#the horrors persist but so does crumble

[emohorseboy]

look i hate having to worry about money and jobs and emails and phone calls and all that shit but today i made myself blackberry and raspberry crumble for dinner at 10pm and i couldn’t do that when i was younger

[chibittore]

Sometimes the world needs a little more fluff in it, so here's Xingqiu and Lotte having a Daring Rescue™️

[gravegroves]

Okay, little stream-of-consciousness-moment:

Billy, who's mind is like a steel trap, who isn't a scared little child, but a healthy, angry young adult. And the mindflayer doesn't even know what hit it. One second it's infiltrating grey matter, overtaking neural pathways and becoming one with this new vessel and the next second it's burning alive, it's crumbling and shrinking and screeching in agony as the human body does what is does best to foreign invaders: try to kill it.

I've always loved the posts on tumblr that explore how deeply weird humans would be to aliens. Our physiology, our mentality, when spoken of as animal traits they are all deeply disturbing. We're persistence predators. We're built to last. We can survive unimaginable horrors (and also die from the stupidest, most everyday things). Our main predator, is ourselves. A bite from a child can kill another human just from the bacteria alone if left untreated. Our bodies are designed to kill entities both within and without.

Humans are fucking terrifying.

So the mindflayer is so unprepared for an adult human who's been through too much shit already. Not just a tired little slip of a kid, but a healthy, entering-his-prime human and is eradicated with extreme prejudice by nothing more than a good immune system going into overdrive.

But it's too deeply imbeded, so the body again does what it can to protect itself, it encases it. Within the body, but separate. Calcified. Caged.

So here's Billy, who has a rather spotty memory of a car crash and feels like he has a head cold for a couple of days before he gets on with his life. Only weird shit keeps happening to him, now. Like that time he encounters a pack of dogs while out drinking by the quarry, except they look really fucked-up the closer they get, not like any dog Billy's ever seen before, and just as he's prepared for an attack from these things, they just walk up to him and sniff around a bit with their weird flower heads blooming and closing, but otherwise leaving him unharmed. And Billy's just this side of drunk where terrible ideas seem kinda brilliant and he tells the things to sit. And they do. Amazed, he tosses his beer bottle and tells them go fetch, and again, one does.

And then when it's time to go home Billy offhandedly tells them to get lost and they run off back into the woods, and when he wakes up in the morning it's easy to rationalise it away. Probably the beer had been rolling around in the car for too long and it went bad and fucked him up. Should just have thrown the whole sixpack out. Those were just regular dogs, for sure. Except the next day, when he's out behind the pool building trying to find a good spot to smoke, he steps onto soft soil or something and falls down into a weird ass tunnel and a bunch of those same monster dogs just appear out of nowhere and pile themselves on top of each other for him to be able to climb out. And a couple of days later when Neil smacks Billy around for being out late again, one of those dogs honest to God comes crashing through the living room window to shred Neil's leg up and leaves just as quickly at the first sign of panic from Billy.

And yeah okay, by this stage Billy's figuring out things are kinda fucky around Hawkins, and so it's just Billy having his own little side adventure in the background while the rest of the gang are running around Hawkins trying desperately to find the Mindflayer, not knowing that Billy unknowingly trapped it within himself and is just living his life, teaching these weirdly obedient alien dogs to do tricks because they keep helping him or seeking him out.

Anyway, upside down is doomed because their leader is literally trapped inside Billy and Billy is just teaching these dog-things to steal cigarettes from the gas station and volunteering for the closing shift at the pool because he can just get the dogs to bring the pool noodles back into the shed.

[xenosagaepisodeone]

For the last 2 weeks I've been transfixed on a strain of lost media I've come to call "bad memory induced media", where the supposed media in question does not (or at least more than likely does not) exist, but there are swaths of people convinced that they have definitely seen it at some point. There is rarely anything more to go off of for the hunt than a vague summary outlined in a post on some forum, but the lack of specificity allows people to fill in the blanks with similar types of media that they've seen, giving them the impression that they've already experienced it. I've found that this is extremely common for alleged lost shock media in particular, which isn't surprising. I talked a little about this on my LOL SUPERMAN post, and I get the impression that a similar strain of logic applies on a smaller scale.

Anyway, 2 major cases I have been looking at for a while are Saki Sanobashi/Go For A Punch and Evil Farm Game. Saki Sanobashi in particular fascinates me because an urban legend like this should have crumbled to the wayside by like 2018 at the latest, since that's when anime more or less became demystified to normal people. The basic premise is that it is an 80s/90s horror anime about anywhere from 4-8 girls trapped in a bathroom. The girls talk about their lives, hopes, dreams and philosophies before slowly going insane and dying one by one. If you like horror stuff you probably are already getting the vague impression that it sounds familiar- which could be influenced by any swath of media artifacts from Saw to the Russian Sleep Experiment creepypasta to the Ikea SCP to ClockUp's Euphoria to snippets of Battle Royale to that one Grisaia no Kajitsu arc. OP insisted he found it fully subbed on the deep web (omegalul) and hasn't found a trace of it since, implying some kind of murky origin or legal status (the OVA is not pornographic btw). As you can probably tell, I think this is silly. Like, so much goes into anime production that it would be difficult to hide any traces of this thing's existence. Someone had to voice act those girls. Someone had to sit hunched over a desk and draw that settei. OVAs were such a new thing in the 80s and 90s that both sfw and nsfw series were advertised in magazines. The only way that this could be so lost that not even a MAL entry remains is if it had been a student/indie production or something made for a single comiket event...but even at that....you're telling me that someone still managed to rip this from a vhs and subtitle it? And then chose to upload it to the deep web instead of youtube? even the title sounds like something google translated but didnt format correctly ("Saki Sanobashi" being gibberish while "Saki-san no Bashi" translates to "Saki-san's Bridge").

And yet there are people who will say "I definitely saw this at some point" because they saw a reaction image similar to the alleged scene where the protagonist smashes someone's head into a mirror. "The neck scratching death sounds familiar...." because you watched a higurashi amv! And OP did too, and thought it was so creepy that he involved it in his fake story. It's almost grating how much you have to suspend your disbelief to embrace that something like this exists in the exact way that stories like this insist. While many people have accepted that the series is likely not real in the last 4 or so years, there still persists a cohort of people hunting for Saki Sanobashi, likely because they are kids who are now too old to believe in Squidward's Suicide.

Evil Farm Game gives me a chuckle because it goes like this: a redditor posts to r/tipofmytongue about an old flash game where you play as a farmer who kills his wife and then has to hide her body while going about his farm tasks. The setup is completely fine and actually kind of reminiscent of a few story driven flash games I played on newgrounds as a kid. Many people came forward insisting that they had played this as well, one person even producing a link to a file from their hard drive that they couldn't open, but strongly believed that the game was there. A subreddit was even created to support the search. The twist is that it was a misremembered joke from a vinesauce stream.

Everyone knows that memory is an extremely fallable thing; people can be coaxed into believing that they did or saw things that they didn't with the correct prompts. What gets me is that a lot of people on the hunt for "bad memory induced media" seem to largely be hyping themselves up. They want to believe there is something that exists against all reason no matter what. It's chuuni in nature. Do not get me wrong- the interest in finding a cool, mysterious, haunting piece of media isn't lost on me, but dog, the dopamine hit of finding a previously lost 1985 commercial for almonds in a box of vhs tapes you got from eBay is the same.

[sadsongsandstories]

Somewhere that's beautiful

Okay so upon further consideration, Heather's essentially is little shop of horrors

Thematically, narratively (almost), characterly

They are both stories about a broken cruel world, which gives birth to an equally broken being, who leads the protagonist down a dark path of killing, using promises of love and power which they previously lacked. The killings start inane, the audience is on board with it. The first is practically an accident, it's a murder by omission where the victim really did it to themselves. Besides, this first kill is an evil wicked person, who had previously been set up as a villain, so we're okay with it. The protagonist has to cover up the killing of course, but what the are they meant to do? It's a greasy little nobody who has suddenly been gifted fame and power like that would have never imagined before. They finally have the good fortune they wished for, and they sure as hell aren't going to give it up now. So they ignore the villains opening song, dripping with red flags, and go along for the ride. The second killing is a little more intentional (they differ a little here) and to an equally unlikeable victim. They bullied, abused and took advantage of the hero (sexuality assaulted in one case), so you're what, they had it coming

It's then that things start to get out of control. With more killings comes more power and the hunger only grows. The protagonist is faced with their greatest dilemma: to let go of this life they have been gifted or continue to do messy nasty awful evil things. The final straw comes when their loved one is threatened (and yes Martha Dunstock is Veronica's true love, fight me). Now they are resolute: this has gone far enough and it is time to destroy the monster they created.

Here's where our stories differ. On one hand we have the destruction of evil and on the other we have the crumbling of good. In both cases it comes down to a physical battle with a gun, and a world hanging in the balance. The difference really comes down to the hero, the villain and the relationship therein. Veronica is strong, and has gained only courage over the course of the story. Where she was once a victim of her world, now she has control, and is determined to fight to fix all that is wrong, both with the defeat of JD and the culture that has persisted and worsened. The audience is left with hope and the loves are reunited.

Seymour is not strong. He is cowardly and insecure and lacks the drive to change anything about his world. His fight comes far too late, and so he is consumed by his own creation. Another major difference is that Audry 2 is a symbolic representation of capitalism, which cannot in fact, be stopped or changed by a single individual. The final song, and the musical in its entirety, is a warning to the audience, a cautionary tale of greed and desire and the promises of material wealth. JD, meanwhile, symbolises the toxicity in schools and childhood trauma, which, while it can't be fixed, can certainly be alleviated by a single individual, assuming they become the best that they can be and stand for what is right (ehem the og meangirls movie).

The other key factor in the ending is the relationship with the villain itself. In little shop, Seymour is little more than a puppet playing into the hand of the devil. He signs the deals, does the dirty work and obeys his master to his own demise. Heather's, meanwhile, shows a more sinister parasitic relationship, where veronica enables and empowers JD's psychopathy in return for his love and protection. She holds some power, and so it is only a matter of her will and drive to use that power for good rather than evil. JD is also a much more sympathetic villain. Audry 2 is not meant to be redeemed, while JD, (killing people is wrong, don't do it) is a result of a heavily traumatic childhood and a society that abandons him and treats him like trash. Veronica tells him to "say hi to God" which, while being an utterly badass line, also indicates that, on some level, she understands and possibly even forgives him. Could be looking into it too much, but it's her final words to her own worst nightmare, so I feel like there's something there.

Seymour's last act is the try and hack his monster to bits from the inside, so clearly he doesn't think for a moment Audrey 2 is going to heaven.

Now, none of this is to say that the creators of Heather's the musical (assuming it came second) copied or even emulated the plot of little shop of horrors. It bears a striking resemblance, but that's not unexpected when two stories have the same goal, to make a killer appear moral until the end and then force the protagonist to face a demon of their own creation, and the same musical form to achieve said goal. Besides, each was based off of a movie (and in the case of little shop, a play before that?) and I have no idea which of those came first. I think it's amazing that both of these shows exist, they're two of my favourite musicals, and each have such bangers and hilarious moments in their own rights. Dead girl walking reprise it top five musical songs of all time, I will fight you on this!!

Also, as I mentioned before, their contexts and messaging are totally different. In one camp we have, highschool is messed up, teenagers are mean and traumatised and our society breeds toxicity and normalises horrific behaviour such that school shooters and the like can be created. And on the other we have plant capitalism metaphor, plopped into the middle of an impoverished and broken world, the perfect place to promise material wealth and weasel into the souls of otherwise moral people. In both cases, Audry 1 and Martha symbolise the innocent soul trapped in the balance, the kind too good for a world so cruel. That's all there is really, the hero, the villain, the semi-villains who get killed along the way, and the side characters/chorus who tell the story. The other two Heather's provide some additional dynamics, but otherwise, the cast is effectively identical. And it's the killing (or not) of the innocent that spells out the potential for redemption in the end. Once the innocent is dead, there is no hope left for the hero. And Martha tries too, but luckily is unsuccessful. Audry is not so lucky.

I think the lesson in all of this, and I am truly sorry for the essay, thanks if you actually stuck around this long, is to never let sudden goodness in your own life blind you to the ramifications of such fortune. It's easy to end up lost in the swelling of fame and power, but it is the nature of such growth that it is never and will never be enough. If you want to make the world a better place, it can never come through destruction and death, but rather creation and kindness, opening up to others and working together to create something beautiful.

Don't feed the plants and hold on to what is beautiful, and you might just find a way out of here. Or at least a way to make here a whole lot better.

[okthatsgreat]

hiiiihihi lee those oc asks look so interesting so . any of the following for any of your ocs that you feel like talking about? 🔥🌪️🔧🔫🔪🙈💥 i got a little carried away picking out fun ones but feel free to only do the ones you want!!

LILY U RULE SO HARD. i was gonna go with sae but realised she's way too new for some of these questions so you know what....... ill choose ryobe teehee 😁

oc ask game!!

🔥 FIRE - do they have any self destructive tendencies? what habits do they have that hinder them from becoming their best self?

his complete inability to take anything seriously to the point of delusion and destruction lmao. he really and truly lives in his own little world where everything is about him and how much fun he is having, because he's convinced himself that if he is having fun then everybody ELSE must be having fun also

🌪 TORNADO - what is the biggest change you've ever made to them? how have they changed from their original version?

AHGHJS oh jesus christ he got changed a lot design wise. he was always something along the lines of an ultimate prankster but originally he was way more business oriented, he still had red hair and a gap in his teeth but with a goofy looking suit lmfaooo. biggest change from that first interpretation of him to now was just how intentionally cold he was-- this updated version of him is still intelligent and cunning but his actions are so clearly driven by the horrors of the killing game and his attempted escape from it. the older version of him was always Like That GHFDSKJG

🔧 WRENCH - are they good at fixing relationships? or do they tend to avoid doing so?

surprisingly he's kind of alright in settings that aren't post/pre-game! he's pretty persistent in trying to cheer people up so even if he doesn't really get all that serious he'll still make an effort to bug you even if you dont exactly want to see him right now ghfsdjkg. but if youre looking for a serious discussion with him youre kind of out of luck unless you catch him in a super specific mood and time lol. he's probably had like. two serious conversations post-game about his actions and he hardly acknowledges they ever happened

🔫 PISTOL - do they trust people easily? how easily will they turn their back to someone? have they been backstabbed before? will they betray someone if given an ultimatum?

hmmmm this one is odd in regards to him short answer yes he does trust easily??? long answer it depends on what setting. like he trusts pretty openly but he is very flimsy with that trust and kinda throws other peoples trust around just as easily lmfao. he isn't extremely gullible but he'll believe you if you tell him something in earnest there just isnt much guarantee he wont turn around and use that information for a prank or something hgfkjsdghk ESPECIALLY pre-game/during the game. post-game he chills out he's a cool guy. definitely doesn't trust as openly and is a bit more reserved about who he hangs out with but he himself is way more trustworthy as a person

🔪 KNIFE - how do they react to injury / misfortune befalling their loved ones (significant other, family, friends)? do they put themselves at blame?

AGAIN DEPENDSSSS pre-game he'll try to cheer them up but will feel awfulllll about it especially if it happens during one of his videos, where he'll def blame himself but will cope by shoving all that into a tiny box where it will eventually catch on fire and explode. catch him during the beginning stages of the game and he's just wayy too far in his delusions that he'll straight up think you're fucking with him gfhdsjgkf. he'll be so convinced it's all some elaborate ruse that he legit starts dragging other people down with him. later on in the game he just crumbles entirely. just feels that guilt so immensely, and there is no going back to fixing anything

🙈 SEE-NO-EVIL - whats a side of your oc that they don't want to show other people?

he's a lot smarter than he lets on!! his talent is catering to the algorithm and staying relevant, and he knows how to manipulate the platform in his favour. ryobe hardly talks about the business side of his job just because it kinda ruins the illusion of this "fun-loving prankster"

💥 COLLISION - what emotions do they have trouble dealing with?

oh jesus fear. he will NOT be scared

THANK YOUUUUUUUU THIS WAS FUN!!!!!!! :]

[cryopathiic-a]

[ 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 ] ( from Akaza owo)

horror actions prompt || accepting

The original invitation-bait to lure him over to his domain had flown over Upper Three's head, but when Dōma had proposed a spar without use of their blood art, Akaza must have known that he would be an idiot to turn down the offer. Not solely for the opportunity to land a few good blows on the iceblooded; but because Dōma's persistence had left little room for denial. Push comes to shove, he was Akaza's superior. All he had to do was tell Nakime to strum her biwa and he would be getting his way, inevitably.

And the sparring session was turning out in Upper Three's favor. The fan's cut sharp, but they were delicate weapons. And Akaza's martial prowess was not something a priest could tackle. It only took that many fervorous exchanges for his rival to grab onto a slender wrist and suddenly Dōma had found himself immobilized on the floor. His weapons of choice are snapped in half and crumbled in the third moon's grip; and all he does is watch without expression as their tassels float down to the polished tatami.

❝ — oompft! Ah.... ��� He hisses, as a vicious grip twists into his own thick tresses and instinctively his hands shoot up, but his fingers only hover around Akaza's wrist — like he is not quite ready to pry the scalding yank away. And he's not.

Something oddly candid gleams in Upper Two's eye in that moment.

His mind travels back to glimpses of a previous life; a life that he had lived buried in a lake. And every time that sensation, that sharp sting of pain, came along ( when suffering through the cold shocks that were meant to ignite his clairvoyance, when hurting himself to avoid having to sit through another counseling session, when his lungs had filled with water that one night he accidentally fell into the pond ) ; it was like his eyes opened for a split second and he took a breath, one to hold onto when he sinks back down. He had lived life behind a glass; and those explosions of pain were taps on it. Reminding him that he was still in the glass case and the world he so longed to be a part of was still out of his reach. The more excruciating the pain, the louder the tap — and some even made cracks in the metaphorical glass that was his insides.

And Akaza's 'taps' were very, very painful.

Gripped with the same fervor candymakers stretch the dough, Dōma is just as pliable and sweet. Where a glimpse upon the third moon's enraged visage would stir a human's bowels into submission — Dōma looks up at him with aimless admiration. His gaze is sharp when it studies the wrinkles between Akaza's brows. A frothing mouth, with fangs sharp as a tiger's. A bright gaze, filled with wrath — so much wrath.

And Dōma knows that it is hardly personal. He knows that Akaza is not really angry with him, but because those colorful eyes are a constant reminder of his defeat. Defeat at the hands of someone he looks down on, no less. Really, he is angry with himself. All the gnarling and snarling Dōma has been subjected to is naught but a desperate cry for help. And greedy claws grasp onto that. Dōma leeches off of his companion's turmoil.

How could Upper Three be feeling right now? Are his insides boiling? Or is his blood charged like a thunderbolt in the making? Does it turn cold a second before he might attempt to decapitate him like a well-wired weapon's? Almost reflexively, his pale hand reaches out until slender fingers finally wrap tenderly around the other's forearm. And there his cool touch snakes up as he merely feels up the veins bulging under marked skin.

Dōma twists his head into the other's grip. Lips part with an impalpable moan. A thick drop of dark crimson runs down from his bloodcrest, painting a path between his eyes and down his cheek, where his tongue is quick to lap up whatever drops are in his reach; in the same way that he's reaching for any droplets of anguish he can witness on the other. He longs to live vicariously through Akaza's rage.

❝ Hn... your heart is beating so fast. ❞ His touch traces the other's skin, picking up on nuances only a demon would perceive; the smell of Akaza's blood is riveting yet overpowered by his own. When callused fingers dig into the prodigal one's crown, the blood runs thick and pungent between his tresses. It smells of flowers and youth; it is the blood of someone who lives well. Who eats well.

❝ You have me right where you want me, though, right? Isn't this all you wanted? To win? Hm. You won... ❞ Dōma's voice falls gently as a caress between them, his gaze now meeting the other's with a whimsical smile. ❝ —and yet your heart is still racing... Lord Akaza... you're so fascinating to me. ❞

[ccaptain]

@aguilareye: “Kaeya,” the cowboy calls to him in quiet voice. His eyes dull, dark, and staring distantly. Boothill has never seen the Enigma so still and silent before, concern rising in the ranger. His metal hand reaches out and holds Kaeya’s shoulder, giving it a gently squeeze. “Where’d you go, Kaeya? Whatyah saw? Hey, look at me.” His other hand touches Kaeya’s chin, guiding it up so their gazes meet.

   the outlaw would be right if he guessed that something has happened to the being in front of him. Kaeya knows that he's perceptive, observant- there are things to see that go beyond simple words of assessment, and this is one of them.

   he doesn't know he has been zoning out until cold metal gives a grounding squeeze to his bare shoulder; empty gaze unclouds, turns apologetic. there's already a small i'm sorry on the tip of his tongue, about to justify his mental absence-

   fingers gently coax his chin up until he can't hide- he can see right in the other man's eyes: the gesture is nothing short of gentle, and Boothill's gaze has genuine concern in it. there's nothing imposing in the questions he asks Kaeya, no commanding tone, just a quiet urge to know if he's okay, and what has left him so shaken in the time they spent apart.

   this is what tears him apart at the seams.

   the horror seeps out of the cracks of a being who spent his lifetime seeing fear as an inconvenient, unnecessary without a solution to be provided. there's no longer a barrier between the slight shake of cold digits and chest caving in from the terror, the dread in pale, dulled diamond too evident, too oppressive to pretend that nothing has happened. it haunts him like a persistent ghost- but it's real. it has happened. and the pieces of his composed mask have all crumbled in his lap from the sheer shock of being cared about.

   Kaeya spares nothing. after a brief description of the Simulated Universe and what it entails, he lets the horrors attack the cyborg just as they have harmed him. his voice doesn't stop, he has no mercy on himself.

   how the simulated onlookers who paid for the show of a cobalt-haired fellow swallowing a Protozoan egg for their amusement, a thing he always takes in good stride with a bow afterwards. how the Occurrence is usually a bit gross but devoid of harm, as the saliva destroys everything before something bad can happen.

   but this time, the Propagation found him. and it made sure to give the Occurrence a grotesque, macabre twist.

   how the insects targeted the crowd, and even if simulated and not real Kaeya just couldn't stop himself from trying to prevent further harm for the poor people shrieking in fear. he diverted the buzzing attention on himself to avoid casualties, as he always does.

   and at that, the Swarm zeroed on him.

   Kaeya doesn't like to remember what happened after: his body convulsed back and forth. he screamed until his throat tore, eye wide open on the true horror descending upon him for what felt like hours. somebody must have turned off the faulty Simulation and extracted him from here, but he doesn't know who or why. he was an intruder. if anything, a phenomenon in a coding error to be studied  whoever decided to stop his torment must have taken pity on him.

   ( and Kaeya does have some mercy, but not for himself: he spares the concerned cowboy how, sometimes, it still feels like there's scratching inside of his skull. wing beats. buzzing where there should be none. the Enigma wants him to understand, not have nightmares. )

   ' I'm sorry, ' his voice breaks, then mercifully returns to normal, ' it's always- always nice when I am with you, and I wanted today to be fun, too, but... '

   there's a small pause that he gives himself, some dampness hanging on his lashes, refusing to turn into tears purely out of having forgotten how. there's something stuck in his throat that he doesn't know what to do with. the man in front of him wants the truth, and it's delivered to him in the form of quiet shakes.

   ' I don't think I'm okay- and I don't think I'll be okay for a while longer, ' this time, his voice wavers, web-like cracks on the surface of normally unwavering ice. pale diamond lifts to meet the crosshair in Boothills eyes, uncertaint, small. ashamed.

   ' do you still want to stay a while? we can find something to do... '

[jedi-enthusiast]

You've already heard all about it, but I will now be inflicting my Rebel!Pryce AU on the wider Tumblr community---so here we go!

Basic Concept:

Pryce is the rebel spy, Kallus stays the bad guy but he's more scary/competent, and we're removing all the unnecessary villains that weren't really used well and didn't serve any point.

----------

First, Main Villains:

Grand Inquisitor and Kallus are the main villains, the other inquisitors can still be around to pop in every now and again for some drama/higher stakes but they're framed more as Grand Inquisitor's underlings than they are in the original Rebels---Vader can maybe have a cameo in an episode or two, but he's still given minimal screentime.

Every other villain character is tossed into the trashcan, they're not needed.

Kallus and Grand Inquisitor work together a lot more than they do in the original, since Grand Inquisitor is hunting Kanan and Ezra and Kallus is supposed to "know the Ghost crew better than anybody" just because of how many times he's faced them.

Kallus is formidable, even without the Grand Inquisitor, and he's allowed to actual win and win well.

He's actually a threat and not just some loser who thinks he is.

Grand Inquisitor gets a little longer runtime than he does in the original, maybe 2 seasons since there's 4. When he does die, Kallus gets a cushy promotion because of how successful and formidable he's been against the rebels- (maybe he can destroy a really big rebel base and force the rebels to have to run and find another one, like they had Thrawn do, and that's what gets him this big promotion---or maybe the higher ups just recognize his potential).

The next 2 seasons, Kallus is one of the worst thorns in the Rebellion's side---winning some battles, losing some battles, but always persistent and good at what he does.

----------

Now, Pryce:

Pryce joined the Empire when both she and it were young, when it was still possible to believe that it stood for something more than the horror it really was. She joined with Minister Tua, a close childhood friend of hers, and the two of them watch each other grow and succeed and change. Maybe this is where they put the queer romance, rather than what- (imo) -was implied between Kallus and Zeb at the end of Rebels.

Pryce loves Lothal, it's her home, and maybe deep down as she gets older she realizes the Empire isn't what she thought, it isn't good. But she has nothing else---her family is either dead or estranged, the people of Lothal hate her, and Tua is working for the Empire too- (Pryce doesn't know that Tua's questioning her place in the Empire as well, and they're both too scared to ask---she never finds out until it's too late).

So.

She has no one to turn to, and nowhere to go, and she's in too deep now to turn things around. She tells herself a lie, she convinces herself that maybe she's just not seeing the bigger picture, maybe the Empire is good and she's just blinded by the fact she grew up on Lothal.

But then Tua dies and Pryce's world crumbles from beneath her.

Now she really and truly has nothing. No one.

Because of her potential and prowess, she is assigned to Kallus's detail. The Empire doesn't care that she lost the one person in her life that truly made her happy, the only good she saw within those stark gray halls, it only cares that she works.

And she does.

Pryce had heard, through whispers, that Kallus had really been the one to cause Tua's death---but she refuses to believe it. It's too painful to think that the system---the man---she's working for, she's worked her entire life for, killed the one she loved. She can't face it, not now.

But then she meets Ezra---maybe in a similar situation to Kallus and Zeb, where they have to work together to survive.

They both care so much about their home planet and she can see that he loves Lothal just as much as her, but she's still trying desperately to hold onto the only thing she has left in her life. The Empire. Her work. The last bit of control she has over her life.

During their time together, though, Ezra manages to get through to her and tells her that Kallus is the one who killed Tua---and this time she finally accepts the truth for what it is, and that coupled with what Ezra has told her the Empire is doing to their homeworld, what she can see the Empire doing to their homeworld, is what finally shakes her free of her loyalties---ones built by fear and desperation.

And she gains a new loyalty, to the Rebellion---one built by hope for a brighter future, by the good she wants to bring into the galaxy, by her love for Tua and in honor of her memory.

She goes back to the Empire and becomes a spy, Ezra doesn't know until they eventually have to save her because the Empire has found out they have a spy in their midst.

Now "by the light of Lothal's moons" actually means something.

I am proposing two alternate ships for poor Zeb whose only popular fanon love interest is apparently the dude who committed a genocide against his entire species and honestly Zeb deserves SO MUCH better.

The first is Chewie because, obviously. They've got a lot in common they can bond over!

The second is Rex because if I'm going to give Zeb a human love interest who was a soldier that has trauma in his past, it's not going to be the fucking fascist dickhole. Rex is RIGHT THERE, he's beautiful, he's strong, he's a sarcastic bastard with the best of them, he's loyal and honorable. Why WOULDN'T Zeb be interested in Rex? Plus, they could probably both use some stress relief and they often work together on the same team, so the proximity is helping my case here, too.

[tansypoisoning]

Lupercalia - Part 5 (final)

The Beast

You return to your hometown after dropping out of university. If the shame of it wasn’t bad enough, you are forced to comfront old mistakes and a persistent stalker.

Fandoms: MCU, Captain America

Genre: Mostly suspense, some drama, horror and smut.

Ships: Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 4.3k

Chapter Warnings: Kidnapping, blood, gore, threats of violence, body horror, minor character death

Series Warnings: Smut, dubcon, sweat, violence, gore, body horror, minor character death.

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4

You ran out of sympathy for Steve and his injuries real fast. TJ’s friends had been declared as missing, disappearing without trace or warning. No reply to your brother’s texts, no messages to their own families, nothing.

Just like David.

Milton hadn’t turned up either. His neighbors saw him leaving the house in the morning, and they never saw him returning that night. Calls and messages went unanswered, his car had remained in the parking lot, and nothing in the house gave any signs that he had gone on an impromptu trip.

It was bad enough for your town that four people had gone missing in two days, you didn’t need your father to be the fifth.

You and your mother had begged him – don’t go with Steve, he can find someone else – and he seemed like he would listen to you, until he was offered double his usual rate.

Maybe your father would’ve respected your wishes, but your family needed the money, and he wasn’t scared of anything. He had left on Steve’s car hours ago, and you hadn’t heard of him since.

You sat in the kitchen all afternoon, waiting for him, as did your mother. She didn’t talk to you, didn’t even look at you, her eyes never straying from the ticking clock. You rolled your cellphone in between your hands. Your father hadn’t picked up any of your calls since he left.

It was dark out when the house phone rang. Both you and your mother ran to it, but you were faster. You pulled on the handset, and in your hurry almost ripped the entire thing off the wall. Your mother must’ve thought you had done so if her gasp was anything to go by.

“Hello?”

Loud breathing came from the other end of the line, persisting for several seconds. A very unfunny prank. You were about to put it back on the hook when you heard your name being whispered on the other end of the line.

“Steve. Where’s-”

“Your daddy’s fine. You can come get him.”

“I want to talk to him.” Your father had a phone. If he wanted you to pick him up, he wouldn't have asked Steve to call you.

“You can talk to him in person.”

“No, Steve,” you said. Your hand clutching the receiver trembled, but you managed to keep your voice steady. “I want to talk to him now.”

“Then you’d better come now.”

You swallowed what little saliva you had in mouth. “I’ll call the cops.”

“Do it. The dogs are hungry.”

“I swear to god, if you hurt him, I’ll-!”

“You’ll what?” He let the question hang in the air for a second longer. You didn’t respond. There wasn’t anything you could threaten him with. “Your father is fine. I can’t promise you he’ll stay that way if you don’t come.”

“Fuck… what do you want?!”

“I want you to come to me.”

“Now? It’s night already.”

“If you care about your father, you will come.” And then he hung up.

Your mother’s arms curled around your shoulder and they started shaking you before you could say anything.

“Who was it? Was it Steve? What does he-?”

“Stop!” You whirled around, pushing her away from you. She stumbled backwards, hitting the fridge then crumbling to the ground.

You stepped back until the wall behind you stopped your progress. TJ burst in from the living room and helped your mother to her feet. She leaned all her weight on him as she got up, her eyes wide as saucers.

“What are you doing?!” Your brother asked, turning to you.

Your mouth opened and closed like a fish, unsure of what to say. You didn’t have an excuse.

“TJ, don’t,” your mother begged.

“She pushed you!”

“It doesn’t matter, I-” she took a deep breath then turned to you. “Was it your dad?”

It wasn’t, but you didn’t want to see what would happen if you replied in the negative. “I’m going to pick him up.”

Your family looked unsure as you left the kitchen.

In the living room, Brandy leaped from her spot in the couch the moment you walked by. Her teeth were barred, her body poised to attack. She hadn’t let you touch her since you’d let Steve touch you.

You walked out, your dog still growling at you.

You drove to Steve’s house, a little faster than what was prudent. There was someone waiting for you behind the fence surrounding the property, but it wasn’t who you were expecting.

You rolled down the window of the passenger side, allowing Sam Wilson to poke his head in.

“Where’s Steve?” You asked.

“Palatine Hill.” He noticed your confusion and proceeded. “We wanted to check if you would do the smart thing and came alone first.” With those words, he inched his neck forward, examining the backseat.

“Well, I guess I did the smart thing.”

“Sure,” he extended his hand. “I’m gonna need your phone too.”

Grumbling, you searched for the device in your pockets. You placed it on his palm, and he tossed it behind his shoulders, losing it somewhere in the untamed grass of Steve’s yard.

Sam opened the door and climbed on the passenger’s seat. When you didn’t immediately began driving, he tapped the dashboard a few times.

“What if I took you somewhere else?” You said “Called Steve on your phone and told him to come over? Trade him one person for another?”

“You’re gonna kidnap me?” Sam laughed. “Oh, I would like to see that.”

“I don’t know. I’m pretty strong.”

“You’re not the only one.”

“What does he want from me?” You asked.

Sam shrugged. “He wants to talk.”

“Talk?” You frowned. Sam only nodded. “Is that all he wants?”

You took his silence as a ‘no’.

“Why are you doing this?” You asked.

“It’s called scratching each other’s backs. Nothing you need to worry about.”

You could barely pay attention to where you were going, and Sam had to redirect you twice, sounding incredibly annoyed each time. Maybe he shouldn’t have helped kidnap your father if this was all so boring to him.

You parked by the foot of the hill and walked to the other side, where Sam was already turning on a mini-flashlight.

“C’mon,”Sam said as he started walking. He didn’t follow the trail, choosing instead to walk around the hill.

“Where are we going?”

“Nowhere you’ve been before. It’s not far.”

He wasn’t lying. It took you two, maybe three minutes circling the hill to reach a downward slope, symmetrical, almost completely even. Man-made? Sam shined the flashlight on the side of the hill, revealing a huge gaping mouth on its side; a cave. The darkness beyond its entrance called to you. Was this what spelunkers felt before they wandered into the bowels of the earth, never to be seen again?

“What’s this?” You had never heard of a cave under Palatine Hill, never seen anything like it on a map of the area.

Sam shrugged. “Just a place. You wouldn't know about it.”

He nodded to the cave’s entrance, motioning for you to go in ahead of him.

The beam of Sam’s flashlight illuminated a path made of mud, dead leaves and footprints. As you approached the mouth of the cavern, the light seemed to weaken, only showing you two feet ahead of you. You walked on, in near total darkness, only the sounds of your companion’s steps and the dripping of water somewhere ahead of you.

Sam instructed you to take a left, then a right, then, rounding one of the cavern’s wall, there was another light. The sickly white-blue glow of a camping lantern. There was movement behind it, but it stilled the moment you stepped in.

Sam paused behind you, waving the hand that held the flashlight. “Go on.”

Keeping your eyes on the beacon-like light of the lantern, you stepped forward. You would get this over with, get your father, go home and then move your entire family out of the state.

Your progress was halted by a sudden smell, a stench like a spike through the head, a scent that had you paralyzed. It was hard to place it exactly, but you knew it was nothing good.

It smelled like all the dead animals Steve had left on your windowsill, only a million of them, all screaming from hell. There was something chemical too, like industrial paint remover, and the faintest whiff of perfume, as if someone had tried to hide that ungodly stench with cheap cologne. You could taste it in the back of your throat, seeping into every crevice, thick and sticky like molasses. There was no way you were swallowing the mouthful of saliva that had just materialized in your mouth. It slipped past your tightly closed lips and dribbled down your chin. It would not go down.

Like a fat slug, climbing up your gullet, bile rose to your mouth and you doubled over, puking all over your shoes.

Two arms encircled your waist, and you tried to fight them before realizing they were Sam’s, and all he was doing was trying to keep you upright.

“Come on, we’re almost there,” he hissed, hurrying you.

“What- what the fuck is that?!” You asked, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

“It’ll get better,” he insisted. You still didn’t move. You couldn’t. Sam huffed, dropped the flashlight and threw you over one of his shoulders.

He had lied; the god-awful smell didn’t improve at all, as attested by more of your vomit adorning the back of his shirt when you reached your destination. It wasn’t far, only a few steps, but it was enough for you to notice how much more pungent the stench grew as you moved further into the hollow.

Sam set you on your feet and you fell forward, kept from falling face first onto the ground by a different set of hands.

Steve touched the side of your face and angled it towards him. His eyes swept your countenance, searching for something. You pushed at his chest, but your arms were too weak to do anything.

“Where’s my dad?” You whispered. You almost regretted it the moment you tasted the awful smell in the back of your tongue.

“Buck.” He sighed and turned you around. You couldn’t see anything, let alone a person. “She can’t see in the dark.”

A third light surged in the cave, shining first on a pair of legs, then on a body leaning against the wall of the cave.

You threw yourself in your father’s direction, falling to your knees and dry heaving before you could reach him. Steve touched your back and began rubbing it gently. You didn’t have the strength to flee from him.

“He’s okay,” he said. “He’s just passed out.”

What did they do to him? Was he really…? There was so much you needed to know, but just thinking of opening your mouth to ask had the bile rising up again.

Maybe Steve was being honest and your dad was alright. Still, something fucking awful had happened in that cave. The smell was proof enough of that.

There were footsteps, then Sam walked into the halo radiated by the lamp. He took it in his hands and turned to you and Steve.

“You sure she’s ready?”

“Doesn’t matter. We don’t have any more time.” Steve said.

Sam shrugged and walked past you, taking the light with him and leaving you in darkness.

Steve still had his hands on your back, rubbing up and down in an almost manic fashion.

“Do you remember when you came to my house? Do you remember what happened and how you felt?”

You had memories of the incident, smothered by the odor impregnating the cave. It was hard to focus on anything beyond it. The smell seemed to come from everywhere now, including you.

“You’re special,” Steve reassured you, low and gentle. “I wanted to show you back then, but you didn’t let me. After what happened, you wouldn't even talk to me. I just wanted to show you.”

Your head followed after Sam, turning with jittering movements because you couldn’t do it any other way. Your brain throbbed in warning and you stopped.

“I said I was going to show you who you are, and I’m going to. You can’t stop me anymore.”

The sound of footsteps stopped. Whatever Sam had been looking for, he found.

“Try not to freak out.”

Steve lifted you, and when you wouldn't stand on your own, he wrapped your legs around him and held you against his chest with one arm under you and another on your back. You clutched his shirt, but your fingers felt weak and awkward. You tried to tell him you wanted your father, but nothing would come out. You couldn't breathe; the airways were closing in, just like the walls of the cave.

Your lips parted to warn Steve. Your gullet was too tight for anything to vibrate, too slick with a disgusting ichor for anything but spit to travel past your mouth.

And then Steve set you down.

You went limp in his arms. He turned you around, and you were momentarily blinded by the light. When your sight returned, you wished it hadn’t.

The light of the lantern shone in a six feet ratio, more than enough to illuminate the five man lying on the ground, arranged into a circle, their heads pointed towards the center. You didn’t recognized one of them – you couldn't have, with the way his features were sagging and distorted, soft like raw dough. The other four you knew; Mark, and two other of your brother’s friends whose names you didn’t remember, and then Milton, who looked more bloated than you had ever seen him. His eyes were wide open, unfocused and misty white.

Your stomach and esophagus constricted, trying to push out food that wasn’t there anymore, and the sour taste in your mouth made you drool all over your chin. If Steve hadn’t been holding you, you’d be flat on the ground.

“We do this every year. Ensure a good harvest, get the local businesses going, keep people in town. It works. Too bad about Milton, though.”

“Why?”

“We needed a fifth, and he was getting too close to you.”

“Why do you care? Why don’t you just leave me alone?”

You felt lips touch the crown of your head, then a cheek. “I’m going to show you.”

Steve sat you down gently, and yet his arms never left you. He brought an uncapped bottle of water to your lips and tilted it until you felt liquid hit them.

“Here. Don’t drink, just swish it around and spit.”

You only had the strength to let it dribble down your chin.

You felt Steve sigh above you, then pat the top of your head. He parted from you and you heard the sound of fabric rustling, but you didn’t think about it. You couldn’t look away from the five men laying still on the ground, the five ex-people, dearly departed to be forgotten in a dark cave.

Hands touched you again, rubbing the fabric of your shirt over the top of your shoulders, in what could be misconstrued as a caress. His fingers then slipped under your collar, trying to pull it up and over your head. You screeched like a banshee and swatted at his searching hand.

“Those are going to get ruined if you don’t take them off,” Steve said.

He touched your collar and you tried to bite him.

“Fine,” He replied with a rumbling snarl “I was expecting I’d have to tame that mouth anyway.”

Your hair was yanked back and you yelped, being forced to lean against a very naked chest, only to have a piece of fabric shoved inside your mouth. It’s smell was pungent, if not quite that unpleasant, but you gagged at the realization of what it was.

Steve tossed you back down, and you landed on your elbows. He removed your jeans with a single pull and then your sneakers were gone too.

He manhandled you into a kneeling position. You tried to push yourself to stand, but the weight of his hand on your shoulder was too much.

“No, you stay there now. And don’t fucking touch that!” He shouts as your hands fly to your mouth “You’re gonna keep it until you start behaving. Don’t think I won’t break your arm.”

You curl in on yourself and cry. Steve’s hand tenses over your shoulder and you shake as though you were cold, yet you feel warm. Very warm, even. You felt sick in every possible way: a pounding head, a roiling stomach and goose-flesh all over. You wanted to lay down and wait for death, but Steve just wouldn’t let you.

Your muscles hurt, tendons pulled like you’d just got done running a marathon and your body was finally starting to feel it. Your skin burned. You looked down at your fists clenched tightly and resting above your thighs. They looked veiny, larger too, somehow, and they trembled uncontrollably. Your nails bit into the flesh of your palm, and you could feel blood pouring out. You tried to press harder.

There was an awful pulling in your legs, your jaw, your spine that you could no longer chalk up to a trauma reaction.

Through the corner of your eye, you saw Sam and Bucky approach, both nude. They walked past you and approached the circle of dead men. A soft white light framed their silhouettes. You looked up and saw the moon on the roof of the cavern.

Your arms itched. You scratched at them with your sharp nails and felt the hair there longer and coarser. You could still smell the rotting corpses, but they were no longer as offensive to your senses.

You cried out for Steve, and your voice was muffled by his underwear until it slipped out of your mouth. The only sound that came out of you was a guttural whine.

Steve’s fingers tightened over your shoulder, and they sank into you like claws. They ripped through your shirt, but the damage was minimal. The fabric had thorn along your arms first, then the rest of your torso as it twisted and expanded.

You screamed as you felt the first bone break in two. You could only whimper at the fifth, and blanked out after you heard the sound of your skull cracking.

When the pain faded, you took a good look at what was left.

The remains of your clothes were strewn about the floor. You saw a large hairy thing on the edge of your vision, and when you stretched your hand out to touch it, the thing moved instead.

You shook your head, heavy and awkward. You darted your tongue out to lick your lips, finding fur on its path.

Something closed around your hand – no, paw. It was an even larger one, covered in tawny fur. You craned your neck and saw a muzzle peering down at you, then two bright blue eyes. Steve. You didn’t know how, you just could tell.

Steve wrapped his arms around your body and helped you stand up, and you held onto him. He steadied you when you threatened to fall over like a baby deer, only… only the comparison was comical. You weren’t a delicate newborn, but rather a large, strong creature, unused to this form and yet with the full knowledge of what you would be capable of if you tensed your muscles just right and curled your claws in a certain way.

You no longer felt like yourself. No longer the strange girl with anger outbursts who couldn’t control her own strength, no longer awkward in your own body. No, you finally felt right.

Even when you could finally stand on your own, you still clung to Steve. As you leaned your head against his chest, his warmth felt comforting, rather than oppressive. You heard the strange rumbling from his chest again, the same one from the day you’d been in his house, and it made you giddy. Maybe you’d get a chance for a repeat soon?

You stood there, hugging each other, as you cataloged the extent of your changes. Your vision was different, catching more movement and colors. You could detect noises you would never have been able before: an owl hooting outside the cave, a couple of rats scurrying inside. The smell of the bodies didn’t bother you as much, and neither did the sight of them. You could now detect other, distinct scents around the room: from your father, Steve, Sam and Bucky. Steve’s was by far your favorite.

As the light faded, your body began contorting again, though this time painlessly. When you returned to your former body, you could still hear, see and smell as well as before, and your mind was clear.

You lifted your hand, bringing it to the side of Steve’s face. He watched you with wide eyes, which mellowed when you touched his cheek and smiled at him as tears bloomed from your eyes.

When he’d said he meant to show you, you couldn’t believe how blind you’d been. You understood why he did the things he did and why he couldn’t simply explain it to you. You wouldn’t have been able to understand. Hell, you barely understood it still, but you could feel his motives and feelings, everything he’d held back because he had to, everything he’d done… It used to scare you, but now that you could understand the pattern in his heartbeat, you couldn’t blame him for his actions. He loved you, you were his, and he was yours – that was clear as day – and you would do as much or worse to make sure nothing would come in between you.

“Steve?” You mumbled.

He swallowed hard “Yeah?”

“Kiss me?”

Your answer was a set of strong arms wrapping around your waist and lifting you up until your lips could reach Steve’s. There was no hesitation as he crashed his lips against yours and devoured you. The kiss was wild and messy, but it fit creatures such as the two of you.

With your arms wrapped around his neck, you looked into his teary eyes and marveled at him. He was so beautiful, and so full of love for you he could barely contain it all inside, but now you were finally on the same page. The fear and uncertainty from when you arrived in Lupercal were gone, replaced by the unexplainable, maddening feelings you now had for this man.

A bundle of cloth flew towards the two of you, and Steve caught it with one hand without even taking his eyes off of you. He unfurled the fabrics, handing you his shirt first, and you parted from him with some reluctance to put it on.

By the time you were done with the shirt, Steve was just finishing buttoning up his pants. He extended your jeans to you, frowning when he spotted a puke stain on one of the legs.

“We’re gonna wash these when we get home,” he said as you took them.

“Your home?”

“Our home.”

You smiled.

“Sam and Bucky are going to take your dad home-”

“Fuck no; I need a new shirt.” Sam interjected, walking past the two of you while fiddling with his belt.

“-Bucky is going to take your dad home. He’s going to be alright tomorrow, just a little dizzy.”

“He better!” You said, and slapped his arm playfully. You were glad to finally know just how much force to use.

Steve smiled at you and patted the top of your head. You had never seen him so happy, so relaxed. And it was all because of you.

“You must be so relieved things finally clicked for me,” you noted, slipping your fingers in between his.

“Yeah,” he squeezed your hand gently “It’s been years since… Since I’ve known. I wish I could’ve told you, but you were raised different. It would just be worse if I did.”

“About that,” you frowned “A lot of things cleared up, but I still don’t get, well, for starters, how I’m… whatever I am, too.”

Steve chewed on his bottom lip and looked away as if in deep thought. He turned you around, still holding one of your hands in his. “You’ve always been, in a way. There aren’t many like us, and if they’re no raised right they may never get to know who they are. It’s not a good place to get in details. First we gotta get you home, get you cleaned and get some food in you. Then you gotta learn how to decide when you turn and when you do n’t.”

“I can choose that?!”

“And a lot more,” he chuckled, swinging your hands in a gentle lull he began walking out of the cave “But we’ve got all the time in the world to go over everything. Right now I just can’t believe this is finally over.”

He let out a sigh. You could hear the stress leaving him as he breathed in and out evenly. You were sure he could feel the same from you.

“Steve,” you said, stopping in your tracks. He looked back to you, into your eyes, and waited for what you had to say, though you suspected he already knew “I love you.”

He touched the side of your face and leaned in closer. “I love you too. Ever since I can remember.”

He brought you closer for another kiss, this one gentler than the first, yet no less passionate. There was no point in being soft, not with you.

As you left the cave together, hand in hand, the future seemed bright. You no longer felt disconnected from your hometown, not the intense desire to escape it. You finally felt like you were home.

[deadbeatdadjokes]

So I didn’t technically get this in my inbox but I was asked (probably as a joke, now that I think about it) to write about characters without actually writing about them, ie w/o mentioning their names/any spoken dialogue, etc. I did my best, but it’s either going to come across wildly confusing or annoyingly heavy-handed so this one was a hell of a challenge, touché to you. In that vein I chose to write about the boys again in the hopes that either of those problems would be mitigated somewhat...(the answer was no :D )

The paint chips in a forgotten corner. He never thinks to peel the broken piece back all the way to see what horrid hack-job mess lied beneath the already abysmal layer of rapidly disintegrating illusion, it’s difficult enough to keep gravity from forcing it to hang loose like an another irritating distraction. 

Occasionally he’ll take to pushing at it with his entire body, in the vain hopes that the broken piece will somehow stick itself back together again-a mend that does nothing to address the overall ugliness of it, though it would at the very least relieve him of any burden of responsibility for its maintenance.

But each time it adheres lightly a brief moment before fluttering to rest at a wilt again. Much as the broken piece annoys him, there’s little he’s actually willing to do about it besides complain.

So he ignored it.

There were more important matters to attend to.

Until today, when he swears it crumbles into dust between his fingers, saturated with darkened stains that bled into his own clothing, and he feels it thrum within his embrace as he again desperately presses it into his own body to make it stop, make it stop-

The broken piece clings to him just as desperately, flushed colors diluted with water that ran down against him and it’s all he can do to just keep it together because he refuses to strip the paint any further, now terrified of the visions that stirred eerily beneath the ever-warping surface.

He can’t help but apologize with his numb lips for the sorry state of affairs.

Then, miraculously, eventually...it holds.

The broken piece melds itself to the rest of the wall long enough for him to let go.

It conceals the horrors underneath long enough for him to open his eyes again, though it’s not long before he decided again he did not care for what he saw.

It didn’t care right back, cracking with a splintered, bloodied technicolor smile of sorts as the leakage dripped to a halt before finally peeling away again, wilting back into its original place with a gentle wave.

He blinks, and in spite of the way he notices his door swaying open and closed he’s inexplicably alone again.  

It’s only going to get worse, he hears someone, somewhere warn.

But it wasn’t his. He hadn’t been the one to break it, he was just left dealing with a problem that never should have been his responsibility-

Even if his negligence caused the issue to persist...he wasn’t strong enough for this.

He’s only strong enough to mount a shadowed blockade of furniture up against it the next day, and weak enough to pray it was enough.

[eyeless-cunt]

taking advantage of the fact that the request are open haha, how would the creepypastas react if they killed their s/o accidentally? thnks love, much love 4 u

you woke up and and chose enternal suffering

TW: Death of the reader, blood, gore, angst, depressive thoughts, hintings of panic attacks, mentions of suicide,....necrophilia....?, mentions of pills, paranoia, delusions :), ect.

Jeffery:

I'm Honestly not even sure how he could have accidentally killed you? He never takes you with him when he goes out to...do his things. He certainly never raised a knife towards you and he would never kill you out of anger. So how did this even happen?

He blacked out. He was just sitting with you, laughing about nothing important. That's all he can remember. So where are you? And whose blood is he covered in right now? It's brown and crumbly, signiling that it's been a good few hours since he came into contact with it. Where are you? He wants to see you, ask what happened. He never even noticed he was holding a knife washed in blood until he stood up, the object falling from his loose hand. Did he kill someone? When? Where? Where's the body? Where are you? Is this a dream? Where are you? He turns in circles, looking for a body. Where are you? He smells that familair scent in the air--that smell that arises from the corpses he mutilates. Where are you? He peeks behind a close by tree, expecting to see a random stranger of whom may have just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Where are you?

THERE YOU ARE

Wobbiling legs, vacant eyes, a shaky hand outstretched towards an all too familar body. Why are you here? What's wrong with you? Shaky breaths, his heart that seems to stop for a whole few seconds--and suddenly—all too suddenly, the realization of what he's done hits him so hard he loses the feeling in his legs, falling beside your weeping corpse as you stare him in the eyes, filling him with a sense of glorified dread. The emotions that his brain can't seem to comprehend are flooding in all at once and far too fast, crippiling him with something that escaped him the night he killed his family. How did this happen? Why? What? Confusion and horror seeps into his bones and shoots him down, peircing his lungs in a way that leaves him gasping for air that he just can't seem to hold onto.

Jane:

She was just too obsessed. She went too far without looking around at her surroundings. Her hunt for Jeffery pushed her too hard. Before she knew it, she was standing over a body that she shouldn’t have been. As soon as she did it, her spiked anger flushed out of her system, a cold bucket of realization and horror washing over her. Immediately, apologies spew out of her mouth from behind her mask. She hurt her s/o out of pure anger of which she didn’t try hard enough to control. She’s so sure that you’ve just been knocked unconscious—she’s positive that your bleeding head wound isn’t fatal. No, you’ll be fine. Huh? Where’s your pulse? What?

Her nerves flare up, horror spiking back up again; as if it never went down in the first place. She’s not a delusional idiot. She doesn’t try to shake you awake. She won’t call out for you, expecting a response. Jane doesn’t pray to a dead god in the hope that you’ll awaken and smile at her, saying that you forgive her. That you know it was an accident. That you still love her. No. What she does is bury your body. She reflects the blame onto someone else. Jeffery. You were arguing with her about her continuous hunt for him. You told her that you wanted her to stop—you wanted her to forget. Jeffery caused this. He was the subject of the argument. He’s taken yet another person from her.

BEN:

How did this happen to him? To you? He should have been more careful. He should have known this would happen sooner or later. He should have stayed away from you. Why was he like this? Of course this happened to him, to you; the person he loved most. It was fine. It was alright. You were having fun. He was so happy just to be able to spend time with you. Why would he let you put in the plug? So close to him? He naturally collects electricity. He knows that. So why would he let himself stand so close to you as you plugged in the controller.

A lapse in judgement. He forgot. He was too focused on the way you looked today. You had only woken up an hour ago, a messy appearance still making his dead heart race. That’s no excuse. How did this happen to him? He knows how. So why can’t he feel anything? Why can’t he move his limbs? Why does he feel worse now than he had when he was drowning at the bottom of a lake? Why is he feeling like that but also simultaneously feeling nothing at the same time? Did he break? Yeah. Staring down at this body, he starts to think he might have broke. He might have just died again. He wants to die again. Please let him die again.

EJ:

He was careful with you for years. He had to be. He could break a hand just by holding it so easily. He could lose to his cravings and sink his teeth into your neck at any time. He could rip your head off with no effort at all if he were to brush your hair with anything other than small, fleeting and gentle touches. So how did this happen? He’s always been so careful. His eating schedule always revolved around you. He would have to leave for a few days so he could eat away from you, so he usually held off on leaving for months if he could.

He knew he shouldn’t have. Spending more time with you at the cost of your own life wasn’t worth it. It wasn’t logical. If the hunger got too persistent he could go feral, accidentally killing you in the process. It wasn’t logical. He knew it wasn’t logical to stay with you longer if he was hungry. So why did he do it? How could he let this happen? The cold realization that he really did lose control hits him, the feeling in his limbs quickly leaving. Static. That’s all he could feel. Numb static. You’re everywhere. He wasn’t careful enough. He lost out to his feelings for the first time in hundreds of years. And you paid the price. It was his fault. It’s his fault. It’s his fault. HE DID THIS TO YOU.

He can’t function. The control he’s been holding over himself for a good thousand years breaks. He regresses back into what he was before he gained control. He no longer wants to have control if it leads to him falling in love with someone only to kill them later when he loses it again.

LJ:

He can’t even remember how this happened. The trauma blocking the horrible memories works fast. All he knows is that you’re leaking blood all over a table he doesn’t remember being here yesterday. All he knows is that you’re dead and he did this. He did this. No. No he didn’t. He didn’t. He wouldn’t. He would never hurt you. Who did this? He didn’t. Events take a morbid turn when his abandonment issues take a turn for the worse.

He won’t let the body go. Your body. He won’t let you leave him. So he holds you forever, just like he promised you he would when you first met all those years ago. He holds you through the decomposition process, he holds you until you’re only scattered bones. He holds you until your bones are dust and you’ve been gone longer than he can remember. He says to not worry. He likes holding you. He’ll hold you like this forever. Don’t worry. He’s sure you were so scared. Don’t worry. He’s got you. Don’t worry.

Masky:

He ran out of pills at the worst possible time. The paranoia hit him all at once, making him tape the windows and glue them shut, block the door, place a camera in all the doorways. He keeps seeing things. He keeps seeing the tall man in the darkest corner of his room. He needs more pills. But he can’t leave or the tall man will get him. He’s sure of it.

You just chose the wrong time to come over. You couldn’t have known. He didn’t even realize it was you. It was so dark. The pipe in his hand was slick with sweat. All too suddenly you’re on the floor bleeding out and his chest is heaving, air seemingly desperate to avoid him. The lights get turned on. Huh? Why are you—why? Why are you on the floor? Where is that blood coming from...? Like coffee to a drunk person, the sight of your bleeding out form sobers him—paranoia and hallucinatory visions seeping out of his veins. An almost unparalleled confusion makes him back away from you, making him trip over his steps. He can’t grasp what’s exactly happening at the moment. It takes him a few minutes to realize that his s/o is indeed bleeding out on his floor—and by then it’s far too late. He’s incompetent. His incompetency was the cause of your death. His cowardice. He was so weak it ended your life. That’s how he sees it.

Hoodie:

He can’t even believe he let you get into this situation with him. He was supposed to protect you. He was supposed to be strong enough—stable enough, to protect you. He was supposed to be able to keep his sanity so that he could keep you safe. He took his pills. He stayed away from the woods when he was with you. He stayed in public places with you, and never met at night. He always had a tape recording—so how did it go so wrong? He tried so hard. He tried so fucking hard to keep you safe. So fucking hard.

He thought it was okay to take a short walk with you. You weren’t even close to the woods, it was still a semi-public place. No one was out, and while that made him uneasy, he didn’t question it. He should have. He should have grabbed your hand and taken you to fucking McDonalds or some shit. Maybe a nice stroll through Walmart. Just not here. Not alone and outside. He put you in this situation. It was his fault. He didn’t mean it. He’s never been angrier in his whole existence. He doesn’t worry, he doesn’t fear. Hoodie isn’t scared of anything. But looking down at a corpse that once belonged to you, he finds that he does indeed fear one thing. The end of your life.

Toby:

As far as he’s concerned you never died. What? What do you mean you’re holding a funeral? For who? What? What do you mean? My significant other is sitting right beside me? Is this a joke? It’s not very funny. Can you please stop calling me delusional? Hallucinating? What the fuck are you on? Do you want me set you on fire?

No. You never died. In fact, he’s looking at your smiling face right now. You’re like the sun. So bright it hurts, but so pretty. You’re telling him about your day, although he finds it odd that you’re talking about work again even though you’ve been sitting in this field with him all day. You’re a bit inconsistent and confused these days, but that’s okay. We’ll get through it together. Just like we always have. You promised, remember? Together forever, even through death. <3

[scavengurs]

the library is her personal noah's ark - a self-inflicted responsibility. it had been well-stocked prior to the end, of course, but it was all primarily history and science and mathematics - jordan had decided one day, while sitting among the stacks cataloguing titles, that the wider world of fiction deserved a chance to survive, too. and most at the university are grateful for that: for the chance to fall into a mystery or thriller as the day yawns lazily into night, to escape into romance or trade their daily horror for vampires or werewolves - neither are quite jordan's taste, but she's happy to provide them for others.

mikayla's disinterest is just as common, though - and despite her flaring nostrils and pinched mouth, jordan understands. there are jobs far more important than accompanying her - and some part of her wishes jay would just make an exception and allow her to do these runs on her own, despite how terrifying the thought is. she'd rather the risk be only to herself - but the guilt that it isn't never stops her from venturing out anyway.

she could reflect on that selfishness and call it all off; what jordan does instead is ignore mikayla's remarks with a pointed turn of her head, her grip tightening on the pistol, a finger grazing the safety. there's vague signs that perhaps swarmers have nested nearby; it causes her neck and scalp to grow hot, muscles tensing, and at the suggestion that she go first, jordan feels cowardice slicing hotly into her stomach like a knife - but there's a sudden, persistent need to prove herself to mikayla.

jordan flits her eyes from the ruined door to her, a brow slightly arched - if it was so weak that a single touch could make it crumble, then maybe the interior is clear, or the bleeders would've already torn it down. she doesn't allow the assumption to lower her guard, though; mumbling a quiet, “fine,” jordan steps into the darkness - and the hand pressed over her mouth to minimize breathing in the dust muffles the fuck that follows.

a singular beam of light cuts through the shadows, leaking into the living area from what she presumes is the kitchen - but it's difficult to tell, with the overturned furniture, thrown around the room. that's all that seems to remain: couches stripped of cushions, shelves void of anything. there's paper strewn about, but little else - picked clean by the vultures that arrived long before they did.

“fucking christ.” she holsters her weapon, because if a bleeder was in the house, it would have attacked already - and with her newly-free hands, jordan pushes over a lamp that had somehow survived the mayhem upright. “the dumbass runner who told me about this neighborhood said it wasn't picked through.”

the irritation radiating from jordan is something mikayla's far too familiar with, because she seems to have a talent for bringing that out of people, whether she tries to or not—and she's not trying this time, but she won't apologize for it, either. instead, she derides, “it's not even that serious.” maybe it's just because she doesn't get it—she can't imagine caring so much about objects, even now. especially not about books, which she'd always considered torture to read in school—she's not sentimental enough to see the appeal of keeping them.

her eyes flicker briefly to jordan's gun, biting her tongue to keep from pointing out that she's holding it wrong—too often, she has to remind herself how everyone else was forced to adapt into this life, that most people hadn't spent the years before the outbreak training for survival, the way she had. everyone else just seems so tense all the time, and mikayla can't tell if she pities or envies them for not having the same experience. her own gun remains holstered, but she reaches for her knife—she prefers more traditional weapons, even if she knows how to use them all.

every book seems a little dramatic, even to mikayla, the self-proclaimed queen of dramatics; she doesn't bother masking the judgement as she lets out a scoff, “i'm not risking my life for stephanie meyer. just so we're clear.” the only preservation she's concerned with is self-preservation, despite her tendency to put herself in the middle of harm's way just for the hell of it, like now.

when they reach the front door, mikayla hesitates, head tilting as she tries to listen for something, anything, indicating signs of life, infected or not, but she hears nothing. the door's locked as she tries to open it, handle snapping off in her attempt, but she's mostly unfazed, pressing her shoulder against the opposite side of the door and pushing. there's the sound of wood cracking as the door is teared off by the hinges, followed by the loud thump of the door falling over, a cloud of dust raising afterwards. mikayla backs away with a cough, rubbing the dust out of her eyes. “gross—you first.”

[itokunii-a]

( headcanon/drabble: ascension ).

War is a terrible orchestra, he had realized the moment the first gunshot blended into the never-ending rain of artillery cascading from the skies, the very second he had trouble differentiating the stressed gallop of the cavalry from the tanks splitting open the earth with their haunting, rattling roars. And so, so loud, bordering on ear-piercing but never showing him mercy and deafening him to this awfully cacophany of sounds but then again, even silence belongs to this raging horseman ( not quietude, sweet and lulling, when he worked on his students’ papers, basking in the warm sunlight that crept through the glass of his window, rays breaking, softening the sun’s warm touch; no, silence is sharp and claiming, grabbing you by your throat and making you paranoid of the things it hides within its cloak ). And even now as he lays here buried in the grass below, feeling the drizzle of the rain soak through the layers of his uniform, mixing into the warm pool of blood that collects beneath his ribcage from where the bullet had pierced through the frail armor that is his body, war still rampages on without giving a second thought to his dying body. Ah, what a pity, he had hoped that the more of him disappeared into the wet mist of the morning, the less he would hear, see, feel; as though he is waking up from a dream, slowly as the images crumble from his mind. But death perhaps has less mercy than war.

He grits his teeth, clawing his fingers into the salt of the ground below as the voices of his men echo to his left, their cadence making his breath hitch, his heartbeat quicken as he realizes he cannot die like this, cannot let them die like this. This is not about him. It is his duty to save them, isn’t it? This horror has neither rhyme, nor reason but if he could keep them from this plight, if he could just get up and move, he needs to get to them, he HAS to GET UP and MOVE----.

And, suddenly, something shifts within the atmosphere. He barely manages to roll himself onto his back and grant the heavens above a pained, half-lidded stare when he sees it between the clouds. Light breaks and falls onto his face but unlike its gentle counterpart this fire is overwhelming, blinding, a flame that steals both attention and mind and fills his head with the loudest ringing imaginable, a static hiss and his body succumbs to its will. But, alas, this is only the beginning for when the clouds part the murmurs, the commands, the singing of the archangel possess him completely and he is crying, screaming, begging in terror and in awe at the ghastly beauty of the celestial creature above. And it chooses him as its fiery sword and it does not care that he is scared and dying ( is it not made in god’s image? Is it not like god? And does he not let them slaughter each other without interference? ), it feeds on his virtue and his dedication and his devotion. Its hand ( or perhaps something that his mind constructed as a hand ) grazes his eyes and all he can do is give himself in as its vessel.

He wakes with a gasp, the cool air filling his lungs ( dry, and he is already heaving and shaking and shutting his eyes tightly before his body allows him an exhale ), the skin on his back burning with the intensity of a thousand dying suns. There are worried, prying hands all on him, voices he cannot pinpoint an identity to asking him something, yelling, spluttering, Sergeant, what the fuck happened here, how did you--- but all he can do is lay on his stomach and tremble in tune to the ringing still persisting in his ears.

Someone is carrying him, medics he assumes, but he passes out before he sees the rivers of red, the burnt-out corpses and the mad wailing of an enemy still alive quivering with a single noun stuck to his lips.

Angel. They claim the wing-like burns on his back are from a grenade.

[seijorhi]

The Fall

Somebody said Devil Kuroo and I have not recovered since. Anyway, enjoy my first offering for the Spooktober event!

Kuroo Tetsurou x Female Reader

TW Dub/non-con, blood, gore, minor character death, religious themes, nsfw, mild smut

It’s subtle, the shift in the air as two polished black shoes cross the threshold. The candles on the altar spit and sputter, and a shiver trickles down your spine. 

You wonder if the humans scattered along the pews can sense it too, if they can taste the bitter, metallic tang in the air, feel the same prickling sensation at the nape of their necks as  tiny hairs stand on end. The woman seated two rows in front of you stiffens, her breath catching between her sobbed prayers, but she doesn’t turn and neither do you.

Do they have any idea the evil that’s trespassing on holy ground? The danger that they’re all in - the danger that you’ve inadvertently brought upon them?

This is all your fault.

His footsteps, slow and measured echo mockingly throughout the nave, but you’re rooted in place. It’s instinctual, you think; the fear that sinks its claws into your heart, seeping into your veins like ice. 

There is nowhere left for you to run. 

You have no more aces hidden up your sleeves. 

The wards that protected you, kept you safe and hidden for years are broken, and your friends-

Blood slicked floors, body parts strewn across your apartment. A howling scream pierces the air around you, and it takes a moment to realise that it belongs to you. You fall to your knees, bile rising in your throat as you stare in wide eyed horror at the grisly mess he’d left in his wake. 

He could have killed them with a snap of his fingers, but he’d taken his time, hurt them, ripped the spines from their bodies slowly, keeping them alive as they screamed and begged through tears and snot and blood and vomit…  

He’d left them for you to find like a gruesome homecoming gift. Punishment, you think, for daring to hide you from him. 

It’s late, well past midnight. The only people in the crumbling, dilapidated church at this hour are those with nowhere else to go. Vagrants, the helpless, those lost to grief and addiction seeking the barest semblance of comfort amongst the burning incense, high ceilings and grimy, stained glass windows. 

And you. 

Though you suppose you fit into the former. Where else could hope to hide now that your sanctuary has been torn to pieces? This is the last place you’d choose to go, even now the long healed scars on your shoulder blades sting and burn, a painful and persistent reminder that you no longer belong amongst these hallowed halls.

Foolishly, you’d still come. Consecrated ground was supposed to protect you, however temporarily.

He shouldn’t be here. He can’t be here, it’s not possible, but-

Dressed in a crisp black suit with a blood red tie, the handsome figure settles himself down on the pew beside you. A smirk curls at his lips as he stretches long legs, crossing his ankles and leisurely fixing the sleeves of his jacket as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. 

You don’t dare draw breath. Sitting stiff and ramrod straight, you stare at your trembling hands curled into fists on your lap, the ancient golden pendant lying broken in your palm. There’s dried blood smeared across the back of your hands, flecks and splatters hidden among the dark fabric of your skirt. The sight of it makes your stomach churn.

His chin tilts, golden, cat-like pupils settling on you. You fight the urge to fidget, to flee, fingernails biting into the soft, delicate skin of your palm as he studies you. 

“Hey, angel,” he purrs, his voice like warm honey. “It’s been a while.”

Finally you tear your eyes away from your lap, meeting his smirk with an icy glare. “Don’t call me that,” you snap bitterly. 

He laughs, stretching back to drape his arm over the wooden backrest of the pew, his fingers just barely grazing your shoulders. “But I like calling you angel, and I’ve missed you.” The last part is growled, a low and rumbling timbre, too deep, too rich to be mistaken for anything close to human. It makes your hackles rise and your stomach clench uneasily. Unbidden, memories flash to your mind- his teeth at your neck, his sweat slicked body moving atop yours. Unbearable, searing heat flooding your core, large hands encircling yours to hold you down as his hips eagerly rut up against your ass, “Give into me, angel, you know you want to.”

His grin widens, and you know that it’s deliberate. 

You don’t have the luxury of anger, not when the fear so visceral it threatens to choke you demands attention. He’s smiling amiably, but you’re not so naive as to believe that he’s not furious with you, that there won’t be punishments that await you for your escape.

One hundred and twenty years might pass in the blink of an eye for him, but it wouldn’t make a difference if it were only one, or even a single month, a day. You ran from him, and for every moment you were not at his side he would make you suffer - excruciating pain inflicted with pleasure until your mind broke and you couldn’t distinguish the two, until you were a babbling, beautiful mess begging for mercy.

Until you regretted ever even considering leaving his side after all that he’d done to keep you there.

He’d promised you as much a long time ago, hissing the threat into your ear as he forced you to ride his cock.

You’d fled anyway. And now, you’re trapped with nowhere left to run, and he knows it just as well as you do. But it’s not yourself that you’re scared for. 

There will be plenty of time for that later.

Six innocent, oblivious humans dot the derelict pews, and the Father you’d watched tend to the burning candles and incense at the altar, meeting your stricken gaze for just a moment before returning to the task at hand. 

It is for their sakes that you are afraid.

“A church, angel?” he sounds amused. “You know, I expected you to run after you found the dead witch and her partner, but here?” he tuts, shaking his head with a sigh. Pain, raw and visceral stabs at your heart and your shoulders shake with barely concealed anger, hands clenched so tight that blood seeps from the crescent shaped cuts in your palm. He eyes the gold pendant flecked with crimson in your grip, and for the first moment since he arrived, you watch that cavalier facade slip - a flicker of something dark and jealous twisting at his features. “They were the ones who kicked you out, don’t you remember? They ripped those lovely wings-”

“You tricked me, Kuroo! You lied!” the words spill from your tongue before you can hope to stop them. His golden eyes widen for a split second, surprised by your outburst, but it only lasts a moment before he’s smirking indulgently at you once more. Too late you realise your slip. The devil has a thousand names, but Kuroo was the one he gave when he first came to you. 

You haven’t uttered that name in almost two hundred years. 

“Did you think that the grace of God would protect you here, angel?” He slides closer, long, nimble fingers plucking the cross from your hands only to cast it aside. The faint metallic clinking as it falls and clatters across the marble floors makes you flinch, but he pays it no mind. “Did you truly believe that there is an ounce of anything holy left in this crumbling, decrepit shithole? And even if there were,” he pauses, leaning down to whisper in your ear as a warm palm slides up your thigh, “did you really think that would be enough to keep me from you?”

“K-Kuroo,” you gasp as he leans down to nuzzle into the crook of your neck, his mouth laving wet, hot, open mouthed kisses against the delicate skin there. His fingers delve under the hem of your skirt and it’s pure, unadulterated fear that hits you like a tidal wave, compelling you against your better instincts to claw at his wrist, halting him in his tracks.

He stills, warm breath fanning across your skin as he exhales sharply, leaving goosebumps in its wake. The flames from the candles on the altar sputter once more before they swell with frightening intensity, surging as the temperature in the chapel spikes. 

“Angel,” he purrs lowly, the barest hint of an underlying threat lacing the endearment, and it feels as though there’s an invisible hand inside of your chest, clenching around your frantically beating heart. It’s a mistake, you know that even as his other hand reaches for your chin, gripping it tightly as he forces you to meet his molten gaze. “If you keep denying me what I want, I will raze this fucking church to the ground and let them all burn.”

This time you don’t so much as flinch when he tugs your panties to the side, rough fingertips brushing teasingly along your slit. “You’re going to let me defile you, sweet thing. You’re going to remember why you fell for me.” 

His eyes are blown wide, dark pupils almost swallowing the gilded irises. Gone is the perfectly crafted human facade - this is the beast that lurks beneath, and you have run from him for long enough. Your heart hammers against your ribs, your tongue darting out to wet your lips, fighting back a shiver as he tracks the movement with predatory focus. You know as well as he does that the games are over, and you have lost.

Every cell in your body is screaming at you to run, but you cannot move.

His breath is ragged, a flush of pink dusting at his cheek as he stares at you, an unholy desire burning in those bottomless depths.

One beat passes, and then another-

He closes the gap between you two, crashing his lips against yours. The kiss isn’t sweet. It isn’t tender, but it sets you alight nonetheless. Without warning his fingers plunge into your plush, velvet walls and you gasp for him, clutching at his jacket sleeve.

“And when I take you, fuck you on these floors until you sing for me, angel, you’re going to love every second of it,” he snarls.

[m-aster-of-spinjitzu]

error 404: answer not found

Akita and Zane talk after the battle in 'Awakenings'. The conversation... doesn't go as either of them expect.

Prompt: memories, from @ninjago-bingo​‘s warm board:D

Trigger warnings: implied self harm (one or two characters dig their fingernails into their hands), discussion and introspection about most of the crimes the 'Emperor' committed, a lot of talk and introspection about murder.

Word count: 4682 (I've literally been writing this for like a month lol, kinda disappointed it ended up fairly short:/)

"We have to talk."

The girl with red markings on her face - Akita, he heard Lloyd call her - unsheathes her short dagger, eyes narrowed to slits.

He glances around the throne room, hands pressed to his head. The memories were still trickling through; strange islands and a forest of snow, a dungeon and... a noodle factory?

"Alright," he says quietly. She bears the same red marks of the bear he can remember Vex convincing him was a criminal, many winters ago. That could only mean-

It wasn't you, he reminds himself. It was the scroll, and the actions of a power hungry traitor.

You gave the order, his now infallible memory supplies, and, honestly, he has no rebuttal for that.

"Alright," he echoes meekly, trying to muster some emotion into his voice. "I know-"

"No," she cuts him off roughly, her eyes scanning the room. It is just the two of them now - the samurai had fled once they had recovered from the strange trance he had put them in. Vex had been locked in the dungeon by Lloyd, who was helping any of the samurai who could not quite remember their old lives.

He had ruled for sixty years. Some of their families might dead, some by their own hands.

They know this. He knows this.

Irrationally, he wishes there was some way to fix this. A spell, or a way to turn back the clock; some way to yell at a younger Zane to just scout the cave-

There is no way backward; only forward, out of this winter - and, possibly, into another one.

He stares at the girl in front of him, taking in her tattered clothing, the ease with which she holds her weapon. She's not afraid to fight.

"I don't owe you an explanation, Emperor," Akita says definitely, forcing out the words. "But you will give me one, or you shall never see the light of day again. My brother-"

His heart lurches, eyes widening. Brother.

"Knows that the dungeon has many empty cells," she finishes sharply, barely contained anger flashing in her eyes.

He keeps the facts brief, concise. Once this is all over, he can dwell on them - agonize over what he should have done; use it to be better next time. Atone for his mistakes, even if he can never truly make up for them.

"A snake capable of sorcery used a magic scepter to blast me and a vehicle to this realm. I was sent here sixty years into the past, which is why it took my friends so long to find me. I was also holding a similar magic scepter - one which amplifies the holder's power, but if held for too long, it corrupts one's mind."

"I know what happens next."

How-

"I watched your message to your friends," she replies curtly, by way of explanation. "I did not know that you and the Emperor were one and the same. Continue."

"Vex interrupted a process I was using to try and fix a- vehicle, which caused me to lose my memories. He told me that I was ill. He said that he was a great friend of mine, and that this realm belonged to me. He convinced me that Formlings were warmongers, and that the rightful king had overthrown me. Just before he almost killed Lloyd, he said something that caused my memories to return."

She frowns. "I do not understand. How does one lose their memories so easily?"

Akita stares at his metal skin, her eyes widening as if noticing it for the first time.

"I am not quite like you-"

"I know," she interjects, eyes brimming with anger. "I am not a murderer."

"I was... created," he replies, quietly. "Out of extra materials. I can act like others, but I do not always understand emotions in the same way."

Akita frowns again, raising her dagger. Her voice grows a dangerous edge; sharp and cold. "You never realized that your actions were wrong?"

They're entering dangerous territory. Some part of him wants to derail the conversation; stick to the facts and leave his emotions out of this.

But he owes her an explanation - he owes everyone an explanation. He owes them so much more, if only he could give it to them; erase the past and leave their quiet realm in peace.

"Before I came here, I would never have done such things - if I had my memories, I would never have done such things. Vex convinced me that they were the only way I could defend my throne. I did not know that they were wrong. The moment I realized what I had done, I tried to help your side. The right side," he finishes, ignoring the temptation to stare down at the floor instead of into her blazing eyes.

An indecipherable expression crosses her face. "You never talked to another? One of your... army, perhaps?" "Vex gave all the orders. He just asked me for approval. I never left this room." "And you approved them," she muttered, but it seemed to serve more as a reminder to herself than it did to him.

"What was your life like, before you entered our world?" Akita asks suddenly, suspicion still coating her voice. He blinks, the question unexpected.

"My friends and I can control and create different elements," he began, hesitantly. Carefully. "We were taught to fight. We protect our city from those-" "You were built to protect those who cannot protect themselves."

"Those who cannot protect themselves," Zane finishes, guilt making his vision hazy.

He quickly blinks away the tears, all too aware of her persistent gaze.

"Two more questions," she says quickly, glancing behind her. "This room makes me uncomfortable. And so do you." The accusation is clear, but her eyes are not quite as cold as they had been earlier.

"What do you feel now?" Akita asks roughly, taking a step back. "You mentioned earlier that you do not feel emotions the same way that we do. Explain."

I could lie, he thinks, fleetingly. What if my feelings convince her that I am the Emperor even more than I am Zane? A voice at the back of his mind points out that he is - was - the Emperor.

He knows this.

He knows that he will have to acknowledge it once they are back home.

He knows that he cannot dwell on it now, or the winter will go on - inside his mind instead of outside it.

"I feel... guilt," he begins. "For the terrible crimes I have committed. Horror, at my own actions. Anger, towards that traitor. Relief - that I am no longer under his influence." An eyebrow touches her forehead, ever so slightly.

"How guilty?" It is almost a challenge, her voice rising in pitch threateningly.

"I will spend the rest of my life working to atone for my mistakes," Zane answers sincerely, resisting the irrational urge to squeeze his eyes shut. "However, I know that nothing I can do will ever undo them. But I can help others from people who- who... seek to manipulate them," he finishes quietly, a remorseful sigh punctuating the confession.

Akita says nothing; lips pressed in a hard line. Her blank, steadfast gaze meets his. The dagger clatters to the ground.

He draws in a breath sharply.

Picking it up, she squares her shoulders defiantly. "My people will know that... that there were two prisoners within these walls," she sighs, the weariness in her voice all too evident.

Yet he does not miss her glare; a barely contained anger that lurks just beneath the surface.

Akita straightens her spine, frowning menacingly as her hand tightens on the dagger.

He resists the irrational urge to take a step back.

"My brother and I will never forgive you," she snarls.

You do not have to, he would like to say. But he suspects that she already knows this.

"Come near either of us again, and I will make you long for death."

She shifts to her wolf form, baring her teeth - but when she stalks closer, he does not back away.

Suddenly, he is all-too-aware of the fact that the throne room is currently empty - bar the two of them.

He does not move.

It is not as if she could harm him - titanium is not easily damaged (yet, some part of him wonders if that is a blessing or curse), but they have faced enough villains for him to know how it works.

The villains die at the end; rightfully so.

Why should this be any different?

"You will pay for your crimes," Akita growls, shifting between her forms as if it is second nature. It probably is. "Emperor."

Her dagger clatters to the ground once again.

He does not move.

Why should this be any different?

---

"What's taking her so long?"

"Who?" The Samurai asks, the confusion on his face only amplifying.

"No- nothing," he mumbles, wincing. The adrenaline is wearing off - and with it, the fleeting distraction from the pain coursing through his chest.

Broken ribs? Probably. But he's got bigger problems to worry about - his minor injuries don't really matter when there's a warrior (because after all that she's been through, he thinks that she deserves the title - even if it's one she would never have wanted) seeking vengeance, someone who could tear apart this castle, brick by brick if she wanted to, alone with his brother.

His brother - who'd taken hers; encased her village in a tomb of ice, leaving behind no one but a teenager consumed with blinding anger - rightfully so, he admits, a bit wearily.

What happened to you, Zane?

Are you even... there? The person who used to stay awake with me when all I saw was the building crumbling before my eyes, night after night? The one who swore to protect those who couldn't protect themselves?

Are you still there?

"Can I, er, go inside?" he asks no one, trying not to breathe too hard. The Ice Samurai he'd been trying to help had vanished, most probably to try and get answers from someone else.

He owes it to these people to help them - if he'd just been faster, stronger, better, Aspheera could never have-

Not now, Lloyd!

He should probably open the doors - try and diffuse whatever fight they'd gotten into. Akita reminds him of Kai; both of them fiercely protective of those whom they care about, yet sometimes clouded by rage so thick they can barely see out of it.

But he's hesitating - there's always the possibility that her anger; prison of its own, might extend to him.

Not that he even has the right to condemn her for it, though.

Unwillingly, a fleeting thought presses itself to the forefront of his mind; beautiful white hair, a soft voice coated in honey-

Broken ribs, he reminds himself stubbornly, grimacing at the flare of pain as he draws in a breath sharply. She's gone, she's gone, and it's-

He bites his lip until the tang of iron fills his mouth, eyes fixed determinedly on the floor.

Not now, Lloyd!

Slowly, carefully, he pushes the door open. It creaks softly - but he doesn't think anyone hears it.

Oh, no.

---

"Akita?" a voice questions, hesitantly. He's half-leaning against the door, blonde hair almost completely hiding wary eyes all but squeezed shut in pain.

She stiffens, ignoring the part of her that learns to hunt, murder, the- the monster-

Blinking, quickly, she allows her mind to embrace the sharp, cold air on her fur, and her harsh, ragged breathing - until she can almost feel the shift in her heart, trading instinct for a different type of clarity, white fur for skin and hair.

Grabbing her dagger, she halfheartedly swipes it at the boy who makes her cheeks redder than they usually are, the boy who travelled across the ice seeking a murderer-

Well. He is in no condition to help anyone - they both know this.

But he does not have the right to interfere with this conversation - her feelings do not matter when his friend is-

"Leave us," she snarls, fingers digging into the hilt of her dagger. "What makes you think you have the right?"

Her voice grows colder, but she can't quite keep the tremor out of it.

"You did not find your village half-dead, or spend months mourning your brother," Akita snaps, frustration seeping into the words. Why does he always have to make everything so complicated?

"I know," he replies, hesitantly, eyes flitting between the room and the door. "But... this isn't the right thing to do, Akita."

"Do you think it was right for your friend to seize power from our rightful ruler? Do you think he was right when he imprisoned an innocent child for so many years?"

She doesn't bother to keep the venom out of her voice, ignoring the fact that the light brown of her skin has almost faded to white where she grips her weapon.

Taking a step closer, she bites her lip.

If he will make this his fight, so will she.

"The girl I told you about," Lloyd interjects. "H- Harumi." He forces out the name, as if the very mention of it ails him.

She raises her eyebrows. "What are you going to do? Distract me with stories about your girlfriend while he," Akita glares at the Emperor with a sigh, "escapes?"

"No," he replies softly. Brushing the hair out of his eyes, she doesn't miss his poorly concealed wince.

This is the friend he seeks?

There's a fragile silence, one of which she refuses to shatter. Nothing he can say will erase the horrific actions of this- this power-hungry ruler who has abused the gift he has been given; persecuted their lands, and forced innocents into lives ruled by fear and hatred.

"I- er-" Lloyd starts, visibly uncomfortable with saying... whatever it is he is trying to say.

She does not interrupt, but does not take her eyes off the Emperor, either. He has not moved or even contributed to their exchange yet.

Good, she thinks fervently. She does not need to force herself to try and feel sympathy for a man she has hated for so many long winters, one who has taken a piece of her heart and locked it away in a tiny prison cell.

"Did I ever tell you that- that... I watched her die?" he asks, aiming for a casual tone.

The hurt subconsciously laced into it makes something in her heart twist, as if it had been pierced by a shard of glass.

Outwardly, she does nothing more than raise an eyebrow.

For all the days they have spent trekking across the ice together, it suddenly dawns on her how little she actually knows about him.

"No," she replies carefully, dragging out the word. "Why?" "She-"

Akita can almost see his internal struggle - anger and fear and indecision and something she can't quite place her finger on meshing into another thing entirely.

"She- tried to murder," Lloyd flinches at the word, nails digging into his palms, "my friends. And I was forced to watch, helpless," he whispers, so softly that she has to strain to hear it.

"But when she- she died in a crumbling building, I- was... the one who caused it to fall."

"Your point?" she snaps; voice as sharp as her blade. He is the only thing standing between her and the Emperor; between the growing hatred she had allowed to fester for all this time, because one day she would finally make him pay-

Her friend visibly winces.

Too late does she realize her mistake, a fact that leaves her a bit sick to the stomach.

That's nothing compared to the bout of nausea that accompanies another realization, juts a second later.

How could I let my anger hurt another - one who did not deserve to receive it? Am I truly any better than the one whom I have condemned?

Well. The logical side of her mind points out that it is her choice to forgive, for such unforgivable acts; that the anger that had doused everything in its hue, every day, was to be expected-

"I apologize... for my conduct," she says quickly, forcing herself to meet his eyes. "You have never hurt me. I did not mean to hurt you." "It's okay- this- this isn't my fight anyway," Lloyd replies quickly, fingers wrapped around the door handle - but she doesn't even think he's aware of the fact. "I just- I just wanted to share something with you, something I wish someone would've shared with me, because-" He's rambling, words practically coated in a jumble of shaky nerves. "What is it?" Akita asks softly, losing a little of the stiffness in her tone.

"Murder- it isn't right," he repeats, hands pressed to his forehead. "But... it'll hurt you more than it will anyone else. I can't go a week without seeing her fall in my dreams, over and over again. I should've been glad, I guess... she'd hurt my friends and I so many times. But- but I'm the one with the nightmares, and all this- guilt. And I care- I care you, Akita. I know that I'll never understand how you've been hurt by- by the Emperor... just, think about how it'll affect you." Akita's eyes widen incredulously, but he's not done. "Just- don't let someone else make you hurt yourself." His voice is about a pitch higher than normal, but neither of them really register it. "Sometimes, the best kind of revenge is refusing..." Lloyd trails off, his eyes squeezed shut (a second later, he opens them again, blinking profusely), "to let anyone... make you hurt them."

Irrationally, she wants to break something.

That advice offers... an entirely new perspective. One that she had never thought of.

One that is- is unwanted, she insists fervently.

And now his fingers are pressing into his hands again, so tightly that she almost wants to yell - stop it, idiot, you're hurting yourself! - at him. "Because... it might haunt you lot more. And if they- they- really want to hurt you?" Both of them ignore the erratic, painful looking way his breathing starts to hitch just then.

"Don't give them... the satisfaction of it - by- your own hands."

Her mouth drops open.

No words come out.

What?

Out of the corner of her eye, she watches Lloyd slowly - a bit too carefully - push the door shut behind him. It creaks softly, but neither of the two left standing in the room really hear it.

She squeezes her eyes shut, far too many emotions almost crashing through her mind.

"You seek to rescue your friend. I seek revenge."

Blinking the world back into focus, her mind whirls and whirls; the storm unrelenting.

"I seek revenge."

What exactly did that mean to her?

She...

She did not quite know the answer now.

---

Akita does not speak for some time, her thoughtful expression plainly clashing with one of anger.

He does not speak, either, although it is for a different reason.

Lloyd's words have forced him to face the reality he has been avoiding ever since he smashed his scepter on the ground - ever since the decade-long winter had ended.

"And if they really want to hurt you? Don't give them the satisfaction of it - by your own hands."

"If they really want to hurt you."

There is only one whom Lloyd could have been referring to.

"You were built to protect those who cannot protect themselves."

Somewhere within his mind, he is aware of the fact that the second his memories returned, the staff lay in pieces on the floor; all of that corrupted ice shattering into nothing.

He is also aware of the fact that sixty years of tyranny will leave behind much more than an altered climate.

If they even get back to Ninjago, what will have become of his city? It took his friends decades to find him - what could have happened during all that time?

Friends. Does he even have a right to call them that?

He is not quite sure - or even sure if all of them will be as forgiving as Lloyd.

The Green Ninja had always strived to find the best in people - to believe that anyone could make up for their mistakes, that they would want to. It had been to his friend's detriment, once - yet Lloyd had never quite given up on the world, in the same way that many of them had. Maybe it was some sort of childish naivety - or maybe it was just in his nature to hope, even after all they had been through, that everyone had some good inside them.

Yet, he had never met anyone who shared his friend's mindset - or at least to that extent.

Kai knows what it is like to have a sibling kidnapped, taken from them for no rhyme or reason - other than the fact that a cruel ruler who seeks power and exploits those around them for it will stop at nothing to get what they want.

Cole knows what it is like to die (well, almost, his logic points out) - to be imprisoned within yourself; a husk of a person, unable to live your life to the fullest.

His mind flashes to the thousands of innocent villagers he had frozen in icy prisons, practically caskets-

Irrationally, his hands begin to shake.

He chooses not to focus on that.

Nya used to hunt down those who hurt others, he recalls - and then squeezes his eyes shut.

Is she not quite similar to Akita in that regard?

The realization leaves him more gutted than he thought was possible. Had he really become the very person his friends worked so hard to stop?

He clenches his fists, the titanium covering his fingers grating together.

At least I am no longer holding the scroll, he thinks, fervently. Before long, the memory of a clear, quiet night pulls itself to the forefront of his mind.

The echo of a whispered confession; a brief explanation mixed with tears and shaking hands. A voice usually so bright, silenced to the shaky murmur of "I watched her die, Zane, and it was all my fault, it's all my fault-"

It was then when he had learned of- of an alternate timeline, his processor had inputted seamlessly. Another reality, wiped from their minds and the press of time. One that only existed in the memories of two of his best friends.

One that resulted in poorly concealed winces, seemingly arbitrary flinches, Nya throwing out any dresses she owned and Jay practically shaking with fear when he was asked to do certain chores. One that resulted in scars that ran far deeper than those of venom or sword. His memories had been useless then, too, his mind points out. How could he have let two of his best friends suffer for weeks on end, when he was able to upgrade or encrypt his memory drive at any time? When he was a n- robot, and should be able to recover memories that had been deleted or erased? The others could never be afforded that opportunity - yet, he had let the team down when it mattered most. If he could not be there for others, try to help them protect them from a force unable to ever be completely defeated, would he ever even halfway fulfill his purpose? He had pondered all of those questions - had ignored the pang in his heart when many pieces of the figurative puzzle clicked into place, for many weeks afterward. He had almost immediately vowed to be better - to ensure that his purpose did not go unfulfilled.

His purpose, he thought bitterly, as he squeezed his eyes shut. What had become of it now?

Another question to ponder, he supposed. And the realization that Jay - one of his brothers, one who was always equipped with a weapon and a joke too - would forever know what it was like to be kidnapped, held hostage, simply because a power-hungry figure cared less for another than anyone ever should.

Akita's brother had been scarcely less than a child - after his imprisonment. How could he have strayed so far from his original goals - how could he have strayed so far from what he had supposedly fervently stood for?

---

Lloyd's words still ring in her ears, his weary tone not quite matching their crazy implications.

She rubs her temples, frustrated. This was definitely not what she had come here for! She had come for vengeance - vengeance for the terrible crimes the Ice Emperor had committed, against her village, her brother, even her-

But what was the point of revenge if she was the one left scarred? a small voice in the back of her mind points out, doing nothing but adding to her indecision.

I cannot do this, she insists fervently, thinking of her brother's worn face - and the years he had spent imprisoned; a lone figure silently mourning a sister he did not know still trekked the ice.

Just as she had been mourning him, she thinks sadly. The pang in her heart may have lessened since she had realized that he was still alive, but it was still horrifying to think that he had lost decades of his life - she had lost decades of hers, too, in a different way, she muses - saddened, alone, imprisoned.

But is this what he would have wanted? For her?

He had always been the calmer, logic-based one. She was always running into fights, the one fueled by emotion and anger.

Well. She spares a moment for the future.

The Emperor would leave their world - possibly, to haunt another. She would remain here - with her brother and her village, the woods and the towering peaks of the mountains.

I only have this one chance, she reminds herself firmly. She fixes her eyes on the strange blue ones of the Emperor, and sees a future ruled by that one decision.

Her gaze flits towards the doorway, and she sees a future there, too.

She sighs, dropping her eyes to the ground.

But Katuru would want me to- to-

Be happy, she realizes, jarringly.

Taking a deep breath, she bites her lip.

"Will taking your life make me happy? Will it make up for the years of pain we have endured at your hands?"

Her voice rings out, hesitant yet determined.

"I wish it were so," she confesses wearily, ignoring the ache in her hands. She's been gripping the hilt of her dagger for so long, the blade's almost pierced her skin. "Alas, it is not."

The Emperor meets her gaze, but not completely - out of guilt? Fear? Anger?

She does not have the time to ponder meaningless questions.

"I despise you with every fiber of my being, you coward," Akita snarls, some of the anger she has become so accustomed to bleeding its way into her words. "But I will not tarnish my hands on someone as worthless as you, when you presently pose no threat to me."

The words spill from her mouth, but she almost wants to stuff them back inside at that very second.

This isn't why I came here! This isn't what I was supposed to do-

Another voice cuts through the one in her head, a weary confession from someone she knew nothing and everything about.

"Don't give them the satisfaction of it - by your own hands.

The next words she utter fill the room - steady, unwavering.

"Leave our world, and never return. Never. You have treated my people as if you are a monster, yet you say that you are sorry. As if you could ever care - after everything you have done to us!"

Akita sheathes her dagger, indecision still weighing heavily on her mind.

"I hope that you are as haunted by your time here as we all are," she spits, walking towards the door. She does not look behind her, but packs as much bitterness as she can into the last word she utters before the door closes behind her.

"Emperor."

---

A/N - I know this wasn't great, but honestly, it was really interesting to write and challenged me to think about certain things quite a bit. If you did read it, thank you so much!:D