#this AU is just giving me brain worms and I needed to get it in writing

[yellobb]

“Man, I’ve been writing for over an hour now! I wonder how many words I’ve managed; it must be at least 2000.”

AO3:

[deadsetobsessions]

Alley Drunk! Danny AU- Part 1

[Pt.2] [Pt.3] [Pt.4]

To not turn into a giant raging asshole hell bent on murdering people and destroying the world after everyone he loved died, Danny had ran from Amity with his chosen vice.

A bottle. That’s right. Even after Jazz’s talks about alcoholism as a poor coping mechanism as a form of self harm, he still chose alcohol. Or maybe that’s why he picked it, because it reminded him of her, right before the booze took the sting of grief off of her memory. He was never really all that good at listening to Jazz.

And now she’s gone, so it’s moot point. Danny really hated Nasty Burger.

Danny made it all the way to Gotham, bottle constantly glued to his hand. It’s better than Vlad’s creep-o-self looming over him all of the time. He bummed out on the streets, fitting into crime alley like a native. Danny learned to pickpocket. Not much, just enough for a bottle when his ran out. He stayed human. At first he tried to convince himself that it was because he didn’t want to be perceived as a meta in a city where Batman notoriously disliked metas. Then, as he sunk deeper, he admitted to himself in a shameful curl of a whisper that it was really because alcohol affected his human side much easier.

Ghosts need an ungodly amount of alcohol to even get slightly buzzed. Danny’s human side? Only one full bottle the shittiest tequila he could find could even hope to be more than buzzed. It sucked.

He’s spent two years being an alcoholic that didn’t actually get that drunk. Technically, underage drinking was a crime. But then again, so was being a vigilante ghost. So, whatever. He does what he can to dull the grief. Mostly, he slept on covered and hidden nooks on top of Crime Alley’s roofs. Gotham city had taken pity on him and cleared her smog clouds when he was awake at night. Stargazing helped, at least. It gave him a little hope. It gave him a little wish to change and better and live like he wants. But then the night ends and when the day comes, Jazz isn’t there. Sam isn’t there. Tucker isn’t there. His mom and dad are not there.

Danny always went back to the bottle, in the end. Not that it did much.

Which was why, when he saw three looming figures over a tiny child, Danny’s saving people thing flared with a vengeance and his surprised ectoplasm burned what little buzz he had achieved by downing most of the bottle away, leaving him stone cold sober and pissed.

Danny sighed, dumping the rest of the nasty tasting liquid out. There’s no point drinking that little.

He approached the trio, who were beating up an actual child. Ancients, he hated Crime Alley sometimes.

“Give me your shit, you little punk!” Asshole 1 decided to say like a typical mugger, raising his leg to kick the curled up kid below. Danny doesn’t let him land the kick, smashing the bottle on the asshole’s head before any of them clocked his presence. He pivots, pushing a bit of that extra strength he normally keeps on a tight leash into his hands, and punched the other two in a quick fashion, knocking them out.

With that taken care of, Danny turned back to the kid who was still curled up. Danny sighed again, the trembles in small shoulders plucking on his heartstrings.

“You okay, kid?”

The kid uncurls, and Danny stared. Holy shit, is he looking into a mirror? Blue eyes, black hair, and tanned skin. Holy shit, he’s even got similar jaws to Danny.

“Huh.”

The kid flinched.

“Y-y’er the drunk,” the kid flinched again, eyes darting to the broken bottle still clenched in Danny’s hand. “I- I ain’t got money, honest. Please-”

Danny blinked down at the kid, brain connecting the dots after so long without actual interaction. He’s panicking and staring at the bottle in Danny’s hand like it’ll kill him. Danny raised the bottle and the kid closed his mouth with a click, terror worming its way into the kid’s eyes.

“I wasn’t going to mug you myself, kid.”

“But- y’er the- the Alley drunk.”

Danny blinked. Did he get a reputation without knowing again? Goddammit.

“I guess. Am I famous or somethin’?”

“Nobody- nobody fucks wit’ ya.”

“I also don’t hurt kids.”

“…”

The kid stared at him dubiously and with a sinking feeling, Danny realized that maybe the kid already had some terrible experiences with a heavy drunken hand. He promptly chucks the bottle further into the alley.

“I drink, yes. But I’m also not the kind of scum that would lay hands on a kid, let alone anyone that didn’t provoke it first.”

“Oh.” The kid uncurled more, looking at Danny warily, more at ease now that the bottle has left the chat.

“Yeah. I’m Danny. Stone cold sober, right now.”

“…”

Danny waited.

“Peters.”

“Okay. Peters, do you wanna take their shit?” Danny pointed a thumb at the knocked out would-be-muggers behind him.

“Y… yeah, sure. What’s my cut?”

“All of it.”

Peters stared.

Danny shrugged and started looting.

"Y'er so fuckin' weird."

----

See, the thing is, Danny hadn't anticipated saving Peters- "'s actually Jason"- would result in having a duckling following him around. The kid, Jason, glared at everyone who even looked at them wrong. But that's not the problem, because Danny could take anyone who took issue with Jason's looks, it's more like there's a child following him around now and Danny doesn't want to be the reason Jason turns into an alcoholic. It's- well, it made him cut down on the drinking. He even got jobs- legitimate jobs that sucks out his his poor ectoplasmic soul.

Why? Because Jason's apparently homeless. While that's something Danny's okay with for himself, he can't ever condone that for an actual child. Jason's walking around in threadbare clothes and thin soled shoes in the middle of Fall, for Ancient's sake.

Danny grumbles as he piled a bunch of clothes into the shopping bag as he checked out. Gotham's Walmart is a different kind of hell, but Danny feels right at home.

Sure, the work might suck out his soul and he might hate being sober, but Jason's face every time he comes home to an actual place to live, warm clothes, and food was worth everything.

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。the dictionary definition of a rich boy

synopsis. that rich guy who won’t stop asking you out is your partner for this project—send help

contents. pre dating rich boy! gojo, college! au, implications of a zenin being pushy on the first date, satoru being distraught you went on a date lol, pre relationship shenanigans with the cutest loser boy !!

word count. 3.8k (it’s literally all just him being a handful)

notes. thank you niku my most cherished gojo stan for comming this (and giving me the most ridiculous tip) i adore you so much :,) mwah 💋

he’s late—gojo is late. in fact, he’s very late, by forty-five minutes and thirty-two seconds to be exact. you aren’t really the count-by-the-second type of person, but somehow when it comes to that irritating, smug, too-talkative brat that you���re stuck with…well, you can’t help but be petty and use the seconds against him too.

he shows up close to an hour after your agreed time, waltzing in with a grin on his face—and, oh, you should kill him. he has the audacity to send you a wink when he walks over, coming up to your table and pushing his sunglasses down his nose just a bit to look you in the eyes over the lenses. 

what kind of person wears sunglasses indoors? surely only the kind that are nothing but trouble.

“aw, you’re here already,” gojo hums, “that excited to see me?”

“you’re late,” you spit.

“am i? i could have sworn—”

“now it’ll get dark by the time we get through what we planned for today,” you glare. he looks enthused, positively delighted by the statement—it’s almost as if you’ve offered him candy. 

“well, then i’ll just have to walk you to your apartment,” he offers smoothly. 

what a jackass. of course, just as expected, he’s still attempting to worm his way into your personal life (and likely your pants) in the most obnoxious of ways. over your dead body, however, will you ever allow him to know where you live, let alone accompany you on the way. you value your sanity, and having a conversation with gojo satoru longer than you absolutely have to seems like the most efficient way to fry every nerve and brain cell you have left.

“absolutely not,” you grit, “you can call me an uber. you pay.”

“alright,” he nods, “i’ll get an uber for you. but i’ll need your number to make sure you made it home safe. otherwise, what kind of partner would i be?”

typically, any normal pair of partners are meant to exchange numbers for a project—it would be the easiest form of communication, and more importantly, you can spam call if gojo decides not to carry his weight instead of just hoping and praying he checks his socials. but you can’t let him have your number—he’s not trustworthy enough for that. the last thing you need is him bombarding you with texts, or worse: calls, in the middle of work and class. so instead, you strictly inform him that any and all communication will occur via social media.

he pouts at that—it’s a cute pout, you have to admit. it’s slightly dangerous, too, because had you not had the self-control you do, you might have caved. but then he lights up at the prospect of you adding him back on socials. 

i’ll get your number one of these days, he says confidently. his confidence is as aggravating as the way he clicks his pen in the middle of class. he still chooses to sit right beside you despite all the free and very available seats the entirety of the lecture hall has. 

but no, he insists on sitting right next to you—and you? well, you have to hope you don’t get charged with homicide by the end of every class from the constant clicking he makes you endure. despite all that, gojo is surprisingly smart, which means your project might not be so doomed. 

he’s annoyingly smart, actually—he never takes notes, and just when you think the professor has him cornered by asking him a question when he’s seemingly dozing off, he answers immediately with the correct answer. 

you hate him.

“absolutely not happening,” you grumble, opening your laptop, “anyway i think we should start with—”

“well, i hate to inform you,” he sighs sadly as if it genuinely pains him to say this, “but i’ve actually deleted all my socials.”

“what?” your eye twitches.

“yeah,” he nods, “it’s a bit of a cleanse if you will. staring at your screen all day and finding value in fake posts is not good for mental health, you know? i’m trying to be more in tune with myself. it’s been a real self-journey.”

before the end of this project, you might either be a college dropout or an inmate at the county jail. you’re not sure, either is equally as possible.

“gojo satoru, i am sick of your games,” you spit, “we both know—”

“and i would hate not being in touch with my partner since it’s a crucial part of this project for us to work together,” he hums, something of a smug look plastered on his aggravatingly gorgeous face, “that thirty percent deduction for ineffective partner communication would be such a shame to get when we’re working so hard already on this, wouldn’t you agree?”

is he threatening you? for your number? with your grade? he is, you realize—and you clench your fist tightly around the phone in your hands as he eyes it with a knowing look on his face. he has you right where he wants you, whether you like it or not.

“you’re an asshole,” you spit.

“i’m a mental health advocate,” he gasps—he has the nerve to act offended, even as he’s so obviously enjoying working you up like this. you wish he’d drop dead immediately. maybe you could take his card from his wallet as his cold body lays lifeless on the table and order yourself a new laptop if he did—that would be ideal. 

“i saw you post on your story last night—”

“you didn’t watch it,” he pouts, “i posted a shirtless gym selfie just for you—wait a second, you pay attention to my story, huh?” he cuts himself off with a smirk, wiggling his eyebrows at you, “c’mon, you don’t have to force yourself to skip them. you know you wanna watch them.”

“no, i don’t,” you seethe, “it was just the first one at the top. stop being self-important—”

“anyway,” he drawls, eyeing your phone again. you want to splash your coffee in his face. “i’ll need your number,” he sniffs, “the crushing disappointment of you skipping my story made me realize i’m too focused on getting social media validation, so i’m taking a break. it’s the best thing for me to do in my headspace right now. hope you understand.”

“are you kidding me?” you stare at him. he grins before shaking his head.

“i would never joke about mental health,” he says seriously—it’s not as serious as your desire to slap him, however.

“fine,” you take a long, slow sip of your coffee to calm down, “give me your phone.”

“oh, you’re gonna set your own contact?” he brightens, immediately handing you his phone. it’s brand new—the newest model, in fact. it’s barely been a few days since it dropped. truthfully, you’re not even sure why you’re shocked—of course, he, of all people, would upgrade immediately. “how intimate,” he gushes, “it’s almost like we’re going on a date—”

“do not text me outside of project purposes,” you interrupt, thrusting the phone back into his hands, “got it?”

“you got it,” he grins triumphantly.

—————

like all things he does, gojo finds a roundabout way to keep his word without actually keeping it. it’s his secret talent, you think—finding loopholes through all the technicalities of things.

hey when ur free can u read over my portion? i just finished

btw r u going to that frat party this wknd? u don’t seem the party type haha but u should come 

i’ll introduce u to suguru! he’s my best friend he’s super nice u’ll like him

oh and when do u wanna meet this week? promise i’ll be on time this time ;)

you make sure to only respond to the questions regarding your project—just because he technically kept his word and started the conversation centered around the project before getting off topic doesn’t mean you have to indulge him. and the way he types is infuriatingly annoying—who shortens every possible word like that? only him, you think.

okay, maybe you’re just nitpicking now, but every time you see his name pop up on your screen, your mood sours tenfold. you decide to answer as dryly as possible.

k i’ll look. we meet same time as last.

the period at the end should add the perfect touch—you grin to yourself in pride at that one. instantly, bubbles pop up and indicate he’s typing again. your smile very quickly drops.

wow ur a rly dry texter aren’t u?

that’s ok i don’t judge

so how bout the party? 

i can be ur escort ;) 

it’ll be fun!

from his side of the screen, gojo watches as your contact shows notifications silenced at the bottom. he pouts to himself—no party, then, he thinks.

—————

gojo satoru, the guy who seemingly has everything he could ever want, likes you. 

frankly, he’s not really sure why—at first, he finds you mildly amusing, and he thinks it’d be fun to have a short fling with you perhaps. somewhere along the line, however, that changes. he watches you dedicatedly take notes in class, no matter how tired you seem from work the night before. he notices the way you chew on your bottom lip when you’re really focused—it’s actually very cute, he thinks. and he’s entertained by the way you always have some smart little retort waiting on your tongue. you’re not boring—and more than anything, you leave him a little humbled. it’s refreshing, and he kind of likes it, if he’s being completely honest.

he’s never liked anyone before—it’s a weird feeling. at best, he’s had a crush where he could appreciate that someone is generally pleasing to the eye and has a personality that might mesh well with his, but he’s never yearned for someone before. 

it just so happens to be his luck that the same person he wants more than anything in the entire world (for the first time ever, too) seems to hate his guts. it also happens to be that the same person he wants more than anything is currently getting asked out by some kid from the zenin family. right in front of him. and you’re saying yes. 

why on earth would you say yes to a zenin of all people? don’t you value yourself? 

gojo can admit that he’s had his fair share of heart robbing and tear inducing moments—he’s not exactly someone with the best track record for commitment, but at least he doesn’t use people for his own benefit. plus, he does, in fact, actually plan on committing to you. that zenin boy most certainly can’t be any good news if he’s anything like naoya, who gojo has met on a multitude of occasions, and knows very well is a scoundrel of a guy. 

“see you at nine?” he hears the zenin (what was his name again?) ask you. you nod, smiling sweetly. 

why don’t you smile sweetly at him like that? he buys you coffee every week. sure, he only gets to buy you the coffee because you have no choice but to meet him for the project, but he even offers to get you a slice of cake—you don’t ever accept, though, so he ends up eating both. but you do like coffee, very strong coffee that’s probably not sweet enough for his liking, but you enjoy the coffee he buys you nonetheless, and that has to count for something.

“sure, see you at nine,” you hum.

gojo watches in absolute shock (and abject horror) as you look down shyly. as soon as the zenin boy walks away, he stomps up to you.

“hey, what gives?” he asks petulantly, making your face paint on that irritated look that it always seems to adopt when he’s in the vicinity—how rude.

“what do you mean?” you ask tiredly, “i don’t speak toddler, so please use your words—”

“why’d you say yes to that zenin boy—”

“he has a name. it’s—”

“who cares what his name is? he’s an asshole! he won’t treat you right even if his mother’s life is on the line—”

“oh, and you would?” you raise an eyebrow, glaring at him. how is it his place to tell you who’d treat you right and who wouldn’t? how is it his place to even care?

“i would,” he gasps at the accusation, “you’d date a zenin but not me? how come?”

“because you’re annoying,” you counter like it’s obvious.

okay, now that is technically fair—gojo has heard his fair share of you’re annoying’s from people in his life. in fact, a good amount of them come from his own mother, but he’s also dashingly handsome, very good in bed, has soft hair, is tall and muscular, can buy you whatever you like, and can be smart and funny too if you really don’t care for those kinds of things. he’s the entire package and more. and more importantly, he’s not from the zenin family, and that automatically means you’ll actually be treated with an ounce of respect.

he looks at you incredulously, feelings a little hurt. “that’s not true! name one annoying thing i’ve done—”

“you laughed in the middle of me speaking in class.”

“that wasn’t at you! suguru showed me something funny on his phone—”

“and you took like twenty minutes in line ordering the most sweetest drink on the menu while i was running late—”

“you can’t use that against me, that’s not fair! i’m a paying customer, i should be able to get whatever i want. plus, it’s technically not my fault you were late.”

“you rubbed in the fact that you had a black card.”

“you mentioned it first!”

“you were late to our first meeting for the project.”

“okay, that was an honest mistake! people are allowed to make those, you know—”

“i don’t want to go out with you,” you say frustratedly, “and it’s really annoying when you act like a spoiled brat that can’t handle the word no and keep on insisting, okay? so leave me alone unless it’s to discuss our project—which weighs fifty-five percent of our grade, by the way, so don’t even think about getting lazy.”

he is not lazy, he wants to argue.

but before he can, you roll your eyes and take a step to walk around him, leaving him there to blink in shock. okay, he thinks with a huff, so you’re playing hard to get. that’s no matter, he’s good at the chase anyway. 

—————

the date doesn’t seem to have gone well. gojo can tell because your eyes are slightly red and puffy, and you’re extra grouchy today in class. your professor seems to have noticed, too, because instead of calling on you today, she calls on gojo extra as a rare show of mercy. 

gojo doesn’t mind—this class is surprisingly easy, and he’s bored half the time anyway. he might as well indulge the uptight professor in an ugly brown pencil skirt and answer her pretentious questions that aren’t as complex as she thinks they are. 

“so,” he finally breaks the silence, “how was your date—”

“if you’re looking for a chance to say i told you so, just get it over with, you jerk,” you grumble. he raises his eyebrows in surprise before both hands go up in surrender.

“i wasn’t,” he says genuinely, “you just…uh…you look upset, is all.”

you hesitate for a short second, gauging his sincerity for a moment before sighing and slumping on the desk, cheek resting on your arm. gojo resists the urge to poke the soft flesh—it’ll probably make you mad, and you’re already in a bad mood. 

“he was…pushy,” you say quietly, “i don’t really believe in taking things far on the first date. he didn’t like that.” instantly, his fists clench tightly, eyeing you from the side carefully, almost in concern. “nothing happened,” you wave off, “but he did make me feel disgusting,” you mutter.

“yeah, well, he is a zenin,” he points out, “they’re…well, my family’s known them for a while. my mom hates them.”

you look over at him in mild interest, raising an eyebrow. “don’t tell me there’s drama in the rich community,” you gasp, “i thought you all just came as one to sip fancy wine and laugh at the poor together.”

he snorts, throwing you a toothy grin that you think for a moment is kind of cute—but that doesn’t mean he’s any different from the rest of the rich folks. someone of gojo satoru’s caliber has no business mixing with someone of yours—it’s common knowledge. gojo has everything he wants, and if he doesn’t, it’s a simple matter of asking before it’s his. there’s simply no way you can mold into his world to be what he needs you to be, and when the time inevitably comes when he realizes you’re not what he wants, well…you’d like to save yourself the wounded pride and crushed soul while you can. 

“sometimes we have fancy appetizers too with the wine,” he jokes, “don’t forget those.”

“oh, my apologies,” you chuckle. gojo likes it when you laugh, he decides. it looks much better than when you’re glum—he thinks seeing your lips quirked in anything other than a smile is a waste of your perfect features, and he can’t have that.

“my mom married my old man in this stupid arranged marriage or something,” he explains casually, like it’s just the norm. you suppose it is—for the rich, at least. you wonder briefly if gojo will have a marriage planned for his future, too, and you wonder if he’s okay with that. surely it’ll be some wealthy and fancy socialite of a girl that fits his family’s standards. someone who’s not you—not that you care anyway, you wouldn’t marry him regardless. “my grandma wanted her to marry the zenin, but she said no. said he treated her like a piece of meat every time they met, so she settled for my dad instead. lucky her, 'cause now i’m her son,” he beams. 

settled—something about the way he says it makes you think his parents must not really care for each other as a husband and wife should. it makes you think briefly about what his childhood might’ve been like, not watching his parents happy and in love the way they should be. but still, the way gojo talks about his mother is fond, with a gentle smile on his face as he recalls the things she’s told him. you can’t help but smile a little too.

“i think that makes you the lucky one,” you snort, “you’d still be her son. just that you’d be a zenin.”

he crinkles his nose at the thought, dramatically shivering and making you giggle. “gross,” he gags.

“well, now you have her to thank,” you hum, “your dad would’ve been…whoever the zenin she was supposed to marry is.”

“yeah, well, trust me,” he mumbles, his smile dropping ever so slightly, “my old man’s not that big of an upgrade from a zenin. even my grandfather’s sick of him. imagine being such a douche, your own dad can’t stand you.”

you’re learning more about gojo in one sitting than you ever imagined (or planned) to learn—part of that is because he seems like he’s the type to overshare on the first meet; the other part…well, you have to be honest with yourself, it’s not exactly a bad pastime hearing him talk about himself. gojo is an odd piece of work, and you can’t say you hate learning about the little pieces that come together to make him so weird. 

okay, perhaps weird is a bit rude, you think—he’s…unique.

“oh, so you’re the dictionary definition of a rich boy, huh?” you hum, resting your cheek on your hand as you sit up and face him—gojo, for a quick moment, feels his heart stutter when you talk to him like that: with your undivided attention like he’s the only one in the room. 

“what makes you say that?”

“daddy issues is like…the first thing in the rich boy starter pack.”

he laughs at that, smooth and almost sweet—it’s a dangerous thing. it’s easy to attract you to him, like a bee to honey, with the way his lips curl like that, showing off his dimples. but the bees can easily turn into maggots—and you don’t want to find yourself as a dead carcass by the end of this.

“i don’t have daddy issues,” he says smoothly, “that old man should sleep with both eyes open. if anything, he has son issues.”

“you’re hands down the oddest person i have ever met,” you mumble.

“what was that? did you say hottest? yeah, i know—”

“shut up, jackass,” you scowl, shoving his shoulder when he leans closer with a bat of his lashes. he laughs, and so do you—and just for one, quick, momentary instance, gojo satoru is not so bad. dangerous and a bad choice maybe, a setup for a big mistake perhaps, something you should stay away from, in fact. 

but not so bad. 

“how about i show you what it’s like to go on a date with a gojo,” he grins, winking easily. he’s persistent—very persistent, you note. “you might like it a lot more than a zenin.”

“no, thank you,” you hold a hand up, “never going to happen.”

“never say never,” he hums, “you might eat your words.”

—————

“hey, satoru?”

“that’s not my name.”

“that actually is your name,” you say tiredly.

“hmph,” satoru rolls over, dramatically tugging the blankets over his body as he shuffles away from you, “not to you, it’s not.” 

you sigh, pursing your lips at his antics. “oh my god. okay—hey, toru?” you correct yourself. and just like that, he turns back around, grinning brightly as he inches closer until his head is resting on your chest.

“yes, baby?” he says sweetly, earning a roll of your eyes as your fingers weave into his hair. it’s soft—you don’t think you ever want to let go.

“it’s way better dating a gojo, by the way,” you murmur, “than a zenin.”

“oh yeah?” he grins smugly, arm draping over your body as he kisses your jaw, “i told you it would be, didn’t i?”

“i haven’t dated other rich families to compare, though,” you tease, “you might get replaced.”

“unlikely,” he chuckles, “no one,” there’s a kiss to your jaw, “will love you,” another kiss to your cheek, “like me.”

finally, there’s a slow, soft kiss to your lips—and when he kisses you like that, you have no choice but to believe him.

satoru sooooo sends multiple texts back to back he just like me for real

[maelstrom007]

@ghouljams the worms are worming. . . I was listening to Depeche Mode today and Personal Jesus reminded me of your cult leader Price AU and it just has a death grip in my brain. . . All I could think of the whole song was Price manspreading in a chair with Ghost, Soap, and Gaz posed around him in dramatic backlighting, doing his biding to keep his cult in check.

Price is obviously cult leader, we get it, we know it, he's so charismatic and clever and manipulative and influential we know we know we know.

Thinking of what the other boys roles would be in this whole thing though. . .

Gaz is definitely the person on the outside clocking discontented people and setting in hooks. Absolutely gorgeous man, charismatic as fuck, endearing and non-threatening (at first glance), such blinding loyalty that he is able to see and interact with the outside world and not be tempted to leave. This simultaneously makes him adjusted enough to 'normal' life that he gives off very little red flags when inviting people in. He's also the person who befriends the new follower and makes sure that they're only seeing what they're supposed to, and vetting if they'd be impressionable enough to add to the flock. Testing their resistance to peer pressure, vetting them and making sure they're impressionable enough.

Soap is the listening ear on the inside. His job is to ingratiate himself amongst the followers and report any findings to Price, both good and bad. So not only is he keeping an eye out for disloyalty, plans to leave, discontent, etc. but he's also looking out for personal things like lost personal possessions, low stakes concerns, anything that Price can use to give individuals 'personal' time with him that makes him seem attentive or even slightly omniscient to the more spiritual followers.

Ghost's job is really to be that of a smoke screen. He is very visibly Price's 'right hand man', outwardly intimidating and such a hard ass on rule following that he acts as a force pushing followers to the sphere of Gaz and Soap. Because they couldn't be that close to Price, right? No one but Ghost is. So surely they're safe talking about their doubts and confusion, as long as Ghost is out of earshot. I feel like he also makes Price more valuable by making him more unobtainable. Unless Price comes to you, you need to seek an audience with him through Ghost. And 99% of the time even if you do get to see Price, Ghost will be there. At least that's what people say anyway. Price definitely isn't telling everyone that he's 'made an exception just for them' and that 'this'll be a secret between the two of them'. Definitely not.

I have this notion that it would be one of those self sufficiency communes that has their own internal ecosystem, growing their own food, making their own clothes, etc etc. They would send the well behaved followers to set up a stall at the nearby towns farmers market to keep up appearances and make sure that nobody in the town really bothers them. Who gives a shit what the group of farmers in the middle of nowhere are doing when their produce costs next to nothing and tastes divine? Maybe they should go out there some time and see what it's like. . .maybe learn how to take care of a plant or two of their own? And you've always wanted to learn how to do pottery, the cute guy on the corner says they're hosting a class this weekend. . . . . . . . . .

[thegnomelord]

Okay fuck after reading @killerkillerkillher 's fic with demon Soap and Price, and angel Ghost and Gaz, it got my own brain worms multiplying (as if I don't have enough going on lol) so here's the au draft that's been rotting for a while lol.

So here's an idea for an au:

Reader is part of a small group of friends that are Ghost hunters/DIY exorcists (read: They're all drop out college students and the ghost hunting youtube channel's putting food on the table). Reader doesn't believe in the supernatural but the friends keep reader around because you're the group's 'ghost deterrent' because spirits GTFO when reader's near and reader thinks the friends are just bullshitting you.

Anyway the group are moving to a bumfuck town in the middle of nowhere where an old haunted house the reader's grandmother left is. Then their pos car breaks down an hour away from town. 'Luckily' the town's mechanic, Johnny, was just driving by and helps you lot out. And ain't he a handsome devil (emphasis on devil) thinking he can con a couple of young and dumb humans out of their souls. Soap's all hooded eyes and husky voice as he lures you away like a lamb to a supply closet, oil darkened hands sliding under your shirt and lips sucking dark hickeys into your throat.

He pulls away when you tug on his mohawk, raising his head until his lips are just inches from your own and you don't even notice him mutter a verbal contract, nor do you understand you've agreed to one when his lips crash on yours like he's drowning.

And Johnny's grinning into the kiss like a loon as he tries to take the soul of the stupid but hot mortal he's just met only to find out he... he can't. No matter how consuming his kisses are or how aroused both of you get your soul sits stubbornly in your chest and doesn't even budge.

When your friend bangs on the door and yells for you to "stop shagging every guy you meet!" you're forced to give an awkward goodbye and scurry away. And Soap's left completely bewildered and confused as fuck wondering what just happened and thinks he needs to tell Price.

Meanwhile, while your car's being fixed up, your friends drag you to the town's only pub that's run by a Simon Riley. He's an intimidating man without trying to be, but he doesn't immediately chase you out like some bar owners. He's quiet, listening to your friends chatter while cleaning a glass rough scarred hands, but the way he looks at you is... odd. Like you're an interesting bauble he's found on his gran's shelf.

He's there to catch you when you trip on a raised floorboard you swear wasn't there before. "Thanks, I owe you one." You say with a small awkward laugh, though for some reason it feels like him catching you had been an excuse to touch you.

"That so?" His thumb traces the dark hickeys across your throat, surprisingly soft, and you can feel your cheeks getting hot. "You let Johnny have fun with you?" His chuckle is rich like aged wine, fingers gently pressing down on a hickey; it feels possessive. "You'd let any old thing like me take from you, yeah?" There's something in his words that has a shiver running down your spine, though from apprehension or arousal you're not sure.

"Ye- eh, yeah." You don't know which question you're agreeing with, and you understand the weight of your words, quickly walking away from him before your friends can embarrass you by wolf whistling at you and him. And you completely forget to ask on how he knows it was the mechanic who gave you the hickeys.

With still some time to burn before sun sets you decide to visit the radio station in town, mainly because your friend swears on his life that those are always haunted or have some decrepit old host that knows all the gossip in town. And when you meet the man you had heard softly yet confidently talking on the radio? He's handsome, pretty brown eyes as enticing as his voice, and you're starting to sense a theme with you meeting all these very nice looking men.

But Kyle, or Gaz as he asks you to call him, is a wealth of knowledge to the point you're not sure where the gossip stops and some crumb of truth begins. He talks all the way into the night with you and your gang of amateur ghost hunters, and you see why he is the radio host because his voice is like the song of angels, silk soft on your ears and you feel like you could fall into the best sleep of your life from listening to him.

And all he wants from you in return for his knowledge? "Nothing much mate, just a small favor, I'm sure you'll manage." Kyle leans in and pecks your lips like he's sealing a promise, or a bargain, but that's just you being stupid after getting kissed by the second hot guy today, surely. Gaz already knows he can't just nab your soul, he has ears in every wall in this town, but at least he can put his own claim on you.

Day, for the most part, well spent you and your friends go to the house for a good night's rest. It isn't any good as you're woken up numerous times and by morning you have several broken vases and an exploded lightbulb — everything you explain away as the house being old as fuck, but your friends claim it to be the work of spirits — your friends drag you to the church on the hill at the asscrack of dawn.

And that's how you meet Father Johnathan Price. (Insert devil in church joke here)

He listens to your friends explain the situation, calm and collected, but you swear his eyes stay on you the entire time. "That's quite a predicament." Price hums, offering to bless you and your friends in hopes of protecting you from evil spirits.

You're the last to go, nearly jumping out of your skin when he grips your chin. "Relax my boy." Those words frazzle your brain enough for him to easily pull on your jaw until your mouth opens, his thumb almost playing with your bottom lip. The look in his eyes is dark, the air between you far heavier than it should be between you and a bloody priest. But Price doesn't see anything wrong with this, pressing a thumb down on your tongue and then putting a wafer on your tongue. "There you go, you are now blessed in the name of a lord. Now consume it, my boy."

You obey automatically. You're not quite sure if a communion wafer is supposed to taste so... weird, it has a coppery and peppery taste to it. Almost like spicy blood or something but that's just you being stupid again, especially as you can feel heat burning between your legs.

Sufficiently embarrassed about getting hard at a priest you give an awkward goodbye and leave, trying to fix your pants before your friends see your... problem.

Johnny appears by Price's side in a small flicker of flames and brimstone when you leave, confident smirk on his face. "Ooh, couldn't resist claiming a piece of him fer yourself?" He smirks, nudging Price on his side.

"I suppose he is more interesting than the usual rabble." Price hums, already imagining of how handsome you'd look laying naked on the altar, and how to get you to that point.

Congrats! Now you've got 4 hot dudes trying to take your soul :D

[xenteaart]

it's not about the roses

pairing: chan x reader (i wrote it with idol!chan or producer!chan in mind, but despite a brief mention of the studio it can fit any au, really) word count: 1,1k genre/warnings: er, fluff, a hint of angst if you squint but overall just tooth rotting sweetness. reader being kinda vulnerable author's note: inspired by my and @skzms 's channie brain worms, me crying over how boyfie he is in may's dms and her coming up with this little prompt. i'm manifesting a sweet healthy relationship for y'all, never settle for less <3

you were never the one for flowers, really.

it just didn’t seem anything meaningful or special, an occasional cute little bouquet on some first date you had ages ago, meeting someone completely new after mindlessly swiping them right on a dating app. plus, it’s always such a bother to take care for it. disassemble the thing, cut the stems, change the water, maybe cut off the leaves too.

at some point, you began to think of yourself as more of a practical person, taking gift giving to the point where it completely lost symbolism. always getting your friends and family either money or something they specifically asked for.

“at least, they’re actually gonna use it and get some utility out of it. ‘s good, right?” you thought to yourself, ticking a box on one of your friend’s wishlists for their birthday. it is good. no stress of choosing and endlessly pondering whether they’ll like it or not.

or is it avoiding the vulnerability of going down a more symbolic route if they don’t happen to respond to your gift the way you’d like them to after carefully planting hidden meanings and confessions all over a seemingly useless present? yeah, maybe, that’s the one, actually.

it was a regular saturday evening, no work, no plans, no big day or anything to celebrate. so, naturally, you were just spending the time at your place, resting after successfully having done all the house chores in one go.

purposelessly lying on the bed, you wondered what chris was up to. it wasn’t something out of the ordinary for you two to leave each other hanging during the day, keeping each other’s messages unread and waiting for some free time to give a thoughtful, proper reply.

but the little “1” next to your kakaotalk message was starting to feel unfriendly because... honestly? you just missed him. you wanted to know about his day, what he ate for lunch and whether work was okay today (knowing full well the man couldn’t care less about days of the week, coming over at the studio any time he needed or pleased).

distracting yourself with scrolling tiktok for a quick dopamine hit, you end up losing track of time a little. and the thing bringing you back to reality is chan’s short message, popping up on your notifications bar.

“can you come out for a sec? i’m at the door hehe~”

it takes you three times to read to finally understand what it actually means. he doesn’t have keys to your apartment yet, and you mostly hang out at his place anyways, so him coming all the way to the opposite side of the city makes your heart skip a beat.

you rush to the door and open it almost immediately, only to see channie, your channie, standing right in front of you with a nice bouquet of red roses wrapped up in kraft paper. the next thing you notice is chan’s wide smile, so sincere and endearing it makes you wanna cry on the spot.

you were never the one for flowers, really.

red roses always seemed like something either too vulgar or “easy”. something that becomes men’s first pick because they just never care enough to look for anything else and assume every girl loves it by default.

right now, however, it doesn’t feel like either of those.

the way chris is a bit nervous and really excited all at once; his hands gripping at the crunchy paper-wrapped base as he's waiting to give the flowers to you. the way his eyes sparkle and shine with warmth and genuine adoration for you. and you read past the roses, you learn so much more from it.

you learn how he’s been quiet because he was plotting a little surprise for you, trying not to be too obvious.

you see how he thought of you during the entire process, from an idea to carefully picking out the best flowers, making sure they’re fresh and pretty and will stay this way a while.

you can hear his timid little “thank you” to the florist as they exchange their bows and polite smiles.

you imagine the slightly awkward small talk with the taxi driver asking him about the occasion — the traffic and the parking area next to your building are awful, so you’re guessing he did take the taxi. and the drivers sure love to talk on the long drives, this one you had to learn the hard way.

gosh, chan looks so warm and… so soft, his lips making a familiar heartbreaking :] shape.

snapping out of your thoughts, you look into chris’s eyes and swallow down a salty lump in your throat.

“please don’t be alarmed, but i probably will cry a little,” you warn him before your voice gives out and take the roses, holding them close to your chest where the heart is bleeding.

“so pretty,” you stare down at the gentle velvety petals and sniff quietly.

chan looks worried for a moment but quickly pulls you into his embrace, stepping into the apartment and locking the door behind him.

“hey-y, i expected a smile, not your tears, baby. i didn’t upset you, did i?” to which you shake your head to reassure him.

“no, no, ‘course not! what do you mean? they’re so nice. i’m just… really happy? and i missed you. so much,” the last words come out like a weak mouse squeak as you close your eyes and let your emotions roll down your cheeks, staining your skin wet.

chan nods and takes your face into his palms, wiping away the tears and looking at you so lovingly you think you might actually break.

“i missed you too, baby. do you mind if i stay the night? i…- uh. i bought some face masks too, so we can just relax a little before bed and cuddle?”

you squeeze out a little “yeah” in response, headbutting his forehead and putting your arm around him, with another still holding the roses carefully.

“i love you,” you say slightly louder, making sure that he hears it.

maybe, gifts don’t have to be practical all the time. maybe, it’s okay to put sentimental value into simple, useless things sometimes. make them mean something.

“i love you too, baby,” chris hums still a little confused, rubbing soothing circles into your lower back and planting a chaste kiss on the bridge of your nose.

you reach for his plump soft lips and press yours against them. and even though your tastebuds can feel the salt, it’s the sweetest kiss you two have shared so far.

[darlingkikki]

omg, late to your ghoap post but au where you’re just crying asking if johnny doesn’t love you or take the relationship seriously because he kissed someone else while ghost is sitting there waiting for his kiss. thinks you’re so pretty hiccuping and crying but damn he wants that kiss already

Warnings: Manipulative Ghost, bitch boy Johnny (lmao but seriously), dubcon (mostly for the illusion of choice but the kiss is consensual)

Dividers by @/saradika-graphics

I am in a writing funk but I forced myself to at least explore more of this because I so badly want to but my brain is mush :( (not edited so just focus on the vibes)

initial post linked here

Something dark and insatiable claws at the inside of Ghost’s skull. To repress it, his blunt nails bite into his palms. He watches Johnny’s hands cup your crestfallen face, his expression knotted with the heaviness of remorse. Above the sound of your hiccuping questions, he can just about pick up Johnny’s attempts to soothe your broken heart. 

“Course I love yeh. That hasn’t changed.” 

“Nah, dinnae say that. I did a dumb thing. I’m always doing dumb things. It’s nothin’ to do with yeh.”

“I pushed them away, just not quick enough. I didnae do anything more, I promise.” 

He’s unyielding in holding your gaze. His thumbs trace gentle, methodical circles on your cheeks, wiping away the moisture under your eyes. Selfishly, cruelly, Simon wishes you would stop sobbing already so he can take over. Johnny promised him a kiss from you, so a kiss is what he’ll be leaving with.

You seem to be a gentle, sweet thing so far, even with a pouty frown pulling the corners of your lips downwards. Sensitive too. (What other parts of you share that same description?). A few tears evade Johnny’s thumbs. They roll down the swell of your cheeks. Ghost licks his lips, imagining his tongue following the wet trails down to the collar of your shirt.

Fuck, he needs this kiss bad.

If Johnny is desperate enough for your forgiveness, maybe he can push this further with you. Convince him that a kiss isn’t enough. That you deserve—no, need something more. Johnny will be easy to sway. You, however, he’s still figuring out as Johnny calms you into soft sniffles. 

“There you go, now yer ready to meet my Lt.,” Johnny coos. He steps around you, putting his hands on either side of your face and angling you to look where Ghost has been standing this entire time. “Go on, give me hell Ghost.” 

Fucking finally. Ghost doesn’t respond. He can’t. Not when the sight of you has him sucking in a sharp breath. 

Christ, what a sight you are.

His body moves, driven by greed when you stare at him all confused and teary-eyed. His favorite combination.

“Good finally meetin’ you,” Ghost says. His footsteps are heavy against the wooden floor. He hasn’t even taken his boots off.

Johnny’s fingers tighten to keep you looking straight at Ghost. Like a puppeteer, though it’s clear who has the ultimate hold on the strings. 

“Why is he here?” You ask, trying and failing to turn your head towards Johnny. Nope, not yet. It’s Ghost’s turn now and Johnny bows out of the equation.

Their positions have switched seamlessly, like dancers performing around your body. Or soldiers following a meticulous plan only they are privy to. The smell of alcohol leaves your nostrils, replaced by mint and heady tobacco. It's sense whiplash and your confusion makes for an excellent distraction from your heartache. A distraction Ghost can use to worm his way in.

“I’m here to make it better,” Simon answers after a beat. His eyes are devilishly dark, indistinguishable from a starless night sky. Inky like pools of tar. He says your name with the familiarity of a lover. An undeniable hunger laces his voice and a shudder slithers down your spine. 

Oh yes, he thinks, smirking like a starving lion, you won’t need much convincing. Your reaction speaks volumes. Without waiting for your reply, he continues, “Your boyfriend's hurt you, yeah? You shouldn’t let him get away with it.”

He’s right, you know that. To forgive Johnny would only lead to a forever-repeating cycle of tears and heartache. But what choice did you have now? 

The luxury of choosing for yourself is a privilege these men have taken for themselves. 

Ghost leans in until his lips are just a hair’s breadth away. He’s dangling a carrot in front of your face—the answer to all your pain. 

Johnny's grip on your head loosens. Without it, you'd have forgotten entirely that he was still here, acting as the hard place Ghost urges you towards with a coaxing grasp on your hips, leaving you in his cage and Johnny a willful voyeur. 

He’s tied your neurons in knots, effectively cutting off any chance you have at making a less rash decision. He’s infiltrated your senses and made you his prey. No one could fault you for believing him when he tells you he’ll make it better. Let the warmth of his mouth be a band-aid for your pain and a knife in Johnny’s chest.

"Let me fix it," Ghost whispers, just before his lips are about to claim yours.

It's not a question.

[watcher-bones]

Guess who got another brain worm!

Zombie Apocalypse Au

Lamb, a survivor, has been living pretty nomadic. Too skittish to stay in one place for long.

One day, Lamb stumbles upon a zombie chained in a cabin. (Dun dun danana resident grunge cat Narinder!)

Needing shelter for a bit, Lamb sticks around and ends up talking to Zombie Narinder.

Course all they get back are groans and various zombie noises. The lamb doesn't mind. It's been too long since they've talked to anyone.

They planned to leave by morning, but when he tried zombie Nari got more vocal.

Cue Lamb figuring out z!Nari is more or less conscious but has tendencies.

More shenanigans of leashing said cat (and muzzling but the first muzzle was a cone of shame)

Lamb having these convos with z!Nari that's just:

Lamb: i know I know the whole thing is demeaning, but I don't think I'll be like you and still be lucid.

Z!Narinder : *groans with sarcasm*

Lamb: Don't give me that tone! Your not having lamb chop anytime soon.

Z!Narinder: *questioning grunt leaves him, his one ear twitching above the cone*

Lamb: ok, ever you're not allowed to eat me... unless I somehow die.

[writingforstraykids]

Since I promised to not leave you bored this weekend and next week, and because I still feel like a pest, I'll send my suggestions here.

1. Vampires. No, don't you dare close this window! You revived my brain worms for this AU, it's only fair I give some to you. Maybe with Chan. Probably with Chan. Unless you get a spicy idea, uh, then not with Chan. Just please, write something in this AU. Can be where both members are vampires or one is a human (or something else, who knows), I don't care. I just need to read some vampire stuff in your style, you don't understand. I'll even act cute in return, I'm not below it, please-

2. Don't remember if I've suggested something in the Hybrid AU before, but before you get weirded out or start crying, I only want the fluffiness it can give to a story. Okay you probably knew that since it's me we're talking about, but still. I can never be too sure. Either way, how about some bunny or cat hybrid Minho who is absolutely adored and cared for by someone else? (Knowing you, it will be Chan, haha.) He needs some love now and we both know why.

3. Since I'm on an AU roll, might as well suggest another one where Felix is a mermaid! Don't care who you pair him up with, I'll completely leave it up to you so you'll have some freedom too. But think about the story. He could have found a pretty human he was enamoured by (maybe he likes pretty/shiny things and collects them, even decorates his body with them?) OR he found another pretty mythical creature. Maybe a mermaid, maybe a siren (who is their predator so that creates complications). Lots of possibilities :)

4. Lastly, to not give you an aneurysm, I'll give you a normal suggestion. MinChan where Chan is an absolute sweetheart to Minho, who worries over a comeback and nearly overworks himself? We both know why I suggested it.

If you mention hospitals even once consider my offer to act cute nullified. This is a threat.

Have fun.

ohhh I love them, hehe thank you, dear!! Sooo let's do a poll on what I should start with?👀😇🖤🖤

WINNER HERE

MASTERLISTS | PROMPT LIST | GUIDELINES

Taglist (Please let me know if you want to be added to or removed from the taglist):

@zehina @jinnie-ret @slutforchanlix @atinyniki @galaxycatdrawz @silverstarburst @aaa-sia @lilmisssona @kthstrawberryshortcake @channieaddict @soullostinspaceandtime @rebecca-johnson-28 @lixie-phoria @kibs-and-bits @xxstrayland @ihrtlix @pheonixfire777 @mellhwang @palindrome969 @theo4eve @harshaaaaa @rylea08 @heeyboooo @manuosorioh @gisaerlleri @andassortedkpop @lailac13 @bbokari711 @kazuuuaaa @rssamj @wolfyychan @stellasays45 @chrizzztopherbang @ionlyeverwantedtobeyourequal @silentreadersthings @myforevermelody143 @sapphirewaves @minh0scat @dis-trict9 @queer-possum @james-is-here

[yuri-is-online]

Ok but what if yutu finds a box full of letters and poems in yuus closet?

Their partner was out, so it was a perfect opportunity. In a week their 1 year marriage anniversary will happen, so they needed to act quick and be sneaky. They go to the closet and unbury a box full of all the letters and poems their partner has wrote throughout their years together, some even have no name onto them as they were intended to be from a secret admirer, but yuu noticed the similar handwriting.

They were going to take the box and turn into into a book, like an album of memories.

They hear the front door open. Oh no their partner is back way sooner than they expected. They hide the box into their clothes, as they're too far from the closet.

A man they've never seen before walks in. Before they can get a word out, they're blasted with two spells back to back.

One muddles their mind, the other opening a portal behind them. The shock from the blast, and them being not far off of their due date causes them to lose balance and tumble into the portal.

When their spouse returns home all they find is a rummaged closet and messy bedroom. Although they want to deny it, the evidence suggests that yuu took any funds they(yuu) were hiding and ran away.

Yes I'm also the grim overblot anon 😁 my brain is full of angsty worms and your au is just too perfect for me not to take them out on 💕

This could be read as something for any of the boys but I feel that it fits rook the most😶‍🌫️

Hello newest friend o/ I'm surprised at how many brainworms I've managed to give people, but it is very nice chatting with all of you about this. I really like this ayuu c:

I like this concept and agree that it fits Rook the best out of all of them. So much so I think I am going to steal it for his Yutu hc post. In general though I think that if Yutu found something like that it would add to the mystery of who his father is for him. Lilia! Yutu sees it as further confirmation that he was the product of an affair, Malleus! Yutu takes it as further proof that magic is real. Jade, Deuce, and Riddle's Yutus would probably be even more confused; if his dad loved Yuu this much then why isn't he here with them? While Cater, Ace, and Yutres of the the Trey Triplets would just find the letters very romantic and not think too much on it beyond that. I can't really see Leona writing letters, Idia I could see writing a digital diary of sorts but no physical letters. It's a really cute idea ;-; the correct mix of angst for this ayuu I think.

Now as for Rook thinking that Yuu left him...

The evidence suggests that yuu took any funds they were hiding and ran away. That's what whoever created this scene wants him to think. But there's no way Yuu would have been able to leave the house without him knowing unless they had a very specific sort of help. The Hunt estate has some of the highest level of security clearances in Twisted Wonderland, whoever took his spouse is someone with connections indeed. But not to worry, he got Vil back from the Isle of Woe did he not? He'll find Yuu and their child soon enough. Rook writes a detailed diary about his search, about the beauty he observes that he missed telling Yuu about.

But he doesn't find them. He doesn't find them and the real world begins to crumble around him alongside his personal one.

[typicalopposite]

zombie AU 🫣

because @blue-arts-stuff made this little gem right here (go give it all the love because *chefs kiss* the angst was angsting there) and it wormed its way into my brain and would not leave me alone until I made this!

CHECK THE TAGS FOR TRIGGER I BEG YOU!

Buck is tired. Physically, mentally, emotionally… just so goddamn tired. 

A storm is coming… he can feel it in the plates and screws that hold his leg together. He’d always thought that was a myth, but sure enough every big storm he feels a twinge of pain around them. They should get moving if they are going to make it before the rain starts. 

He scrumages through what supplies are available in the remains of the little corner shop. He only takes what he truly needs—which isn’t much—and leaves all that he can for whoever passes through next. Outside he can hear distant thunder, he needs to hurry. He unzips his bag and stuffs the supplies inside, catching a glimpse of the picture frame; he takes it out. 

Their wedding day. 

The smell of the ocean in the background, the sound of the cheers from their family as they vowed to have and to hold each other through it all… the sight of Tommy dressed in his tux, so handsome, so in love, so happy. 

They were so happy… for a while. They didn’t get nearly enough time before the outbreak.

Then it was long days, and longer nights of fighting to stay alive; fighting to keep everyone they cared about alive. So in vain, and slowly they watched as their family dwindled down until there were just a handful of them left. 

It was supposed to be a simple night run. They needed water. They needed more medicine. The store was so close… but not close enough. The attack was brutal. More lives lost. 

Tommy got bit. 

“Ev- Evan, baby… listen to me,” he tried, as Buck panickedly tried to clean out the wound. 

“No. I can— I can fix this… just let me think.”

“Evan.”

“We— We’ll cut off your arm,” he suggests. “It’s worked before…”

“It’s already spreading, baby. Look…” Tommy pulls up the bloody sleeve revealing the bluish green streaks running towards his neck and chest. “It’s too late… you have to.” 

“No.”

“Baby, we promised each other—” Tommy begged, tears falling from his eyes, the infection visibly creeping up his neck. Buck frantically shook his head, tuning out Tommy’s cries. “Evan!” He gasped. “Shoot me! Please!”

“No! I can’t!”

***

Buck wipes his eyes and slides the frame back into the bag. He slowly rises to his feet and slowly makes his way over to the bathroom and pushes the door open. Loud snarling, grunting and gurgling—that would normally send him into fight or flight mode—comes out of the darkness. He shines his flashlight into the room, stepping inside and unclipping the chain from one of the stalls. “Come on, sweetheart… we’re almost there.” 

They walk through the empty streets of what used to be LA; Buck leading Tommy (wrapped safely in a makeshift straight jacket, and wearing a muzzle) by the thick chain. The latter stumbles and growls, his head snapping this way and that, teeth chattering as he does his best to chomp at anything past the muzzle. They make it home just as the rain starts to fall. 

Buck steps inside the door, pulls Tommy through as well, and looks around at what’s left of their destroyed house—some of the mess they had made themselves in the panic to flee the infected city, some done after by people looking for shelter and supplies. He walks through the rooms, remembering the days they were filled with happy memories and life; the promise of a bright future. They were going to grow old in this house… live out the rest of their lives in this house. 

At least one of those was correct.  

He sighs, and leads Tommy up to the bedroom, securing him on the solid, sturdy, bedpost of their king size bed. He opens the bag, takes out the frame and sets it up on the bedside table. He takes out what he got from the little corner shop—a gun shop— and grits his teeth as he lifts his shirt, revealing the bite mark he’s been tirelessly trying to keep from spreading… until now. 

“Buck you have to let him go,” they had tried to tell him. “It’s not even— he wouldn’t want this… to live like this… for you to live like this…” 

He has lost so many people, the ones he didn’t lose to the virus, he lost for his impulsive, borderline insane decision. He’s been alone for a while… but at least he still had Tommy, in some way. 

Buck fights just to take in another breath, and puts a bullet into the gun. Tommy grunts and struggles against his restraints. “Almost ready,” Buck says. He is tired… but he won’t be for long. He walks over to Tommy and unhooks the chain from the bed. He looks into those glossed over eyes, gray and distant and thinks about when they were blue and bright and happy. They were happy once. Maybe they will be happy again in the next life. 

He slips a key in the restraints lock, swiftly turning it and releasing Tommy, He quickly pulls him into a hug, Tommy grabbing him back, turning his head into Buck’s neck and biting down. Buck pressing his head tight against Tommy’s. “I love you,” he says, and closes his eyes. 

The cool barrel against his cheek turns into a cool breeze and the salty smell of the ocean fills the air. Buck opens his eyes and is met with a beautiful sunset, a crowded beach… and Tommy, smiling at him. He blinks a few times to see if it’s all just going to disappear… 

“Hey baby, I’ve been waiting for you,” Tommy says, holding out his hand, the remnant of sunlight catching on his wedding band. Buck stares at Tommy for a moment, just taking in the sight. He smiles and takes his hand, and they join their family out by the water. 

.

.

.

It’s years later before the Buckley-Kinard house is visited again. 

Years since they were sent away to a safe haven while their parents fought off hoard after hoard, until the virus had runs its course. Those lost souls that weren’t instantly killed from the virus, or the battalion sent out to fight off the undead the virus created, eventually just rotted away until they were no longer a threat. 

“Hey Chris!” Jee calls from a bedroom. “I found something!” He stops poking around with one of his canes, rummaging for anything left to salvage from the house he spent many days of his youth, and goes to see what she found. In the back bedroom, laid out across the mattress of a tattered king sized bed, are two skeletons clinging to each other. 

“Do you think it’s them?” Jee asks. 

Chris steps closer, inspects the bodies; most notably their hands, and the matching bands they both are wearing. He looks up at the faded picture still sitting on the bedside table and smiles, a tear slipping from his eye. “Yeah… it’s them.” 

[girldriveroscar]

it’s hilarious to me that Oscar put down Lando and Carlos as the drivers least likely to pay on a first date. When Lando asked why on Earth he put that Oscar softly goes “idk… I can just see you as that type of… [unintelligible]“ (think he says player?). Oscar did not hesitate to put the reddest flags in that category😭

And then when the host tells Oscar: “You’re basically saying don’t go on a date with Lando Norris!” — Lando quickly rebuttals with “Why? Doesn’t mean they don’t have a great time” so Oscar HAS to clarify and defend Lando: “Yeah, well I never said that” 😭 Ok… so Piastri’s taste in men is fuckboys… he fully sees the signs & is going in hard anyway. I respect it. (btw I’m constantly thinking of ur post where you talk about Lando being reddest flag in the world vs Oscar a gf™️ guy & their fwb AU where Lando pretends to be nonchalant while Oscar’s genuinely chilling with Carlos on the other line)

omg those are like the first posts on my account ahsbwjkd. #reflecting on starting this account bc I Needed to psychoanalyze Lando to. back to back conversation about eating cum out of oscar's ass. Such is life ig...

lando in that vid is still like. what put me onto him Hard. (the 4k ongoing word doc about him that is never getting finished:) like what R u doing this for Who r u doing this for... seeing how lando adopts that fuckboy persona whenever he's put in stark comparison to Oscar (thinking as well of the radio interview w the whos most likely to) is very... hmmnnsnnnnn.... in landos head I think hes thinking Oscar is Rated G for everyone and I am PG-13... sillier. dirtier. more sex appeal.. wtv it is- he must attain to the invisible standard everyone has set for him.

in opposition, his one on one content w Oscar shows this Realer side where he's and all soft and pliable and quiet. (note w max F. too) like . Ok i can turn off the fuckboy persona bc Oscar doesn't care and if Oscar doesn't care why shld i. he's in his private world of real people who see him, versus The Digital Panoptican where everyone Thinks they know him.

Rsn why I think he was so offended by that paying thing was cus in his head Its like. Dude u Know me u know I am quiet and Nice and polite and gracious. why r u playing into the PR shtick. n then he just gives up and gives into it because the little insecure worm in his brain tells him Yeah Play it up its what ppl think of u anyways. Deflect Deflect Deflectttttugh Oscar dgaf about all that turmoil he just #needsthat. Hence my silly fwb thought process yayyy.

[howlingday]

Witcher 3 is giving me brain worms so how about a RWBY AU where Jaune is possessed by a Hym after killing Penny.

Possessed

'Uncle Qrow, can you help us look for Weiss?'

The request was simple, but dire. His niece's partner had disappeared some time ago, gone without a trace, and Qrow Branwen had taken it upon himself to help search for her. When he told Winter, Weiss Schnee's elder sister, she'd admitted that she'd already known and said that the one person who might know where she went was Jaune Arc, the leader of Team RWBY's sister team, JNPR. The two men weren't usually on the best of terms, and he doubted the sudden vanishing act would make their friendship, or lack thereof, grow any further from this.

Stepping into Team JNPR's home was unsettling. The sun was high in the sky, yet the common area was as dark as midnight, save for the fire blazing in the hearth. Lie Ren, a thin, young man from mistral in a green tunic looked to Qrow, waving him to the side.

"We'll be done soon."

As Qrow leaned against the wall, he glanced at Jaune and noticed how miserable he'd become since arriving in Shade. Dark bags hung beneath his eyes, proof that he'd not been sleeping well. Worse yet, he had bandages running up and down his arms and legs. As he spoke, there was a quake in his voice, like he'd seen a Grimm for the first time.

"She came to me again." Jaune said as he shook. "Came and ripped my arm off with her bare hands." He blinked, wiping and rubbing his eyes clear of any tears. "She's demanding a sacrifice."

"Or it could just be a nightmare, Jaune."

"No, no, no." Jaune shook his head. "She's wanting a sacrifice. There's no other meaning. I have to do this."

"That sounds like an extreme." Ren reasoned. "Maybe you should talk to someone-"

"I don't need to talk to anyone." Jaune nearly snarled at his teammate. He stood from his seat, addressing Qrow at last. The veteran huntsman approached, wasting no time for pleasantries.

"I'm looking for the little Ice Queen. You seen her?"

"Weiss? Yeah, the other day."

"Where is she now?"

Jaune was quiet for a moment, then looked to the side. "Hm? What?"

"Weiss. Where is Weiss?"

"I... I dunno..." He shook his head, waving his hand. "I don't have time for this." He then walked past Qrow, climbing the stairs and out of sight. Qrow looked to the remaining huntsman.

"I say somethin' wrong?"

"He's..." Ren pursed his lips, trying to think of the best way to explain the situation. "He's been through a lot recently, and I think this whole thing is starting to get to him."

"You don't say? He did seem kinda distant at the war meeting. Think it-"

"AAARGH!" Jaune shouted from upstairs.

"Excuse me, I need to check on him." Ren stepped away.

"Wait, what about Weiss? I need to find her!"

"I don't know. Try asking around." Ren said, halfway up the steps. "Maybe Nora or Oscar have seen her." Then he was gone.

"Great..."

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

As Qrow walked around town, he noticed a lot of people steering clear of the JNPR home. It made sense; that scream wasn't one of joy, or anything positive. He'd heard stories of lonely villagers being ostracized to the outskirts, if only to keep them from drawing the Grimm closer with their negativity. Unfortunately, Vacuo took those stories as history and embraced the tactic.

Asking around, a girl mentioned seeing Weiss going to the top of a nearby cliff, carrying something wrapped in cloth. Following directions was simple, but walking through the cave to get there was unnerving, despite not seeing a single Grimm as he passed through. At the mouth of the cave, lying unconscious, was Weiss.

"Weiss!" Carrying her out of the cave, he checked her neck for a pulse. She stirred, confirming his suspicions of her vitality.

"What... What happened?" She winced. "Oogh... My head..."

"Looks like something hit you on the head. Knocked you out."

"Qrow...?" She blinked slowly. "Why are you here?"

"I came looking for you. Your team and half of Shade is worried about you." He stood up. "We're heading back-"

"Not yet!" She stood, but stumbled into Qrow, who caught her. "Not until I help Jaune." She patted herself. "The doll! Where's the doll?! I need to-"

"What you need to do is rest." Qrow scowled. "You were half-dead when I found you."

"But I-"

"-need to tell me what's going on." Qrow helped her back to the ground. "Why were you out here?"

"I'm helping Jaune."

"By wandering off into a cave in the middle of nowhere? How will that help?"

"If I had the doll, it would."

"What doll?"

"It's a Penny doll." Weiss explained. "I was coming to make an offering to Penny's grave."

"An offering?"

"It's a long story." Weiss took a deep breath and used the wall outside of the cave entrance to help her to her feet. "Jaune told me that his family are Ancestrians, believing that the spirits of the dead friends and family help us become stronger. The best way to make those bonds stronger is to make offerings. Offerings like a doll made in the likeness of the deceased."

"Ain't there a grave for her in the middle of Shade?"

"A shrine, but not to her, but to everyone else who didn't make it from Atlas. The grave has to be individual, personal."

"So why here?"

Weiss stepped away from the wall and stopped halfway to the grave. "From here, you can see the entire town. Ruby, Jaune, and I thought this would be the best place for her to look over the people she died to protect."

"I remember Winter saying that Jaune killed Penny himself."

"To stop Cinder from taking the Winter Maiden's power, yes." She turned to Qrow. "I choose to believe Jaune when he says she told him to."

"Even though you weren't close enough to hear her tell him?"

"The only people who know for certain are Jaune and Penny." Her fists clenched a bit, with her lips pursed to match. "And I've already told you my thoughts on Jaune's words. Regardless, it's affecting him now as we speak. And I think the doll offering will help him."

"By leaving a doll at Penny's grave. Alone."

"Ruby is busy with her own thing and Jaune... Well, you've seen Jaune. What his guilt is doing to him."

"You mean the scars?" Qrow quirked a brow. "Thought he got that from his time in the Ever After."

"Hardly!" Weiss balked. "The only scars he took from any Grimm is have completely healed by now! No, this is much deeper scarring than any Grimm could do. I asked him about it, and he said that Penny AND Pyrrha are demanding he inflict pain on himself- to make things right. But I'd never think it could be either of them. No, this is all Jaune. That's why I need that doll-"

"What you need is to rest." Qrow jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. "I'll go look for the doll. You stay here and recover."

She gave a harrumph and sat down by the cave. The sun began its descent from the sky, casting shadows along the cave wall. In the newly brightened cavern, he could see the doll, or what remains of it, shattered inside the cloth on the ground. Qrow hummed as he picked it up. To the side, caught in the sunlight, he saw a dark figure with horns, and it snarled as it stared at him.

"What the-?!" As fast as Harbinger came out, the shade had disappeared. Checking around him, he couldn't see the Grimm, or whatever it was, and cautiously scooped up the remains of the broken doll. Something strange was going on, and Qrow had a feeling Jaune was more deeply involved in this than he'd originally thought.

"Do you have the doll?" Weiss asked as Qrow returned.

"What's left of it."

"What's left of- Agh!" Weiss slapped her forehead. "Of course it would be broken when I passed out. Nothing can ever go my way..."

"You're complaining to the wrong guy about that." He hummed. "So what now?"

"Well, now I have to go back and buy a new one." She sighed. "So much hard work undone by bad luck."

"Again, not the right guy complain to about that."

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

"Where is my sister by the way?" Weiss asked as she and Qrow walked towards JNPR's dwelling.

"Now? No idea." Qrow answered. "Why?"

"Oh, I just wondered why she let you look for me on your own."

"What do you mean 'let me'?" Qrow's voice had a dangerous tone to him.

"Oh, nothing." Weiss turned away. "I just thought she didn't like having you out of her sight. Oh, there's Jaune and Ruby!"

Correct in her statement, Jaune and Ruby were standing on the balcony of the home. As they approached, going through the inside of the building, they found Ruby rubbing Jaune's back while he rubbed his eyes with one hand. The other hand was wrapped about a hundred times over with a bright red spot from the center.

"It's too bright." Jaune groused. "My eyes are stinging."

"The fresh air is good, Jaune." Ruby comforted.

"Penny won't like this, Ruby..."

"Ahem!" Qrow announced himself.

"Uncle Qrow!" Ruby gasped. "AND WEISS~!"

"What's with the hand, kid?" Qrow pointed at Jaune's injury. "Penny tell you to do that?"

"Penny needed an sacrifice."

"I tried to explain it to him, Jaune." Weiss spoke before Qrow could. "He didn't know about your belief until I told him just a while ago. But what I failed to mention is that some older offering methods is the pain of the living. It brings you closer to the spirits, helps build strength inside of you."

"It's more than an offering," Jaune gave Qrow a dead serious look, "it's a sacrifice."

"Right." The veteran nodded. "So, about these voices in your head-"

"Penny's voice." Jaune snarled. "HER voice."

"Penny's definitely related to this alright."

Jaune had a flash of anger in his eyes. He stood up, his wounded hand moving to his sword. Weiss stepped between, holding her hands up. "I told him about the grave! I showed him and-"

"Penny's grave could be the key to solving this. That's why I think you need to apologize to her, there, in person."

"I..." Jaune shook, his voice breaking. "I didn't want to..." Tears began to well in his eyes as raised his bandaged hand to his face. "She asked me... Begged me, even, but I... She's so angry."

Qrow could keep pushing the issue, explaining his doubts that this is really Penny's ghost talking in his head. However, he doubted both Ruby and Weiss could calm him down together if Jaune got angry. So, he pulled out an ol' trick he learned in his younger years. A little thing called empathy.

"Let me help you." Qrow offered. "I promise to do everything I can to keep Penny from being angry."

"Listen to Uncle Qrow, Jaune." Ruby said, trying to be as soothing as possible. "I don't think Penny is angry with you, and even if she is, she's not the kind of person to say no to someone saying, 'I'm sorry'."

Jaune looked down the balcony to his team. They had just come back from grocery shopping, and Nora was playing with a cheese knife set, still in box, while Ren and Oscar expressed their concern, annoyed more so at Emerald's goading Nora. He smiled, then took a deep breath. "What do I need to do?"

"You know how to get to the grave, right?"

Jaune was quiet. "I do, but..." He shook his head. "My team won't let me leave. Not until my wounds are all healed."

"Even with Jaune's healing semblance," Ruby further explained, "he cut deep and nicked a really bad spot. Ren said he shouldn't be moving around too much."

"Well, we don't have much choice, do we?" Qrow shrugged. "I'm sure we can get a wagon to haul ya, if need be."

Jaune looked to the grave and winced. "No. No, I can't. Penny... She'll be angry. I can feel it!"

"She won't, though!" Ruby tried to calm him. "Uncle Qrow knows what he's doing, and Penny would want you to go with him!" Despite these words, though, Jaune refused to look away from the grave, even as the sun began to sting his eyes.

"Well, if you won't go, is there anything I can say on your behalf?" Qrow was getting tired of this charity case, moreso dealing with a fanatic like Jaune than his actual beliefs.

"Yeah... Tell her..." Jaune swallowed. "Tell her that I wish she was here instead of me."

"...Alright then."

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

The doll costed a hefty amount of lien, but that only made sense when you considered two facts. The first was that this was a figure made in the homage and likeness of a hero, a hero who died protecting Remnant. The second was that he was in Vacuo, which wasn't exactly known for thrifty prices, especially with how much they already pay for supplies, or "pay" by other means, either with coercion or intimidation. Or just plain stealing.

As he made his way up, he caught a few huntsmen walking in the opposite direction of the JNPR house. This normally wouldn't bother him, since huntsmen and huntresses make house call visits all the time. But what bothered him was what was on their shoulder patches; green wings, meaning these were triage huntsmen.

"Dammit..." Qrow began moving faster, almost sprinting as he could hear yelling from inside. He doubted they were Penny's voice this time.

"WHY?! WHY'D YOU DO THAT?!" Ruby screamed.

"I... I had to..." Qrow rounded the corner, finding Jaune in the middle of a crowd of his friends. Some, like his nieces and Ren, were angry. Others, like, well, the others, were concerned to varying degrees, ranging from face-holding like Yang or almost bawling like Nora. All the while, Jaune spoke with a shaking voice. "Pyrrha... Pyrrha and Penny demanded it..."

"Neither of them would tell you to do anything like this!" Weiss wailed.

"What the hell's going on?" Qrow asked, getting everyone's attention.

"Jaune... He-" Ruby started, only for Nora to shove her out of the way.

"HE ALMOST STABBED HIMSELF IN THE EYE~!"

"What?!" Qrow flinched. Looking to Jaune, he had a bandage on the side of his face. Though it was likely stitched and cleaned, he could still see blood oozing from the wound. "Why'd you do it?"

"Because..." And with the coldest, most distant stare Qrow had ever seen from a huntsman so young, answered. "Penny and Pyrrha demanded a sacrifice..."

With a glare, Qrow barked to the room. "Everyone out except Jaune, Ruby, and Weiss!" There was slow movement at first. "NOW!" The movement became much quicker. Taking a deep breath, Qrow began to calm down.

This had gone far enough. One voice was strange enough, but two asking for the same thing? Too strange to be a coincidence. And the shadow in the cave leading to the grave could be the key. But he couldn't rely on a hunch. He needed facts.

"What did Penny and Pyrrha say? Exactly. Do you remember? What did they tell you?"

Jaune was quiet, shivering despite being so close to the alight firepit. "They were angry. Penny said, 'You coward, you could kill me but you can't face me yourself?' and Pyrrha said after, 'You haven't changed since your failure at Beacon.' and together they said, 'Cut out your eye and suffer and regret the failure you are!'."

If this were a romance, this would be the point where the hero shouts that 'They would never say that!' but life is way more complicated. Especially since Qrow was the hero of this story, he thought, and he didn't know Pyrrha or Penny well enough to say this. Still, even with so many people arguing that this isn't true only doesn't proves how untrue it is when he was there at their final moments. But everyone is so focused on who said it that no one thought to ask WHY it was said.

"When did Penny and Pyrrha talk to you? Was it after I left?"

Jaune numbly nodded. "A bit after. I felt tired, so I thought I'd take a nap." He lifted his hand. "Heal my wounds with a bit of rest. But instead, they came to me in my attempts to dream."

"They always talk when you're asleep?"

"A-Always."

"What do you see then? Where do they talk to you in your dream?"

"Penny's grave." Jaune answered. "They tell me to make a light, then talk to me from the shadows."

Things started to click in Qrow's head. It explained why the JNPR house was dark, even in midday, and why Jaune screamed shortly after he left earlier that day. Combine that with the location they talk from, the shadow on the cave wall, and what Jaune was being told, everything lined up almost perfectly with the exact Grimm he was thinking of. Just one thing left to ask...

"Did they ever appear in front of you? Did you ever see them for yourself?"

"Once," Jaune swallowed, "I decided to be brave and speak to them, face-to-face, bringing the light around. I saw a hazy figure, shaped like a person, covered in shadows."

Qrow nodded. He looked to Ruby and Weiss, then stepped away. As he did, though, he noticed the shadow coming from Jaune looked different. Almost wavy. Not human.

"Everybody back in!" Without hesitation, or not much if there was any, the people he told to leave shuffled back in. He pointed at them, barking different orders; change Jaune's bandages, clean his wounds, keep him calm. The only ones he didn't bark orders to was Ruby and Weiss. He walked upstairs, to the balcony, with Ruby and Weiss following close behind.

"Uncle Qrow, what's going on?"

"The doll isn't going to do anything." Qrow said, setting the gift on the balcony.

"What's wrong with him?" Weiss asked.

"It's a Zimora." Qrow answered. "Old Grimm. Never seen one outside of a fairy tale. It latches onto huntsmen overcome with guilt for their crimes. It drains them of their aura, using the person by fueling their guilty conscience. In the end, they force their victims to mutilate themselves."

Weiss gasped and covered her mouth.

Ruby tightened her hands into balled fists. "So what do we do?"

"If I remember right, there's two ways to kill it," he raised his hand up into two fingers, "in theory." He flicked one finger. "The first option is the huntsman way; we bring Jaune out to Penny's grave and wait for it to show up. The fairy tales say that if you spend a night with the victim in the Grimm's lair, it'll show up."

"So we just need to wait with Jaune by Penny's grave?" Weiss asked. "Shouldn't be too difficult."

"Afraid it is." Qrow shook his head. "Not only will the Grimm be fighting for all its worth, but it'll heal its wounds using the victim, eventually to the point of their exhaustion and-"

"What's the other way?" Ruby asked, not wanting to hear more of this clearly worse option.

"It's a Grimm from the old age, back when Salem had rules for them." Qrow explained. "And this one's rule, supposedly, is that it needs a host. Without one, it'll be weak and easy to kill." Before Ruby could ask for clarification, Qrow held up a finger. "The host has to be one with incredible guilt. Fresh guilt. If we can trick it into believing there's a new host when there isn't one, it'll panic and suddenly become weaker."

"Then let's do that!" Ruby said with a smile.

"This is just a theory I came up with, Squirt. Haven't heard or read of anyone pulling this off."

"Well, then that just means no one's thought of a trick that good yet!"

"It seems impossible, but it's something we should at least try." Weiss added.

"Tricks are never simple, though. Even then, neither method is perfect. A Zimora only attacks those with a guilty conscience, someone who truly believes they've committed a great sin. The Zimora strengthens this regret and feeds off it. In other words, if the new host doesn't feel true agony and sorrow, the Zimora will sense that."

"Then... in order for this to work..." Weiss tapped her lip. "If anyone comes up with a plan, the other can't know about it."

"Exactly."

"Both are dangerous, but..." Ruby nodded. "I think we should try to trick it!"

"Sorry if I don't sound convinced."

"What, do you need my sister to think for you~?" Weiss teased, earning a scowl from Qrow. "If all else fails, we'll try the huntsman's way."

"Still, why'd you keep bringing her up? You jealous of her?"

"No, but... I've just noticed you're a bit... distracted around my sister."

"What, saying I'm hen-pecked?"

"Hen pecs?" Ruby asked, imagining a chicken with a buff chest.

"No, just of one mind about her. Like all men are." Weiss waved her hand. "Take an Atlas Specialist, a Mistral wizard, or a Vale Huntsman- you all end up wrapped around someone's finger."

"Sure," Qrow rolled his eyes, "I guess you've seen it all before, huh?"

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

The hike to the cave late at night was its own trial. Some Grimm and wildlife in Vacuo don't care for the heat, so they hunt at night. There's even a saying in Vacuo about soft men last longer on cool nights, though the context for the statement may vary between survival advice and inappropriate tavern jokes.

Passing through the cave, Qrow saw a woman in a familiar white cloak on the ground ahead. "Summer!" He ran up to her, kneeling next to the unmoving body. "No, it... It can't be..." At these words, 'Summer' faded away into the shadows. Qrow growled into the darkness. "Trying to make me run?" He chuckled. "Good. Means you're scared."

Once at the grave, Jaune was already there. He was kneeling before the makeshift headstone, a rock painted bright green with a Penny doll sitting above it. The huntsman wept as he mumbled apologies and pleas for Penny and Pyrrha to forgive him. Qrow looked around for any signs of Ruby or Weiss, but only saw Jaune.

Looking at Jaune, Qrow felt something in his chest. Pity? Some form of rapport? After Summer disappeared, Qrow was a lot like Jaune, kneeling in front of the grave of someone you can't help but feel like you played a part in killing. He didn't think he'd have something in common with this guy when they first met, but here they were now.

Footsteps ran up behind him. Qrow turned and saw Weiss and Ruby coming from within the cavern. Better late than never, he guessed. The three looked between each other and shared a nod.

"You girls got a plan?"

"Yup!" Ruby beamed.

"Kind of?" Weiss shrugged.

Neither answer filled him with confidence.

"Jaune!" Ruby ran out to him, distracting the boy enough to look her way. "Jaune, over here!"

"So, what's the plan?" Qrow asked. The answer surprised him.

"He's a lost cause. We have to kill him."

"What- But-"

"Trust me. It's for the best." Weiss answered.

So this was the plan, huh? Make Qrow feel guilty enough for the Zimora to cling to him? It didn't feel right, but Weiss did have a point. Even if it's the death of one, dozens if not hundreds of lives would be saved from attracting more Grimm. So Qrow level Harbinger, hoping this would be some kind of trick Weiss planned that wouldn't actually kill him, but it did... He'd understand.

"KILL HIM NOW!" Weiss screeched as she turned away.

"WHAT?!" Ruby stopped, looking back to Qrow. He squeezed the trigger and Ruby pushed Jaune out of the way, getting shot in his place.

"NO!" Qrow ran out, tripping over himself as he tried to reach out for his niece as she fell from the cliff. "No, no, no, no, no!" Qrow looked over the side, straining to see her in the darkness. "RUBY!"

"Ruby..." Jaune fell to his knees, looking down over the cliff. He dropped his light down the cliff, hoping to find her.

And there she laid, her blood soaking the sands of the Vacuo desert. Qrow began to feel hot tears pouring down his face, his hand futilely reaching for his red-caped protege. Suddenly, the world was deaf all around him as he could only feel pain in his chest. Pain... and guilt.

From behind the two huntsmen, emerging from the shadows, was the Zimora. It stood almost eight feet tall, its humanoid body covered in black all over, save for the white rings acting as tunnels through the monster's head. Its real eyes were the fiery red orbs dotting around the white, all while its long black horns and talons remained as pure dark as the rest of its body.

Plucking its dark digits from Jaune, it began to sink its claws into Qrow, hissing in delight of its new prey. The former victim looked to his side to ask Qrow why he shot his own niece, only to reel in horror at the beast gripping the veteran huntsman. He was about to scream when a gunshot sounded from the cave.

Everyone turned to the familiar sound, finding Ruby Rose, alive and well, standing next to Weiss Schnee and Emerald Sustrai. With a grin, Ruby and the rest of her team, along with Team JNPR, emerged from the cave, all armed and ready to fight. "Gotcha~!" Ruby giggled.

"What..." Then everything started to click. Qrow was completely tricked into thinking he killed his own niece. The guilt would have attracted the Zimora, relieving Jaune of his burden, and the reveal would free Qrow of any guilt he may have. He'd be proud if he wasn't so angry at being tricked. Not as angry, though, at the Grimm he was about to carve up, which writhed in agony as its power waned.

"ATTACK~!" Ruby called, as the Grimm was overwhelmed by the power of Team RWBY and JNPR combined.

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

"It's over." Qrow said, looking back to the grave as they left the cave for what he hoped would be the last time.

"Over?" Jaune repeated, carried by Yang and Ren.

"You're free, Jaune." Ruby added, giving a soft smile to her fellow team leader.

"Free?"

"The Zimora's dead, kid. Hopefully it'll be the last one." Jaune didn't say anything in response this time. He was just so tired. It wasn't until they got back to the house that Jaune spoke, left to stand on his own two feet.

"What... What happened..." He put a hand to his head. "My head is spinning..."

"Uncle Qrow, what's going on?" Ruby asked. "I thought we killed the Zumba?"

"Zimora." Weiss corrected. "And yes, I agree. Why is he still... drained?"

"It's fatigue." Qrow answered. "His body just needs time to get back to normal."

"What... What do I do now?"

"My advice?" Qrow offered. "Lay off the self-pity. Grimm or no Grimm, it doesn't do you any good."

"It..." He stumbled, catching himself before anyone else could, though they all tried. "I feel like I'm missing something from inside me."

"That's normal. Zimora's are parasite Grimm. Bonds between parasite and hosts can be strong, and their removal makes you feel empty." Jaune opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. "Give it a few days and you'll be fine."

"Th... Thank you... I think." Jaune stumbled his way to the stairs. "Good night." As he climbed the stairs, Oscar, Ren, and Nora helped him all the way up.

"I should stay with him." Ruby said. "He seems really out of it."

"Good idea, Squirt. Good night."

"G'night, Uncle Qrow. G'night, Weiss." Ruby left Qrow and Weiss alone at the door.

"Well, I can't do much worse here." Qrow shrugged, turning to leave. "G'night."

"Yes, I'm sure my sister is getting impatient with you by now." Weiss teased.

"I thought we already talked enough about that." Qrow groused, making Weiss giggle.

"We did." She nodded. "Good night, Qrow."

Qrow nodded. "So long."

[sward-detcader]

Currently working on a photo set for @cordeliawhohung ‘s Touch Me Till I Vomit, aka the Pet!AU. More explanation about the piece is below the cut!

HEED THE TAGS AND IMAGE ID, MDNI

[ID] Soap stands behind Bonnie, his hand tightly holding her face/neck. Bonnie is very obviously in distress, crying, with bruises marking her shoulders and chest. Though not on screen, Soap’s gun shot wound is implicated with blood running down his face and dripping onto Bonnie’s shoulders.

[TAGS] If you don’t like Pet!AU you are not going to like this art. Keep scrolling, themes of abuse, blood, bruises, bite marks, collars, crying, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT

I’ve been a horror fan for a while now, and especially psychological horror. Core’s AU has really tickled a brain worm for me, this fic has literally kept me awake at night after I first read it. I cannot express how infatuated I am with the horror element, if this was a movie I would be in the theater opening night. It gives me the same thrill movies like The Black Phone and Silence of the Lambs has. I just… god. Yeah. You don’t get a lot of fic writers who are willing to completely delve into the horror side and who are steadfast in their goal and who don’t bend when people are trying to push and pull them to make it more romantic. I love this, and I adore Core.

There are some things that I really tried to incorporate into the piece. I know typically if a mouth is overly detailed or teeth are shown individually it can induce a feeling of discomfort. I also wanted to really highlight the idea of Soap being a dog in this fic, hence the exaggerated canines and the bite mark. I know the color of the collars aren’t accurate to the fic, but in order to make them stand out with the deep red color pallet I opted to make the black more blue leaning than red/brown as one might see in a typical leather collar. I knew, especially after the most recent chapter, that I had to include Soap’s GSW somehow as that’s a key element as to how he also became a victim. I’ll probably do a more expansive breakdown of the art and its meaning later, but rn I need to get to work lol. Please share thoughts on this piece if you’re willing, negative and positive! I’m always looking to improve!

[oh-no-its-bird]

Favorite Naruto Character?

Impossible question!!! It changes by the day depending on what fic I'm reading tbh

I feel like if I'm asked this on the street on a time limit, my default answer would probably be Tobirama? But like in part just bc hes what I'm known for/started out writing, so

But like, in the running for favorite uhh

Kakashi is amazing, forever and always. Specifically team Ro era him, I have a mild obsession w his younger iterations bc of the edge factor and also just how fun it is how he fucking shapeshifts into a new guy depending on his stage of life. U can get functionally, like, 4 or 5 completely different characters out of him purely based on how old he is, it's fascinating

Orochimaru. My beloved. He fascinates me. His gender. His crimes. His snakes. I love snakes. I love him. The unbeatable comedy of him being a fucking housewife in Boruto never ceases to amaze me. On me and my girlfriends first date I spent an entire 20 minutes talking about Orochimaru. She did not and does not know anything ab Naruto. This is a true fact you can ask her. I do not regret a single minute of it.

Tobirama, ofc, I fucking love mad scientists and maybe he isn't Orochimaru crazy but by god is he some brand of lunacy. His morally grey (arguably, at times, black) ways and rizless autism has enchanted me...I can not let him go

Izuna is way up there too, fanfiction has convinced me to love him and he remains one of the characters I find easiest to write. Somehow he worms his way into my fics and aus without even meaning for it to happen. The Izuna Sickness(tm)

Ok now imagine a little space here as I mention my runner ups / secondary favorites

Gaara. I love Gaara. I need more Gaara centric fics. I have very little to say or write about him myself and I never talk ab him on here but I love him. He is The Character Most Ever in my heart. Every day I scream and cry over the fact I've probably read all the Gaara centric time travel and crossover fics out there. So fucked up. I don't trust my own skill to write him. My hands are not shaped for it. I read a Gaara/Izuna/Tobirama time travel fic once and it changed my life.

HIKAKU. HIKAKU IS ALSO ON THE LIST. NOT REALLY BUT LIKE. HES UP THERE. FUCK. I LOVE HIM. He is a blank slate and it's arguable if he even fr fr exists but I don't care he means the world to me. The strong Hikaku warriors of ao3 (mostly Domoz) showed me the true beauty that is Hikaku. I fell in love with him. He exists in the back of my mind constantly.

Obito is not The Favorite but he's also up there. Specifically like. The deranged takes of him. Obito being a freak is my bread and butter, but this may also be linked to the fact that Kakashi is in the running for The Favorite(tm) so like. Maybe I'm just projecting my own love for Kakashi onto Obito then having way too much fun making him comedicallt weird ab it

The list goes on tbh, there are SO many naruto characters out there it's kind of insane. I became a little bit infatuated w Utakata at one point but the tragically little content for him lead to me getting distracted by characters with characters w more content for them. Sasuke and Neji I also find super compelling and occasionally have fits of tearing ao3 apart in search of content for them.

Ik u didn't ask and this is a ship and not a person but like. Also Kiba/Kankuro. Honey Honey Honey by @late-cambrian changed my brain chemistry forever and made me spiral for a little bit as it convinced me to love Kiba and Kankuro as a ship and as characters. I think I've talked about the fic before actually, it remains a favorite. I need more Kiba content, I fucking love dog boys (as I'm sure u can tell)

I'm sorry u asked me a simple question and I went on a rant, oops. In my defense it really is impossible to choose— ask me again in a month and I might give u a different answer, who knows

[charliemwrites]

Feral just like me frfr. Sometimes I too, lose my marbles and have to bite somebody lol. One of the things that gets me the absolute most about this AU is that feral and Simon are stuck in this never ending feedback loop. The more "feral" feral gets and the more they lean on Simon, the more Simon is like, "Yes, they needed me, and needed this, see how right I am about taking them?" And so he's completely justified in his actions, and the way he treats Feral. Meanwhile, the more he treats feral like a little creature, the more they lean into the unspoken rules and change themselves into what Simon is making them, the more they prove to Simon (and also kinda themselves, YAY STOCKHOLM) that they did need him, causing the feedback loop to continue. I just have so many thoughts about the whole thing, and it's killing me (in a delicious way).

Does feral get internet privileges/electronics privileges? I'm kinda half and half on it, because A) she could reach out to other people and B) maybe it keeps her a little less feral than Simon wants bc it reminds her of her old life. But, it's also a pretty good source of entertainment and given that Simon liked Feral before she was really feral, I have a hard time seeing him forcing her to give up something like that, that might be really important to her. and if somebody told me I couldn't play my silly little games anymore, I think that would tick me off real bad. Because he definitely wants to cut her off from the world, but he doesn't want to change everything about her, including her hobbies.

I might be talking crazy, I think the brain worms are acting up again. (Also, that Price and obedient piece was so good *chef's kiss* just what the doctor ordered lol)

-🏺 (EVERYTHING IS SO GOOD, may your pillows always be warm in winter and cold in the summer)

Hey 🏺!! I am adoring the Thoughts™️ and that is an absolutely brilliant analysis and very much something that has become canon to this universe.

As far as internet privileges go - in the beginning she was not allowed internet. As far as he’s concerned there’s plenty of tv with all the streaming services and apps, even YouTube! She’s also got books and crafts and journals and other things to distract her. However if it’s something she really wants later on and asks for, she’d be allowed supervised internet time. As in, he’s in the same room keeping an eye on things. She’s welcome to her games, but no social media accounts since people can be on most of them without making an account.