#tw implied major character death

[luna-is-lost]

Happy Birthday Sans Undertale

[maxissupercool]

i think that ghost full on fall apart after soap dies even if price and gaz were still there. they’re not soap, nobody could ever fill the void the Scot made in him.

so he turns to drugs, at first just weed since soap smoked it but when it’s not enough he goes further. falls into using hallucinogens so he can see soap again and price of course looks it over; he can’t lose another one of his best soldiers because of silly weed (ghost never gives away that he’d ‘grown out’ of weed) and as long as the man wasn’t high on their missions it would be fine.

until it wasn’t.

luckily — or maybe unluckily, he doesn’t know — he’s not high when he gets shot in the thigh, ducking into the nearest as pain radiates through him from the entry wound. he doesn’t scramble as fast as he probably should to tie a tourniquet and notify the medics through the comms.

red stains his tactical pants alarmingly fast and he knows it’s hit the artery, a part of him happy for it. maybe he’ll get to see soap properly again even if he doesn’t fully believe in an afterlife.

[jacksepticeye-simp]

Heart

Summary: You love your partner. You would do anything for her. Wouldn't you?

TWs: Major character death & a bit of gore. This probably isn't a very healthy relationship so beware.

Pairing(s): Fem! Darkiplier x Gender Neutral Reader

Author Note: This is very poorly written cause it was kinda just a passing midnight thought where I just happened to have access to my laptop. Also, I don't encourage any toxic implications of shit like this in real life, my intention was not to glorify or romanticize toxic relationships IRL, This is just supposed to be a horror fic. This is kinda the darkest thing I've written so far, which doesn't really say a lot of interesting stuff about me.

Okay no fic here cause I felt like tumblrs moderation may not like it much, so if you wanna read it, here's the ao3 link to it:

Heart

[slveepyscwrs]

Obey Me stans, want a Mammon angst fanfic (that may or may not make you cry)? Let me know if you like this idea!

I don't think I've mentioned being a long time Obey Me fan, so this is a long shot, but I've been thinking about this idea ever since I lost the original document.

It's called: He will never wake up again

Major TW for Character Death + Sui

Okay so basically here's how it went:

Mammon always tried to brush off the bullying from his brothers with a playful attitude, but he had always been hiding how much it crushed him inside.

He never felt loved. He felt that his existence in the Devildom would never be worthy enough.

And so, he took his life...

How much time has passed since then? No one could really tell. Death really messes up time perception, both for the deceased themselves and the living who are left to grieve.

That's the thing, though– ever since Mammon died, he couldn't bring himself to visit the House of Lamentation.

Still, he can't help but wonder how his brothers have lived their lives since then.

He's certain that they will be happy that the greedy burden on them is gone.

His spirit can't remain in the Devildom forever, and time is running out.

So, he decides to visit his brothers one last time, before moving on to whatever's next.

Besides, all he wanted this whole time was to see them happy...

When he does go there, however, he sees a whole new story in front of him, more complex than he could have ever imagined.

(Note 1: I know that considering the actual lore, Devildom demons probably don't turn into ghosts when they die, but for the sake of the story this is ignored.)

(Note 2: This story is more centric on the brothers, so there's no guarantee that MC will be included as well.)

(Note 3: I headcanon that Satan finally got a cat after Mammon died, because Lucifer is too wrapped up in his own struggles to care, so Mammon isn't completely invisible– Satan's cat is the only one who can see him.)

So, yeah, I'm curious– would you read something like this?

[dance-like-an-idiot]

tw: death, grief, sickness

whizzer is at the baseball game, and whizzer walks away. 

marvin lets out a heavy breath of relief as a pit forms in his stomach. 

a pit of regret. 

— 

marvin sees him at another game of jasons, weeks later, and whizzer doesn't make eye contact with him once. 

whizzer seems very happy, and marvin wishes he could still be happy when they meet eyes.

but they don't. 

—

whizzer is at the park with a camera nearly two months later and he seems at peace.

marvin doesn't want to break it so he picks up his speed despite a worsening stomach ache.

they're common now.

—

marvin after 1 month of not seeing whizzer gives into charlotte, cordelia, mendel, and even jason's requests. 

whizzer sits 4 seats away from marvin at the gay bar, swirling a drink and getting close with a guy.

he goes home. 

—

whizzer looks pale even under the warm sun, and its only been a week since he last saw him. 

marvin stops on the sidewalk and can't muster the courage to walk further into the park. 

they meet eyes.

—

marvin hasn't seen whizzer in two weeks since he ran from the park again and when he walks by there he is.

whizzer doesn't notice him this time, but marvin notices that his clothes don't fit like they used to.

he looks sick.

—

whizzer has been gone for a month, marvin is sure of it as he sits in the park he's visited every day this month.

marvin stands up from the bench and walks home, but his eye catches a newspaper and he pays for one. 

"gay pneumonia." huh.

—

marvin had finally found where whizzer was, and it was the last place he could have imagined.

whizzer's tombstone is boring, unmarred, and represents nothing of the person that decays beneath. 

he rips his right cuff and recites.

—

whizzer's tombstone is as pale as his face, and its only been 2 weeks since he first saw it for the first time.

marvin visits everyday to place a stone and he brings cordelia and charlotte with him when they can join.

22 stones placed.

—

marvin has been losing weight for too long now, and he runs out of breath daily, with worsening frequency.

whizzer lies under the ground in front of him, and marvin looks at the familiar stones and white king on it.

he passes out.

—

whizzer's name is one of the few things he says as marvin lays in the hospital bed, dying, he knows.

marvin wants to be buried next to whizzer, so he knows that he had always wanted to be there for his lover.

[blaisenova]

what's up gamers, sorry for disappearing for a while there. life's been kicking my ass lately LMAO

to all the people who've sent in requests, i'm working on them!! as for why they're taking so long, see above.

been writing some stuff on and off for a bit, and i'm sure my fellow writers know how it is. when inspiration for something hits, you just kinda shit it out and then move on. i try to put a little more effort into my requests LOL. but i love killer and i also love hurting him, so this is what came out of that. yippee!!

this one goes out to all the people with complicated romantic lives!!!!!!! i see you!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

so, take this piece of shit to tide you over. thank you guys for your patience <3

content is below the cut due to length and sensitive subjects. as always, it can be found on ao3 in the reblogs if that's your cup of tea.

cw/tw: major character death (offscreen, but a main point), implied/referenced toxic relationship, implied/referenced suicidal ideation, an all around shitty situationship

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

Grains of dust fell between his fingers and into his joints, making them crackle when he gripped the faded red scarf in his hands. It was so like when his brother had died, and there was something poetic about that thought, and that poetry was the highest insult the multiverse could have asked him to endure. Nevertheless, there was a distinct lack of snow, and, though his surroundings were deeply familiar – the cool toned darkness of the castle’s atmosphere, broken only by the warm, orange glow of the castle’s mounted lanterns – they would never be as familiar as limbo.

Dust piled beneath his knees, scraping against the bone and leaving it raw, but all Killer could do was press his forehead into the pile before him and hold his breath to prevent it from dispelling; to be as close as possible without disturbing the remains.

When a voice rang out from the shadows, he didn’t startle; its presence had been imminent from the start. It held the same chilled, deep tones of the castle, broken only by the warm dredges of poorly concealed laughter behind its words. Despite himself, Killer found that the tension in his bones melted away at the sound.

“So, you finally killed him.”

It wasn’t a question. There was no surprise.

Voice hoarse, Killer laughed, and the dust darted away from his breath and stuck to the liquid determination that marred his cheeks. “He was hurting me.”

Beside him, someone knelt. Fingers, dark with viscous negativity, ran through the particles and pressed it together testingly. The other hummed, then shook the dust from his hands, as if it were something dirty. Killer shouldn’t have felt so offended at the thought.

“Well, obviously,” Nightmare responded, voice flat with disinterest. “It’s about time that you did something about it.”

Clutching the scarf to his chest, Killer’s soul wobbled unsteadily, and he wheezed. “Do you think– Will– He’ll… He’ll be better when he comes back, right?”

At that, came Nightmare’s laughter – warm, comforting, and Killer hated himself at the feeling – and a hand came to rest against his back. Fingers danced what might have been soothing circles over the fabric of his jacket, coaxing out small noises of misery that Killer hadn’t realised he was holding back. “He’s not like you, Killer,” Nightmare hummed. “He won’t come back.”

At that, came Killer’s laughter – warm, comforting, and Killer hated himself at the feeling – and he curled further into the dust as it continued to try and run away. “Oh,” he breathed. Then, again, “oh. That’s– That’s not what I wanted.”

There was a beat of silence, and Killer breathed in the judgement in the lack of words. “Then,” Nightmare finally drawled, steady in a way Killer could not be, “what did you want?”

A sound was pulled from his chest at the question, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “I just wanted it to stop hurting,” he hissed. “I… I didn’t want to lose him forever.”

With another hum, Nightmare’s fingers pressed more firmly into Killer’s back, drawing him out of wheezing breaths he hadn’t realised he’d been taking. “Why not, if he was hurting you?”

“Because I loved him,” Killer spat; immediately; bitterly. Then, through a lump in his throat, “love. Because I love him.”

For a moment, Nightmare’s steady ministrations faltered, as if the admission surprised him, though Killer was certain he must have known; must have felt it even through every other emotion that had led them here. Just as soon as he began to miss the touch, though, they started up again, and, once more, he choked on a sob as his soul spasmed against his chest. Each breath was suffocating and filled with dust, coating his bones from the inside out and sticking to him in a way that made him feel sick.

“I didn’t want this,” Killer repeated, like a plea. “What did I do wrong?”

It ran deeper than a slash across the chest and bones crumbling between his fingers, blood painting his sweater bright red. It must have. It must have been more than the final blow.

“I– I fucked up somehow,” he wheezed. “If I just knew how, I… I could have done better. Should have done better. Then, maybe…”

“There’s no point in trying to fix it now,” Nightmare chided, with a subtle gentleness that Killer might not have recognised if not for the tenderness of the hand that pressed between his shoulder blades reassuringly. “You’re agonising over your relationship with a corpse. It cannot hear your apologies.” A beat. “Although, perhaps, it wouldn’t matter even if it could.”

Sockets squeezing shut, Killer bit back a wail. His knuckles ached from the force with which he clung to the scarf, and the soreness extended to his chest, right where his soul sat. “I hurt him,” he said. “He’s gone.” 

All at once, he sat up, and Nightmare’s hand darted away in surprise, cyan socket wide. Dust speckled the dark streaks across Killer’s cheeks and clung to the bone where he’d feverishly pressed his skull against the pile, as if it might feel his touch and spring back to life. Dull, pale eyelights trembled in his sockets, and the expression of pity before him was blurry and unclear, though, something about that was a mercy. 

At the thought, Killer scrubbed at his sockets furiously, trying to deny himself the grace he didn’t deserve. The moment his vision cleared, however, it was blurred again by tears. Idly, he found himself thankful for the threadbare cloth in his hands, without which his fingers would have found their way to his soul and tried to pry the feelings out themselves; another mercy he refused to indulge.

“He’s gone,” Killer repeated. “I was in love with him. And, now, he’s gone, and it’s my fault. I hurt him.”

Through fuzzy vision, Killer watched Nightmare bare his teeth; it could have been a snarl, or maybe a grimace. “You’ll live.”

“I don’t want to live,” he wailed, unable to stop himself. He blinked, and tar-like tears smeared down his cheeks. They dropped down to his chin, then fell into his lap, and a choked sound of anguish left him as he realised the scarf was stained with them. The damage was done, though, and he sobbed louder as he pressed the cloth to his face. His words were muffled through the barrier, “I loved him. I loved him. Why did I hurt him? Why did he hurt me?”

“The multiverse is cruel,” Nightmare said, “and we are but inhabitants of it, carefully crafted to perpetuate its cruelty. You asked too much when you sought out happiness.”

“Then,” he breathed, pulling himself together long enough to speak, “what was I supposed to do?”

“You shouldn’t have fallen in love,” came the answer, simply. “Certainly, not you. Certainly, not with someone like him.”

His breath faltered once more, and something giddy made his soul tremble. A soft rattling emanated throughout his bones, nausea making some deep, magic based part of him broil and burn. He made a sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sob, and held the scarf over his eyes as if going blind to the situation would make it disappear. “Maybe I deserve everything he ever did.”

With a huff that might have been laughter, Nightmare hummed, “Maybe you do.” He gestured to the messy pile of dust – the thin fabric of the scarf easily showing the shifting shadows – and Killer shuddered at the reminder. “And, maybe he did, too.”

At the notion, Killer’s shoulders sagged, and, tiredly, he shook his head. “Not him,” he whispered, reverent. “Never him.”

Again, came that laugh, and there was something frustrated in its bitter tones. “Oh, what a pedestal you’ve placed him on,” he drawled.

“Why don’t you care?” Killer spat, and anger sparked alongside despair like a match to gasoline. All of the exhaustion from before was driven away, and fevered fury took its place. His soul spasmed painfully as he finally yanked the scarf back down to face reality head on, staring Nightmare in the eye with a strange sort of determination to condemn himself. “He was yours, just as I am. Why don’t you care that he’s gone? Why don’t you care what I did to him?”

Refusing the vitriol that he’d been met with, Nightmare’s tone remained carefully even. “And, forget what he did to you?” His head tilted to the side curiously, and he regarded Killer’s crime with indifference. “You’re hardly being fair. It’s not as if you haven’t killed others for much less. It’s not as if he’s not just as replaceable as you.”

Tiredness returned, like a weight in his bones or a fist around his soul, making him wilt. Unconsciously, he leaned towards his king, and Nightmare mercifully closed the distance between them, allowing Killer’s skull to rest against his shoulder. Shame burned alongside misery as he found miniscule comfort in the familiar worthlessness. “No. He was different. He tried,” he mumbled. Then, insistently, “He tried, and he loved me. Who else has ever done that? For me? I don’t deserve it.”

“And, yet, it wasn’t enough,” Nightmare replied, and Killer couldn’t help but cringe at the callousness.

“Well, it should have been,” he persisted. “It should have been enough for me.”

“And, yet,” he repeated, “it wasn’t.”

Scoffing, Killer shifted, pulling his knees up to his chest. He hoped that he looked as small as he felt. “Gee, thanks, Nightmare,” he murmured. “Like I wasn’t already feeling like a piece of shit.” Then, with another scoff and marked bitterness, “I mean– Shit, it’s not even like I was asking for very much, right? Or– Or, I was, I guess, but it shouldn’t be so hard… right? How many people are there in the multiverse that have perfectly healthy relationships? Where they feel like people? Why not me?”

He ran a hand over his skull with an exasperated laugh, pressing his forehead against his knees. “I mean, I know why not. I’m not a person, but is it so much to ask that someone pretends? That… That I don’t fuck everything up without even trying? That I don’t deserve to be hurt?” he hissed, sharply. “That I don’t earn mistreatment simply by being?”

Thick, black rivulets of determination fell from his sockets, and Killer raised his head once more, meeting the chilling cyan of Nightmare’s gaze and feeling an awful lot like he was asking for answers he didn’t really want. “He was trying, Night. I know he was. I saw it,” he insisted, though his words grew soft as his shoulders slumped forward again. “What does it say about me that even when someone is trying not to hurt me, I make them do it anyway? Without even meaning to?” 

He cringed, the tips of his fingers pressing into his bone with a satisfying sting. “And, then, I hurt them back. God, like I don’t deserve it when they do it, right? Like– Like they did?” His gaze went back to the pile of dust. “Like he did? I didn’t want to hurt him. I didn’t, but I did it anyway, knowing it would hurt, because I’m so selfish that I wanted it to stop hurting me. Like it would ever stop hurting, even if he was gone.”

Finally, Killer fell silent, with a shrug that he could only hope would communicate everything he could no longer force past the lump in his throat and the way his soul wobbled painfully in front of his chest, fighting to make him feel all of the emotions he’d crushed down and bottled up for so long. His sockets burned unpleasantly, but he didn’t dare blink, afraid that the motion would start up a sickening sort of sobbing that he wouldn’t be able to stop until he passed out or died. An unfitting way to go for someone like him; it would hurt, but not enough; never enough, when wallowing in his own self-pity.

When he looked up, he was met with the scrutinising glare of Nightmare’s eyelight, and he felt himself unconsciously straighten, as if that would make him appear any less pathetic.

“Do you know what I think?” Nightmare began, haltingly. “I think… you’re reading too much into the actions of someone who was just as broken as you. Regardless of his intentions, he hurt you, and, now, you’ve hurt him. And, the worst part?” he hummed, almost pleasantly. “It was entirely inevitable. You shouldn’t have fallen in love, Killer.”

Not trusting himself enough to speak, all he could do was nod.

“Pick up the dust of your ruined relationship,” Nightmare continued, and he gently knocked Killer’s skull away from his shoulder as he urged him towards the scattered pile. “Store it away somewhere that you won’t forget; close to your heart, but not in it. Then, move on. There’s nothing more you can do now but that.”

Shaking eyelights, darting from the dust to the tattered scarf gripped between his fingers, stared down at the macabre display of an end that was, in many ways, poetry; poetry of insult. He swallowed his agony. “Will that make it stop hurting?”

Without looking up, Killer could feel the way that Nightmare regarded him, somewhere between disdain and pity. “No,” he said. “But, it’s a start.”

Another dust filled urn on the mantel, each gathering a thin layer of grime that dulls the shine of their golden casket with time. This one would remain golden for a while, like the last, marred by nothing but fingerprints from when he would take it from its place and hold it in his arms. But, eventually, it, too, would lose its beckoning lustre, and its tarnish would mean healing.

Another dust filled urn on the mantel, and here’s to many more.

[another-whump-sideblog]

Jane's Pets Chapter 97: Miracle (Season Finale)

TWs in tags

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Puppy regrets nodding about Bunny killing Master almost immediately after she does it. This is what anger does, makes her act irrationally in ways that will get others hurt. She shouldn't have encouraged him, it can only make things worse.

She shakes her head immediately after she nods, but Bunny doesn't seem nearly as impacted by that as he was by her nod.

Master lets her and Bunny bring Kitty upstairs and take care of them. They’re hardly injured at all. Just some acid burns on their toes. It’ll make it hard to walk, but Puppy won’t mind helping.

They’re really out of it, so she and Bunny get them set up all cozy on the couch with some snacks.

“I’m sorry.” Bunny whispers over and over to them. “I’m so sorry, I won’t let this happen ever again.”

After Kitty’s settled in, Bunny pulls Puppy aside.

“I think you’re really brave, you know. And strong. And I want you to know I love you no matter what happens.”

He's going to do something really stupid. That's the only reason he'd say that.

Her worry must be visible on her face, because Bunny looks sad.

"It's all going to be okay." He hugs her tightly, then runs off to his room. He can't use his hands, so hopefully he won't be able to do anything too stupid…

She really doesn't want to have to watch him get his hands and tongue cut off. She should supervise him, just to make sure he didn't find a way to cast without hands, but Kitty also needs supervision.

She thinks that if Kitty tries to get themself hurt, she'd be able to stop them, but she's not sure about Bunny. So she stays in the living room where she knows she can be useful, as much as leaving Bunny to his own devices pains her.

~~

You've just had the most wonderful idea.

Everything has magic in it, first of all. Barron (you'll just have to push through the discomfort and think about it) and its books tended to only use twigs, leaves, and rocks, but theoretically anything could be used to cast, especially if it's less refined and closer to nature. And Puppy communicated to you that Jane's blood is important… it only makes sense to use that to cast. You're a genius!

If you manage to kill her, you probably won't be able to cast anymore, but you're okay with that. Magic no longer existing is a small price to pay in order to be free of Jane.

Oh, does that have something to do with how she's not usually affected by magic? If she was made immortal by the same thing that made magic possible, it doesn't seem too crazy to think she wouldn't be impacted by magic in the same way everything else is…

Wait. Wait wait wait wait- her blood has to do with her immortality. Her immortality has to do with the creation of magic, which means that her immortality (and therefore blood) is connected to why magic doesn't work on her the same way. So maybe, if she had enough normal blood in her body… magic might work normally on her, and she might be able to die!

"Jane! Jane! I have an idea on how to kill you! Jane!"

Jane appears sitting on your bed. "My stupid Bunny has an idea? Don't hurt yourself."

"Shut up. Have you ever tried to replace your blood with a mortal's?"

"Yes. Do you really think no one's thought of that before you?"

That's a bit demoralizing, but you continue. "Have you ever had someone cast magic on you while there was mortal blood in you? Oh, oh! And had someone cast using your blood, at the same time? So like, there's a spell on the normal blood and a spell on the immortal blood?"

Jane blinks. "I… not at the same time…" She regains her composure swiftly. "But I have tried those separately. Why would doing them at the same time work?"

You've got her. There's no way she won't want to try. "Well it would probably be impossible to replace all your blood with mortal blood, so it makes sense why that one wouldn't work on its own. As for using your blood to cast… well, did it have any effect when you tried it on its own? Or did nothing happen at all, like when I tried to make you intangible?"

"Nothing happened." Jane is sounding more and more annoyed.

"What spells did you try? I guess that since your blood works different it wouldn't be able to cast the same things the same way…"

"...What makes you so sure that my blood works different?"

Shit, you don't want to get Puppy in trouble. "It doesn't matter. What spells did you try?"

She rolls her eyes, but luckily she doesn't seem to care enough to push it. Maybe she already knew, or figured it out (did you ask Puppy while Jane could've been listening? You can't remember). "Any spell that had even a tiny chance of killing me."

"Hmm… and you cast it? Or did someone else?"

"Someone else. I can't cast, at least not the way mages can. Which I know because I tried, many times."

Oh, it's a good thing you asked, since she talks about it saying 'I' instead of 'we.' You suppose it does make sense for her to think about mortals that helped her in the past as just extensions of herself.

Another idea is starting to form. You've been forcing yourself to think about Barron a lot lately, and its death (along with the others') is fresh in your mind after thinking Kitty was dead. You think 'what would Barron do?' You think about your first time meeting it. 

"Well… your blood, uh, makes more of itself only while it's inside your body, right? So maybe using it to cast would only work if it was still inside your body? I could… I could carve a rune into a rock, then like… cut you open and put it inside you and cast, so that it would have the normal magic of the rock and the weird magic of your blood." Man, this is a pretty gory conversation… Living here has really desensitized you.

Jane tilts her head to the side. "...worth a shot."

"Wha- you've never tried that before?" You were expecting to have to give more justifications as to why it would be different this time.

"I have reason to believe my blood maintains its properties while it's outside my body, but you're right that it only replicates while it's in my veins. So it's worth a shot, even if nothing comes of it. Come downstairs."

Jane vanishes.

This could go very, very bad, but you leave your room and go down the stairs to the basement anyway, purposefully avoiding looking at Puppy and Kitty's reactions.

Jane is setting up some kind of scary looking contraption. You instinctually step back when you see it.

"Relax, it's not for you. You've seen how instantaneous my healing is, this is to hold my arm open while you… hey, your hands are still broken! Go grab Kitty and Puppy, you can instruct them on how to carve your runes or whatever. That works out better anyway, I'd have to cut off your hands if you did it yourself, or no one would believe my threats again."

You run back upstairs. You can't stop the smile starting to form on your face. This might work. This might actually work! Even Jane thinks it might work!

"You guys need to come downstairs. Not for a punishment! Probably. I suggested a way to maybe kill Jane and she agreed! But I need your help cause I can't use my hands right now. Um, Puppy, could you help me get supplies from my room?"

She looks skeptical, but follows anyway. Kitty wordlessly goes down the stairs into the basement, walking on their heels.

You direct Puppy on what materials to grab, and then you and her go down into the basement too.

Jane is sitting in a chair that wasn't there before, with the scary contraption beside her. "Alright! Tell them what to do. You two, do what Bunny says for now."

You take a moment to gather your thoughts. Your plan is complicated, so you're afraid you'll miss a step. 

You direct Puppy on what rune to draw on a leaf (you've decided engraving a rock would take too long) and have tell Kitty how to cast a healing spell with the stuff you've already got prepared. Their magic makes you taste sour candy.

You feel the bones in your hands mend. "Perfect, thank you Kitty. First I want to try casting with your blood. I want to see if it can do things like healing and teleporting, since those are the magic things you can do."

Jane scoffs. "My magic doesn't heal me. It keeps me in the state I was right before- it keeps me in this specific state. To call any of my powers healing is ridiculous, the entire point is for me to suffer."

You gasp. She said that so casually, like it wasn't the last piece of the puzzle. Has she said that before? Maybe she has, and you didn't realize the importance.

She's tried so many different ways to kill herself. If the purpose of her magic isn't to make people miserable, what could it possibly be?

Magic responds strongly to intention. Her blood, her magic… what if it only works if the end result is more suffering? 

Okay, drop the replacing some of her blood with yours idea. You just need her blood. "Do you have, like, a bloodbag in your void?"

"I have everything in my void." Jane sets up a blood draw quickly herself. "Will that be enough?"

You nod. You shouldn't need much at all. You know why using her blood to cast didn't work when she tried it before…

Well, you don't know. Which is why this first step is important. You set the blood bag aside. "Puppy, hand me that leaf you drew on like I told you."

She hands you the leaf, her expression unreadable.

Jane laughs. "You know that if this doesn't kill me I'll have to cut off your hands and tongue, right? Since you're casting it yourself."

"Yep." You examine Jane's contraption. "So how does this work?"

"It'll cut and hold the flesh open while you stick the leaf in there. You'll have to do it as fast as possible. Are you ready?" She puts her arm in the contraption and holds down a lever.

You position the leaf right above where it looks like the contraption will cut. "Ready."

She releases the lever and the contraption slices and pulls, ripping skin and then muscle and holding the rip open. You can see the flesh trying to reunite, straining against the contraption. Ew. Jane doesn't flinch.

You thrust the leaf forward into the wound (ew ew ew ew) and chant the spell words, then yank your hand away and pull the contraption off. Her skin mends around the leaf.

Magic responds to intention. Usually that means that it doesn't work unless you have the right intentions, but it can benefit you too. You want the force-field to hold her in place while leaving a hole for magic to get through, and it does. Instead of being a sphere around her, it's shaped the same as her so that she can't move, with a hole over her chest.

"...why did you do that?" Jane looks more confused than anything.

She teleports, but once she reappears across the room the force-field is still around her. It worked! You can't cast spells on her, but you can cast spells on the area around her, and since the leaf's inside her it will move with her, so the spell is always on the area around her! And she can't teleport it out, and she can't cut it out because she can't move her arms. It really worked! So long as you keep the spell up, she won't be able to hurt anyone.

You watch as the realization dawns on her. "Ha ha. So clever. Except the spell will still only work until you lose focus, and with your brain damage I doubt I'll have to wait long… And if I told my Puppy to attack you, she would, and you'd lose focus even faster."

"I know. I just needed… insurance. I need you to not be able to hurt anyone while I try this. Sit back down, I think my idea will work."

She appears back in the chair and rolls her eyes. You pick the blood bag back up.

"Puppy… I need you to cast this spell for me. You… her magic, it only causes suffering right?"

She nods hesitantly.

"That's it's purpose?"

She nods again, and you feel giddy. You were right! Puppy confirmed it!

"So if we want to cast with her blood, it has to be to cause suffering. And I think… you're the only one who can try to kill Jane and see it as a cause of suffering. I think that you're the only one here who's even capable of processing Jane's death as a bad thing." You're not positive, but based on the way she acts around Jane, and some of the things that Kitty's told you… it's possible. Her hatred for Jane doesn't seem to be as strong as yours and Kitty's, at the very least.

Tears well up in her eyes, and she nods slowly.

You hand her the blood bag. "Okay, I need you to, like, fingerpaint with the blood." You describe the rune to her and she dutifully paints it on the floor.

"And then… you need to say the spell words." There are probably other ways to cast without the ability to speak, but you don't know them.

Jane has been watching silently, but when Puppy looks at her pleadingly she speaks up. "I'm not going to give you permission to speak. If you actually think this is going to work, you don't need my permission, because I won't be able to punish you. And if you don't think it'll work… you have no reason to do it."

Tears stream down Puppy's face. You don't know what to do– if it doesn't work, you don't want Puppy getting hurt because of you.

Kitty has been mostly quiet, but now they speak up. "...Puppy. You've got this. If it doesn't work… we'll keep trying, and she won't be able to hurt you– or anyone, because of the forcefield. And… if your worry is about us getting hurt… we're willing to risk that. Right, Bunny?"

"Right."

"Please, Puppy… I can't do this anymore. I can't– I wouldn't be able to go on knowing that we had a chance and we didn't take it. Please."

Puppy wipes her eyes, unclips and removes her muzzle, and hesitantly takes off her collar. Jane doesn't say anything.

You quickly tell her the spell words, and she repeats them. Her tears mix with the blood on the ground.

When she's finished, Jane goes unnaturally still. Her eyes lose focus. Despite how hopeful you were, your first thought is oh, she's fucking with us.

If it worked… she shouldn't be able to heal (or whatever she wants to call it) anymore, right?

You take one of the many knives laid out in the basement and drive it through the hole in the forcefield, into her chest, then pull it out. The wound doesn't heal.

"Guys- guys!" You drop the forcefield and slit her throat. It bleeds and it keeps bleeding and there's not even the slightest pull bringing the flesh back together.

"She's dead. Jane is dead. She's- she's-"

It doesn't feel all that different to when you killed other people under her orders. You feel kind of… numb. Everything feels too quiet. You've daydreamed about this for so long, but you don't feel triumphant like you expected. Just… tired.

And you always pictured dying right after. Sacrificing your and Jane's life for Puppy and Kitty's. But you're alive. You're alive and Jane is dead.

A/N: Everything so far has built up to this... I hope it's at least a little good! Let me know if I should tag anything else, or if you want to be added to or removed from the tag list! Season 4 will begin April 22nd at 5:00PM EST.

Tag list: @eatyourdamnpears @whump-in-the-closet @scp-1296 @thecosmicmap @quins-whump-stuff

@fuckcapitalismasshole

[wayward-sherlock]

goodbye stranger.

They’d already made it to the end of the world. There was no point in waiting, not anymore — Will was almost certain that if he waited any longer, the words he wanted to say would be his dying ones, melting on his lips with warm blood and his last breath.

Will loved Mike.

And now he was going to kill him.

will's been taken by vecna. he's killed mike hundreds of times, and he has no idea which one is going to be real.

for @bylerween2023 day 4!

[luna-is-lost]

The Skelebros

[crashingmoons]

Jimmy didn't mean to go back to civilization, all he planned to do was take his dogs and run as far as possible...but he just couldn't leave Scott alone without any warning?

Jimmy had ran away two days ago, and the only thing he'd been thinking about was Scott. He'd betrayed him, he left him to rot.

Jimmy had ran away two days ago, and now he was going back to Rivendale, not to stay, just to say goodbye to Scott...see him one last time.

There is was...an empire covered in blue crystals.

"...Scott!" He called, waiting for an answer...but it didn't come.

"Scott?" He called again. "It's Jimmy!"

Nothing.

He turned from his base and turned the corner. That's when he saw it.

Scott.

Lying in a pool of blood with a sword through his chest.

Jimmy barely noticed Xornoths body. All that was going through his head was 'no'.

"SCOTT!" He yelled and started shaking him, the world hazed. "SCOTT PLEASE."

Nothing happened, and that's when he realised.

This was Jimmy's fault. He was so caught up in his title that he not only destroyed everyone's bases but he brought back Xornoth and killed Scott.

Jimmy killed Scott.

He dropped Scott and just started sobbing on his limp body.

Guilt rushed through his ears.

Guilt and sadness.

He didn't deserve to live. He didn't deserve to live when he killed Scott.

And that's when he spotted the sword.

[bluestrawberrybunny]

To start this post off: I know this seems like a weird crossover fic; HOWEVER, warning before people begin reading: this fic contains major character death, mentions of su*c*de, SA, s*x and s*x work, murder, blood, abandonment, child neglect, child ab*se, and emotional ab*se. If any of these make you uncomfortable, I would suggest finding another fic to read.

While this crossover seems really weird to some readers at a glance, this is a very serious fic that covers the topics mentioned above.

Ok… I am having some issues with the Apprenticeship AU (specifically dealing with writer’s block), but this is an AU and crossover fic I have not been able to stop thinking about. There are planned to be 15 chapters in total. First chapter is out now. It’s something that I really like, and I can’t wait to work on this story moving forward while I figure out how to tell the story I am wanting to with the SMG4 Apprenticeship AU.

So in the meantime, I’m going to be updating this one a lot more frequently during my recovery time from eye surgery, so… yeah.

No, I have no abandoned the Apprenticeship AU (and I am also planning on posting both fics on AO3 eventually, but I was writing them originally on WattPad so… yeah. Give me time to put those on AO3 for those who don’t have WattPad).

Basic rundown of this Space Pirates AU:

Crossover between SMG4, TMNT 2012, BABQFTIM (only Quest!Cuphead and Quest!Mugman are in this fic tho and no I do not support the original AU’s creator), Cry of Fear, Borderlands, and my OCs in a scenario inspired by the show Firefly.

This takes place during TMNT 2012 Season 4, when the group is in space (duh). This AU deals with very difficult topics, especially when regarding how I feel about a certain character from the 2012 series *cough* April *cough* and how she was handled, especially with her relationship to other characters, especially when one of the characters canonically died on screen from her hand.

Basically, this is a “What-If” scenario with a lot of angst, but also a fun found family story surrounding our lovely pirate crew, as well as a fun twist that is revealed at the end of the first chapter and will be explained more throughout the fic.

Again, I know this seems like it would be a crack fic, but it is taken seriously and I am actually taking this story seriously. To be honest, if this story wasn’t so rooted in the story of TMNT 2012 season 4, I would likely take this and make it its own thing. However, I do hope people do give this fic a shot (unless any of the topics I mentioned at the very top of this post make you uncomfortable, in which case I am perfectly fine with you skipping this one for your own mental health).

So… yeah. This is not a crack fic. It’s just me telling a story with a bunch of different characters from different continuities as if they’re all from the same one.

[skillzissue]

TW//IMPLIED SIBLING DEATH

(Take care of yourselves okay!!! Forehead kithes <3)

…

Love you guys MUAH <333 (skips away as if I didn’t just post soul crushing angst)

[sotvtaughtmehowtofeel]

Febuwhump Day 1: Helpless

Fandom: Prospect (2018)

Relationship: Cee and Ezra

WC: 447

Summary: Cee and Ezra fight for their lives on a spaceship.

[ditzydreamsss]

Little Devil Left Alone (Crimeboys)

Hey guys! Want angst? No? Well that sucks! Here you go :] (There's a drabble the second half I'm quite proud of)

warnings: death, anxiety, hallucinations, major character death(s)

TITLE: Little Devil Left Alone SETTING: hybrids au IDEA:

-- Wilbur has hanahaki, and Tommy doesn't know what that is. He just knows that whenever Wil visits from his trips (it would last a week to months) he comes back with pretty flowers. Tommy loves WIlbur's visits. Then the number of flowers Wilbur brings increases. Until one day, Wilbur doesn't come back. No one tells Tommy anything. Tommy is still waiting for Wilbur's return because he always returns, until one day, someone tells him the news.

-- "Tommy, Wilbur Soot died four years ago."

-- Then Tommy sets off, following the trail of blue orchids, refusing to believe that his brother is dead. He finds Wilbur's two best friends, Quackity and Slime who are living in Las Nevadas. Where Tommy almost gets dragged away, but Quackity himself shows up to stop the guards from throwing Tommy out when Tommy mentions Wilbur. Quackity has to explain to Tommy what hanahaki is. Tommy passive-agressively shoves the chair he's sitting on and runs out after the explanation.

-- Tommy runs and barely stops until he's far away from the city. He runs into a resting place of Wilbur. Then his denial breaks.

-- His child self remembers when Wilbur arrived, it was just all happiness and Wilbur happily gifting Tommy flowers and everyone laughing. But really, Wilbur was obviously sick. He now remembers Wilbur pretending to be magic whenever a flower came up and hiding his pain. His tears. Nights in the house Tommy hears coughing and weeping. The night he heard Wilbur breaking his guitar into pieces. A lot of swearing, then apologizing. Arguments. More memories with flowers.

-- Until Tommy realizes he's drowning in flowers. But it can't be possible. Tommy doesn't love anybody romantically. The person he loved the most, his brother, is dead.

-- Tommy lets himself drown in flowers. Blue orchids cover his vision.

--drabble-- [more death(?) warning. this are were most of the warnings comes in.]

His whole body was consumed by the blue flowers. It entered his lungs and all Tommy could see was blue- ghostly vines tearing his body from the inside, his horns softly falling to join the mass of petals… His hands weren't his. A blue snake made its way to wipe his tears, and everything was blurry but his tears were blue orchids, they just kept appearing and appearing and Tommy felt like he dissolved so why could he still feel the nightmare happening around him? His body belonged to the flowers now, but his consciousness was still there and he could feel splinters of the guitar digging into his skin but he couldn't feel it, he could see he was bleeding blue, and-

and…

this was all a nightmare, right?

it has to be. Please, say it's all a nightmare. Please say it's just all a dream. Please, if there is anyone out there-

CRASH.

See, Tommy could hear Wilbur calling to him now! He could feel his brother's arms around him, giving him a bear hug. Squeezing the life out of him. He smelled so familiar, so safe. He was with Wilby now. He was safe. He was safe. The little devil wasn't alone anymore.

Tommy heard someone scream.

----------

So what happened at the end: The person screaming is Tommy. He imagined all the flowers (and guitar splinters) in his breakdown. Tommy possibly (if you want to go down the gruesome path), smashed his head by himself with a rock to attempt to free himself from the pain of the memories. Whether he lives and arrives at the acceptance stage, or dies and reunited with his brother, is a choice to be made by the reader.

Maybe Phil or Techno finds Tommy.

ART IS NOT BY ME!!!!

i found it on pinterest :( one big bad thing about that. idk who to credit sob.

[chaosmuffinwrites]

You can see...

This was a short horror story I wrote several years back. I had found a prompt on pinterest and decided to write the story in my notes app. Last year, I changed some things, and this is the current product! Story is under the cut. :]

Tw: Gore, body horror, major character death, suicide.

Darkness. Deep, drowning darkness. How long has it been like this? Who knows. Time doesn’t matter anymore. The cause? The Great Blinding. The catastrophic event that caused the entirety of humanity to lose their outlook on the world. To lose all sense of judgment on looks. To lose the ability to see. 

I gave up on leaving my house. I stay inside where the noises of people losing their minds can’t touch me. I can’t bear to hear the sickening splat of people who gave up. I don’t want that to become me. I’m living, and I won’t walk the same path that the rest of my family did. 

My family used to be a lot full of happiness and joy. Now, their corpses lay to rot on the cobble path that hasn’t been repaired in who knows how long. 

I left my house today. The silence was driving me near the edge. I couldn’t stand it anymore. Then, the noise I hated hearing, resounded louder than I’ve ever heard before. 

Light. Bright, blinding light. How long has it been like this? For just a few seconds. The cause? Who knows. It doesn’t matter. 

Walking into a room, I felt shivers roll down my spine. Piles of dead flesh littered the floor. Something skitters across the room. The walls, ceiling and every other surface was covered with a sticky red substance and the same message: DON’T TELL THEM YOU CAN SEE. 

Sticky... Red... Blood? Blood… BLOOD! It was dripping from the ceiling, and the stench of death hung in the air, making me nauseous. I need air.  

Stumbling outside to get some oxygen, I ran into a person. I started to apologize; 

“Hey! Sorry for that! Lovely day we have, yeah? Beautiful blue sky, and clouds like I’ve never seen before!” The person stops walking, reciting words as if they were on an intercom; 

“See? You can’t see, can you?”  

“Why, yes! I can see!” 

“Only the dead can see.” The dead? I’m not dead, am I? The person turns, revealing themself to have a set of deep, dead eyes. Blacker than The Blindness. It then began to morph and change, becoming this tall, bone white creature with needles for fingers. The creature’s jaw unhinges, and it projects a hideous screech. 

I stumble backwards, and trip. When I looked back upon what I tripped on, I saw my dead body. Dead like the rest. The rest of the jumpers. All of their bodies left to rot on the roads. My stomach turns, twisting, till all my entrails rush onto the ground. I stare in horror at the scene that plays before me. 

“You did the one thing you weren’t supposed to do. You told me you could see.” 

[thesoulesscollection]

Save Me, Will You?

I have a request.

How about a story about Dave after becoming a toppat is soon forced to fight his former friend Rupert, which will most likely end with one of them dying. He's hesitant to do this, and the feelings are mutual. I'm okay with a happy, bittersweet, or sad ending for this one.

Tw/Tags: Heavy Angst, Betrayal, Hurt/Little To No Comfort, Whump, Major Character Death, & Bitterly Sad Ending. 

This one-shot was both a lot of fun to do and a struggle at the same time. But again I had fun nonetheless and I'm always welcomed to take in requests 

With a weakened attempt to throw a punch at his attacker, Dave would find himself thrown to the ground just seconds later with a bone cluttering thump. 

"You don't have to do this. Please, I can save you" The man, Rupert, his old friend turned mortal enemy, pleads with him. 

"S-s… Save me from what?" Dave coughs in his hand. Cautiously, not bothering to get up yet. "I don't need saving" 

"Yes. You do. Please. Look at what they did to you" 

Of course, he did look different from the time his friend last saw him years ago but that can hardly be a bad thing here. In actuality, it was a good thing. He never felt more alive and for once, in his miserable life didn't express guilt over it. 

"I know what they did to me" Dave replies, as he regains the confidence in his words when he eyes the other man. "And for your record, I'm fine with it, happy as a clam actually. I agreed to join them" 

The hurt on Rupert's face would've made his will crumble apart however Dave stayed firm and adamant, continuing on, "How can I not when I was left behind. Forgotten about and told I was useless when I was there"  

Whatever snapped in Rupert got the soldier to focus directly on him, seething anger and pride getting the better of him. 

Like always the man doesn't know when to quit without fail, Dave silently mused. 

"I never forgot about you! I-I kept on fighting for you when no one else would!" Rupert argued. 

"You say that now. But where was that fight? The fire in your stomach back then? When I was being pushed around constantly on the force and where were you when I got fired? Then at that lousy job at the museum. You never bothered to contact me" 

As Dave picks himself up from the floor, he is finally able to speak his mind, it's clear, blunt, and it does the great trick, cutting through the unashamed bullshit. Despite the sharp turn in events, not the type to scold, or get ahead of himself, once more he finds enjoyment in the power given. If in his old friend's eyes he is a husk to who he once was that was quite fine by him. While he dusted off the musky grime got a better look at the man, furthermore he saw the regretful anguish. 

"... I tried…" 

"But it wasn't enough" Dave persists, taking a step forward, an urge he never experienced taking the lead. Smoothing out his fine, dark gray suit, afterwards he waves his hands in indignation. "You should've tried years ago. When I needed you the most. I cared about you yet you never said or did the same for me. Why should I hold onto that hope like you claim?" 

"Well, what do you think I'm trying to do now, then?!" Rupert hissed in reply, argumentative in the face of danger. "I tried, I really did and still do. That's why I'm here. To find you and now that I did. I'm taking you with me. They must've brainwashed you or something! I'm here to help" 

"They didn't do such a thing and I don't need your help. You can't and will not act out on a holier-than-thou savior complex either" 

Dave Panpa needed no saving by anyone; he was a grown man, truth be told, capable in making his own decisions, who somehow had the power all along to pave a road for him alone. He's more than happy with the Toppats, a place that he finally belongs in and brings comfort. Nothing was going to change that in the slightest.

Not even his best friend. The man is as stubborn as the first day they met. 

"... If you won't let me help you and you're going to be like this… Then I'll just have to arrest you…" 

Raised a brow in skepticism Dave shook his head until hand firmly stopped him, grabbing at his arm. "Go ahead, I want you to know it won't end well" Slowly he turned to face the other, a vague threatening suggestion slips out his thin lips. "Even if you had the guts to arrest me anyways" He won't back down nor does he think Rupert would neither. So he's quick to land a fist squarely at the soldier's jaw, causing the man to stumble backwards, nearly onto his ass. A rough hand clasped on a scruffy face, literal agony washes over the shorter man and had looked over in shock.

"Y-you... You!" 

Dave hadn't gone too far.

Soon they were fighting again, but this turned physical with no restraint. Unlike his past self, he now had plenty of experience. He won't let it slide, able to land a couple punches along in some kicks thrown in the mix. Until he got the upperhand where Rupert harshly landed on his back. The soldier's weapon is swept a few feet away from reach whereas his is tight in hand. 

Surprisingly, his hand began to shake, in a sudden unwilling to move and pull the fated trigger when aimed at the man. 

"You. Y-you won't shoot me, would you?" 

In his hot shame, a part in his heart couldn’t and longed to be what they once were that Dave acknowledges is long gone, "Yes. If it means getting to be free" 

"You can't. Like you said, I know you better then anyone" Rupert didn't move an inch, he instead deciding to stay put, using his arms to push up. Stern eyes glares into his soul, pratically begs for a second chance, it was yet another weak attempt to help, "Please... Let me help yo-"

Bang! 

Until his shame, as well, as other emotions like guilt dissipates. He witnessed the dusty ash stains his clammy hand holding the gun, rests at his side. Dave breaths in deep then exhales, his clean hand dutifully wipes away the beads of disgusting sweat. In his caution and curiosity, he stares at the blood pooling around the fallen man's head. 

He shouldn't feel remorse. Rather he cracked a broken smile, hand covered up his stricken face, and fresh tears drips. He already saved himself, didn't he? So why doesn't he feel good? 

'I should feel happy, shouldn't I?'