#the trap of michael chain

[sinnohborn-trainer-evan]

I been watching a lot of the F-ZERO GP Legend anime lately, and this particular moment kept getting stuck in my head so I had to make a meme out of it, go crazy with it guys, spread it far and wide.

[missr3n3]

Michael, speaking from the corner he's stuck in : Why does the spider dude call you "babygirl"? (What does that even mean)

Luce : How about you shut up for another century

he says that in the hopes it will fluster luce, only for luce to completely shut him down and leave him stuck there until one anxious boy with a knife gets him out T_T

[loveandmurders]

Imagine Michael Myers ruined your life. He killed your boyfriend and your friends because you were at the wrong place at the wrong time. You have been able to run away just in time, but he left scars on your body.

You couldn't stop watching them and you couldn't stop thinking about him. You used to be such a normal and mentally stable person, but then... You grew obsessed with revenge. You were a wounded animal desiring to wound in return.

So you started to plan out how you were going to kill the big and frightening Shape.

Imagine you completely change your basement for it to become the most perfect prison. You could easily tie someone there, and you could even more easily kill them without anyone to hear anything about it.

Transforming your basement was the easy part, then you needed to get Michael Myers out of the asylum and to trap him there. But you were smart, ressourceful and ready to murder him and to be covered in his blood.

You did get him out of the asylum by briding a few guards and nurses. You patiently waited for him to go back to his house, where you were waiting for him. Gosh, waiting was driving you even crazier.

Imagine taking Michael Myers by surprise; you shot him and hit him on the head. No matter how strong he was, he collapsed. You painfully pulled him to your car and brought him to your home. Whenever people heard Michael was out of his cell, they were hiding so it was easy for you to go unnoticed.

You were quick to bring him to your basement, not caring about the way his head was hitting one step after the other, or the way his shooting wound was staining his clothes. You were quick to tie him down with chains even an elephant couldn't tear apart.

And then you waited again. You wanted for the man to see your face before hurting him and killing him. You needed him to know who was hitting him.

Imagine Michael waking up in your basement, half confused of what was going on. He quickly understood he wasn't back at the asylum. He had no idea who you were, not that he cared. He simply wanted to kill you, to dismantle you and to forget about you. He didn't show his surprise when he couldn't break free from his chains.

"I'm gonna kill you so slowly" you darkly promised him and it made him completely freeze. He recognised your cold anger. You started to interest him.

You didn't try to guess what he was thinking; no one could understand him anyways. You just wanted him to suffer. You tried to make him scream, but you could slice his skin, burn him, break his fingers... and yet he wouldn't show anything.

Imagine getting so angry, you had to leave the room. You didnt want to kill without him to experience true pain and you wanted proof he was in pain.

It was then he hit you. Physically hurting him was useless. You needed to play with something so deep inside of him, that it would break him. You needed him to fall in love with you and then to put him back into the asylum, so far away from you, driving him insane.

You read about Stockholm Syndrome a lot. You fed Michael, you took care of his wounds, and then you would let him rot for a few days alone downstaires. You were alterning between abuse and some sort of "tenderness".

You were patient and it started to pay off. Whenever you were coming downstairs, Michael was instantly trying to get free of his chains, but not to escape, just to touch you. He couldn't think, all he knew was that he needed you more than oxygen. When you were around, he was behaving like a dangerous puppy trying to please you. When you were punishing him and leaving him alone in the dark, you were only feeding his obsession of you.

Imagine one night, you got a little bit tired and hence not being as careful as you should have been around a monster like Michael. You have come too close to him and you haven't moved quick enough. He caught your wrist and easily made you fall on his lap. You found yourself straddling him. You tried to move from him but his big hands were around your waist, keeping you close.

He had never wanted to kiss or to pleasure someone before, but he would be on his knees in between your legs if only you had wanted it. Him. He took in your scent and nuzzled in your neck as his hands softly slipped under your top so he could feel how soft and warm your skin were.

"Michael" you warned him and he froze "Let me go, or I'll be very mad"

Imagine the most dangerous of killers, twice your size and three time your strenght, letting you go. You saw the shadow of a pout on his face. He was so disappointed. Everything felt so cold without you.

You quickly went upstairs, not caring about the wounded grunts echoing in the basement as Michael was desesperate to watch you go. It was then you understood he was ready. He was ready to be put back in the asylum, far far away from you.

You went to work and when the night came, you joined Michael with some meal. You watched him eat and drink his water. You praised him before settling on his lap on your own accord, but you forbidad him from touching you. And even if he was struggling he obeyed as you moved closer. You didn't really know why but you kissed him, and he instantly - and yet a little bit clumsily - replied to it.

"You're gonna be a good boy to me and you're gonna have a little walk near by your house, okay?" you told him. Michael didn't understand why you would ask him to go "But then you come back. I want to see if I can trust you without those chains" you explained to him and he nodded.

Imagine playing with fire and removing his chains. He didn't care about the bruises littering his wrists and ankles. He only wanted to touch you. He had been love and touch starved his whole existence, and if his lack of empathy helped him to pretend it was alright, now he was in need of you. You allowed him to roam your body and to squeeze your flesh with want.

Soon enough you asked him to go and he reluctantly obeyed. He left your house with the only desire to come back to you. But before, he knew he had to obey to you like he used to obey his mother. He went near his former home - because his home was now you. You called the police on him.

He fought like a lion, but there were too many cops and doctors, even for him. He got shot with sedative. Next time he opened his eyes, he was back to his cell in the asylum. And he quickly lost it. Doctors had to intervene, to sedate him again and to tie him up to his bed as he was destroying everything around.

Dr. Loomis had no idea why the usually quiet man, was getting so out of himself. Nothing could calm down Michael, who was absolutely going even more insane the more time he was being away from you. He couldn't stand a world without your warmth and presence. You were a drug, the only thing he ever desired, the only thing that made him feel something.

Imagine missing the flash news about Michael Myers escaping the asylum, as you were asleep on your couch.

Imagine waking up to your front door being torn apart. You ran to your kitchen, grabbed a sharp knife and was ready to dialled 911 when you saw Michael coming into view.

He took a few more steps before kneeling down in front of you, showing you he was no threat to you, and more importantly that he was all yours.

"Oh. You came back home" you whispered to yourself as he wrapped his arms around your mid section.

He was indeed back home.

[spookieloverslittlemind]

How protective are they…

includes: Michael Myers, Pinhead, Brahms Heelshire, Art the Clown, Sun and Moon (fnaf), Marta (Outlast 2)

a/n: it’s grey and rainy outside yk what that means

Michael

Is this a joke. Michael will literally kill anyone who breathes your air if you ask him to. In fact, at the start of your relationship you had to set a boundary by telling him not to kill every person you encounter, unless you give him the clear (given those kills aren’t his own random kills, he allows you to set a rule of “don’t just kill everyone”). This stems from him walking out your front door, following the mail man one time. Michael is the epitome of the “me and my bitch don’t argue she tell me shut up and I do” trope when it comes to you except his version of shutting-up is putting down the knife. That said, you’ve got plenty of time to stop Michael because he’s only ever walking after someone, so there’s not much danger of him accidentally killing the wrong person. When, however, you do give him the green light to commit murder in the first degree…Michael’s all over it like a bad rash. You’ve never seen him walk with more purpose than when you’ve sighed and said “fine” to him killing someone. Once, you made the mistake of telling Michael he was allowed to threaten but not kill - you were very specific - man who’d been bothering you at work. At first, you thought the guy was just off sick for a couple of days out of pure fear from his encounter with Mike. Then you started seeing the missing person posters. You had one of them on the dining room table when Michael next came to visit and he just tilted his head with the closest expression he can pull to resemble 🥺👉🏻👈🏻 behind the black eye holes of his mask.

Pinhead

Is this a joke. Pinhead can and will summon a portal to any circle of Hell of his choosing to forcibly grab any mf that tries you in any capacity via chains and drag them to eternal suffering. He doesn’t even have to be there to witness the crime before he’s playing judge, jury and executioner that omniscient bastard. He’s very calm and collected about his protectiveness unless someone actually hurts you, in which case he personally handles their eternal torture. Pinhead doesn’t have much of a concept for politeness but the first time he felt the energy of a cashier being less than friendly to you he summoned a portal and you had to rush home to explain that any poor soul working in customer services suffers enough and should not be sent to Hell for being less than happy working in a different kind of Hell for minimum wage. Thankfully, Pinhead brought them back and erased their memory (and injuries) so that trauma never really happened and he learned a valuable lesson that day x

Brahms

Is this a joke. Brahms will not hesitate to kill anyone that sets foot in the house unless you give him a full briefing on, like, your sister coming to visit or something. He’s more lenient with women coming over because he likes watching you smile as you talk to them from where he resides behind the walls but men? Hahahaha. You’re funny. Real funny. You should try standup. ‘Cause you know who’s standing up whenever a man’s voice is heard. And you know who’s killing them with his bare hands. It’s rare anyone has the opportunity to upset you because you’re trapped in Brahms’ mansion, but he’s the kind to track down the exact piece of paper that gave you a paper cut and tear it to shreds. Burn it. Eat it. So it’s fair to say Brahms is very, very protective. It’s a good thing he’s not allowed out, really.

Art

Is this a joke. Like everything about him, Art’s protective nature is…unique, but he’s definitely got it. He’ll watch someone upset you until it makes you cry and then flay a man, type beat. If anyone physically hurts you then yeah, they’re dead, but apart from that he likes to test how far someone will go to upset you before he steps in to act their punishment. Surprisingly, Art’s a lot more laidback than others on this list when it comes to not wanting to kill every person you come in contact with; he’s more prone to jealousy, really, because if he sees someone else making you laugh anywhere close to the amount he makes you laugh, he will want to gut them. And he probably will when you’re out of the room. And he’ll dispose of the body before you get back and mime something about “oh 😱 they had to go ☹️👉🏻 suddenly 🤭” and then you never hear from that person again, for reasons Art pretends he doesn’t know.

Sun and Moon

Is this a joke. Sun is incapable of withholding Moon if you get even mildly disrespected in any given circumstance they’re so protective of you, just hearing about you being upset is enough to get Moon appearing. Sun’s the type to remind you that you are safe and he (and Moon) will never let anyone or anything hurt you. Moon’s the type to shout at and throw toys that have hurt you or tripped you up in the Daycare. Sun is very good at comforting you and cheering you up after the fact, but it’s Moon who handles the punishment. He’s been known to leave the Daycare out of working hours to hunt down “naughty” people, and because you’ll feel guilty about it he deliberately doesn’t tell you the things he does, except to say “they will not upset you again…🌚”

Is this a joke. This servant to God has dedicated her life to cleansing the world of heretics and you think she won’t disembowel every soul that blasphemes in the presence of God’s purest gift to her? She may not have a sense of humour but you, my friend, are hilarious. Marta doesn’t understand petty offences of someone being unkind to you, unless you explain it to her, but as soon as she comprehends the fact you are even remotely unsettled by someone’s presence…God has whispered that person’s fate in her ear, and she won’t hesitate to bring it forth. Marta is not someone you can reason with, so people very quickly accept that to harm you, your spirit or your purity in any conceivable way, is to sign their own death warrant. You can’t stop her, either, because unfortunately when you say “they hurt my feelings”, God sends her a telepathic message that’s the equivalent of “🫵🏻👁️👁️👉🏻🔪”

[cherubchoirs]

Lucifer, as the Old Dragon

Lucifer, and all of his angels with him, had been punished by God to exist as a mindless, writhing mass with the bodies of those that survived melded with the corpses of so many that died on impact. Only Lucifer remained fully conscious and aware of himself, tortured by their fate and all the pain of the bodies he was now attached to. Seeing the divine but formless mass, Hell was enchanted - in particular, it saw the beauty of Lucifer as its shining core, so radiant even in ashes, and so it made a body for him, for them. The first work coming as an unknowing collaboration between God and Hell, it crafted Lucifer into a great serpentine form - his halo it repurposed as a face, building up oil-slick skin and displaying Lucifer as its centerpiece in great joy. It grew into them, the walls and brutally frozen lake of Cocytus trapping them all as much as Michael's chains and lodged spear, while its own mass mingled with the bodies of angels. The remains of those lost now bleed eternally from its belly, failing to revive despite Hell's best efforts.

[iliveinprocrasti-nationn]

i haven’t done a tag game in forever so this was super fun. guess what my favourite music genres are lmao. shout out to @alilfroginacove for the tag!!

shuffle your ‘On Repeat’ playlist and list the first 10 songs that play, then tag 10 people

“Jesse Got Trapped in a Coal Mine” by Goodnight, Texas

“The Chain” by Ingrid Michaelson

“Somethin’ Bout A Truck” by Kip Moore (this is because i replay his song “Beer Money” constantly and this is the song that almost always follows it up)

“Friends on the Other Side (Disney Villain Mash-Up)” by Thomas Sanders

“Le réel” by Gang Of Youths

“Way of the Triune God - Hallelujah Version” by Tyler Childers

“Dearest Sarah” by Goodnight, Texas

“Diane” by Cam

“Sold (The Grundy County Auction Incident)” by John Michael Montgomery

“Panthers on the Mountainside Live at Howard Theatre” by John Charles Dwyer, Michele Buzbee, and Sarah Doreen Macphee

alrighty uhhh hey mutuals here we go. no pressure for this of course @aranealux @lastwave @dynastesdyke @transsexual-dandelions @you-are-constance @breadluvr49 @antichrists-little-brother @haniawritesthings @disabled-dragoon @markedbyindecision

[multific]

When Another Slasher Kidnaps You - Slashers Preferences

Warnings: Mention of murder, cannibalism, kidnapping

Asa Emory 

Asa would arrive home to an absolutely trashed house, his carefully collected and preserved insects were all on the floor, shattered, that alone could have made the man rage but then he saw the blood. 

This is when he noticed his lovely little butterfly was gone. And just where were you?

He looked around the house, trying to see if you were hiding but no, then arrived the police and told him their suspicion. 

He was told Michael Myers broke into his house and kidnapped you. The police promised to do everything in their power to get you back, but Asa had other ideas.

He started to look for you himself, because how dare anyone break into his home and take his most precious butterfly? And once he found you, he knew what he needed to do.

While Michael was strong and. very durable, he was not smart, Asa wanted to play on that and set as many traps for the man as possible.

Michael would fall into all of them, but never stop or die. But that wasn't the plan, the plan was to get you out of there while Michael is distracted.

Asa got to you, and he could tell you were in shock, he saw it in many of his victims and it broke his heart to see you like this.

He heard the sirens so he quickly got you out and home. Leaving Michael to the police, but making a promise that he would personally make sure Myers is dead for what he did to his favourite pet.

Jesse Cromeans

Jesse was just finishing up with a Piggy when he got the call that his man cannot locate his wife. 

Aparently, you went to the store and on your way back you decided to have a look at Crystal Lake and now no one could find you. Only the GPS in your car told them the location.

According to the people, there was a killer at Crystal Lake, so Jesse knew, he needed to act fast.

He drove to the location and without any hesitation started looking for you. He found your car first, thankfully, no blood.

Then, he moved more into the camp, he was still mindful of the traps and wires around the place. 

It was clear to him, someone was either hiding something or hiding in this camp.

When he saw the old wooden houses, he headed inside his trusty blade in his hands at all times.

The house was empty, except for the head he found in the bathroom wall.

But where could you be?

Didn't take long for Jesse to find the underground portion. He stopped in his tracks as he saw you with chains around your wrists, bound and crying.

"He will be back soon." you said and Jesse nodded. "He is not smart, but I don't want you to kill him, just get me and let's leave." you said as you tried to control your voice so Jason wouldn't hear you. Then both of you heard the door open and Jesse moved to hide. Jesse watched as a huge man appeared with a hockey mask on his face.

You knew that if Jesse tried to fight, he would lose, you saw what Jason is capable of. You needed to reason with your husband.

"J-Jason," you said and the huge man turned to look at you, "Hungry." you simply said and he nodded once before leaving upstairs again. 

"H-He would kill you, I saw it, he... he is not human. Just get me and let's run please." it was easy to sense the desperation in your voice, so Jesse didn't argue, instead he just got you out of the chains and took you with him.

Jason noticed you were gone a couple of minutes after, he ran after you but by the time he got to you, you were already leaving in Jesse's car. Jason's heart broke but at least you were back with your husband now.

"I'll send people in and kill him." said the voice from his phone but you took his hand into yours as he drove.

"Please, don't. He never hurt me. Let's just leave him okay? I promise I will not wander around anymore. No need to kill him."

"Did he touch you?"

"No," your answer was strong and immediate. It was the truth. "Jason is... a lost boy. He was protecting his land, he never hurt me."

Jesse believed you and decided to move on, having you back was all he needed now. He needed to calm you, give you a shower and spend time with you.

But Jesse was still curious how did you know so much about this Jason.

Jason Voorhees

Many years after the lady he liked so much escaped, Jason couldn't imagine finding someone much like her.

But he found you, his lovely, innocent, caring and beautiful wife.

He knew you would never run away. You proved that time and time again.

"If I ever disappear, I didn't run, I was taken." you would say jokingly but one day, that became reality.

The house he spent so much time building for you was broken into and things were thrown around. You were gone and he could tell it wasn't by your choice. 

Jason knew what he needed to do.

He headed into the big city to find his wife.

Meanwhile, you looked at the man in front of you. Patrick Bateman as he introduced himself and gave you his business card, was a very strange man.

He told you he saw you in the forest and knew he needed to have you.

The man was clearly not okay, he made you watch him work out, he would flex his muscles, and you just begged that somehow Jason would find you before it will be your head in his fridge.

Then you heard a loud bang coming from the entrance, the door was broken off.

"Run," you told Patrick just as Jason came into the room.

Seeing a man with a clear jacket and an axe in his hand while you were tied to a chair, Jason was quick to act.

You didn't watch but judging by the sounds, you heard a neck being broken and an axe being swung. 

You didn't watch when Jason released you and guided you out of the penthouse.

You had an idea that if this won't end with you being dead, it would end with Patrick's death.

But you tried not to think about it too much as you headed back home with Jason.

It was weird to be on the subway with him, but as his hand never let go of you, you knew he was very happy to have you back by his side.

Michael Myers

You promised to be back soon, so something had to have happened.

You were only supposed to go on errands. So, with his signature knife in hand, Michael headed out to find you.

Going through the neighbourhood, he left victims behind.

Just as he was about to enter a house, you came running into him. You hugged him, clearly out of breath as you were running for so long.

“Kill, him.” you said pointing at the man running after you, a man in a nice suit.

Michael didn’t need to be told twice, he immediately went in for it.

“You can’t kill me, I’m Patrick Bate-“ but the man couldn’t finish the sentence as Michael’s knife found its way into his skull.

After a couple minutes you calmed down. 

“I’m fine, he didn’t hurt me. He had an axe and wanted to kill me but I got away.”

You and Michael headed back home, after that day, he never let you out of his sight.

Yautja

Let's be honest only a Yautja would be silly enough to kidnap you from a Yautja.

Your mate is built for hunting so, to him, this is an easy mission.

That doesn't mean he would be reckless or underestimate his opponent.

It clearly had to be either a very brave or a very cocky Yautja that dared to take you from him.

Your Yautja was considered an Elder, someone with a high rank who should be respected. So, to have his little human taken from him was a clear attack on his status. 

But he was more worried about you than his status.

You were taken by another tribe, you recognized them from their last visit, you thought their leader had an eye on you, and you were right. 

But you still didn’t expect them to kidnap you.

Perhaps he did so he wouldn’t have to face your mate in combat, knowing he would lose against an Elder.

You knew your mate will come and get you.

You knew he won’t leave you behind.

And you were right. And again, you didn’t expect this new Yautja to use you as a shield in order to run away. His plan to get an Elder’s mate failed and now he needed to flee.

But he wasn’t so lucky.

Hunting him down was easy, you could tell from the movements of your mate and even his stance.

He stood like a proud Yautja as he reclaimed what is rightfully his.

Patrick Bateman

Patrick would fully not notice you were kidnapped. Then, one evening when he arrived home, it hit him like a train.

You were gone and he didn’t know where you were. He was very very angry, how dare anyone touch what is his?

Patrick was on a mission to find you and avenge you.

Meanwhile, you were kidnapped by a man who had some sort of silver skull mask and a video camera on his shoulder. 

It was clear the man wanted to kill you but. what a sadistic fucker, he even wanted to film it.

You could only hope Patrick would come to your rescue before this man can do anything at any second.

And surely enough, Patrick did show up.

Knocking the man out with an axe while laughing.

“Don’t touch what’s mine!” he yelled one last time before he freed you and off you went. After this incident, Patrick would put on the front door some extra locks.

Thomas Hewitt

Sweet Thomas was down in the basement when he heard a commotion. By the time he arrived upstairs, he saw a man in a mask and a suitcase. Tommy saw the suitcase move and judging by the noises, he knew you were in it.

Didn’t take long for the man to try his luck with a knife but Tommy was quicker.

You heard the two fight outside and all you could do is hope that your Tommy wouldn’t be too hurt or worse.

But soon, someone opened the suitcase and you saw Tommy standing in front of you, you quickly hugged him as he groaned in pain. The man did manage to get a couple hits and cuts in but Thomas was way too much for him. You watched the man’s body as Thomas made sure you were okay.

Besides some headache, you were alright.

“He wanted to take me, talked about his collection or something.” you told Tommy. But you knew you didn’t need to worry about the man anymore. He soon became small pieces and later, you made the perfect stew. As morbid as it might sound.

You were still grateful for your husband who saved you. So after patching him up, you made sure to stay by his side the entire day.

“I think, he thought I lived alone so that’s why he targeted me.” you said during dinner as Thomas ate. “He thought it would be an easy job, but he didn’t expect my brave and very sexy husband to turn up.”

Thomas blushed as he just continued to eat his food. Just how glad he was he heard the commotion and saved you from being taken.

Vincent Sinclair

Since Vincent lived so secluded from society, he never truly feared that you would get taken by anyone, that is until the Hewitt family came into the picture.

They were all cannibals as he learned from his brothers. He feared you were taken to be cooked, so he got his brothers and off they went to find you.

Bo being the loudest of the three would go up to the porch and ask questions about a lady and if they have seen anyone while Vincent and Lester looked around the house.

They found you in the basement with a man who was wearing a mask. 

“And I thought we were fucked up.” said Lester as he saw the body parts. But all Vincent saw was you.

He was relieved to find you were still alive and well. 

The plan was simple and easy, Bo distracts the family while Lester and Vincent rescue you.

It was easier said than done. 

When Bo made enough noise upstairs the man left you alone and it was their chance. They needed to be fast.

“Lester, gosh, they…Vincent, oh boys we have to be quick.” Lester quickly removed the ropes from around your legs and wrists while Vincent watched the door.

Soon you three were out as you could still hear Bo yelling with the Hewitt’s. You just hoped he wouldn’t do anything reckless. 

This is when you noticed Vincent staring at you as Lester drove his car back home. Vincent was running a finger along the bruises the rope left on your wrist.

“I’m fine, Honey. They didn’t do anything to me, really.” you smiled at him and this was the moment he realized, he will never ever let you out alone.

[misc-obeyme]

So uh. Lesson 38. Man I swear it was just yesterday I was writing the post about Lesson 37?! Augh.

Okay, spoilers below, and be prepared 'cause it was another CRAZY CRAZY LESSON. No I didn't take another 100 screenshots why would you think that? Also I apologize, this is another rather unhinged post.

OKAY NEW THEORY.

"Father" is Nightbringer! Right?!? Tell me I'm not alone in thinking this might be the case!!

Okay, so maybe not, but we had so much Father talk this lesson!! Way more than any other, I'd say!

And I hated it?!?

Okay lemme backtrack a bit.

So, we got Lucifer in ice and chains and he's yelling at his Father saying what do you want, you never tell me anything, give me a sign!

And then he breaks out of his chains, but he's completely out of control! And then DIAVOLO shows up.

SIR. There is just something about Diavolo in full demon form, getting all angry and ready to fight... But I don't think I've ever seen Diavolo with an ominous aura like that?? I can't remember for sure, but I swear it doesn't happen too often. Anyway, he straight up fights with Lucifer to try to calm him down.

The girls are fighting! I didn't crop this bottom image as much as I usually do because I need you all to see how BIG these two are in their full demon forms like this. All those wings...

Note that the angels and MC are watching all of this from the sidelines... and then Simeon blesses MC and I am in love with him and his beautiful face.

YOU are the only one making me swoon at the moment though.

Anyway, then all the bros show up and save the day! I was like yeah, that checks out. Lucifer & Diavolo are going at it and MC tries to get in the way, but it's not enough until all the others show up, too. As soon as Lucifer sees his brothers are all right, he calms down.

Asmo suggests a hug and Lucifer AGREES. They have a group hug where Lucifer is clearly pulling everyone into it himself. He apologizes to MC (!!) and THEN as if all this wasn't enough, MC's ring starts to glow and Lucifer turns into his angel form!!

Once again uncropped so you can see this ridiculous mf and all his wings.

Diavolo is smitten.

And he kneels!!!!!!

He kneels to Lucifer in angel form!!!! And all the others do too!!!!!

I lost my goddamn mind at this part. And Lucifer's like I don't understand why is this happening? And Simeon is like, "he" heard you and this is your answer. He wants you to feel his love and his forgiveness and blah blah blah (I'm paraphrasing). But I need to tell you all this even though I don't normally go into this much detail and here is why.

FUCK THAT GUY.

This is "his" way of showing Lucifer that he loves him?!?!

Diavolo, get off your knees, you are not helping this situation!!!

Okay, okay, let me calm down.

Here is why this bothers me so much. And please note that this just my personal opinion and the way it all came off to me! I'm totally open to hearing other opinions on it.

I hate this because it makes no sense. This is the same Father that was going to kill Lilith, the same one who allowed the brothers and Lucifer, the one he supposedly loves so much, to fall in the first place.

I don't care if Michael is the one behind everything. If their Father guy can do this, then there's no way he couldn't also prevent all of this.

The only way I'm going to give him a chance at all is if they somehow make it so that he can't do much at all. He's trapped or something. Michael is truly the mastermind behind it all and Father is doing what he can from where he is (like imprisoned or something).

Because otherwise, this makes no sense.

AND WASN'T I RIGHT?? It turned out that the whole thing was orchestrated by the Celestial Realm AND the Devildom! The three worlds have an agreement - powerful beings can be imprisoned in Cocytus for their crimes if at least two representatives out of three agree. One from the Celestial Realm did. This was confirmed by Simeon, who went back briefly to ask Michael. However, Michael wouldn't tell him who did it.

NO. You can't be content with that! Michael obviously knows who it was!! So why would he protect them?? Or is he protecting himself?!?

And then someone from the Devildom did, too! But instead of just being like oh well, guess it's a mystery, Diavolo blames himself and says he's doing everything he can to find out who did it. My money is on the House of Lords.

So they were in cahoots, as I suspected!

Anyway, I just don't understand what all of this was supposed to accomplish for Lucifer's character. If they want to make us question the Celestial Realm, then yo I was already on that train! This whole situation certainly makes Michael look very suspicious. And Lucifer goes on and on later about how he must have forgotten about his father's love and blah blah. And I'm like what???

Also this whole part where Lucifer was dreaming or whatever and the brothers were angels:

Levi says "Our orders always come through Michael." That's the crux of this whole thing. We don't know enough about the state of "Father" to really know for sure.

Again, if it turns out that "Father" isn't terrible and somehow had no say in all the bad things that are happening and was truly trying to help Lucifer, then fine. I can accept that. But from where things are right now, it seems more like "Father" can't let Lucifer go and in this case, that's making things worse for Luci.

Do you really think giving Lucifer back his angel form long enough for everyone to be in awe and even make Diavolo kneel is somehow helping him? Because I disagree. Leave Lucifer alone already.

Though he then passes out and sleeps for quite a while.

And oh! Okay, here is my favorite part hee hee:

Obviously I squealed a lil when he showed up! They were all stuck in Cocytus and couldn't figure out how to get home. And someone was like "if only Barbatos could portal us home" and then this happened.

My knight in shining armor 😭

He's so practical. I'm in love with him.

Then we make a pact with Lucifer. AND THIS MOTHERFUCKER.

Flashbacks to the OG, anyone?? I guess he would still lie to himself like this, we are in the past after all. And I think he genuinely believes that MC is his at first. What a delusional simp he turns out to be, though, huh?

And then!!

Cocytus Hall is destroyed because of course it was named that due to being built on top of the entrance to Cocytus. What was the point of that exactly? Why wasn't it just Purgatory Hall from the start?? I don't know.

Hard Lesson:

Diavolo, Barbatos, Mephisto, and all the Little Ds are discussing the destruction of Cocytus Hall and that's when we find out they rebuild it into Purgatory Hall.

We also see Little D No 1 who makes an appearance for the first time. Barbatos says he wasn't able to maintain a physical form up until now. Diavolo speculates it's because their "Father" couldn't let Lucifer go before.

I do not understand this "Father" at all. I'm so confused about it and it's making me crazy (in case you couldn't tell).

Yeah, we got to make a pact with Lucifer. We got to kiss him. It's heavily implied we did some other stuff with him, too.

But this lesson was mostly about Father and his love and to me that all seemed to come out of freakin' nowhere. Especially since last I checked, it was Father who caused all of this bullshit to begin with???

I don't actually think "Father" is Nightbringer, but wouldn't that be interesting? Father of all demons is also the father of all angels? Why would they be different entities? Maybe they're two halves of the same whole? Maybe they're siblings?

I just don't know.

Yeah that's how I felt when Simeon and the angels were like okay see ya we're going back to the Celestial Realm! It's okay, Barb saved us. At least he seems to be chill about things.

And Solomon told the brothers he wasn't going to take MC back to the human world right away, so it's not the end yet. But can we go back now? I want to! I swear by now, I'd have confronted Barbatos because I think he knows what's going on and couldn't he just take me back to the present without all these other shenanigans? And make Solomon come back with me too, obviously. In fact, past!Barb can come too. You can never have too many Barbs!

Okay I'm devolving into nonsense. I just don't know how I feel about any of this. It's not making sense and I really hope that the next lesson clears some of this up for me.

[marvelstoriesepic]

Breaking Chains (1)

Pairing: Biker!Bucky x reader

Series Summary: Leaving behind an abusive and possessive boyfriend, and finding refuge in the hometown you once yearned to escape, certainly wasn’t a chapter you anticipated in your life’s story. Yet, eyes as blue as the sky at dusk, belonging to a mysterious biker drew you into a world of unexpected possibilities, where a job at his bar becomes more than just a means of survival - it’s a pathway to freedom and self-discovery. Though, breaking away from your past proves daunting when shackled by chains.

Chapter word count: 7.8k

Warnings: mentions of a toxic relationship and possessive behavior; implications of abuse!; self-preservation; mentions of toxic parents

Authors note: Alright well, this is the first part of my first series. Let me know what you think :)

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

You stood amidst the scattered moving boxes, a silent testament to the minimalism that defined your time with your now ex-boyfriend Michael. There aren't many, and for good reason - his need for control extended even to the belongings you possessed. Every item was scrutinized, every possession pared down to the bare essentials. It was his way of asserting dominance, of ensuring that even the smallest aspect of your life remained under his thumb. The memories of his manipulation and dominance lingered, a bitter aftertaste to the sweetness of liberation. He didn’t relinquish his hold easily, his grip on you leaving marks that may never fully fade.

Unwillingly, your thoughts drifted back to ‘that night’. A night, forever etched in your memory. It was the breaking point, the moment you finally dared to defy Michaels’ suffocating control.

It began weeks earlier, a simple request to enjoy a night out with colleagues, a seemingly harmless longing for independence. But for Michael, it was an affront to his dominance, a threat to his grip on your every move. In a calculated act of manipulation, he confiscated your phone and wallet, severing your ties to the outside world and trapping you within his realm of control.

His actions escalated, a twisted display of possessiveness and paranoia. He fabricated excuses to isolate you, to keep you tethered to his side. The world outside became a battleground - every glance from another man a perceived threat to his fragile ego. And so, he’d have you wear a baseball hat and sunglasses, shielding you from the gaze of others, lest they dare to see you as anything other than his possession.

But on ‘that night’, something within you stirred. A flicker of defiance fueled by the realization that you deserved more, that you were worthy of autonomy and freedom. The echos of his rage still reverberated in your mind, his shouts settling deep inside your chest. You could still feel the spit that had landed on your face and instinctively lifted your hand up to wipe your cheeks in an attempt to erase what isn’t there anymore. Still, the sensation lingered.

He wasn’t always that possessive.

You left the familiarity of your parents’ home behind quite early, a decision driven by a deep-seated desire for change. You held an affection for the quaint charm of your small town and the people living there, but you couldn’t shake the feeling of being out of place. There was an undeniable pull, a magnetic force drawing you away from the familiar streets and familiar faces, urging you to explore the vast expanse of the world beyond.

So you followed it.

Unfortunately though, not directly after high school as you had wished. Your parents had meticulously crafted a vision for your future, one that prominently featured pursuing higher education and following a predetermined path to success. You had relented, albeit reluctantly, and started studying graphic design together with Wanda, staying with your parents. Yet, as the semesters wore on, a deep sense of discontent found a home deep inside your soul. You felt stifled, as if you were trying to fit into a mold that wasn’t meant for you. The walls of your hometown closed in, suffocating you with their familiarity.

The unease grew until it erupted into a heated confrontation with your parents. There were tears, there was shouting, the disappointment in your parents eyes palpable. Dropping out college and leaving town without further education or a concrete plan was nothing short of a horror to them - a deviation from the carefully crafted script they had envisioned for your life.

They let you go. However, the acceptance came at a price - a palpable distance that grew between you and them in the years that followed.

Phone calls went unanswered, and messages were left unreturned, leaving you with a sense of loneliness. Their sporadic check-ins felt like a mere formality, lacking the depth and intimacy that once characterized your interactions with them, serving as a bittersweet reminder of the bond that had been strained by your decision to strike out on your own.

Their lack of communication stung, but you prided yourself on your resilience, and your ability to forge ahead in the face of adversity.

Until Michael anyway.

Seattle became your new home, a bustling metropolis teeming with possibility and opportunity. The streets pulsed with energy, each corner offering a new adventure waiting to be discovered.

You met Michael seven months into your new life. You were working as a waitress in a cozy, hidden gem of a café, a haven for locals and wanderers alike seeking respite from the frenetic pace of the city. It was your third job since moving there. You didn’t like staying somewhere longer than necessary. And also, your bosses were dicks.

He was a charming guy, his persistence a subtle yet relentless force that drew you in despite your better judgment. After that first encounter in the café, he became a familiar presence, his visits growing more frequent as he sought out opportunities to be near you. He was willing to wait for one of the tables under your care for that day, a fact that had you reeling in excitement back then.

When he finally asked you out, an invitation delivered with a charming smile and a twinkle in his eyes that left you unable to refuse. After that you found yourself seated across from him in a lot of fancy restaurants over the next months.

As the initial excitement of the relationship with Michael began to fade, a subtle unease settled in its place, a nagging feeling that something wasn’t quite right. It started with innocent questions, a curiosity about your day-to-day activities while he wasn’t around. But soon, his inquiries grew more invasive, more insistent, leaving you feeling suffocated beneath the weight of his scrutiny.

Michaels need to know every detail of your comings and goings bordered on obsession. From asking you how many men you served at work and if you opened the door for anyone to wanting to know how many men looked your way on your way home. No details escaped his watchful gaze. It was as if he sought to control every aspect of your existence, to mold you into his idealized vision of the perfect partner.

And so, you found yourself trapped in a vicious circle of control and manipulation, unable to break free from his ironclad grasp. The once vibrant spirit that had propelled you to leave your small hometown behind began to wither and fade, overshadowed by the weight of self-doubt and fear.

You retreated into a shell of self-preservation, losing sight of the person you once were. The fearless adventurer who had set out to explore the world with nothing but a sense of wanderlust and a thirst for adventure.

Gone was the confidence that had once been your armor, replaced by a constant undercurrent of doubt and uncertainty. Your wit and sarcasm, once sharp as a blade, became dulled by the oppressive weight of his control, buried deep beneath the surface with no hope of resurfacing.

In the face of his relentless demands and scrutiny, you found yourself second-guessing every decision, every action, until even the simplest of tasks became a Herculean effort.

As you gazed upon the meager collection of your belongings, a mix of relief and bitterness flooded your senses. Relief, because each box represented a step away from his suffocating influence. Bitterness, because you realized just how much of yourself you had to sacrifice to appease his insatiable need for control. But amidst the bitterness, there was a flicker of defiance - a determination to reclaim what was lost and rebuild a life on your own terms.

You couldn’t help the lang of longing for what could have been, a wish to turn back time and sever ties with him before the roots of his control ran too deep. It was a fleeting thought, quickly buried beneath the determination to forge a new path, one untouched by his influence.

“Hey, you good?”

The soft voice of your childhood best friend, broke through the swirling thoughts in your mind, grounding you in the present moment. You turned to face her, the furrow in her brow reflecting the concern etched on her face. Taking a deep breath, you offered her a faint smile to reassure her.

“All good, Wan, just got stuck in my head for a sec,” you replied, voice carrying a hint of relief at the interruption.

The brunette came to stand beside you, wrapping an arm around you. Her presence brought you a sense of calm amidst the chaos of moving boxes and swirling emotions. Her arm around your shoulders felt like a shield against the uncertainties you held within. Wanda looked down at your boxes, then back to you. “It’s nice to have you back!”

You sighed. You never once told Michael where you came from. Never uttered the name of your small little town. The reasons for that were shrouded in uncertainty, lost in the depths of your subconscious. Perhaps it was a form of self-preservation, a subconscious instinct to shield yourself from the potential harm that could come with letting Micheal take hold of every detail of your past. Or maybe it was the realization that your connection to your hometown had become tainted by the strained relationship with your parents, a painful reminder of the fractures that had formed between you and them.

Whatever the reason was; you were grateful for the anonymity it afforded you, a sanctuary where you could return to rediscover the person you were before you left, free from the shadows of the last three years and the suffocating influence of Michaels’ dominance. It was a chance to reclaim your sense of self, to embrace the qualities and characteristics that had once defined you, before the chains Michael put on you threatened to bury them beneath layers of doubt and insecurity.

“Need any help?” Wanda asked kindly.

You glanced around at the remaining boxes, taking in the cluttered scene of your new beginnings. “I think I’ll be good,” you replied with a grateful smile, “And again, thank you for letting me stay Wanda.”

Your friend reached out to squeeze your hand. “Always, Y/n!”

Wanda and you had forged a bond that transcended time and distance, a friendship rooted in the shared experiences of childhood. From the early days of elementary school, where you spent every break eagerly trading portions of the lunch packets your parents prepared for you, to the halls of high school where you navigated the challenges of adolescents side by side, Wanda had always been by your side.

You spent the day before your departure with her. Tears flowed freely and you reminisced the whole night about the memories you had created together. Though you both knew it wasn’t a goodbye forever, you promised her to come back for her one day. Little did you know then, as you said your tearful goodbyes, that fate would lead you back to her under unexpected circumstances.

Wanda’s open arms and support became your lifeline in the aftermath of fleeing Michaels clutches. With nowhere else to turn to and silence echoing from your parents’ end for months, Wanda was the only person you could turn to. Despite the limited space in her cozy apartment, she offered you a sanctuary from the chaos and turmoil that had come to define your life with Michael.

Wanda left you to it after making sure you were okay with doing this alone. And so, with steady hands and a resolute heart, you began the process of unpacking - not just boxes, but the pieces of yourself that were hidden away for too long.

****

“So how’s Pietro? Haven’t heard from him in a while.”

Pietro, Wanda’s brother has always been like a brother to you as well. He once stood up to you in High school, getting into a fight with a guy who crossed a line with inappropriate touching. Pietro swung his fist into the guy's face faster than you were able to react. You tended to his bruised knuckles afterward and held a cold towel against his eye where the other guy had punched him back. You told him he didn’t have to do this but he just smiled through his busted lip, clicked his tongue, and promised he always got your back princessa!

While Pietro didn’t initially grasp your decision to leave your hometown and might have been a bit upset at first, he sought you out a few hours before your departure. Pulling you into a tight hug, he made you promise to call him whenever you needed. He even half-jokingly vowed to fly to Seattle at any hour to handle any situation that made you uncomfortable.

At the time you had laughed it off but there were countless moments when you found your thumb hovering over the call button as you navigated the uncertainty and doubt surrounding your relationship with Michael.

Wanda and Pietro were always supportive pillars in your life, but you never revealed the intricate details of your relationship with Michael to them. Initially, you shared the surface-level aspects - the charming smiles, the sweet gestures, the moments that made your heart flutter and your knees weak.

However, as time passed and the complexities of your relationship with Michael began to surface, you held back from divulging your struggles, the doubts, and the moments of unease that gnawed at you. You tried to shield them from the burden of your own uncertainties and fears, so you focused on their lives instead, asking question after question but answering none yourself.

While they may not have known the depths of what you were going through, they sensed the shift in your demeanor, the subtle withdrawal from sharing the intricacies of your life. They respected your privacy, choosing not to probe deeper out of concern for your comfort.

But you noticed the way Wanda had watched you as you arrived at her place back in your hometown in a taxi with those few moving boxes. You remembered the uncertain glance she threw your way at your involuntary flinch at the hollow thud of the trunk closing. And when she reached out, her hand grasping your forearm, the squeeze lingered longer than necessary.

She didn’t probe on your anxiousness - not with words anyway - but her glances were laden with unspoken questions.

“God, don’t ask!”

Wanda had her back turned to you, standing at the sink and rinsing off the used dinner plates. She insisted you stay seated after finishing unpacking, citing your exhaustion, although it didn’t take you that long. You could almost sense the eye roll behind her exasperated sigh and leaned your elbows on the kitchen counter intrigued.

“Why? Did something happen?”

Wanda sighed as she finished putting away the clean dishes and retrieved two mugs from the cupboard, setting them on the counter before starting the kettle for tea.

Running a hand through her brunette waves, she leaned against the counter, facing you. “Did he tell you about the guys he started hanging out with?”

“He did. Haven’t heard much from him since.”

“Yeah, that’s because he pours his whole life and soul into their stuff. They’re like some sort of biker gang or whatever. Spends more time at their dingy bar than at home and even bought a bike himself, that big douchbag. I told him those things are death traps, but he just wouldn’t listen.”

The kettle went off during her exasperated rant and she poured the water into the two cups, while you listened intently.

“Can’t tell you how often I needed to pick him up and drag him home after he drank his ass off once again.”

Wanda sank into the chair opposite you, releasing a deep breath, and took her cup in hand, absently fiddling with the tea bag.

“A biker gang?” you repeated slowly, brows furrowed.

In your mind‘s eye, you envisioned a group of rough and tumble bikers, clad in well-worn leather jackets adorned with patches and insignias, marking their allegiances to their chosen brotherhood. Rough beards framing a face weathered by years of life on the road, and piercing gazes sizing up everything and everyone. Gravelly voices, the result of years of smoking and exposure to the elements.

They would ride in formation, their bikes rumbling like a symphony of power as they’d roar down the streets in a chaotic display of bravado. The streets become their domain, their playground, as they weave through traffic with reckless abandon.

It was a world where loyalty was earned through acts of defiance, and conflicts were often resolved with fists rather than words.

You could only hope that the world Pietro had been drawn into wasn’t the same one you imagined.

“They came here a few months ago,” Wanda continued, a sigh in her breath. She took a sip of her tea. “You remember the old thrift store of Miss Kaczinski a few blocks down, right?”

You nodded, a sense of nostalgia hitting you. You pictured the storefront with its faded sign swinging gently in the breeze, as you and Wanda would stroll by, looking like it hadn’t been changed once since the old lady opened the shop.

Its exterior was adorned with weathered wooden shutters and flower boxes overflowing with vibrant blooms. Wanda and you loved to come by in the afternoons - stepping through the creaking door and getting greeted by the musty scent of old books and garments, mingling with the faint aroma of lavender sachets and potpourri. Vintage dresses hung from wrought-iron racks, their vibrant colors and intricate patterns whispering stories of bygone eras. Tables were piled high with jewelry, scarves, and knick-knacks of every shape and size.

In the corner of the store, Miss Kaczinski would sit in her beloved rocking chair, its cushions worn with years of use. She would sit there knitting, needles clacking softly as she regaled customers with tales of days gone by, sending greetings and warm smiles to anyone who would listen.

The world moves too quickly, dear. Think about the steps you take.

She had told you that once. The full weight of her words didn’t truly hit you until now.

Wanda had informed you about her passing a few months after you left town. A pang of sadness had filled your stomach at the thought of the empty storefront - its windows dark and silent, its shelves empty and its doors closed to the world.

“They turned it into a bar. One of them even lives above it now. Pietro says they’re good guys, but how can you be sure, you know?”

A knot formed in your stomach at Wanda’s troubled expression and a hollow ache spread through you. She hadn’t shared her concerns about the biker gang with you in the last few months, and you couldn’t blame her. After all, you kept your own struggles with your former relationship hidden.

Guilt washed over you like a tidal wave, the weight of it settling heavily in your chest. She might have kept to herself for all those months for the very same reason you didn’t tell her about the bruises under your sweater or the way you hid the heavy bags under your eyes under tons of makeup because your ex-boyfriend didn’t stop shouting at you just because it was time to go to sleep.

It was a vicious circle of silence, born out of the fear of causing the others distress.

A sense of regret washed over you. Perhaps, she had been trying to spare you from worrying about her and Pietro, just as you had been trying to shield her from your own troubles. It was a painful realization, recognizing how your silence had driven a wedge between you.

You were adamant about getting back on the right track with your childhood best friend, to reclaim the bond you had once shared. You longed for the simpler times, when you and Wanda would sit together with a container of ice cream, confiding in each other without fear and leaning on each other for support.

So you let her speak her mind, reaching out to grasp her forearm, squeezing it reassuring as she continued.

“I hear them driving through town all the time. I don’t know what they are up to or what drew them here in the first place. I mean there isn’t much activity in a small town like that, especially for a biker gang. But if they decide to hit the road again, I’m afraid Pietro might go along with them.” Her voice grew quiet and she let her gaze sink to her tea.

Your own tea was starting to cool down, too focused on Wanda to notice. You took a moment to gather your thoughts, processing her words, and leaned in a little, talking softly.

“Look, Pietro can be a knucklehead sometimes,” you conceded, eliciting a huffed laugh from Wanda, “But he is not someone to dive into danger head first or take unnecessary risks. He always does things for a reason. You and I both know that. He wouldn’t put himself in harm’s way, especially if it meant hurting you.” You hoped to alleviate some of Wanda's worries, not letting go of her arm.

You smiled at her reassuringly, relieved to see her shoulders relaxing a little as she let out a breath.

“We’ll keep an eye on things, alright? And hey, maybe-”

You got interrupted by the buzzing of a phone lying on the kitchen counter. Your breath hitched and your heart skipped a beat, a shudder was running up your spine and your heart leapt to your throat, before you realized it wasn’t your phone.

It wasn’t Michael.

You must have squeezed Wanda’s arm a little too tightly, as she was laying her hand over yours to gently pry it away. She got up to answer the call, but not without throwing you a cautious glance.

You had left your phone with Michael as you broke free from his toxic hold, retrieving a burner phone somewhere on your way to your friend's apartment. It had been a necessary step, a protective measure to ensure that Michael couldn’t track you down. The thought of him finding you sent a shiver down your spine, a reminder of the fear and uncertainty that had plagued you since you left.

You knew that he would try to find you, that he would stop at nothing to reclaim what he saw as his, the lengths he would go to get his way, the manipulation and control that had kept you tethered to him for far too long. But you were equally determined to carve out a new life for yourself free from his influence and free from the fears.

But for now, a sense of unease crept up your spine. The knowledge that Michael was out there, somewhere, searching for you filled you with a deep sense of dread.

A groan from Wanda seemingly a few moments later but you couldn’t tell, snapped you out of your thoughts. You scolded yourself for allowing something as simple as the ringing of a phone to jolt you back into a panicked state. Taking a subtle breath in you straightened up and focused on Wanda.

“Seriously? That’s the third time this week!” she exclaimed, rubbing her forehead in frustration, “Yeah, thank you, Sam! I’ll be right there.” She put her phone back on the counter with a little more force than necessary, letting out a huff.

“What’s wrong? And who’s Sam?” you asked, watching her stalk to the coat closet to grab her brown jacket and pulling it on. Rising to your feet, you followed after her.

“Sam is one of the guys,” Wanda explained. You raised an eyebrow at that. “I don’t really know him, he just always calls me when Pietro’s had enough to drink once again to come pick him up.”

Your brows were deeply furrowed as you watched her slip into her sneakers. “Why don’t they care for him?”

Wanda chuckled, though it sounded strained. “It’s not like the rest of them are sober themselves,” she stated, “At least, I wouldn’t think so.”

You studied her for a moment, before reaching to your own jacket. “I’ll come with you,” you countered, pulling your coat over your shoulders and retrieving your shoes.

Wanda straightened back up. “I promise, you don’t want to deal with an inebriated Pietro,”she reasoned, a chuckle in her breath, but you continued putting on your shoes, “Seriously Y/n, you had a long day, I can handle it.”

“Yeah, but I’m back now, so you won’t.”

****

Walking through your hometown elicited an unexpected dread washing over you, like a cold shiver creeping down your spine. It had only been three years since you left, yet it felt like a lifetime had passed since you called this place home.

In the early weeks of your relationship with Michael, you had managed to visit your hometown a handful of times, catching up with Wanda and Pietro. But as Michaels' influence took hold, his grip on you suffocating, returning home became impossible.

The streets, once so familiar, now felt foreign and distant, as if you were seeing them through a haze of nostalgia and regret, a constant reminder of the choices you had made and the consequences that followed.

It was a strange sensation, like walking a tightrope between past and present, trying to find your footing in a world that had moved on without you.

The brick-lined sidewalks and quaint storefronts were just as you remembered them, each building steeped in memories of days gone by. But you felt a subtle shift as you walked side by side with Wanda, a feeling of dissonance that hung over the familiar surroundings like a heavy fog.

The bakery on the corner, with its charming red awning and inviting aroma of freshly baked bread, still stood proudly as a place you had frequented often in your youth. But now as you passed by, the sight of it filled you with a bittersweet longing, a reminder of simpler times before life had grown complicated.

Further down the road, you got sight of the small bump in the asphalt that had plagued you during your early attempts at learning to drive. You had cursed it under your breath each time you passed over it, remembering you should have slowed down.

All those indications of the life you lived here were overshadowed by what you had endured and the loss of your parents - once a source of support - now felt like a painful reminder of the rift that had torn your family apart. Their decision to cut ties with you upon your departure had left a gaping wound in your heart, a wound that had yet to heal.

Wanda was unusually quiet beside you, both of your footsteps echoing softly against the pavement.

The two of you turned around the corner and trepidation crashed over you with the force of a sledgehammer, leaving you reeling in its wake.

In the near distance stood the building that once housed Miss Kaczinskis quaint thrift store, its former charm and nostalgia stripped away like paint worn thin by the passage of time. The sight hit you like a brick to the gut, a visceral reminder of the irrevocable changes that had swept through your hometown in your absence.

The transformation was striking, the building’s exterior now adorned with graffiti-covered walls and neon signs, a far cry from the simple elegance of its former incarnation. The windows - once adorned with lace curtains and quaint displays of knick-knacks - were now covered with darkened shades, obscuring the view inside. Shadows and silhouettes from the people inside seemed to loom ominously over the street.

It was as if the very essence of the place had been washed away, leaving behind only a hollow shell of what once was. The memories of days spent browsing through Miss Kaczinski's treasures felt like a distant dream, lost in the swirling mist of time.

But what made your blood boil was the row of bikes lined up in front of the bar. Motorcycles, each sleek and menacing, their chrome accents glinting in the sunlight. They looked so out of place amidst the quaint surroundings of your hometown, filling you with a sense of righteous indignation.

You knew your feelings were likely exaggerated, that your anger was perhaps misdirected and irrational but in that moment it didn’t matter. All you could see was the desecration of a cherished memory, the violation of a place that had once held so much meaning to you.

Wanda and you approached the entrance and you stole a closer glance at the row of motorcycles. A sleek black and red bike caught your eye, its paint gleaming and looking new although you supposed it wasn’t.

There were a few others, a stealthy grey one, a sporty blue one but it was the black bike with the crumpled front that drew your attention most of all. It looked like it had an accident some time ago - a dent in the front, the paint slightly chipped and scratched. Someone had attempted to repair the damage, but the imperfections were still visible.

Wanda’s annoyed sigh snapped your attention away from the damaged bike, causing you to turn towards her.

“He usually waits out here.”

“You haven’t been inside?”

After finishing a message she typed into her phone, Wanda lifted her head to meet your eyes. “I have, but only once. Pietro was busy vomiting,” she grimaced, “Probably what’s happening now too.”

You released a slow breath. The silhouettes of figures inside the bar's darkened windows seemed to move in a wild dance you didn’t know the steps to. Laughter and off-key singing filtered through the brick walls, a cacophony of sounds that echoed through the air.

The sounds of revelry hinted at a group of people simply enjoying each other’s company, living in the moment without a care in the world. But as you stood there, overwhelmed by the turmoil raging inside your head you found it difficult to acknowledge that. The neon sign above your heads, with its bold letters spelling out ‘infinity’, seemed to mock your sense of displacement and unease.

“Alright, I’m going to get that dickhead, I’ll be right back.”

Wanda reached for the door handle, intending to enter the bustling place, but you stepped forward.

“Yeah, I’m not letting you walk in there alone.”

She threw you a side glance but knew it was futile and opened the door. The still so familiar chime of the bell above echoed through the room, a relic from the time when Miss Kaczinski had frequented the place.

You cringed.

After roaming the place you were surprised to find that none of the patrons seemed to react to the bell above the door, seemingly lost in their own world.

Taking a moment to let your gaze wander, you scanned your surroundings. The bar was dimly lit, with the glow of neon signs creating an intimate atmosphere. The furnishings exuded a sense of charm. Wooden tables and chairs were arranged in haphazard clusters, inviting patrons to gather together and share stories over drinks. It looked cozier than you had anticipated.

There were a lot more people than bikes out front and you couldn’t help but wonder who belonged to the biker gang. They seemed to be making quite some money with this bar. Guys were squeezed in booths, beer bottles in hand, and clapping each other’s backs upon talking animatedly. Near the jukebox, a group of patrons gathered, their laughter and chatter blending seamlessly with the music.

Your gaze landed on a corner where three men were engaged in a game of darts. The tallest one of them prepared to throw the dart. He looked intimidating at first sight, broad shoulders and muscles flexed but as he turned around with a boisterous shout and sparkling eyes, fists hitting the air playfully, and his long golden hair caught in the soft glow of the dim light, he didn’t look intimidating at all. He looked like a funny dude.

The guy beside him clapped him on the back, laughing himself, and lined up to throw next. He pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes in an exaggerated way before throwing the dart and landing a hit himself. The tall blond let out a booming laugh that filled the air, seemingly as happy as before, and swung an arm around the other.

The third guy was leaning casually against the wall with a glass of whiskey in hand, watching the game unfold. A smirk played on his lips.

It was when you noticed the corners of your mouth had lifted themselves.

“Wanda.”

The call cut through the din of music and voices, causing you to turn your head towards the bar. A guy - the bartender you assumed him to be - moved in front of it, approaching you while wiping his hands on a towel before tossing it over his shoulder.

“Your brother is helping Steve stock up the beer. Sorry for letting you wait.”

He glanced between Wanda and you, settling on you with a polite smile albeit tinged with a hint of confusion. “Haven’t seen you here before. Small town like this, you know all the people after a few months. I’m Sam.” He extended his hand for you to shake.

You took his hand, returning his smile. “I’m Y/n. I just moved back here earlier today. Been gone for some time,” you introduced yourself. “It’s nice to meet you, Sam!”

Sam’s smile was toothy, executing an aura of genuineness and hospitality. His demeanor was far from what you expected from a stereotypical biker and a sense of ease washed over you.

“Where did you-”

Another call of Wanda’s name interrupted Sam’s question and Pietro Maximoff came rushing over to you, his steps a little wobbly. A tall, blond guy came into view behind him, taking the place behind the bar and starting to fill some glasses for waiting patrons while Sam was occupied.

As Pietro reached you, his eyes shot wide upon spotting you, hazy gaze sharpening in an instant. He seemed sober out of a sudden.

“Y/n!” he exclaimed, his voice carrying through the room with an unexpected loudness that, nevertheless, didn’t seem to bother anyone. You were engulfed in a hug quicker than you were able to blink, Pietro squeezing the life out of you. A surprised laugh bubbled up from your lips as you hugged him back.

“It’s been so long princessa, missed you so much.”

“You better let go of that girl or she’s going to suffocate.”

A deep voice called out from behind Pietro, his tone laced with amusement. As the tight hold on you finally loosened, you recognized the tall, blond who had walked out with Pietro a few moments earlier.

He offered you his hand as well. Similar to Sam’s, it was calloused with a rough texture. He introduced himself as Steve and his smile would have to be the friendliest you had ever seen.

Steve turned to Sam after assessing the room. “Where’s Buck?”

Sam chuckled, a smirk playing at his lips as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Upstairs. That punk is sulking.”

“I’m not sulking, Samuel.”

The annoyed tone of another guy hit your ears. You instinctively turned your head to see the newcomer.

He emerged from a staircase you hadn’t noticed before, next to the bar. He was tall as well, with broad shoulders and brunette hair that framed his face haphazardly. Like Sam, Steve, and Pietro he was dressed in the same black attire, with a leather jacket that hugged his frame snugly. Other than the others though he wore a glove on his left hand. His dark jeans were worn out, tugged into sturdy leather boots that seemed to have seen their fair share of miles on the road.

“Sure are, man. You disappeared for an hour, don’t think I didn’t notice.”

The brunette - Buck, as Steve had said earlier - now stood before you, his hands disappearing into the pockets of his jacket. With a roll of his eyes at Sam, he released a sigh.

His gaze briefly met yours before offering Wanda a nod and a small smile of acknowledgment.

“Nice to see you again, Wanda.” His earlier gruffness towards Sam was now replaced by a gentle tone. “Hope your brother isn’t too much trouble.”

Wanda let out a chuckle. “No, he isn’t, Bucky, it’s fine.”

You glanced at Wanda a little irritated, because she surely seemed more acquainted with the bikers than she had let on earlier. You didn’t have time to simmer in that feeling, your peripheral vision catching on Bucky - as he was called now - turning his attention back on you.

You met his gaze then, blue eyes seeming to shimmer like pools of liquid sapphire, their depths reflecting the ambient glow of the room with an ethereal quality. Despite the subdued lighting, his gaze was intense, like a magnetic quality drawing you in with an irresistible allure.

Shadows danced across his features, casting intricate patterns of light and dark that only served to accentuate the rugged contours of his face.

“You’re new,” he stated, gaze swiftly sweeping up and down your figure. Curiosity and intrigue danced in Bucky's gaze as he observed you, a far cry from the hunger you had grown accustomed to with Michael.

“Not new, just back in town,” Sam chimed in, having moved back behind the bar again and opening a few bottles of beer.

Bucky’s gaze remained on you.

“Back? So, you’ve lived here before?” It was more of a statement than a question.

“Yeah. I went to school here, with those two,” you answered him, nodding towards Wanda and Pietro, grateful for the temporary reprieve from Bucky’s intense gaze.

Pietro, in his inebriated state, slung his arm around you and pulled you into his side. “That girl basically fled out of here. Said she needed a change of scenery or whatever. Didn’t even know she came back.”

His words came out slurred and he leaned most of his weight on you, making you sway. Pietro looked down on you then. “How long are you planning on staying, princessa?”

You sighed, an uncomfortable smile on your face. “Well, actually, I’ve moved in with Wanda, so I suppose I’ll be staying for a while.”

Pietro recoiled, nearly knocking you off balance. “You’re staying? What about Michael? Did he come with you? Why didn’t you tell us? Did something happen? Did he-”

Wanda interjected by calling his name sharply, mercifully cutting off his barrage of questions. You couldn’t have been any more grateful.

Pietro’s voice apparently got unnecessarily loud when consuming alcohol, so you weren’t surprised if the whole bar just had heard the name of your possessive ex-boyfriend. What a way to kick off your new life here.

A lump formed in your throat, stubbornly refusing to dissipate despite your efforts to swallow it down. You could only hope nobody noticed the slight flinch of your body upon the unexpected mention of Michael. Pietro’s swaying hold on you might have masked it but apparently, one person noticed anyway.

Bucky’s gaze lingered on you throughout Pietro’s slurred words, a steady intensity that seemed to sear through you. You met his gaze briefly and supposedly weren’t able to cover up the discomfort that churned in your stomach, because he was looking at you as if he could see right through you, peering into the depths of your soul. His brows were faintly knit together in a furrow. You diverted your gaze, not able to withstand the heaviness in his eyes.

“Alright Pietro, we’ll get you home now,” Wanda declared, moving to the other side of him and taking hold of his arm to guide him towards the door. “Thanks for the call, Sam,” Wanda called out as you made your way towards the exit.

“No problem. And it was nice to meet you Y/n! Hopefully, we’ll see you around,” Sam replied from behind the bar, his voice carrying over the chatter of the patrons.

You were already halfway out the door but threw a smile over your shoulder. As you did, your eyes locked with Bucky’s again, who still stood rooted in place, looking at you.

You turned away with the door falling shut behind you.

****

The faint crackle of static from the television murmured in the recesses of your mind, the storyline of the movie Wanda had chosen slipping through your grasp although it was nearly the end.

A chill had crept up your spine at the thought of going to sleep after Wanda and you got back home - Pietro having passed out on his couch the second you brought him to his apartment. You left some water and a pill on his coffee table.

The echoes of Michaels' unsettling influence lingered like a ghostly whisper, a constant reminder of the unease that permeated your every waking moment. The mere thought of slipping into sleep's embrace now held the potential for a harrowing encounter with the lingering shadows of your subconscious. He was already haunting your reality, going to lengths to get you under his control once again, you didn’t need him infiltrating your dreams. You hadn’t told Wanda of your fears but sensing your unease she gently suggested watching a movie.

So you found yourself nestled on her small couch, a soft blanket draped over your legs in a feeble attempt to ward off the chill that seemed to ignite in your bones.

On the coffee table before you, a pot of steaming tea sat between two delicate cups, wisps of steam curling and dancing in the air like ethereal spirits. The aroma of chamomile and honey wafted through the room. Your gaze wandered idly over to the television, where the tendrils of steam seemed to waltz and twirl in harmony with the flickering images on the screen.

Your mind couldn’t seem to give you a pause as it drifted back to the encounter with the bikers in their bar. The stark contrast between expectation and reality struck you with a profound clarity. Gone were the stereotypical images of intimidating figures with rough, gravelly voices and unkempt grey beards.

Instead, you were faced with Sam, his demeanor as open and inviting as the expanse of a sunlit meadow. His toothy grin, infectious and genuine, seemed to light up the dim room. He seemed easygoing, someone you’d want to share a laugh with, dispelling the shadows of apprehension that had clouded your initial impressions.

And then there was Steve, his eyes like pools of liquid warmth, reflecting a kindness and sincerity that melted away the barriers of fear and mistrust. His gentle smile radiated charm and ease, like the first rays of dawn breaking through the darkness of night.

But unlike the easygoing nature of Sam and the gentle charm of Steve, Bucky was the one to intrigue you. He seemed to exude a sense of reserved aloofness, his demeanor cloaked in a veil of quiet contemplation. Steve and Sam readily engaged in conversation, while Bucky only observed you with a keen intensity, the blue speckles of his irises flickering with a hint of curiosity.

His smile, if one could even call it that, was small and measured. He seemed guarded, not even having introduced himself to you. You came to know his name through the mentions of Steve and Wanda, rather than from him.

You didn’t know what to make of him with his enigmatic and capturing eyes, his countenance a mask of inscrutability that made it difficult to discern his expression.

“Something’s on your mind.”

It took a moment to find back to reality, the abrupt halt of the conversation on the television and the frozen image on the screen registering only as an afterthought. You turned towards Wanda, the remote still in her hand as she paused the movie, a soft expression on her face.

You let out a heavy sigh, adjusting the blanket around your legs and pulling it further up your body as if it could shield you from the impending conversation. As if it could protect you from the looming specter that haunted your every thought - the ghostly presence of Michael. His lingering presence like a shadow that refused to dissipate, cast a pall over your mind, enveloping you in a cloak of apprehension and dread.

The blanket also seemed powerless against the way, piecing blue eyes lingered like an indelible imprint, the intensity of it coursing through your veins like a potent poison. You should be done by the allure of enigmatic men by now, yet Bucky’s mysterious aura captivated you.

It was terrifying.

You felt gripped by icy hands, sending shivers cascading down your spine and leaving your entire body feeling as though it were encased in frost. You were thankful for the blanket again.

“Can I ask you something?” You finally found access to your voice again, shuffling slightly to meet your friend's patient gaze.

Wanda straightened up, the clink of the cup in her hand meeting the wooden surface of the coffee table as she leaned forward to place it there. A faint ring had already formed on the wood where the cup now rested but she didn’t seem to mind, her attention was on you again. She nodded.

Your fingers were wringing with the soft fabric of the blanket, taking a deep breath. “Earlier…you said you don’t really know them. The bikers I mean. But you seemed pretty acquainted with them at the bar.”

Wanda shifted slightly and you looked up, meeting her gentle gaze as she laid a hand on your wrist, stilling your fingers. “I really don’t know them well. Sam only calls me when Pietro is being dumb and I only talked to Steve and Bucky once. Well, Bucky only gave me his name, not much else to be honest.” That was still more than you got - the disappointment bubbling in your stomach went ignored. Wanda continued, “I don’t know why they reacted like that today but…I guess they’re really just nice people.” She shrugged and you lifted your eyebrows.

Wanda let go of your wrist to playfully nudge you, an amused laugh leaving her lips.

“God, you’re quick to judge! Is this a Seattle thing?”

An own laugh made its way past your lips despite the weight of the implications her words carried. It wasn’t a Seattle thing - it was a Michael thing. But you refused to allow those thoughts to consume you once again. So you let Wanda tease you, let her coax laughter from you. It was what you had missed - the simplicity of sharing a laugh with your best friend, bridging the gap that had widened during the years you spent apart.

Perhaps you’d rediscover a sense of belonging in the town you once longed to leave behind.

“She was brave and strong and broken all at once”

- Anna Funder

[valarie-is-lovely]

ADAM REQUEST. i've been thinking about what it would be like to spend holiday's with him. could you write about that ? like watching christmas movies , baking food , eating halloween treats together. stuff like that :)

Adam Stanheight — Holiday Headcannons

(Please don't steal my writing! Takes place before the bathroom trap. Reblogs and likes are encouraged ♡)

Warnings: romantic gestures - gore mention - cursing - Slight vomit mention - slight NSFW mention - Alcohol mention

SFW, GN romantic headcannons

HALLOWEEN

• Has always preferred Halloween over any holiday. Enjoys the scares and the stupid horror movies with the main characters that seem to have an IQ less than 10.

• Drags you to every thrift store in town to try and find anything Halloween related. A shirt with Ghostface on it? Bought. A tiny chain that says 'Childs Play?' Bought. A hat, one he knows he'll never wear, that has Micheal Myers with a knife? Bought. And he only acts like this in October.

• Likes snuggling up under the blankets with you just so you guys can watch horror movies, no matter how bad or good. He commentates on the stupidity of the characters in the movie you guys chose.

• Favorite horror villain is Michael Myers. He gets angry when people say that he's 'overrated.'

• Definitely perfers slasher films over others. Can't really do gore. Those movies make him pretty ill to the stomach. Just doesn't like seeing someone get sawed in half while their intestines fall out.

• Tries his best to decorate the apartment for Halloween, but can't do much since money is tight. He perfers when you make different cut out banners to hang on the walls or shit like that.

• Makes obnoxious comments during the movies you guys watch. Can't keep his mouth shut for a moment.

• At least once he'll have a nightmare during the month and then literally won't sleep for the rest of the night like a child. He gets angry when you try to comfort him, claiming that he 'doesn't need that bullshit.'

• On Halloween night, you two obviously dress up. He takes photoshoots of you guys in your outfits, you two are always matching, and then hangs them up in his darkroom every year. That night, you two eat a ton of Halloween candy, meaning one of you two end up vomiting from the amout of sugar you consumed.

CHRISTMAS

• Depsite trying his hardest, will never ever be able to bake Christmas cookies without your help. They'll always end up being some sort of burnt, black blob or so undercooked you can taste each raw ingredient.

• Favorite Christmas movie is The Santa Clause.

• Absolutely despises the cold. Yet, if you beg hard enough, he will go out in the snow with you and throw snowballs. After a snowball fight, he likes to tackle you to the ground and kiss you all over in a way to warm you up.

• Really likes hot chocolate. Will do anything you ask as long as he gets a mug full of hot chocolate after.

• Goes to the mall with you, if money isn't tight, and buys you two ugly Christmas sweaters to wear on Christmas morning.

• Not too good at gift giving. Maybe he'll throw some perfume / cologne into a box along with a cute little glass trinket of your favorite animal. Something small and stupid that means a lot.

• All he wants for Christmas is a box of cigarettes ♡

• Will watch Christmas movies with you, but probably won't pay much attention. As figured, he'd probably talk through the whole thing.

• Christmas morning, he wakes up around 9-10 A.M. and opens the gifts you two got each other. There's not a lot, but it's still special to him, even if he's not the gift kind of guy.

• If having a bad day, he'd perfer to stay inside with you. Maybe have a nice, hot bath with you with a little Christmas bath bomb. Something corny like that.

• After building gingerbread houses with you, he will slam his fist into his in order to break it so he can just lick the icing off of the gingerbread pieces.

EASTER

• Used to be utterly terrified of the Easter bunny when he wa younger.

• He honestly doesn't do much for this holiday other than hide little plastic eggs around the apartment for you to find.

(Sorry for the shortness of this one 😭)

VALENTINES DAY

• Showers you with affection all day.

• When you wake up in the morning, he's not in bed. A note lies on the bedside table that reads, 'Went out to get some groceries for us today. Your coffee is already made for you.' The note makes you aware that he will be the most loving guy he can be all day today.

• Leaves kisses all over your cheeks, neck, collarbone, etc. All day.

• Asks to shower alongside you. Nothing happens behind the shower curtain besides soft kisses and hugs as you two wash each other's bodies and hair.

• At around dinnertime, you guys sit in his living room, talking and cuddling while watching some dumb romance movie. He hands you a small book. Inside lies a bunch of photo collages between you two, thus being your Valentines gift.

• Takes you out to your favorite bar after dinner and gets you two drunk off your favorite alcohol.

• Once home, he brings you to bed, lathering you in kisses and soft love bites.

• (NSFW) Asks you if you two can have sex that night. If so, he makes sure it's all slow and sensual, unless suggested otherwise. Still, marking you as his with tiny kisses and hickies.

• Aftercare includes him holding your head against his chest and whispering how much he is in love with you. Gently plays with your hair, peppering kisses over your jaw and lips.

———

Hope this was good! Sorry for it not being too long. My first ever headcannon / fic on tumblr so I hope I did well. More requests would be appreciated. Ty for reading ♡

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

The Darling Who Beats Their Yandere at Yandering 

As a darling too many times have you been abducted, manipulated, blackmailed by your yandere. Well, how would they like it if they had to go through everything you go through? 

“So How do you like it huh? Do you like how I tied you up and gagged you? No? Well too bad it's what I went through! How do you feel not being able to do anything, huh? To have your freedom stripped away?” 

Whether you’ve been a good darling for a long time now or narrowly had escaped their attempts to have you. 

“Oh~ I love it! Keep going, baby! Tie me! Gag me! Baby, please do what you want~!” 

André Mortesque both pre-househusband era and after dude’s obsessed with you up and down. Punch him, kick him, kiss him, kill him for all he cares; the very air you breathe is sacred to him. If he has to kidnap you at any time it doesn’t really break his obsessive love for you. Your tied or he’s tied or you both are just naked in bed he loves it all.

“Go ahead baby~! A-actually i-if y-your doing what I did can you get my aphrodisiac pills from my bedside table!” 

“Hehehe love bug…okay…I get it.”

Morgan Jox pre-househusband era is put in his place. He’s tucking his non-existent tail between his legs. He really did plan to scoop up your unconscious body and lightly tie it to a bed. He didn’t mean to make you feel bad or trapped. He’ll sob and cry for your forgiveness after all he just wants to protect and love you the most. But househusband Morgan has a different reaction altogether if you are able to tie down this himbo hunk of muscle in the first place he’s tilting his head, in confusion. “But that’s all just minor in the shadow of our love.” He’s a hopeless romantic who doesn’t mind the journey rather than the destination. He thought by now you would have understood that…maybe the journey for your love hasn’t quite reached its destination.

“Lovebug, maybe you should spend some more time in the ropes then after we can both talk about how we feel. Does that sound like a plan?”

“Well isn’t this a familiar position? Tell me, darling, are we reverting back to our…hehehe…old ways?”

Wezley is an enigma to most and it's probably best it stays that way. After all, it is the reason why he’s agreed to be a househusband in the first place. But long before all that you’ve replayed this scenario with him. This time it's with rope but one time it could have been electric chords or steel chains. As well as who’s within those binds in the first place. You can say he’s simply ecstatic he’s getting a taste of your original rodeo. He gets bored of the home life

“Ah my (Y/n)! Shall we do the other thing we used to do?”

“Well yes but this means something completely different when you know how to get out.”

Michael Froth your dear eldest brother knows how to tie a good knot and how to undo them. He’s your wretched mother’s favorite child(after you) after all having taken all of her worst traits. He sees now. You’re frustrated, huh? Then the color therapy must not be working then. No matter, he has a contingency plan I’m sure you’ll feel a lot better once he starts that routine with the sleeping meds. He’ll enjoy it when you drunkenly let him rock you to sleep, like in the olden days.

“That’s fine (Y/n). I understand where you’re coming from but this charade has been fun. Time to sleep.”

“So unfair (Y/n)! You’ve put me in this horrible situation! All because you don’t think.

Rue, the roommate turned villain, is amused but he doesn’t appreciate you switching roles. He’s already felt helpless before, helpless when you refused him for who he is, helpless when you didn’t support him in his true occupation. You made him feel absolutely trapped when you almost died; now this! It’s simply unfair! Now its only right he give you one of his special punishments! He’ll make sure you’ll be forgetting your own name by the end of it.

“Ah darling I’ve decided I’ll be picking your punishment tonight and I promise I won’t go easy!”

[tinderbox210]

Okay hear me out:

a Michael x Rayner AU inspired by the VOY ep. "Workforce"!

On the hunt for the Progenitor technology, the Discovery falls into another trap set up by Moll and L'ak where they use a device that messes with people's memories.

Michael and Rayner get abducted and end up at a salvage yard controlled by the Emerald Chain with false memories implanted into their heads (like the Voyager crew in the episode). Despite not remembering each other, they feel attracted to each other and start to hook up.

When the Discovery rescues them eventually and they regain their real memories, things are tense and awkward between them on the bridge because of what happened between them and even more because the feelings they have developed for each other just won’t go away again...

Oh, all the delicious unresolved tension with them trying to act professional and pretend it didn't mean anything and will certainly not happen again 😏

[quietblueriver]

Please find below 4k of quickly written and mostly unedited pride fluff inspired by the revival news.

Happy Pride, and happy Warrior Nun, y'all. <3 <3

Ava’s first pride was with her mother. She remembers being outside, her mom’s laugh loud and generous, her joyous friends lifting Ava on their shoulders and spinning her around to take it all in, everything bathed in color. There was so much to see and hear, and she felt small but not scared surrounded by so many people, delighted when someone dancing in the parade wrapped a feather boa around her neck gently and with a wink. Her mom had taken her home before the parade was over, Ava fighting sleep and swaying against her side in the afternoon sun.

She’d felt no shame as she got older and realized that she found a wide spectrum of people and genders to be attractive. She hadn’t been raised to believe in God and her life at St. Michael’s definitely didn’t change her mind. She’d figured out real fucking quick that the nuns at St. Michael’s were full of shit. There was absolutely no way Sister Frances, fountain of hate, knew what she was talking about when it came to literally anything beyond being a fucking bitch. She sure as shit didn’t know anything about love. Ava was more likely to listen to an avocado’s directions about how to live her best life. Anyway. The nuns spouted bullshit but she knew better. She had been taught better. Like her mom’s laugh and the soft fur of her favorite tabby under her fingers, Ava clung to the memory of her mother surrounded by men and women and people dressed in bright colors and dancing, together and happy and beautifully themselves.

--

“Bea?”

She’s standing in front of her dresser, staring into the open drawer where she keeps her t-shirts, all neatly folded and organized vertically so that she can see each one. It’s exactly where she was when Ava left her two minutes ago, pretending she wanted a glass of water to give Bea a minute that she would deny she needed if Ava actually asked.

“Hmm?” Her eyes remain focused on the drawer, one hand fiddling absently with the thin gold chain around her neck, taking up residence where her cross used to be. She’s in one of her favorite sports bras, tight enough to have a compressive effect, and black boxer briefs, her hair still wet from the shower and in a loose braid to keep it out of her way. It’s something precious for Ava to see her this disarmed, this at home, something she thought about when she was trapped and waiting, waiting, waiting until she could come back to this world, to a real life, to Bea, in whatever capacity she would have her. The fact that Bea wants her like this, in all the ways Ava had ever hoped and in the home they’re building together, is sometimes enough to leave her breathless.

She steps into the room but leaves several feet of space between them. It’s a dance, figuring out how to love Bea best, and Ava still sometimes misses a step. As always, her instinct is to wrap herself around Bea like a koala, but she knows that Bea has to be the one to make the move right now. She would welcome Ava; she always does, but it’s different when she thinks Ava wants something. Because she was raised by shitheads, her default, when Ava wraps her up in moments like this, is to feel it like a threat: Make the right choice because this is what you have, yes, but this is also what you can lose. She had nearly had a panic attack even admitting this to Ava, stilted and red-faced and ashamed one night after a therapy session. “It’s not about you, I swear. I know you love me. I’m just not used to love like yours.” There is no part of Ava that doesn’t want to throw down with Bea’s parents.

She focuses, instead, on what she can do. It is Ava’s privilege to learn how to love Bea in the ways that let her feel it most, and right now that means standing close but not too close, a physical signal that she’s there if Bea wants her but that she has no expectations.

“You sure you want to go? It’s really, really okay if you don’t. We could just go to Rosa’s later, if something smaller would be better. Or we can stay home! No pressure, is what I mean.”

Beatrice looks at her then, eyes soft and with a small but genuine smile. The halo gives a little hum with Ava’s exhale. They’re in agreement about Bea, as always: beautiful.

“I want to go.” She turns her body to face Ava, one hand still on her chain. “I want to go with you.” Ava grins big, lets every fucking bit of affection show on her face, in her body, in the halo’s light, kept dim enough not to be outrageous in the space of their bedroom but still obvious, and Bea’s own smile grows just a little, her cheeks coloring. It’s strange in the very best way to see her be bashful. She looks down at her body and adopts the contemplative face that Ava fell in love with, all strong, sharp, serious lines and pursed lips. “I just don’t know what to wear. Is that,” she turns back to the drawer and shakes her head, “Is that silly? I feel…I feel a bit silly.”

Ava steps closer then, an offer of help, and stops just behind Beatrice at the dresser. The way she immediately leans back into Ava’s space, drops the chain to pull one of Ava’s arms around her almost absently, lets Ava know she made the right decision. Ava presses onto her toes and hooks her chin over Bea’s shoulder so that she can look into the drawer. Not that she doesn’t already know exactly what’s in there—she wears Bea’s clothes as often as her own.

“It’s not silly at all. Do you want…how, um, how on theme do you want to be?” There is nothing in Bea’s drawer that Ava would describe as loud or showy—she tends toward muted colors and conservative cuts even now that her vows are barely visible in the rearview. Still, there are options.

“I don’t think I have anything particularly appropriate? I suppose…” she reaches for a lavender t-shirt, the same one Ava had been eyeing for her, thick cotton with a front pocket and a slightly faded neckline. Ava wraps her other arm around Bea’s waist and squeezes, presses a kiss to her cheek before dropping back down. “That’s perfect, baby.”

“Really?” It’s tentative in a way that Bea rarely is, and Ava’s heart aches.

“Yes, absolutely.” She thumbs at the waistband of Bea’s underwear and bites her lip before adding, “I mean, you’re rocking this look but I figured you didn’t want to wear it out.” She feels Bea’s gentle laughter. Mission accomplished.

“No, I’m not quite there yet. Maybe next year.” She’s feeling good enough to banter, even if only a little, which loosens something in Ava’s chest. A deep breath and exhale and then she feels more than sees the shift in Bea’s demeanor, her shoulders squaring up and feet spreading evenly. There is no leather tunic, no bo, no stash of knives (well, there’s always at least one, in a boot or a waistband or a subtle sheath under her shirt and across her back but like, of course). This is a different kind of armor—the control in her body, the appearance of confidence and competence. There’s more than a little fake it til you make it happening right now, but that’s fucking great, and nobody but Ava is going to know anyway. All they’re going to see is a very hot, very self-assured human, and Ava’s going to enjoy watching Bea get flustered by the women who will absolutely be looking in a totally unsubtle way.

She presses a last kiss to Bea’s shoulder blade and then pulls away, stepping over to their closet and pulling out a pair of black jeans that are a go-to for Bea, comfortable and neat and tapered but not too tight. She lays them carefully on the bed and then steps back toward the door as Bea slips into the clothes.

She looks incredibly handsome, as always, and Ava tells her so, whispering into her ear and then kissing her soundly. Impressively, she only lets her hands wander a teeny tiny amount. Bea looks down at herself and then says, “It’s not very colorful.”

Ava bounces on her toes and claps her hands once, brings them to together to a point under her chin. “Well! I have some ideas, if you want to add a little color.” She pulls Bea into the living room and presses gently on her shoulders, sitting her on the sofa and then walking to pull a tote from one of the hooks by the door. She’d been out this morning to get them coffee and also grabbed some supplies.

“Okay, so.” She rummages through and sits her bounty one by one on the coffee table. “We have face paint, nail polish, markers, body glitter. Oh! And!” She drops the bag and bounds into their bedroom, returning with a small box that she’d nearly forgotten about. “I got you these. Pinkwashing is bullshit but like all of the proceeds go to a shelter for queer youth and also it’s Pride and these are great and you’ll look amazing in them.” She hands Bea the box and then adds hastily, “If you want to wear them! No pressure. I will obviously also look amazing in them.”

She doesn’t say the rest—that she knew Bea wouldn’t have the same kind of options as Ava, whose closet is as full of color and energy as she is. Today, she landed on high rise denim shorts and a blue cropped tank with a short-sleeve button-down, pink and purple gradient, knotted overtop. There is a streak of pink at the front of her hair, and she’d traded shoes with Rosa, who lives two doors down, for the weekend, so she’s got one pink high top and one purple. She’s a walking bi flag and she feels great about it.

Beatrice is smiling down at the box, and she pulls out the rainbow sunglasses with a grin, situating them on her face and yes, she looks very, very good and also relaxed, which is the point. Ava has no real option but to kiss her, sliding into her lap and pushing the glasses to rest in her hair.

“You’re so hot.”

She blushes, as always, and rolls her eyes a little, but she doesn’t protest, is learning through therapy and a lot of positive reinforcement from Ava to let the compliments stand even if she doesn’t quite believe them. “I love you, too.” Ava grins and kisses her nose, doesn’t move from her lap but angles her torso slightly back toward the table.

“Now. Want me to do a lesbian pride flag on your cheek? Or your arm? Or some glitter? It rolls on.” She eyes the clock. They’re going to find a spot near the end of the route, closer to their apartment, so there’s not a rush. “We still have time for nail polish, even, if you want.”

Bea situates her hands on Ava’s hips, which is excellent, and looks at the pile on the table. “Maybe a flag on my cheek?” Ava nods decisively and reaches to pick up the face paint markers. “Yes, ma’am.” She pulls the top from the orange and moves to get the best angle.

--

Beatrice grew up in London, so she’d seen Pride, but only from a distance. “It was the first time I heard my father use a slur,” she told Ava the afternoon that they’d seen the pride flag go up in their favorite coffee shop, head in her lap on their sofa, Ava’s fingers carding through her hair. “It was the summer after Year Two, I think. We hadn’t started summering at the house in France yet.” Ava had not, for once, teased her for using the word summer as a verb. “We were out for…something. I don’t remember, but there were people walking to the parade and we could hear the music. They looked so happy, and I couldn’t stop watching them, even though I knew I shouldn’t let my father see me. When he noticed me staring, he grabbed my arm so hard it bruised.” Ava’s fingers stopped only briefly, reaching down to rub Beatrice’s bicep, soothing a phantom pain. Beatrice took her hand and kissed her palm, soft, before putting it back in her hair. Taking the request for what it was, Ava resumed her previous motion.

“He said…he said terrible things for the rest of the walk back to the car, loud enough that I knew some of the people must have heard. I started crying, and it made him mad at me. He never…I didn’t cry often, as a child. I don’t think he knew what to do with me most of the time, but he certainly didn’t know what to do with tears. It took me a long time to stop. I didn’t know exactly why, then, but I already felt wrong.”

Ava held her tongue, scratched at Bea’s scalp in a way that sometimes made her arch her back in a distinctly cat-like movement, graceful and pleased. Beatrice hummed and after a few moments, she titled her head back and reached up to skim her fingers along Ava’s jaw.

“I’d like to go, I think. To Pride. I’d like to go with you.” Bea’s skin was warm under her lips as Ava moved from her forehead to her nose to her chin. “I’d love that, baby.”

-- They’re able to walk, which is nice because it’s beautiful out today and because it gives Bea a way to get rid of some nervous energy. She’d already been on a run that morning, but she’s always a little on edge, Ava’s sister warrior, and today is going to be amazing, Ava knows it, but it’s also going to be a lot.

Fifteen minutes into the walk, Beatrice squeezes Ava’s hand so hard she thinks maybe she’s missed some kind of danger or protestor or something. When she follows Bea’s gaze, though, she squeezes back just as tightly. A loud, brightly colored group has emerged from the subway and congregated around someone looking at their phone. While the younger members of the group wear bright colors—bow ties and skirts and dyed hair scattered throughout—the adults wear matching t-shirts, white with gigantic rainbow hearts and bold black letters:

Proud of My Queer Child

Proud of My Queer Grandchild

A little distance from the malformed semi-circle, an elderly man entertains a very excited kiddo who can’t be more than 8, blue tutu flying as they spin and spin. The man, Papa written in pink, white, and blue paint on his arm, is in a variation of the same shirt: Proud of my Trans Grandchild.

As Ava and Beatrice approach the little one stops twirling and says, exuberant and maybe a little dizzy, based on their wobbly stance, “Happy Pride!”

“Happy Pride!” Ava’s response is enthusiastic but hasty. She’s ready to move quickly, give Bea a pass on interaction, but Bea stops and smiles at them, so handsome in the sunlight, a tiny dash of sunscreen that Ava hadn’t noticed as they left the house covering some of the freckles on the right side of her nose. “Happy Pride,” she says, voice gentle as it always is with children.

“I like your glasses! But you’ve got, uh,” little fingers swipe to indicate the spot where the sunscreen is. Bea says, polite as ever, “Thank you. I have been admiring your tutu.” She turns to Ava, who lifts her fingers and blends. Beatrice cups her jaw. “Thank you, love.” Familiar and easy and unashamed.

“Dad! Micah! You ready?” A conclusion has apparently been reached by those congregated around the phone. Micah waves and then skips toward the woman who called for them, grandfather shepherding closely.

--

The motorcycles are loud enough that Ava feels them in her chest, and she can’t help but laugh.

Bea is transfixed, eyes glued to the group of women in front of them—colorful flags and bandanas, leather and love and butch women revving engines. The woman closest to them, in a leather vest with a Dykes on Bikes patch prominently displayed, throws her head back and laughs at something her partner, clutching her from behind, whispers into her ear.

“Dyke,” Bea whispered into the dark of their bedroom at Cat’s Cradle a few weeks after Ava’s return. They were learning each other in new ways in a new world, this life and the next all in one, and Bea was trusting Ava with another piece of herself. She explained with a pained voice and silent tears the way her father had nearly spat at her when her parents found her kissing another girl, innocent and exploring, in the kitchen. “My mother slapped me and he called me a dyke. They sent me to Switzerland the next day.”

Now, Bea wraps an arm around Ava’s waist and pulls her closer with a confidence that makes Ava and the halo want to burst. Ava wraps her own arms around Bea, squeezing, and leans up to kiss her cheek. Strong fingers catch her chin as she turns away and then Bea’s lips are on hers, sure and solid and tasting of coconut sunscreen chapstick. Ava smiles into it and leans her forehead against Bea’s as they break apart, happy and so fucking proud.

The crowd roars when the bikes start moving, the parade on its way again, and Ava joins them, yelling and unlocking her hands from Bea’s waist so that she can wave. Beatrice is quiet, but she’s smiling, really smiling, and she startles a laugh when a dyke revs at an impressively loud and coordinated wolf-whistle from a nearby section of the crowd.

--

They’ve been here for almost two hours—sound systems blasting Kylie and Beyonce and Janelle Monae, queer people dancing in leather and coordinated outfits and tiny, tiny swimsuits. More than one marcher has winked at one or the other of them, Ava delighted and Bea, as predicted, flustered and precious.

There are corporate-sponsored floats fucking everywhere and it’s very, very white, and Ava knows that Beatrice, who is as thoughtful in her queerness as she is in everything, will want to talk about it later. (She bravely asked Rosa and Cleo, her partner, older London natives who have been active in the queer scene since before she and Bea were born, about how to get more involved in community. And a growing stack of queer reading material—poetry and fiction and theory and memoir— sits in a neat stack on her bedside table and on two designated shelves in their living room. Ava is partial to fiction and the queer internet, but she’s happy to listen to anything Bea wants to read her, steady heartbeat in one ear and measured voice in the other.) For the moment, though, she watches and watches and watches as it all passes by.

At one point, a drag troupe dressed in habits with incredible makeup traipses by as the Sister Act soundtrack plays. Ava’s nervous for a minute, but Bea only bites her lip, expression amused rather than offended. One of the queens opens a fan with a flourish, and it’s covered in a shockingly detailed copy of The Last Supper, the disciples all in drag. A snort, ungraceful and unguarded, and then Bea is laughing so hard she’s shaking. Ava can’t look away.

By the time they enter hour three, they’re both flagging a little, and Ava wants to go home for a bit and nap because she absolutely wants to take Bea dancing tonight, so she tugs at Bea’s bicep and says loudly enough to be heard over the music (an Elton John remix?), “I’m happy to stay as long as you want, but I’m also happy to go home. I will need a nap before we go out tonight.” She does not phrase it as a question and she can’t see Bea’s eyes but she knows that they’re rolling fondly as Bea’s lips purse in amusement. “Oh, are you going out tonight?”

Ava pouts shamelessly because she knows what she wants and she knows how to get it. “We are going to a drag show and then dancing.” It’s an easier ask than Pride. They’ve done it before, even within the last month. The clubs are dark and anonymous and Bea genuinely loves dancing, and dancing with Ava especially.

Ava notices the banner of the next group before Bea can respond and nudges her quickly. “Bea. Look.” She does, immediate and reflexive, and then she keeps looking.

Christians at Pride

The groups is big, and there are colorful banners everywhere, some professionally printed and some very obviously handmade:

You are Made in God’s Image

You are loved.

Oh Happy Gay!

Thank God for Queer People

There are denominational shirts, a solid Catholic coalition packed into the middle, and at the end, a group of people whose shirts say simply: I’m Sorry. Ava has kept a close eye on Bea because, y’know, trauma, but it’s not until the end, until the I’m Sorry, that she reacts noticeably, sucking in a breath and curling one of her hands into a fist. Ava steps behind her, places a hand at the small of her back in question, and Bea reaches back for her arms.

They stand like that, Ava wrapped around her very favorite person, and watch a few more floats pass by, bass thumping up through their feet and confetti falling over them. Across the street, someone lifts a small child in a rainbow bucket hat onto their shoulders, and they sit waving and clapping happily at the queer cyclist club. The couple who have been camped next to them—Matt and Andy, about their age and into gardening and incredibly fucking cute in their tiny matching rainbow shorts and mesh tops—dips, giving them quick hugs. As they turn to leave, Andy says to Beatrice, teasing and without waiting for an answer, “See you tonight, yeah?” Ava, having resumed her previous position already, feels Bea’s laughter in her own chest.

Eventually, Beatrice turns into her and says, acting put upon but pressing even closer to Ava to be sure she knows it’s only an act, “Let’s go home and nap before we go out.”

Ava grins, victorious.

--

Look, Ava loves being queer. She doesn’t believe in blessings but she sure as shit believes it’s a gift to be bisexual, and she feels that deeply as she watches Bea at the bar in her slightly tighter black jeans and a fitted white tee. Her hair is down, over one shoulder, and she’s leaned forward to catch the bartender’s attention and Ava can’t believe she gets to go home with her.

She’s coming back from the bathroom, but she stops as someone slides into Bea’s space, beautifully tattooed arm reaching over to touch Bea’s elbow like it’s nothing. They’re gorgeous, newly touched-up undercut and jeans that do great things for their ass and Ava smiles as they shoot their shot.

The more they do it, the more she loves bringing Bea into queer spaces like this, because it’s where she gets the attention she quite frankly deserves and because it’s very fun to watch her navigate these interactions. Only the very smallest part of Ava wants to halo-blast this human across the room and even that is only on principle—she has absolutely nothing to worry about. More than anything, she’s happy that her partner gets some outside reinforcement for what Ava tells her all the fucking time: she’s hot.

Bea backs away immediately, says something that Ava is sure is polite but absolutely clear, and then she’s alone again. Ava makes her way over, sliding and arm around her waist and pressing a kiss to her cheek and Beatrice smiles at her and hands her a shot glass.

“Lemon drop?”

The club is full of people celebrating, evidence of the parade everywhere: sunburns and smeared paint and so much glitter. Her own arms are covered in it now, but she doesn’t mind. Ava always loves going dancing with Bea but she loves it especially tonight. They’re warm and happy and just a little bit drunk, swaying comfortably in the press of the revelry.

The music changes, an eruption as the Beyonce remix sounds through the speakers, and Bea shifts somehow closer to her, hands confidently blazing a path to the exposed skin of Ava’s waist. Ava lets her own hands roam, landing on Bea’s shoulder blades, fingers digging in as Bea breathes out against her ear, “Come home with me?”

Ava kisses her, a little filthy, and Beatrice pulls her closer. She draws back with a bite to Bea’s bottom lip and kisses a path up her jaw, lets her tongue graze skin as she answers Bea’s question the way she always does, the way she always will: “Yes.” They press out of the crowd, and Beatrice apologizes as she bumps into a crew coming into the club. “No worries, baby!” The queen is beautiful, makeup fucking impeccable, and she blows a kiss as she heads toward the bar. “Happy Pride!”

[your-goth-sis]

Wesker, Artist and Shape dating killer, who's weapon of choice is bear trap attached to chain?

Yezzzzz OKAY this should be fun!

Tw: Michael gets a little horni 😭✨

Albert Wesker

Okay that's cool!

He watched as you dragged your victim to the basement with the chain and bear trap and hook them. He smirked and shook his head "You never change, Dearheart". He ALSO admires your weapon of choice.

Carmina Mora

She thinks it's cool! Wants to see it happen and would think it's ✨aesthetic✨. If you're sadistic as well, she'd be a little afraid of your sadism and questions your choice of weapon. Like damn? Who chooses this weapon anyways? Other than you of course 💕

Michael Myers

A tint of pink dusted his cheeks as he watched you drag your victim with the chained bear trap. IMO it turns him on a little 😭✨.

If you're a sadist then OMGOSHHH y'all are meant to be. Match made in hell.

He absolutely adores you and your choice of weapon!

[the-munster-mash]

[Image description: an illustration in the style of a religious icon or tarot card, featuring a woman with brown hair (Melanie King) holding a cane and a broken chain. She has a red bandage over her eyes. There’s a gold halo behind her, with icons of daggers and eyes surrounding her head. The illustration is done in cool red tones]

Next up, Melanie! I could see her being a sort of Archangel Michael, known for liberating and defending those trapped in the domains. She also was the only one to free herself from the entities after being trapped by the Eye, so it only stands to reason that she’d be the patron saint of freedom.

[swordfright]

I want to know about the ouroboros AUs very badly

The amount of words I'm about to type is gonna make me look INSANE but in my defense I had to think about this every day for like a YEAR OKAY.

Island AU Spiderette AU: This AU operates on the premise that the Vault considers any structure c!Sam builds with the intent to imprison someone as an extension of Pandora — an extra limb. In Ouroboros, Sam was planning to kidnap Michael and keep him at the island house in order to lure Ranboo to the prison (as in canon), but he doesn’t have a chance to actually go through with that plan because he gets distracted by, y’know, Pandora becoming a sentient eldritch horror. So basically, Island AU diverges from Ouroboros in the final chapter. When Dream fakes a suicide attempt to force the Vault to spit him and Sam out, Pandora doesn’t dump them in the prison lobby…it dumps them in Sam’s island house. Essentially, the Vault considers that house (which Sam intended to keep Michael in, ostensibly as a hostage) to be a type of prison, and thus, an extension of Pandora’s Vault. So, Sam takes the only course of action that makes sense to him: he treats Dream’s injuries and officially incarcerates him in the island house. It’s supposed to be temporary, but after a while Sam is resigned to the possibility that he may never return Dream to Pandora Proper. And y’know what? This is fine! This is fine, actually. Dream is still his prisoner, Sam can still be warden here.

In the beginning, the situation is very similar to his and Dream’s dynamic in Pandora. Sam keeps Dream in the little room meant for Michael. The house isn’t really set up for full-on incarceration, so Sam has to make modifications. He can’t exactly install a lava chamber, but he adds chains to the walls so he can keep the prisoner secure. Michael’s room doesn’t have space to add a desk or a cauldron or a toilet, so Dream must be permitted to leave a couple times a day. Dream moves around the house with Sam’s permission and occasionally helps with chores/maintenance/daily tasks (a freedom which Sam justifies as “prison labor” lmfao)

After a while, the two of them fall into a bizarre domesticity: they are essentially cohabiting, but Dream is still Sam’s prisoner and Sam is still Dream’s warden. It’s weird. It’s tense and awful, but it’s also kind of okay sometimes, compared to the prison. Dream eventually hatches a plan to escape, but things get complicated. Honestly, a lot of the “plot” for this AU hinges on the idea of Pandora’s sentience, and the fact that people in-the-know can basically fast-travel between buildings on the server as long as those buildings are limbs of Pandora. It gets very technical so I won’t bore y’all with all that.

Ouroboros Extended Cut AU: In this AU, c!Dream does not attempt to fake his own suicide in order to force Pandora to release him, as he does in Ouroboros. The idea occurs to him, but he has extreme reservations about actually going through with it: what if the plan works too well and he actually kills himself? These reservations aren’t unfounded, given the intense anxieties he has surrounding death in canon. Sam can’t revive him because he has not given Sam the book. So basically, Sam and Dream spend way, way, wayyyy longer trapped inside the prison. I’m talking at least another year or two. And the longer they spend there, the weirder shit gets. This AU leans really heavily into the horror elements of Ouroboros. Dream eventually figures out how to communicate effectively with the Vault. Sam also communicates with the Vault, but far less effectively because he’s Sam and he fucking sucks. There’s plenty of bizarre space-time continuum stuff. Also, the prison gets really good at recreating illusions of people who have spent a lot of time in the Vault in the past. The strongest illusions are capable of speech and sometimes even conversation, though they appear to have a limited variety of possible responses. Quackity is one of those people, but it’s Tommy’s illusion that’s the strongest because he wasn’t just resurrected inside Pandora (like Ghostbur), he actually died there as well.

As things get more horrifying inside the Vault, Sam and Dream become progressively more desensitized to that horror; it changes their dynamic somewhat, because they have to be pragmatic as hell if they want to make it out one day. The Vault wants to keep them alive, and yet is fundamentally hostile to living. Dream is allowed way more freedom (under Sam’s supervision) for reasons of mutual survival. He and Sam become more codependent. I probably will never write this AU down, but if I did, I’d want to incorporate a bunch of minecraft gameplay and environment elements from the big spooky 1.17 Caves & Cliffs update: the warden creatures, the ruins, the Deep Dark biome, the skulk, etc.

Timewarp AU: One of the big decisions I had to make when writing Ouroboros was whether time inside the prison should pass at the same rate as time passes outside the prison. If you’ve read the fic, you know that time inside the Vault passes slower after the prison gains sentience, so Sam and Dream spend months in there but only a few days have passed in the outside world. However, if I’d decided to have time pass in the prison at the same rate it passes on the rest of the server, that would mean Dream completely misses Techno’s rescue. In this AU, Techno shows up on 11/28 to break Dream out and finds the prison seemingly abandoned. After having a thorough look around, he leaves. His thought process: Dream must’ve found some other way to escape! Makes sense! If escape was possible, why would he wait for Techno?

Because of this, when Dream pulls his fake suicide stunt and forces the Vault to spit them out, his incarceration continues as normal because he missed the jailbreak. Ngl, this AU is pretty bleak because Dream is alone and locked up for a much longer period than in canon. (I actually ended up NOT going with this option when writing Ouroboros because my good friend aaron ringenthusiast told me very plainly that any version of events where Dream misses Techno’s big rescue was too depressing to contemplate!) 

Eventually the Syndicate get suspicious, of course. It’s been over six months since the failed jailbreak and if Dream really did escape prior to that, it’s weird that he hasn’t tried to contact Techno or reach out to any other Syndicate members…right? Eventually, Phil and Techno are contacted by Punz, who’s forced to out themself as Dream’s ally because they haven’t heard from Dream in an alarming amount of time and are frankly confused. Tbh, I haven’t decided where this AU goes after that, but I think it’d be neat if Dream still gets rescued or maybe even escapes Pandora by himself somehow. I'm fond of stories where Dream is ultimately the one to save himself.

The final AU is Amnesia Island. It’s similar to Island AU Spiderette in that after the events of Ouroboros, Sam manages to move Dream from Pandora onto his island and imprisons him there. However, Dream is in really bad shape. In this version of events, his suicide fake-out was unsuccessful in that he accidentally does kill himself. The Vault still spits them out, but the blood transfusion comes too late and it looks like Dream is actually gonna die – bummer! That’s not what either of them wanted! Luckily, Sam has a secret: he’s already created a clone of Dream’s body (without his consent or knowledge, because of course.) So when Sam realizes Dream is gonna die FR fr, he uses the power of (canonical!) cool awesome unethical science to transfer Dream’s mind to the new body just before Dream dies. This all happens in the triage ward in Pandora. After the process is complete, he whisks his prisoner away to the island. 

All should be well, theoretically. Except, uh oh! When Dream wakes up in his new body, he…isn’t Dream. At least, he isn’t Sam’s Dream. Something went wrong, either with the cloning process or the transfer of consciousness. New Dream has clearly got the same personality as old Dream, but minus the traumas he’s recently acquired. Huge chunks of his memory seem to be gone. He doesn’t recall who he is, who Sam is, L’Manberg, the Disc Saga, any of the events of the past couple years. It’s all gone.

Sam’s reaction to the amnesia is…messy. First, he doesn’t believe Dream, thinks he’s faking it. It takes an unpleasant interrogation to finally convince Sam that Dream really doesn’t remember anything. After denial comes anger: this version of Dream is both familiar and alien; he reminds Sam more of the man who built the Community House than the prisoner! Which means all the time and effort Sam spent conditioning the prisoner to fear him and respect him and obey him is wasted. Sam gave up parts of his soul for that deference, that submission. And now it’s just gone. He’s not happy about it. Next comes the bargaining, and finally, acceptance, or something that passes for acceptance until you hold it up to the light. According to Sam’s worldview, Dream is fundamentally corrupt. Even if amnesiac Dream doesn’t remember doing terrible things, he still did them, right? Which means Sam still has a responsibility to keep him locked up. The warden is still needed! This is a huge source of relief, since it preserves Sam’s self-concept.

Only…the situation is a bit more convoluted now. No version of Dream is innocent in Sam’s eyes, which means amnesiac Dream cannot be innocent. But the amnesia complicates things. For one, this Dream doesn’t have nearly as many reasons to fear and hate Sam, which means he’s openly affectionate — helpful, even. Sam appreciates that, and his appreciation throws a wrench in his plan to reincarcerate the prisoner. This is post-Ouroboros Sam, so he is aware on some level that he loves Dream, though he perceives that love as an unforgivable weakness. Not to mention he and Dream have been sleeping together for months and Sam misses that. Given these compounding factors, Sam opts not to punish Dream as frequently or as harshly as he did when they were in Pandora. It’s not that he regrets his former treatment of Dream (after all, Sam has never had any qualms about treating a lover sternly, has he?) but he does have a vested interest in encouraging Dream’s affection. He wants Dream to be obedient, and obedience is an easier thing to offer when you think you’re in love. So Sam does what he has to: he lies.

He doesn’t exactly tell Dream the two of them are married, not quite, but it’s heavily implied. Sam does everything he can to avoid verbally defining their relationship in such clear terms, while simultaneously doing all he can to make Dream believe that the two of them are in an established, committed relationship. It’s not so far from the truth, Sam tells himself. After all, what is the relationship between warden and prisoner if not committed?

In short, their life together on the island is fucked upppp. The two of them cohabitate and eventually resume sleeping together. Dream is not allowed to leave the house without Sam’s supervision, and he’s never allowed near the shoreline under any circumstances. He’s not allowed to send or receive letters or communications of any kind. Dream’s also forbidden from touching or picking up weapons and tools, lest he use them to harm someone (or himself. Sam has nightmares about watching Dream stab himself in Ouroboros.) The list of rules goes on, and the consequences for breaking them are…varied and creative. Dream understands, on some level, that Sam hurts him, that being around Sam is frightening and stressful. But Sam is also his partner, a man Dream thinks he loves. A man he feels comfortable with, sometimes. Dream has been told in simple terms that he’s dangerous, that he needs the warden’s guidance in order to keep everyone else safe. Dream doesn’t remember who “everyone else” is, but he has no reason to wish them ill, whoever they are. So he’s also grateful, in that sense, that Sam is willing to help him not hurt people. It is a gratitude that Sam has manufactured entirely, but it’s a powerful force nonetheless. 

So, in summary, they’re codependent as hell and their life together is scary and bad. Don’t worry, it gets better but first it gets worse. As time passes, Dream feels more and more often that the way Sam treats him is unfair, which is objectively true. He has misgivings, but with very few concrete memories to base them on, these misgivings don’t serve him particularly well. However, after about a year of island living, his memories do start to come back gradually. This creates problems. Sam is quite happy with their new arrangement, so Dream’s memories coming back is a nightmare scenario for him. When he begins to notice little clues, it makes him incredibly paranoid, which in turn causes him to act…rashly. There is one notable incident where a bird dies by accidentally flying smack into a window, as birds sometimes do. Dream calmly picks it up and steps around the back of the house to bury it in the garden. But when Sam comes to check on him a few minutes later, he finds the bird alive and flapping, as if it was never hurt. Dream tells Sam he doesn’t remember how he brought the bird back to life; he can’t explain it, he just knew. Sam doesn’t believe him. It’s a rough night.

Of all the AUs, Amnesia Island is probably the one that’s rotted my brain the worst. It's definitely the most detailed so I could probably go on about it forever, but this post is already way too long so I’ll conclude by adding that in none of these AUs does Dream ever cave and give Sam the revive book. He’s holding onto that motherfucker, always and forever. Amen.