and the nameless, faceless men clad in black and white, ever since he was a child. He would rather not spend any more time in there than was necessary.

Some of the knights stared, some were too involved in their own hushed conversations to pay mind to the man walking past, making brisk headway to his destination, the largest building within the walls of the compound. A knight by the door said nothing as he approached, merely bowed his head and opened the door for him.

The air inside was quite nothing like he had experienced before. He had seen death, yes, but in the confines of his own home, not within a dimly lit stone hall, not where death had took its rawest form, placed on the table right in front of him in the middle of the room.

He hesitated for a moment, for two. He stood in front of the shut door, fists clenched - out of anxiety, maybe. Or out of lingering resentment. He had not seen his brother in months, and the last time they spoke was... not on friendly terms.

It was odd.

Numair had grown to know Mahir as a large, intimidating, harsh individual whose physical presence took hold of a room and gripped the minds of men who were compelled to listen when the man, eldest of the three sons, spoke. He was a man who criminals ducked out of the way from, who stood out on the battlefield not only by his crimson sash, but also by his height and sheer stature.

But here, laid down on the table, still in his blood-soaked vestments, he seemed... almost small. Worn. Thinned out. Numair took a tentative step forward, looking down at his eldest brother's face. Even death had not brought him peace - his expression was that of lingering horror, eyes ever so slightly open and staring dead into the ceiling. The blood was the worst part. The deep, deep crimson pouring from his mouth onto his chin and down his throat only exaggerated his sallow skin and painted a macabre picture of his last moments.

Had it been painful? It must have. It must have been terrifying.

And had he always looked so thin, or had death already begun its work? His cheekbones jutted out compared to his sunken cheeks, dark shadows laid under his eyes and deep wrinkles framed his brow. Numair didn't even remember. Mahir had always had a stern look, and his dark eyes - inherited from their mother, just like Numair had - never held the warmth they should.

Silently Numair reached his hand out and swept a couple of curls off Mahir's forehead. His skin was cold to the touch and Numair almost pulled his hand away, but resisted.

This had been his brother, once. Numair didn't know where the change had happened. During their youth, when they drifted apart? During the years of relentless arguing over who should pick up the sword and who not? Or had it just happened, when the commander, the eldest son, was finally cut down?

He hadn't noticed the tears coming in. This was a hollow husk of the man he had once loved and admired as his brother and protector. This was the lingering ghost of a man who once knew love yet sunk into the bottomless depths of revenge and all-consuming grief, who responded to death with rage and more death, who made it his life to pay back the endless pain he endured not just for him, but for his mother, for his brothers, for his sisters.

It was no way to live.

Perhaps this, in its own, macabre way, was mercy.

"You can rest now, brother", Numair whispered, bent down and placed a soft kiss goodbye on Mahir's cold forehead. Then he wiped his tears, turned his back and left the room.

---------------------------------

Midnight

The ocean was still. Night had taken over the coast, laid to rest all the little critters and birds who made no sound on the moonlit shore, giving in to the atmosphere of quiet solace and calm. No nearby people, no sound of city hustle and bustle, just a solitary hut with the smoke of the final embers of the morning quietly dying down. In the silence of the hut, one man sat awake, next to the peacefully sleeping form of another.

He had awoken suddenly, twisting himself free from a memory that was still too fresh, too harsh – time had not yet smoothened out its edges, not laid down a fog cloud of forgetting on its raw form that burned when touched. Claws, digging into skin, twisting bone and chilling its depths, teeth rending bare, unprotected flesh, a face so familiar but yet not at all, burned and gnarled and… wrong. The memory still held a grip, of his mind and his heart, which now beat harshly in the still silence of the hut, so loud one could almost hear it.

Slowly, almost afraid Goose turned his eyes to the man quietly laying besides him. Elk was asleep – in the depths of something blissful and calm, his breathing deep, his heartbeat steady. The sight of him both calmed and frightened Goose, because despite his love, his deep knowledge of the man, the stain of the demon who took his form to attack him still crept at the edges of his vision and threatened to cloud his mind altogether.

He wouldn’t, Goose told himself, over and over again; he wouldn’t, it wasn’t him. It had never been him. Elk had told him, his body wasn’t his own, his own memory had faded away from the way of the demon. It wasn’t that Goose didn’t believe him. But what Elk didn’t remember, Goose did, and those memories stuck to him tight in the hours where no other thought was there to push the doubts away.

Almost tentatively he reached out his hand and gently as ever stroked Elk’s cheek – unharmed, untwisted, warm and familiar as it had always been. Elk drew in a sigh, stirring but for a moment in response to the unexpected touch, a shadow of a smile creeping up to the corner of his mouth. But he did not wake yet, he remained asleep, peaceful as ever. Goose smiled as well for a moment, remaining still to ensure the man didn’t wake further. And, confident he didn’t, he as quietly as possible clambered out of their shared bed, careful as to not stumble over Elk’s legs. The previously so comfortable and welcoming warmth of the hut had become oppressing, the shadows in the corners almost feeling as if they had crept closer in the night than they had before – silently, Goose unlatched the door, creaked it open and snuck outside, pressing the door shut behind him.

Once outside, he drew in a deep, long breath, closing his eyes and taking in the sea breeze. The faint smell of salt felt purifying, almost. It smelled like home. It was where he had grown up, where life had offered him its most, given all to him – given him too much, sometimes, more than he could understand, more than he could do with. The small stones underneath his feet clicked and clacked as he walked barefoot towards the shore, until he found a suitably big rock and sat himself on it, facing the ocean and its ever-lapping waves. Somewhere in the horizon he saw birds against the clouds illuminated by the moon, too far for him to recognize. He had always been jealous of birds – what an existence, to just fly with nary a worry about tomorrow. But despite his sometimes less-than-affectionate nickname, he was merely a man, left to earth with his worries, mistakes and the regrets that followed.

Stupid fucking conch. Stupid fucking Goose. Of course they don’t talk to people. Only an idiot would think a conch would actually talk. All it was was just bait for someone as stupid as him to latch on to and for others to get in trouble for. It had always been like that – Goose gets in trouble, does something stupid, and the rest around him have to make excuses and take the blame: give him a rest, he doesn’t get it, you can’t expect Goose to get it. And it was up to the others to pick up the pieces. It was up to the others to put themselves in harm’s way.

To sell themselves to demons.

A demon Goose called in by being stupid, and now had to be protected from.

He didn’t know if his tears were of anger or regret, quite possibly both – he wiped them down to the much-too-long sleeves of his husband’s shirt. He stirred from his thoughts for just a moment to hear the gentle footsteps on the rocks behind him.

“What’s wrong?” Elk asked as he sat on the rock besides Goose and noticed the tears on his cheeks. He raised his hand instinctively to wipe them away but Goose turned his head away, and with a mix of confusion and worry, Elk put his hand down.

“Bad dream”, Goose mumbled and sniffled.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Elk asked, and Goose shook his head slightly. Elk knew if the man didn’t want to talk, he wouldn’t – but knowing him, being silent was either short-lived, or a reason for worry. Elk was content sitting quietly for a time, staring at the ocean alongside his man, pondering what the next thing he would say was. The silence did not end up being long.

“It had your face”, Goose mumbled.

“Was that the dream you had?” asked Elk, and Goose nodded silently, not looking towards his husband. Elk was quiet for a moment, hesitating – “It was just a dream”, he then said.

“It was real to me”, Goose said, still staring at the waves. Elk didn’t argue – Goose had refused to talk much about that day, and even if they had returned to life together under one roof there were hitches in the man’s behavior that had not been there before. Elk had seen hesitation in his eyes, seen him ever so slightly duck out from under his touch.

“I know. I’m sorry”, he sighed. Goose didn’t say anything, just sat there, swinging his legs slightly. The silence had an uncomfortable tinge to it, an awkward flavor that permeated the night, but which both of the men hesitated to disturb.

After a period of silence filled only with the waves lapping at the rocky beach, Goose turned his eyes at Elk once more.

“Why’d you do it?” he said.

“Did what?”

“You gave yourself to a demon. It was my shell. My mistake. It should have been me that the bastard took,” the man answered, voice wavering.

“I felt-“ Elk started, then spending a moment to choose his words. “I felt it was my duty. As a paladin. And I mistakenly thought I could… do something about it.”

“Do what? Kill it?”

“For example.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Elk sat quiet for a second, averting his eyes – Goose could feel the regrets the man had, and felt that he had pondered that same question himself.

“I tried to get through to you before. At this point I… I didn’t know how you’d react. I didn’t know how strong of a hold it already had in you, for it to start communing with me, as well”, he finally answered, meeting Goose’s gaze again. “I was scared for you. I was scared that if I told you, the fiend would make you outrun me – do something I couldn’t predict or prevent.”

Goose sat silent until Elk spoke again. “I’m sorry”, he sighed. “But I couldn’t lose you.”

“I could have lost you!” Goose exclaimed and Elk turned his eyes away in shame. “Weeks, Vragi, weeks – what was your plan? What did it want? You would disap- you’d disappear, I would… what was I to do? No matter the demon in my ear, but you? What would I have done without you?” said she smaller man, fighting back the tears that now tried to once again force their way out.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t-“ Elk began, pausing for a moment to pick the words.

“You don’t have to fix my wrongs! You don’t have to throw yourself into danger for me, because I’m too stupid to understand it myself! You don’t need to-“ Goose started before Elk could continue, when the man turned back to him and placed a firm but gentle hand on both of Goose’s cheeks.

“I did it because I love you!” he said, firmly, eyes nailed on Goose’s eyes, the man looking back in tearful bewilderment. “And I was terrified of losing you. Love and fear, they make men do the stupidest things, but I need you to know that everything I do is… I love you, Fégla”, Elk continued with a softer tone, hands still holding Goose’s head in place.

Goose looked back, sniffled, and Elk took a deep breath.

“I don’t have an excuse or explanation that would make sense now. I cannot justify leaving you with no word. I’m sorry, my love – I cannot take it all back. I wish I could”, he sighed. Goose, turning his eyes away from his husband choked back a sob, pulling in a long, wavering breath he then let out slowly, calming himself, collecting himself.

“I wish so too”, he said and Elk sighed deep, lowering his hands to his lap and pressing his forehead to Goose’s. He delicately, almost tentatively took Elk’s hands in his.

“I’m sorry”, he mumbled.

“I can’t imagine-”, Goose said back, but wavering. “If I lost you-”.

“I’m sorry”, was all Elk could repeat.

“I love you.”

They sat together for a moment, foreheads together, Goose holding Elk’s hand in both of his, listening to each other breathe in the rhythm of the gentle waves of the moonlit ocean lapping at the rocky beach. The first squawk of a distant seagull stirred Goose from his thoughts and he looked at the horizon where the soft, pale tones of reds and oranges breached into the purple and blue hues of the night sky, blending into a promise of warmth and life for the new dawn.

Elk took both of the Goose’s hands in his, for a change, giving them a gentle, reassuring squeeze before letting go. “Whatever happens”, he said. “I will be there for you every step of the way.”

And Goose smiled, wiped off the last remaining tears from his eyes and leaned in to give his husband a gentle kiss – a kiss of promise, and mistakes forgiven.

“Let’s go to bed.”

[armatization-a]

( absolutely anonymous )

❰❰ HAIR ❱❱ for cashe/par bc they both have the most impractical fringes ever asgfkskjsgf

[ self indulgent meme ; accepting ]

Things are different since the war has ended.

It's been a few years. The scars have begun to fade, though they're still angry, red marks against Fódlan. Some areas have taken a harder hit than others. One such place that needed rebuilding is Gaspard: upon hearing the news, Ashe knew he had to cut his travels with Caspar short. He expected them to split at Fódlan's Throat, but they didn't.

"If they need help, then I'm coming too," Caspar said, and that was the end of that.

Things have begun to settle in the territory. Caspar knows some things about leading a territory, but his father's iron fisted way of dealing with things do not mesh well with Ashe's kinder touch. He's a pushover, and there was always the concern that Ashe would get ground into the dirt by surrounding territory, but that never happened. No one ever accounted for his stubborn streak, because no one knew him as well as they thought they did.

Ashe doesn't mind. In a sense, it's nice to know that people expect nothing of him. It's a little hurtful to know that people think they can walk all over him. He can't do much about that.

It's a cool spring evening in Gaspard. Ashe sits in the family area of the castle, but there isn't much family to speak of. His sister, the source of most of the noise, has gone to Garreg Mach. His brother has shut himself in his room for magical research; Ashe may have to look into sending him to Fhirdiad, soon.

It's quiet. Perhaps it's always been quiet, but he never noticed as a boy. There isn't enough money for a large amount of staff, so there is no constant bustle. He pulls his legs up on the couch and curls them at his side. No one can tell him not to put his feet up in his own house: a realisation that leaves him giddy. In life, one must cling to the simple things.

"Oh man, that bath was amazing."

Peace was never going to last.

Ashe chuckles. "I told you."

He allowed Caspar the use of his bath: it was bound to be nicer than the baths the rest of the knights and guards use. Ashe feels guilty using it all for himself, so why not?

He knows there are rumours about his and Caspar's relationship. Ashe is all too aware of what crass things he's accused of doing with him, the reasons why Caspar is the favourite. He's never confirmed or denied it to any of his staff, but there is nothing going on. Really, there isn't, as much as he wished for it.

He read in a book, long ago, asking if love can bloom on the battlefield. At the time, Ashe didn't understand: he was about twelve when he read it. The book was about a mercenary begrudgingly keeping a mage safe, and it was the latter that posed the question. Ashe thought it was silly at the time. How could anyone fall in love during such horrors? It didn't make sense at the time.

These days, Ashe is starting to understand.

It wasn't a bloom, but instead planting seeds in blood-soaked soil. Those feelings didn't make themselves known until the war was over, sprouting in the healing land that they travelled across. If Ashe looked back, he might have seen a garden of his affection, ready to burst, but he won't. It's easier to ignore it and neglect it, but neglected plants always thrive. It's a shame Ashe ignores that fact, too.

To worsen the rumours, Ashe has told Caspar he's free to sit with him. Like a cat, he comes and goes as he pleases. Tonight, it seems, he's taken refuge with Ashe by the fire. He sits down, and Ashe eyes him curiously.

"I haven't seen your hair freshly washed in a while," he says. "I think Seres left behind some clips if your hair is getting in the way."

"Nah, it's fine. It isn't too bad," Caspar says, before blowing the hair from his face.

Ashe shakes his head, but he smiles. He closes his book, before reaching over and brushing blue from his face. "You're a mess, you know."

"Like you're any better. Your hair always looks like you walked through a bush," Caspar says.

It's true. It takes an obscene amount of product to keep Ashe's hair from looking scruffy. It's down now, having taken a bath an hour ago. He forgets how messy it gets these days, but then, they never see each other with their hair normal. Caspar's hair is softer than it has any business being. Ashe knows he should let go of his hair, but he keeps fussing with it. Fuelled by light hearted revenge, Caspar starts fussing with Ashe's hair.

His fingers are oddly gentle against his scalp: he has no nails to hurt Ashe with. He laughs, still trying to fight Caspar's silly fringe. They're laughing together now, with their hands in each other's hair. Ashe doesn't know when it became about messing their hair rather than fixing it, but he doesn't care. They're both a mess, but it's fun.

He doesn't know when this started, but he feels Caspar's hands under his jaw. His touch lights a fire under Ashe's skin, and usually, he'd pull away. The sting of Caspar's touch usually reminds him of what cannot and will never be. Today, Ashe doesn’t back down. Blue eyes meets green, like the tide finally pulling in after too long. There’s something behind Caspar’s eyes, crashing into his brain, but Ashe can’t tell what it is.

The more he looks into Caspar’s eyes, the more his own realisation sinks in. Being aware of his love for his closest friend is like remembering sunrises exist: they are always there, an inevitable part of the day, but it’s easy to forget about them.

Caspar is staring, frozen. Ashe is frozen with him. They’re twin statues, lost in each other’s eyes. It’s as if they’re playing a game with each other, but there are no rules, and no one is winning. Caspar is confused by the unwritten rules, and this once, Ashe is waiting to win. He is a doormat, a pushover, but he could do it. He could lean in and go for it. He could finally quell the need inside of him, and maybe Ashe could put his feelings to rest. He can’t. He wants Caspar to want this, too.

He needs Caspar to want this. But he can’t ask that of him. He goes to pull his hands away, but Caspar holds Ashe’s face tighter. He stops moving. He watches Caspar, but he hopes his silent pleas aren’t too obvious. He hopes Caspar does not notice how long he’s been waiting for this, waiting and hoping. Does he even register what’s going on? Ashe doubts it.

An eternity passes. Then another.

Then, clumsily, Ashe is yanked forward.

It isn’t the soft, romantic moment he dreamed of. Nothing about this is soft. It’s an awkward clank of teeth, rough lips, and eyes squeezed shut. Ashe’s are wide open. His heart is pounding, and his head is swimming. This is happening. This is real. How long had he been waiting for? He lets his eyes fall shut, but Caspar all but shoves him away.

“Sorry,” he gasps. “I dunno what came over me. I was looking at you, and I realised, I wanted to do that. I wanted to do that for a while, but I didn’t get it. And now I do, kinda, maybe. Shit, am I making this weird? I-”

“Do it again,” Ashe says.

“What?” Caspar asks.

“Kiss me again.”

He can’t believe he’s asking Caspar to kiss him. He can’t believe he’s asking him to kiss him again. Ashe is waiting for him to wake up, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t wake up when Caspar kisses him again. This is no dream.

All of those years of pining were worth something, after all.

[viktcrr-archive]

MAXENCE DANET FAUVEL / NONBINARY. — viktor samuels is really making a name for themselves as a tier 3 shepherd. i think that he/they are studying english + visual arts in their senior year at lockwood, living in peregrinis. originally from rochester, new york, viktor is known to be observant & ingenious, but can also be reticent & dependent. — james / 20 / est / she/they.

3/5 !!! once again ... little edits

TW DEATH, HEAVY GRIEF, OVERDOSE / DRUG ADDICTION, HOSPITALIZATION, HYPERSEXUALITY, RELIGION MENTIONS, MENTAL ILLNESS

a e s t h e t i c s

old tvs and their static, worn tapes, horror movie screams, spilled ink, a sculptor’s hands, clay-stained, chicken scratch handwriting, messy notes, messy hair, scoffs and eye-rolls, bruised knuckles, sore throats, funeral homes and a crying preacher, shattered ceramics, knife fights, high ledges, vertically-striped pants, red lights, the moon shrouded in clouds, cigarette butts.

general info !!

full name: viktor phillip samuels

nickname(s): icky vicky :/

b.o.d. - jan 2nd

label(s): the black hole, the crepehanger, the impious, the opaque, the tempest, etc.

height: 6′0″

hometown: rochester, new york

sexuality: uuuhhh god … probably pan tbh

pinterest

stats

biography !!

okay so … born and raised in rochester, new york to the well known samuels family. preacher father, a mother, a twin sister born 15 minutes before him - aka tatiana samuels, who died back in january.

kinda … grew up as a really awkward, quiet kid? like … just didn’t really interact with other kids super well, preferred being alone and like … digging up bugs in the dirt. only friend was like … his own sister.

grew out of this as they got older, instead sort of … becoming a bit of a dick? to compensate for years of awkwardness? will bite the hand that feeds him. was a full on nuisance by middle school. tatiana was not, at least, noticeably.

has always been a fan of darker materials, y’know - grim and creepy, morbid shit. big fan of tim burton ever since he was a kid, which isn’t … a good look for a preacher’s son, but he’s never really felt ~in~ with the rest of his family, anyway.

drew disturbing pictures as a kid probably tbh that prompted one or two or five phone calls home 2 assure everything was fine.

has always been really … good at art, in general - from drawing to painting to playing with clay, that’s always been viktor’s Thing.

aNyWaYs. being tatiana’s twin brother was kinda hard sometimes. tatiana and him were near opposites besides their same mean-spirited trait. she was better in the public than he was, but viktor was arguably more talented than tatiana. they both loved each other deeply and found each other as competition for their parents’ attention - a rivalry, of sorts.

high school is when viktor really started to act out - started extreme, like losing his virginity in their church and vandalism around the neighborhoods. faked being possessed in the middle of sunday service. almost had an exorcism performed on him, probably.

the only redeemable trait was like … his sheer talent with art. was in a 3d art AP course, specialized in sculpting - could pretty much create anything he wanted with enough dedication.

because his parents would be focused on disciplining him for his antics, tatiana could sneak away and get away with stuff easier. so like, y’know, that’s on the bright-side of things.

never been particularly motivated to do much - wasn’t planning on attending lockwood but his parents kinda … did and sent in his application for him b/c they were Not on board with him Wasting Away (wanted him out of the house asap)

actually pretty smart !! just doesn’t like … want to apply himself ever. double majoring in english and visual arts because they’re like … two of his only interests :/ plus he wants to write and illustrate his own series of children books with a style similar to tim burton’s

he’d been experimenting since high school but college is where he really started to like … crack down on himself and figure himself out. was out as pan & nonbinary by his sophomore year of college, just … not to his family, necessarily. thinks tatiana always knew, but didn’t … really use it against him, blessedly enough

always felt like the whole twin - connection thing was … both wack and also not-wack? sometimes it felt believable but sometimes he had no idea what was going on in tatiana’s head. but he felt oddly transparent to her, always - like he was predictable to no one but her.

( TW DEATH, GRIEF, OVERDOSE / HOSPITALIZATION BEYOND THIS POINT )

but when tatiana disappeared - it was like, like viktor knew. the moment she had been kidnapped - felt something deeply wrong in his gut. and when tatiana died - viktor felt something cut so severely in him. he knew, he always knew exactly when. he couldn’t put his finger on how - but he knew. even when everybody else held out hope for her to be found - he knew.

went on a bender around the same time, had always struggled w/ drug addiction but it got worse the longer tatiana went without being found.

( also struggled heavily with his mental health, too ?? has manic and depressive episodes. will fixate on a sculpting project for six months and then purposely knock it off the table and destroy it in the matter of seconds once it’s finished for. no fucking reason. impulse spends A Lot. )

when her body was found, viktor went off the rails. ended up overdosing and being hospitalized where he spent the next like … however long months … until they deemed him better.

stayed out of school until very recently b/c he just … didn’t want to go back. didn’t want to deal with it. didn’t want to be known as the dead girl’s twin. but then his mom kinda just was like ‘u go back 2 school or god so help me’ n he was like FINE.

so ya !! viktor’s back after being gone since tatiana’s body was found. that’s it, that’s him, a lil glimpse of his life.

trying to finish his senior year b/c he … obviously left before he could.

finding out that it was george who killed tatiana has ultimately ... caused viktor to spiral. his lows are some of his lowest, his highs are ... very high, but very bad. unstable & unpredictable in his actions it’s ... a whole thing :/

personality !!

the human embodiment of a gremlin, fed after midnight. a goblin, if u will. one of those cats with a narrow head and big ass ears. that’s him.

b i g horror & halloween enthusiast. loves the old campy horror movies. probably has an abundance of masks from different movies. dresses like a grimy millennial beetlejuice more than he should. love those vertically striped pants!

fashion alternates between e-boy (would b tik tok famous if he were like … 17), millennial beetlejuice, and like … goth in a crop top and sweatpants. big fan of crop tops. big fan of sweatpants.

he can be fucking mean. petty, aggressive, instigator. will literally spit in ur face or no reason. kind of person who’ll stick his gum into other ppl’s hair. other than that he’s like … pretty okay. he’s not always mean, he’s just a dick like … 70% of the time lmao

i mean yeah okay he’ll call someone a stinky bitch for no reason except He Feels Like It And Believes It. it’s fine he’s fine, we’re fine.

despite the fact tht he’s probably getting into fights whenever - considers himself 2 be a lover n not a fighter but that’s just because he Fucks a lot. kind of uses it like a coping mechanism, like he’s this big fancy carnival show that’s like ‘come one, come all! fuck the dead girl’s twin brother!’ may have a problem w/ hypersexuality but it’s nothing he’s fully. aware of.

the preacher’s whore son, basically

like i said he’s pan & nb, switches between he and they pronouns but like … he has such a fragile grip on his identity that u could call him ‘dog-faced bitch’ and he’d turn like hey wassup :)

vastly impulsive, like i’ve mentioned … destroys his own creations 4 the fun of it, spends all his money on useless shit, will cheat on someone bc he feels like it. screams into the night sky frequently, like a cat in heat.

i mean he also creates useless shit for no reason too. spent six months sculpting a hollowed out tree the size of him and then took a sledgehammer to it.

dramatic fuck. used to play the organ at the church like … when no one was looking after him and service was about to start. just these creepy as melodies. would do the same thing at home on his keyboard w/ the organ setting whenever he got grounded until his parents took away his keyboard sadjfkg

won’t talk about his time away b/c it’s not rly anybody’s business but ofc nothing is sacred to the watershed app, y’know, nothing’s private.

still like - he absolutely refuses to talk about tatiana’s death and like, his mental health or his addiction (he’s fallen back into it tbh but it hasn’t gotten bad again … yet) or like … anything involving his own emotions

will literally just change the topic! abruptly, no warning, asks about the jonas brothers instead.

that being said he’s obsessed with tatiana’s death. tatiana was very much a rock for him, kinda dependent on her in a way? just … being there, y’know, kept him grounded.

so he obv became a shepherd bc he wants to know Everything there is abt the app, wants to be deep inside it, wanted to know Who Exactly Killed Tatiana and like … not saying he wants 2 commit murder but :/ yknow. he’s very upset.

emotionally unavailable while also like crying twice a day.

will tell you straight up what he wants from you, no bullshit, no beating around the bush - just blunt. if he wants to just fuck, nothing else, then that’s that. if he feels deviation he’ll ghost in like. less than a second. kinda awful like that! feels no shame.

but like … also is emotional ?? as shit ?? it’s confusing. he’ll cry on a whim and then flip u off if u try to console him or like. ask him anything. will bite you.

he goes to therapy but he generally fucks around and wastes most of the time until the therapist threatens to like … idk what therapists r allowed to threaten. to send him off to another therapist? idk.

likes being intimidating but like … not with his body or nothing ‘cos he’s a TWIG, but like … uses his love for horror n creepy shit to his advantage. has an abundance of fake blood. has channeled the energy of jack nicholson and used it on tatiana’s boyfriends before.

( also a big fan of sfx makeup, has dabbled in it)

probably chases kids with a chainsaw (w/o the like … chain … or w/e … so it’s not actually Dangerous) around halloween

he’s generally never doing good, both mental health wise and morally.

would probably steal candy from a baby for the fun of it.

i don’t know if there’s a good to him, deep down, and i don’t know if he sees any issues with himself either !! nothing really breaks through to him anymore, the only person who ever really made him stop and Think about his actions was tatiana.

kinda introverted, recluse type who doesn’t rly like most people or going out, but he’ll go to parties if it means he’ll be high as shit.

pretty observant. likes to analyze people even though he’s probably not … fully right.

connections to the victims !!

tatiana samuels / his twin sister, other half - the only one able to control viktor.

george craig iii / close family friends ... they could appreciate each other, when viktor wasn’t being an outright asshole.

hana williams / ‘friends’ with benefits, their relationship was rocky at best but she was a good lay. have often fought due to their clash in personalities and viktor’s history with christoph.

christoph wainwright / an ex-hook up, an infrequent occasion whenever christoph wanted to tick off hana. viktor was often on board, never the one to consider others’ feelings.

wanted connections !!

he lives alone currently but like … ex - roommates where viktor was just. a nightmare to live with.

feel like a lot of enemies is also a possibility !! viktor’s messy.

people that like … knew tatiana. dated tatiana, even, and viktor would pretty much try to intimidate / scare them at any given chance :/

close friends of tatiana too

people who hated tatiana but liked viktor. people who hated viktor but liked tatiana

people who take pity on him and he Hates it viciously and vocally.

a band of hooligan gremlin kids who do drugs and fuck shit up around town like they’re edgy teenagers even though they’re all early to mid 20s.

the girl he lost his virginity 2 in high school lmao … a distant memory

fellow rochester locals, from church or school or whatever

exes from the past !! good terms and bad terms, but i love bad terms a whole lot mainly b/c viktor’s a jackass.

don’t know if he’s soft towards anybody but we can try. we can Try.

friends, old friends, new friends, bad friends, good friends, close friends, frenemies, etc. etc. all of it

hookups !! so many hookups. fwbs, one night stands, whatever.

uuhhhh god. i don’t know. im so sleepy rn. people in the same major or similar majors.

maybe a ride or die.

people he’s a bad influence on / an enabler towards / all around toxic for them / each other.

people he’s fought !! people who’ve seen him get into random fights and were like ‘uh wtf’

fellow shepherds !!

literally anything im not picky.