#when i tell you i felt visceral disgust

[amandabe11man]

guys call 112 they rebooted and uglified mumfie too

[tgcg]

candid detail. my biggest project so far

hey happy new year

CG: DAVE?

TG: yeah?

CG: SOMETHING’S KIND OF FUCKING ME UP RIGHT NOW AND I NEED TO TELL YOU SPECIFICALLY ABOUT IT IN CANDID DETAIL.

TG: oh shit

===

TG: yeah whats up

TG: not too often i get to be the sole audience to karkats grievances

CG: PFF, BULLSHIT. YOU'RE PRIVY TO WAY MORE ABOUT MY GRIEVANCES THAN BASICALLY ANY OF MY SURVIVING AND PRESENT FRIENDS, BY A SIGNIFICANT MARGIN, AND YOU KNOW IT.

TG: yeah and im boutta add another im like broses up on that hill bundled up in a long ass list of things that make the homies upset

TG: lay it on me

===

CG: OKAY. SO.

…

CG: I’M KIND OF THINKING ABOUT JUST. US AND OUR BRO-DOM.

===

TG: oh

CG: LET ME FINISH.

CG: ALL THIS TIME I’VE BEEN FUCKING FORCED TO SPEND IN THE DREAM BUBBLES MADE ME REALISE SOMETHING, AND THAT’S THAT…

===

CG: THIS IS KIND OF RARE, RIGHT?

TG: what

TG: us

CG: YEAH! LIKE… THERE’S SO MANY THANKFULLY DEAD KARKATS I’VE HAD THE INSURMOUNTABLE GODDAMN DISPLEASURE OF FAILING TO AVOID THAT DON’T LIKE YOU, BARELY MET YOU, OR EVEN JUST DON’T CARE ABOUT YOU.

===

CG: IT’S THE RARE AMBIVALENCE THAT REALLY GETS TO ME. I ABSOLUTELY UNDERSTAND A TIMELINE’S KARKAT FIRMLY DECIDING THAT THEY HATE YOUR ASS. NON-ROMANTICALLY I MEAN. THAT HAS BEEN ME, FOR FUCK’S SAKE. BUT THERE WAS NEVER, EVER!!! A POINT WHERE I JUST FELT NOTHING ABOUT YOU AT ALL.

CG: EVEN WHEN I INITIALLY HAD THE MISFORTUNE OF SEEING YOUR DOUCHEBAG SPECTACLES YOU GOT FROM YOUR BRO ON THE SCREEN, I AT LEAST HAD A STARTER DISH OF SKEWERED CONTEMPT TO WHET MY APPETITE. IT’S IMPOSSIBLE TO IMAGINE NOT FEELING ONE WAY OR ANOTHER ABOUT YOU.

===

CG: ONE TIME I MENTIONED YOU IN THE MIDDLE OF A THREE-WAY ARGUMENT AND ONE OF THE OTHER KARKATS SAID "WHO?"

CG: "WHO?"!!!!

TG: now thats fucked up

CG: IT IS! AND THAT'S WHAT MADE ME FIRST REALISE THAT NOT EVERY KARKAT IS GETTING TO HANG OUT WITH EVERY DAVE, AND VICE VERSA. AND THIS IS GOING TO SOUND LAME AS SHIT IN A WAY THAT I’LL NEVER EVER LIVE DOWN, BUT. I FEEL BAD FOR THEM ABOUT IT! YOU KNOW?

===

TG: well you always feel bad about around and towards other yous so thats

TG: wait

TG: is or is not the nature of this moment of self-pity fuelled by malice anger disgust or any similar terms slash phrases

CG: I MEAN, FOR ONCE? DON’T GET ME WRONG, THE MALICE ANGER DISGUST ET CETERA IS STILL THOROUGHLY PERMEATING THE WHOLE ORDEAL. THE DAY I LOSE CONTEMPT FOR MY ALTERNATE SELVES IS THE DAY I GET TAKEN OUT BACK AND PUT DOWN LIKE THE LAME HOOFBEAST I’VE ALWAYS DREAMT OF BEING. BUT…

CG: I ACTUALLY JUST FEEL SAD FOR THEM, STRAIGHT UP. INDEPENDENT FROM TERMS PREVIOUSLY MENTIONED.

===

TG: damn

CG: AND THAT FEELS INCREDIBLY WEIRD TOO. I CAN’T EVEN ARGUE WITH THEM ABOUT IT, IT JUST MAKES ME FEEL THIS SHITTY, SHOCKINGLY QUIET… GRIEF? ALMOST? FOR THEM. GENERAL NON-TROLLIAN FEELINGS. AND EXCEPTIONALLY NON-STANDARD IN A KARKAT-TO-KARKAT CONVERSATION, AS YOU MIGHT HAVE GUESSED.

CG: BUT I KNOW IF I TOLD ANY OTHER EMOTIONALLY CONSTIPATED REFLECTION OF MY OWN FECULENT INNER FILTH TO TALK TO YOU, OR EVEN JUST LOOK AT YOU ONE TIME, THEY’D ONLY SEE IT AS ANOTHER PERSONAL AFFRONT. LIKE I JUST TOLD THEM "HEY, SHIT ALL OVER YOUR FROND AND SNIFF IT, IT’LL BE AMAZING JUST TRUST ME, ABSOLUTELY ZERO REASON NOT TO."

===

TG: you come up with the most potent mental images man youre the wordmeister of viscerally gross as hell vocab

CG: THANK YOU.

===

CG: AND LIKE… SHIT, I DEFINITELY WOULD’VE FELT THAT WAY BEFORE I GOT TO KNOW YOU! I UNDERSTAND THE INNER MACHINATIONS OF THOSE IMBECILIC NOOKSTAINS BETTER THAN ANYONE EVER COULD, DESPITE MY BEST EFFORTS.

CG: KARKATS UNIVERSALLY DECIDING THAT THEY JUST CANNOT LIKE YOU ON PRINCIPLE IS A CRISIS OF SHIT HAPPENSTANCES. THE HAPPENINGS ARE ALL OUT OF WACK, COSMICALLY.

CG: LIKE EVERY ME WRITHED OUR WAY OUT OF THE BROODING CAVERNS AND THE FIRST CONSTELLATION WE SAW PEELING THROUGH THE EXOSPHERE, TWINKLING IN THE REFLECTION OF OUR HUGE RED GANDERBULBS, WAS A PAIR OF SHADES GETTING COVERED IN GASOLINE, FOLLOWED BY A CONSTELLATION OF A LIT MATCH.

CG: A SIMPLE EQUATION WITH A VERY SIMPLE SOLUTION.

CG: A SYSTEMIC EPIDEMIC, IF YOU’LL PARDON MY BULLSHIT.

===

TG: it is a goddamn catastrophe sweeping the karkat population

TG: presidents on the headlines trying to get karkats everywhere to stop quarantining their asses and have a real heart to heart among themselves about the issue but they keep isolating anyways

CG: I STILL DON’T KNOW WHAT THE HELL A PRESIDENT IS. YOU’VE FAILED TO DESCRIBE IT AS ANYTHING MORE THAN A POORLY-SELECTED "DUDE CONDESCE" WHO DOES NOTHING PRODUCTIVE AND THEN EITHER DIES OR RUINS EVERYTHING, OR SOME CHAOTIC COMBINATION OF THE TWO.

TG: well that is exactly what it is but wait good point

===

TG: tragedy strikes as the karkat population reveals it doesnt generally know what a president even is so it means jack shit to them that this dude is trying to get their attention

TG: and mr president he is getting voted the fuck out of office over this blunder just an embarrassing display

TG: the public trust has plummeted off the fucking chart and cratered the damn ground like a meteor

TG: or he could be the tenth to die in office yknow there was a pretty big stretch of no in-office deaths til 2009 so maybe some catchup would be good for everyone

CG: ARE YOU TELLING ME YOU WANT TO MAKE ANOTHER PRESIDENT, AND THEN KILL HIM?

TG: not me personally i just wanna be there and see it also is that dream bubble fucking huge or what

TG: must be the size of

===

TG: jupiter

===

TG: look all im saying is the end of the world coincided pretty notably with a dry spell in the presidential kill:death ratio

TG: i was tragically too busy not dying to see obama die live on television when an errant meteor hit the white house that was my one chance

CG: PFFFT.

TG: i want to keep a comically aloof finger on the pulse of the shit but i do not want to be among the shit

TG: but anyways guess its my turn on the pedestal

CG: BE MY FUCKING GUEST.

===

TG: yknow uh im not gonna lie if present me went back to me age thirteen sippin my dubious aj in my pre-apocalyptic layer of hell that was texas and told me

TG: hey that gray text dude is probably gonna be your best friend if you give him a shot yall could be sweet bros in real life itll be awesome

TG: i mean disregarding the fact i already doomed that guy because i dont remember that happening to me

TG: id probably be casting some wicked aspersions on that shit

===

TG: our whole friendship feels like a plot twist to my damn life story

CG: I HEAR YOU.

TG: its like our narratives bumped into each other hard on the street and decided yknow what yeah this pavement is pretty cosy lets talk about your dad

TG: but

===

TG: dont get your think pans too wrapped up in that different timeline stuff

CG: IT’S THINK PAN. SINGULAR. NOBODY HAS MORE THAN ONE THINK PAN, EVER. IT IS A SINGULAR ORGAN. IF YOU WOULD LET ME READ A TROLL BIOLOGY BOOK TO YOU ONE TIME WE’D STOP BUMPING INTO THIS ISSUE.

TG: gotcha and no

CG: OBVIOUSLY.

TG: but anyways dude look

===

TG: i am literally a time dude and i can tell you right now with all the sage wisdome of my knightitudes

TG: not a good way of looking at it

TG: ive met daves that didnt like you either it doesnt affect jack or shit because those daves arent me

TG: like they are in a way but

TG: me and all those other guys spent the whole game honing down these doomed timelines to a fine point and that point has obviously involved a whole lot of hanging out with you

CG: …

===

TG: so

TG: maybe they just missed the point while you and me were on the breaking edge of that shit

TG: we got to the bottom line of it so it doesnt matter yknow

CG: HUH.

===

TG: and i mean plus

===

TG: ive seen a handful of alternate daves and karkats who get along uh great apparently so

TG: yknow

===

CG: WHAT?

TG: you know what i fucking mean im not saying it

CG: ROLLING YOUR SHOULDERS AND SAYING "yknow" GENERALLY DOESN’T CONVEY FUCKING ANYTHING MEANINGFUL IN A CONVERSATION, DAVE.

CG: I’M NOT A PSYCHIC. YOU’RE GOING TO HAVE TO TELL ME WHAT YOU MEAN. IN CANDID DETAIL.

TG: its besides the point anyways

===

TG: the point is its you right here that matters overall and you right here is chilling with me so thats gotta mean at least one or two things

CG: OKAY, OKAY, YEAH… I GET WHAT YOU’RE SAYING. I REALLY DIDN’T THINK ABOUT IT LIKE THAT.

CG: YOU HAVE TO UNDERSTAND BY NOW HOW IT’D BE REALLY FUCKING DIFFICULT FOR ME TO WRAP MY THINK PAN AROUND THE CONCEPT OF ME BEING THE RIGHT VERSION OF ANYTHING.

CG: BUT I FEEL LIKE THE AMOUNT OF TIME WE'VE SPENT TOGETHER CUMULATIVELY IN THIS TIMELINE MAKES UP FOR THE AMOUNT OF DAVES AND KARKATS WHO NEVER SPENT ANY AT ALL, BY AT LEAST TENFOLD.

===

TG: heh yeah

HAHAH.

===

CG: GOD. WHO WOULD’VE GUESSED THAT KARKAT VANTAS WOULD GET TOO FAR INTO HIS OWN THINK PAN ABOUT THIS BULLSHIT, RIGHT?

TG: stop repeating the words think and pan i get it already

CG: ARE YOU SURE? TOTALLY SURE? ABSOLUTELY ASSFUCK CERTAIN OF YOURSELF?

TG: yes dude

CG: ALRIGHT. KEEP IN MIND THIS WILL BE ON THE TEST LATER.

TG: im acing that shit i swear to god youre gonna eat your damn foot

CG: STRUT POD

TG: when i pass that shit to oblivion

TG: youre gonna regret doubting me

CG: OKAY, DAVE. THEN EXPLAIN TO ME WITH ALL YOUR SAGE WISDOME: WHAT IS A "LUMPSQUIRT"? AND REALLY, TAKE YOUR TIME THINKING ABOUT THIS. GOD KNOWS WE'VE GOT MOMENTS A-FUCKING-PLENTY TO SPARE.

TG: as the literal god of time in your local area i sure as hell do

CG: GO ON THEN.

===

TG: …

TG: pass

CG: EXACTLY.

CG: ANYWAYS, I’M STILL GOING TO GO AROUND FEELING ANOTHER LAYER OF PITY FOR THOSE GRAY BULGEMUNCHERS THAT DON’T GET TO BE FRIENDS WITH YOU. NOT THAT ANYTHING ANY KARKAT COULD FUCKING DO WOULD EVER MAKE THEM DESERVING OF IT, BUT THAT’S ANOTHER CAN OF DIRT NOODLES ENTIRELY.

TG: yeah i feel bad for anyone who isnt buddy-buddy with the david stri too

CG: OF COURSE YOU DO. I’M GLAD WE’RE ON THE SAME PAGE HERE.

===

TG: but also

TG: any dave who missed out on a slice of the realest homes in paradox space is a tragedy in my eyes

CG: Y--

TG: let me finish

TG: i just dont let it get to me so much cus… first of all ive been having to not let time shit get to me this whole damn game but also

TG: i know i have you here and thats whats important

TG: ok not "have" just

TG: how the fuck do i phrase that

TG: i know whatever is happening with other "us"es whatever shits goin down

TG: i can wake up and watch movies with you or hell i can even hang with you in there if i bump into you and thats what matters to me in this bro-dom thats what i wanna do

TG: and thats some real shit i just said feel free to co-sign it

CG: …

===

TG: karkat i meant it

CG: … THANKS.

TG: no problem

[mallowsweetmiri]

Truth, Dare, or Punishment ~ Fred Weasley

summary: you bitches asked for dom!Fred and you shall receive. a game of truth or dare in the common room goes south when Mclaggen dares you to kiss him

warnings: possessive dom!Fred, smut, cursing

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

The night had been going splendid so far. Everyone was way too excited after the arrival of Beauxbatons and Durmstrong to go to sleep, and the older Gryffindors decided to get shitfaced as the perfect solution to their restlessness. After all, there was no quidditch this year to justify throwing common room parties, so you guys had to get creative. The new year brought new witches and wizards to corrupt, and so the twins finally let their baby brother Ron and his year join the fun. It been going well, granted Hermione was drunk off her ass, but Harry had been watching over her well enough. You were also past the point of drunk, and you assumed by their faces that the rest of the group were on their way there. At this point in the night, those who were still awake were circled up playing a filthy game of truth or dare. Angelina had gone to do seven minutes in heaven with George, Neville had eaten a puking pastille, and Ron had madeout with Lavender Brown in a disturbing manner. It was time to spin the bottle again to see who would ask the next question. Hermione giggle and leaned into the circle to spin the bottle. Everyone look around with nervous smiles as it spun around and around, before landing on Cormac McLaggen. You cringed. This was possibly the worst person it could've stopped on. Your body had a visceral reaction when your name left his lips.

"Y/N," he smiled drukenly, "Truth or dare?" You rolled your eyes. Oh, great.

"Truth," you said, grabbing your drink and taking a swig. You were going to need it.

"Who did you lose your virginity to?"

You choked on your drink as the rest of the group murmured at the question, Hermione's jaw dropping before a stream of shocked laughs escaped her. You felt Fred tense up beside you. Your mind raced with the memories of this summer at the Burrow.

"Just like that, Y/N. You're doing so good," Fred praised as he thrusted into you, kissing the crook of your neck while he fucked you. He'd been teaching you how kiss, as a friend of course. He had to help out his dear friend Y/N when she confessed how embarrassed she was that she had never kissed anyone. Never done anything with anyone. From there it had escalated. First, you wanted to know learn to give a blowjob, but soon enough Fred thought it'd be best if you knew what these things felt like too. After a while, you both realized you were terribly obsessed with each other, and one night you decided to let him be the one to take your virginity. He was big, and you were nervous, but he was so sweet about it. Even at the beginning when you thought it wouldn't be able to fit, he was reassuring and gentle with you. But that was at the start, and by now he was fully fucking you on your back, your pussy starting the soften around his cock as pleasure began to ripple through your body. You both came together in a heap of sweat and kisses.

"Y/N," McLaggen sung, waiting for your response.

"I'm not answering that," you coughed, still choking on your drink. The group has set up measure to tell if someone was lying, so you couldn't fake still being a virgin. You supposed the question wasn't that out of pocket, but you couldn't answer it. Nobody knew about you and Fred besides George, and you both wanted to keep it that way. Especially from your families.

"Well then, you know the rules," McLaggen tsked teasingly, "you forfeit to dare."

"What? No, I-"

"Those are the rules Y/N," Hermione cringed, unable to stop herself. McLaggen smirked.

"I dare you to kiss me."

You felt nauseous. McLaggen was disgusting, and the last person you'd ever want to kiss. Unfortunately, you'd brought this onto yourself. You should've known he would dare someone to kiss himself. What a weirdo. The circle groaned and laughed in disgust as McLaggen puckered his lips. You cringed and shifted your weight to lean across the circle. Just as you were about to shuffle over to him, Fred grabbed your wrist and pulled you back. You looked back at him and saw anything but a smile on his usually cheerful face. He spun the bottle and landed it on himself in a hasty motion, still holding onto your wrist tightly.

"McLaggen, I dare you to stop wearing your fucking Ballycastle Bats tighty whities to every single quidditch practice," Fred sneered before yanking you up with him and pulling you towards his dorm. You heard the group go crazy with laughter behind you and hoped it would cover for the fact that Fred just pulled you away from the party. Hopefully George could cover for you two, he should be done with seven minutes by now. Fred dragged you up the stairs without so much as a look in your direction. Once you reach his dorm, he threw open the door. What was happening?

"Fred-" he smashed his lips into yours and shut the door with your body. You gasped as your back hit to wooden surface, Fred pulling your skirt up while his hand gripped your thigh. He used your lifted leg as leverage to grind down into your hips as he pressed you against the door. Your pussy pulsed when you felt him against you, his hands gripping in all the right places. Wait a minute. When did he start kissing you again?

"Fred," you said quickly, pulling away from his mouth. He tried to kiss you again. "Fred, we just left the party. You just dragged me up here when I was supposed to kiss-"

"Don't even say his name," Fred growled, his breathing heavy and hot as he kept his face inches from yours.

"I'm sorry," you whispered out, unable to speak properly. You'd never seen Fred mad before.

"I'm sorry I dragged you," he softened, ducking his head down to kiss your neck, "but I wasn't going to let somebody else kiss you." With that, he began to attack your neck. His left hand came up to grip the back of your head as his tongue and teeth lapped at your sweet spot. You let out whimpered moans as he worked, his fingers gripping you just right. Rougher than usual.

"Freddie," you moaned, grinding yourself onto his leg. You needed more. This man had hooked, and you'd never been so addicted in your life. He picked you up under your legs and carried you to the bed before placing you down on your back. He stood over you, leaving you panting on the bed as he took off his shirt and undid his belt. His eyes were locked on yours. You wanted to look away but you couldn't, his gaze wouldn't let you. When he finished, he rushed towards you again, kissing you deeply as his hand flipped your skirt up. His tongued rammed itself into your mouth, stifling your moans when his fingers grazed over your clit. You blushed as his fingers masterfully moved your panties aside and dipped into your core. Fred laughed into the kiss as he felt you.

"Already so wet for me," he breathed huskily, "are you ready to take me?" His words had you aching. You nodded up at him bashfully. You wanted him so badly. You had turned into such a slut for his cock. "Good girl." He sat up and flipped you over, pulling your panties down as he took off his own pants. He didn't bother to take off your skirt as he pulled you back onto him. You let out a guttural moan as you felt his length stretching you out.

"Fuck, Freddie," you whined as he gripped your hips and began to thrust into you. He was going to leave bruises for tomorrow, but you didn't care.

"You're taking it so good, Y/N" Fred groaned, smacking your ass, "you like getting fucked by me? Huh?" He picked up his pace, pounding into you hard. Your moans were bouncing with the rhythm of his thrusts as he waited for your reply.

"Y-yes, Freddie. I love when you fuck me," you whined, feeling you pussy begin to clench around him. His dick twitched at the feeling and groaned. In one motion, he pulled out and spun you onto your back, pulling your shirt up over your tits and pinning your wrists above your head.

"God, you look so fucking pretty. Can't see your beautiful face while I'm behind you," Fred grunted as he thrust back into you. You moaned and threw you head back. You writhed underneath Fred, his hand constraining your wrists. You desperately needed to grasps something. You were reaching the edge.

"Freddie," you cried, unable to say anything except his name. Your eyes clenched shut as you felt your stomach knot up one final time.

"That's it, baby. Come for me." You could feel his eyes on you as you released yourself around his throbbing cock. As the waves of pleasure began to slow, Fred grunted and became sloppy. He released your hands and buried his face into your neck as he came, pushing himself as deep as he could inside of you. He laid there for a moment before pushing himself off you and pulling you onto his chest. You couldn't help but giggle a little as he kissed your head and rubbed your shoulder.

"You are so jealous," you teased, looking up to see Fred. He laughed with a sleepy half smiled.

"I'm not jealous," he retorted, pinching your cheek. "I'm just protecting whats mine."

[losing-it-lately]

Pretty when I cry by Camila Cabello for TASM!Peter Parker.

Or

Birds of a feather by Billie Eilish for TASM!Peter Parker.

Pretty When I Cry

wc: 0.8k

tasm!peter parker x reader

this is a bit angsty so beware!

You look good, really good. In the way that Peter doesn't know what he should be doing anymore. Makeup smudged all around your eyes, a shiny dress of some kind and the most beautiful clear tears adorn your cheeks like small crystals. You always get sad when you're drunk, and he always takes you home when you're drunk.

Peter hates clubs. He always has. When he was younger, he couldn’t stand places with too much noise or too many people or too many random stains, and all of his dislikes increased abundantly after he got bit. It’s been so many years and Peter still hates clubs, he can’t fathom why anybody would ever willingly spend their Friday night in one. But, ever since you both turned old enough to frequent one, you would bring him there and he would look after you. And without a doubt, every Friday since he broke your heart, Peter continues to lurk in the club near your apartment and watch over you.

Yes, your friends can look after you, and it’s dingy and dirty and downright disgusting, but you’re there too. Every Friday, you’re there, so every Friday, Peter will be there too with a watchful eye.

You were Peter’s classmate, then the cute girl who found out about his double life, and then his girlfriend. You both had grown up together. Your first drink was a shot shared with Peter; it was sour and caused a visceral reaction, and that night, he gently lay you in your bed after the alcohol had suspended you in a drunken stupor. Peter promised you that night that he would be there for every drunken evening, and he hadn't yet broken that promise.

Every Friday, you would dress up in your finest party outfit, anything that you could scrummage from anywhere to try to get your mind off the love of your life's swift abandonment. And you knew you were doing something right, because without a doubt, Peter would end up taking off your shoes and draping warm blankets over your tired body. The liver damage was worth the potential undoing of the damage that Peter inflicted on your heart.

Your arms begin to drop more when you dance; Peter knows your tells and he can see that you are exhausted from the hours of dancing and drinking. He looks so out of place, in a dark hoodie with some darker jeans to let him blend into the background; he must be naive if he thinks you don’t notice him even in the dark. Peter shoves through people. He’s going to take you home: seat you in his car, play your favourite music and hold the back of your seat to pretend that he is holding your hand and resting alongside you. You both participate in this routine every week like clockwork. He picks you up out of the crowd and drives you back to your place, he helps you get unready and takes off your makeup and whispers whatever he wishes he could say when you’re sober, and then he breaks off completely and leaves you alone in your apartment without a note or a message or any indication that he still cares.

But today, something feels different, you’re completely silent in the car. No humming or mumbling or even moving, something has washed over you. Your eyes are even glossier than usual, a telltale sign of an incoming sob- but you’re still dead quiet. “Hey, are you ok?” Hif voice is soft and it floats around you like music.

“Why did you leave me,” in the lowest whisper you can muster up. If Peter’s car was any older and louder, he wouldn’t have been able to hear that question, and for a fourth time, he feels his heart shatter.

How can he properly explain to you all of the guilty nights, knowing that you were in danger. There were a myriad of villains who hated him enough to try to find you, to try to hurt you, and everyday that you loved him felt like another death sentence. So he ended it. Looking after you from afar was still looking after you, and even if it felt like a prison of his own making, he was keeping the promise he made you. Maybe it was selfish, but he hadn't taken the time to consider how horrible you felt too. “Just… you keep coming back, and I keep wanting you to come back, but then you leave again.”

Your voice seems so small now in comparison to how much space and attention you try to take up on the dance floor. And you look so pretty, then and now, even with your mascara making trails down your cheeks and your lipstick smudged and your tears wet. “I’m sorry,” is all he can muster up.

“Just take me home.” You turn to the window and watch whatever drives by. Next week and the weeks after that, Peter won't be there, and eventually you will stop frequenting that club. But he won't stop taking care of you, even if you don't know and you don't stop missing him, not until he comes home to you.

[pmpknsoup]

ohhhhhh something about the way siffrins mental health is portrayed is just so. oh its so RAW. hes so anguished and hes so desperate and you FEEL IT. the shaky text the screaming the blacked out screens. its so visceral. and its ugly. and its frantic. and its not romanticized or pretty or anything of the sort. its real and its heavy and its intense and he lashes out and its so GOOD. the repetition, the rituals, the unhealthy attachments. the obsessive routine, the "script". the ANGER the disgust with himself the LONGING. the aching yearning the way he digs his teeth into everything familiar because he cant lose this too, if he loses his friends, his FAMILY, then what does he have left??

AND ON TOP OF THAT. the way his family all help him out in their own ways. bonnie giving them snacks because thats how they know how to love. odile begrudgingly setting aside her own issues with feelings to ask siffrin if hes okay. isabeau seeing siffrin spiraling and gently redirecting his attention. mirabelle telling siffrin she really does care about him and that shes glad hes there. OHHHH ITS SO GOOD its so good i cant even express.

TW FOR SUICIDE UNDER THE CUT

especially the spiraling with the dagger. oh my god. the way his dialogue slowly changes everytime he uses it. the frantic IT FELT LIKE DYING, AND THEN LIKE NOTHING. AND KNOWING YOU PUT YOURSELF THERE!!!! and the way he feels ashamed and the way it stops being "you killed yourself" and starts being "you saved yourself some time". the way he stops thinking about it and starts stabbing immediately. the way it gets worse and worse and the way when hes confronted by loop and asks "is anything going to happen if i keep doing it?" and loop saying "i think it already has" GOD. god the way mental health is handled in this game. oh my god.

[diejager]

I dont know if you write about it and it’s fine if you dont but I just wanna share my thoughts, if it’s alright with you. 🙂

Know what would make the siblings with Ghost fic? Inc*st. You’ve already laid the groundwork for it, tbh.

Being together most of the time in public and in private settings, men not being able to approach Doc due to Ghost intimidating them, the physical intimacy that is present and constant, and both being closed off to anyone else but to each other. It’s all there, just a bit more darkness and…tada!

I wont say anything anymore as I do not wish to offend you if this is not your cup of tea. But if it is, then I will look forward to your great work, as usual. Thank you and have a good day. 🥰

You, anon, are so blasphemously brilliant. Inc*st isn’t something I’ve done, and isn’t good per se irl, but this is fictional works. So, yeah, here ya go :D And like I said, I’m pretty loose with what I’m willing to write. PS. I am SO going to hell for this-

Pairing : big brother Simon “Ghost” Riley x lil sister reader

Cw: DARK, INC*ST, smut, yandere, DUB-CON, fingering, self-hate, tell me if I missed anything. Wc: 1.4k

NOTE: You've been warned about the content, if you don't like Inc*st, don't read it. Just don't report it, cuz that would be annoying.

YOUR CONSUMPTION OF MEDIA IS YOUR RESPONSIBILITY AND YOURS ALONE.

He knew it was wrong, the sheer sinful shame of his acts towards you made him a monster, a vile creature, one worse than the abusive father you shared. His intentions, his thoughts, his needs, they were so wrong, too wrong that he had to choke down the disgust that riled in his guts. 

I’m disgusting, he repeated those words a dozen times, a hundred times, a million times, how many times he needed to get them to stop himself. I’m so fuckin’ disgusting.

Being able to look at himself in the mirror made the sinking feeling worse, he could see the face of the monster he was, not the one who wore a mask or hid behind a moniker; the face he glared at was Simon, the face that shared similarities to yours: the blond hair and the brown eyes. He had red-rimmed eyes, unlike your softer ones, full of life and power. He’d felt the need to break the mirror, shattering it into small pieces and watching his face crumble into fragments and blood, but it would make you worry so much. The blood in the bathroom tiles, wall and sink, his bloodied and roughly wrapped hand and the missing and broken glass would give him away; albeit a shattered mirror was enough for you to rush to him in a flurry of worried words and hushed comfort. 

He felt so fucking disgusting, you cared so much about him, so much care and dedication you devoted to him and him alone since you’ve been young. The words you’d whisper in his ears at night when his regrets crawled out, burdening his mind with bloody and visceral images that terrorised him. You were his solid link, the anchor that held him firmly alive and sane, able enough to keep going. 

You were his lifeline as he was yours, you clutched onto him for love and comfort while he latched on you for the same, but he had needs, dark ideas and images he made with you. His sacrilegious dreams and thoughts violated his image of you, the sweet girl he protected from your abusive father that would beat you and him. 

Stop, this is disgusting, he kept reminding himself, screaming the words to himself in the bathroom, the shower head pouring scalding water upon his request as punishment. Stop it. Stop it, Simon, he screamed, but it never helped, the burning water, the frozen winter, or the pain from wounds, they all numbed until he seaked you out. Then, he couldn’t stop himself, his hands and mouth were so hungry.

You were always with him, and he was always with you; you were stuck by the hip. He came to you by habit, by instinct, by heart. You were his comfort and the only thing that mattered. That's why he was doing this, his need for a physical relationship, the carnal hunger he had, the darkness he wanted to share, all for you. The more selfish side of himself told him that he deserved it and that he was doing this for you. For you, anything.

“Si, are you sure?” you mumbled, breathing in the sweat and cologne on his throat, the thick muscle of his neck bulging when he gulped down harshly. “Si, I’m- I-“

“You trust me, don’t you, love?” he asked, wording his words in a way that would make you less hesitant, and question his intentions less whenever he called you love. It was the nickname everyone at home called you, the youngest of the family, the baby. “Do you?”

“‘Course I do, Si. Of course, I do,” you had a quirk of repeating your words when you got stressed, became so nervous that you’d stutter. It only happend with him or the team, feeling comfortable enough to let them in, to let down the wall you built around you and him enough so that they could see the real you. Task Force 141 truly became a new family, to him and to you.

He shushed your nerves, hands trailing down your backed back to your hips, thumb rubbing circles on your warm skin. You straddled him, he told you that it would make him feel better, it would help him relax and take the edge off. One hand went back to cradle the back of your neck and pushed your closer to him, his head laying on top of yours. His other went further down your back, cupping the fat of your ass, kneading with the softness. His blunt nails dug into your ass, index finding the tight rim of your anal hole. 

You whined and clutched the back of his shirt tightly when he went lower, fore and middle finger bumping into your shaved lips, sliding to your slit and rubbing your clit. You opened your mouth to ask him once more, still hesitant to Simon’s idea, but a moan left instead. His hand rounded your thigh to deftly circle your button between his clothed torso and your sheer nakedness. You wanted to hide, feeling his rough, calloused pads writing eights on your sensitive nerve.

You fidgeted, writhing quietly over him, hip bucking forward and mewling when his forefinger would dip slightly into your cunt, tip sliding in before he pulled back to tease you. Although his intentions were to tease you, pleasure you, you felt the nagging discomfort of sharing this with Simon, he was your brother, the eldest of your family and the only one who you could seek comfort with. It never felt the same when you went to the other men, Simon never liked it either. 

This wasn’t what siblings usually did, or should at all, but how could you deny him, tell your only family no. The burden of pulling back from him in his time of need would hurt more than the discomfort you felt at the moment, the buzzing in your mind and the tingling pleasure he was giving you. This was anything but normal, but for him, for Simon, you’d see it through. 

“Si-!” you jerked back when he slipped a finger in, voice breaking when you cried out, huffing loudly onto the skin of his neck, where he kept you. “Wait-“ your nails sunk into the meat of his back, tapping him, telling him to slow down or wait a bit. 

“I got ya, love,” Simon whispered calmly, adding another finger to pump in and out of your soaked cunt, your body reacted naturally to stimulus even if you’d cried no or stop, please, the body and mind were separate things. “I know, (Name), let me help ya.”

Help wasn’t what you’d qualify this as; although your body reacted to him, any body would do the same if they were on the receiving end. You wanted out, you wanted him to stop, but you also knew no one would love you the way Simon did, or the way Ghost did. He was your haven, your safe space that no one else could become, you already had him, why would you need anyone else. 

“That’s right. Ya got me, so ya don’t need anyone else, right?” 

You couldn’t reply, lost in the drowning sensation of being so full and stimulated by Simon, his big fingers dragging over the spot that made your mind numb and curling just right to make you see stars. Your body shook, crying out his name as pleasure washed over you, walls clamping on his digits, your hips bucked as you rode his hand. 

This is wrong, this is so wrong, Si, you wished you could tell him, but the orgasm made all thought disappear. When was the last time you fucked someone, or dated? You couldn’t remember having anyone significant other than family in your life. Sure, you’ve laid with some soldiers and boys when you were younger, more spry than your current age, but those were long ago and none were as big as Simon was. Men were rarely his size and height, he was a rivalling force in the military and in life. 

He was loving and tender, slowly pushing you over the edge a second and third time before he felt the need to stop, too ashamed of himself to relieve the unbarring and painful sensation of his hard cock straining against the tightness of his brief and pants. You were his priority, your pleasure being the sole purpose of this moment: locked in your shared room, walls reinforced to be sound-proof from the inside and being at the mercy of his skilled fingers. 

He gazed at you, eyes squinting at the fiery blush on your cheeks, warm and sweaty, your eyes dazed and teary from him, tired even, and your breath and heart rapid, loud and gasping. Your eyes met his and you smiled at him tentatively, unsure of how he felt now. Did he feel better? What happened that made him so riled up, mad? 

“I won’t let anyone touch ya, (Name),” he swore, caressing your cheeks sweetly with his clean hand. He loved you too much to lose you to someone else, he couldn’t let another man or woman take you from him like they did with his family. “I love you, (Name),” he said those words like they were a mantra, sacred words meant for you alone. 

“I love you too, Si.”

Only for you, Si. It’s wrong but for you, anything.

[icycoldninja]

Allow me to cook:

Can you write the DMC men with the reader just about to go home after being on a mission together to get rid of a devil but then it starts raining dogs and cats

So they had to take shelter under a flimsy tree that can barely cover them from the rain

While they were hiding from the rain, the boys noticed the way the reader’s white blouse clung to her skin and it doesn’t help when her clothes and skin are pretty much soaked in blood so let’s just say…the sight of her blouse soaked in blood and water from the rain and how it clung to her skin ( the blouse is rather thin as well ) makes her strangely alluring

The way the wet clothes clung to her skin highlighted her sculpted figure, the visceral of the unfortunate devil hanging on her body and the crimson color of its blood washed over her doesn’t really help with the situation as well

She’s pretty much aware of their stare so she just keep silent as she doesn’t have much energy to do something about it. Right when they’re abt to compliment their someone abt it,

They heard a small sniffle

When they turn to look at her, they noticed a small droplet of tear forming at the corner of her eye threatens to fall. Turns out she’s tired from fighting the devil due to many nights staying on guard, now that the adrenaline starts wearing off do the tiredness and restlessness start catching up to her. Plus this whole scenario also embarrasses her as well. All she wants is to get back to the shop, have a warm meal with them, take a total bath and sleep but the rain starts pouring and now she feels exhausted, dirty, sleepy and embarrassment all at once

When they ask a simple “Are you okay?” did her sniffle turn to full on sobbing and whimpering

P/S: If you can, pls make the reader as tall as them or somewhat a tall lady. There’s not much fics featuring a tall reader so if you do, I’d appreciate it

As a tall lady myself I shall write this with gusto. Enjoy!

Sparda boys + V x Tall!Wet!Bloody!Reader headcannons

¤ Dante ¤

-You guys had just wrapped up a messy mission and were on your way home, when out of absolutely nowhere, it started pouring.

-Naturally, you took shelter under a nearby tree, though unfortunately, you'd already been soaked to the bone. Your clothes were sopping wet and clung tightly to your form; the white, bloodstained blouse you were wearing appearing to meld to your body like second skin.

-For some reason, Dante found the way your bloody, demon flesh stained shirt cling to you alluring, and couldn't help but stare, even if it was rude.

-You saw him staring out of the corner of your eye and felt extremely embarrassed. You knew you were dirty, but what could you do about it at this time? You were so, so tired, and the feeling of being stared at judgementally was so frustrating, you found yourself with tears welling up in your bloodshot eyes.

-Just as Dante was about to compliment you on how morbidly lovely you looked, you started sniffling as your frustration turned to sadness and you began to cry.

-Absolutely flabbergasted, Dante asked you if you were okay, wondering if you'd gotten injured without telling him. That was the final straw for you, and your exhaustion, embarrassment, and self disgust taking its toll.

-Dante hates seeing you upset, so he pulls you close and kisses your drenched forehead before tugging off his coat and using it as a makeshift umbrella.

-"C'mon sweetie, let's get you outta here. We'll go home, get you in the bath, have some pipin' hot pizza, then maybe hop into bed early, sound good?"

■ Vergil ■

-You and Vergil had just returned from an exhausting mission, both of you drenched in blood, sweat, and demon entrails.

-To make matters worse, it started raining, heavily. You two took shelter under a tree, letting out a great sigh of relief and slumping against the trunk.

-It was then when Vergil realized that you were soaked to the bone, your wet clothes sticking to your figure and emphasizing every curve.

-This, added to the way the bloodstained on your shirt were now liquefying and sliding through the fabric, made you look strangely more attractive than usual.

-He was just about to compliment you on how lovely he thought you looked, when he heard a little sniffle from your end.

-It seemed that all that fighting made you extremely tired and the guts on your clothes made you incredibly embarrassed; this, combined with Vergil's staring had brought you to tears.

-Vergil asked you if you were alright, but that only seemed to drive you further into tears. You must have been so exhausted, you poor thing. Vergil tugged you close, your foreheads touching, and kissed you, guiding you down the street afterwards.

-"Don't cry, my dear, we will be home soon, where you can take a nice, warm bath, have some food, and lie down for a while. Shhh...."

□ Nero □

-You and Nero were on your way home from a grueling mission, both of you hunched over in exhaustion and covered in gore.

-Just when you thought your day couldn't get any more miserable, it began raining fucking hard, prompting you two to take refuge under a tree.

-Nero wasn't too happy to be soaked to the bone and looked over at you, expecting a similar reaction, when he saw hoa your clothes clung to your skin; blood from your shirt trickling down your long legs in a way that just looked so sexy for some reason.

-He couldn't help but stare at you, even though he knew it might make you feel uncomfortable.

-He didn't expect you to start sniffling and tearing up, though, and was scared he'd somehow hurt your feelings when he saw you doing so.

-He asked you if you were okay, but that only seemed to make it worse, as now you were full on bawling.

-Worried he'd done some irrevocable damage, Nero quickly pulled you into a hug, shushing you and desperately trying to get you to calm down.

-"Hey, hey, c'mon, don't cry, baby. I get it, you're tired 'n all that. Just shush, okay? It's okay, it's all okay. Let's go home, where we'll be safe and dry, that ok?"

● V ●

-You and your lanky goth weirdo that you pulled by being a badass giantess were coming home from a mission, when all of a sudden, it began to rain.

-V found the whole situation beautifully poetic, but you found it annoying, and ran to take cover under a tree.

-There, V found that you looked even more beautiful when your clothes were drenched and stuck to your figure, the blood and guts of your enemies sliding off your body and down your legs like gory honey.

-He had to admit, he was enthralled, and couldn't take his eyes off of you, even for a moment.

-You, on the other hand, felt extremely embarrassed by your situation and exhausted in general. You were so disgusted with yourself for being so dirty, and was sure that V was ogling you because he thought the same. Though you were wrong, your fatigue got the best of you, and you started crying.

-V was shocked to see this, as he never wanted to see you upset, and hurried to come up with a way to make you feel better.

-"Hush now, Wanderer. Do not cry. Everything is okay, now come on, let us return home. You will be out of the rain soon enough."

[rubra-wav]

"Both Sides Of Silence" - Radiosilence fic

Word count: 3.5k

A/N I made a rant abt this (here)and decided to write it and ended up getting swept up in it haha.

This is my personal headcanon on how Alastor reacted when his friendship with Vox ended

Cw: SFW, angst

The state of Alastor's room was horrendous. The radio host's quarters could normally be described as rather unnerving due to their decor, however the space now looked like a downright horror show.

It was as if a storm had raged within with furniture overturned and scratched up, vases and photo frames broken - all of this leaving a hazardous mixture of glass fragments, splinters and lounge stuffing strewn everywhere.

In the middle of the mess, said demon’s form crumpled against the floor. Alastor's claws gripped at his hair, pulling hard upon it as he shook with heaving breaths, a mixture of despair and boiling rage inside of him, making him even more volatile than usual.

The object of his plight's photo sat before him. An unwanted reminder of the first time he and his former friend met.

Allowing Vox to take a photo with him had been an olive branch he reached out to the other demon, rarely offered outside of special circumstances.

Seeing it now stung him deep, bringing inner turmoil unlike anything the cannibalistic overlord had felt in a long long time.

An actual, real bond with someone had become an estranged concept to him during his time in hell. After his mother died, he'd severed every last attachment to anyone else, only really playing into superficial, shallow attachments to others. Nothing that couldn't easily be brushed off.

Or at least, he thought he had.

The snapped cord of his friendship with the TV demon truly cut him deep in a way that he thought was not possible.

The fact of the matter filled him with such visceral self-disgust that he fought the need to dry heave as his claws sank into his scalp in an attempt to ground himself. It inevitably failed as his mind once again revisited the damned situation that had unfolded just hours before for the umpteenth time that night.

-

A friendly get-together with Vox, just a drink at a quiet bar they often met at when they had time to do so just like any other.

Through the whole night the TV demon had seemed as if he had been stressed about something. They conversed as usual, backed by soft jazz music in the cozy wooden interior of the joint, however it was obvious to Alastor that his companion was out of sorts.

Vox's blue claws fidgeted from where he gripped at his drink - a nervous tell which Alastor had long ago picked up from his first meetings with him in the old days - his shoulders hunched in the orange turtleneck sweater he wore.

“You have been shaking like a leaf this whole time. What seems to be the matter, my friend?” Alastor asked after taking a sip of his whiskey, gently tilting the glass back and forth causing the amber liquid to swish around.

His red eyes looked to the side at the other demon with a casual half-lidded stare, drinking in every small reaction the TV demon gave with a finely tuned expertise despite his exterior.

Vox visibly flinched, caught off guard by the sudden call to his behaviour. His CRT head coyly tilted in Alastor's direction, small pupils looking to the side at him and shoulders hunching further and making himself even smaller where he sat as if in an attempt to give himself more security.

A rather peculiar response. Not something unexpected to the deer demon at all however, Vox's unique responses and attitude was something Alastor quite enjoyed about him, it was what made him interesting.

“It's nothing. Well not yet at least..” Vox mumbled quietly, trailing off vaguely. Alastor hummed curiously while quirking a brow. Vox flushed nervously, his heart rate picking up.

Vox had long since discovered his feelings for Alastor but had stayed quiet in fear that it would ruin their friendship. In the beginning, he was content with that, just letting their relationship stay how it always had been - purely platonic. That was the safe option.

It just grew more intrusive the longer he didn't say anything though.

Alastor didn't like to be touched, but was far too content in getting in others’ personal space if it was on his own terms - including Vox’s own. Every time his shoulders or arms or god forbid face were touched briefly by the deer it sent his heart aflutter and he could barely keep himself together.

Even the memory of the last time almost sent him sparking. When he thought of those red eyes looking down at him, claws on either side of his face, he knew that he would surely burn himself up if he didn't finally say something. It was agony to stay silent.

What was the worst that could happen? A rejection? It wasn't like that would end everything they had worked for. In his mind, he knew Alastor enough to surely say he wouldn't up and leave him over this. They'd known each other too long for all of that to be ruined by this... Right?

Alastor watched Vox’s internal strife with amused curiosity as he casually fidgeted with the lip of his glass, waiting expectantly.

Vox cleared his throat, straightening up and trying to put on a confident and sure face. “Alastor, we have known each other for years now. And.. I'd argue to say that we are quite good pals at this point,” Vox began strongly, grinning at Alastor. His grin faltered a bit and his cheeks flushed as he watched the radio demon's eyebrow only raise even further. Vox coughed into his hand. “I would also argue that we would work well together as more than just.. friends… who occasionally work together as purely business partners.” Vox finished, looking at Alastor and trying to find some kind of reassurance.

He didn't find any.

Alastor's ear twitched slightly as if he was trying to better process what he'd just heard. He felt a stab of unsureness that mixed with his stomach dropping inside of him. He didn't show it yet however and instead laughed. “Apologies darling! I'm not quite sure I follow. Are you asking to become permanent business partners?” He hoped that was what he was on about, and not the alternative which had his hackles rising.

Vox gulped, taking the question as genuine confusion about his rather vague choice of words. “N-not quite just that.. listen.. I,” Vox glanced at Alastor's other hand unoccupied by his drink just resting on the bar and tentatively reached out his hand to gently take it in his own. “Alastor, I don't want to just be business partners. I want to be partners in general. I'm in.. Jesus,” Vox gulped, trying to will his mouth to stop being so damn dry. “...I'm in love with you.” Vox’s brow furrowed as he gently squeezed Alastor’s hand in his, looking up at him with a soft expression, vulnerable in a way Vox would normally have squashed instantaneously.

Alastor’s eyes blew open wide making him ironically resemble a deer in headlights, lip curling as he processed the interaction and confession. His usually wide pupils shrunk as he looked down at his palm in Vox’s, utter disgust rocking through him at the sight.

Vox felt his heart break at the way Alastor was looking at him holding his hand, and awkwardly laughed in an attempt to fight the pit of absolute mortification consuming him, making him want to melt into the ground and disappear.

“I- s-sorry I just thought you may have understood. Maybe even felt the same- I mean we've known each other so long and have been close for-” Vox began to say, voice glitching out with heavy emotion. He flinched hard, silenced as Alastor suddenly ripped his hand away hard in contrast to his soft hold.

“No.” Alastor sharply, turning his nose up at Vox with a sneer, irritation filling him at the assumption.

Vox's humiliation at the nature of his rejection grew as Alastor quite literally looked down upon him. “right… sorry. I should have known,” Vox apologised, looking to the side with his cheeks burning under the weight of his gaze. “We have been close so long that I should have known better-” He was cut off by a cold bark of laughter.

“Stop saying that,” Alastor’s anger raised quickly, loud, angry static seeping through his usual facquade of uncaring. “If you think that you know me that way, then you severely overestimate your worth to me, my ‘friend’.”

Alastor was disgusted enough by the declaration, but his insistence that they were ‘close’ was what got under his skin the most. The reason for this? He couldn't quite grasp it at that exact moment. It would of course come later.

Vox let out a laugh this time, disbelief turning into him being more angrier than anything - a laughably similar response to the one Alastor was having simultaneously. “Oh you have to be kidding me! Don't act like we aren't best friends just because you don't like that I have feelings for you, you pompous old-timey radio fuck! We are close friends and you know damn fucking we-”

“No,” Vox felt the statement in every part of himself, it finally being the thing to break his steadily cracking heart into pieces. Vox fell silent, a look of struck anguish written all over his face.“You serve as occasional entertainment for me from your hollow, far lesser medium. Don't you dare act like we were, would be or even could ever be equals.” Alastor spat, rising from his seat.

Vox didn't even react to the insult to his work, feeling all encompassing numbness as the lights overhead flashed once, then twice, then clicked off as Alastor began to grow in size, more substantial antlers growing from his head and flashing green symbols surrounding him threateningly.

The TV demon shook, frozen in place on the bar stool, eyes wide and terrified despite the pervasive feeling of emptiness within him, blue pupils impossibly small as he looked into the rapidly spinning dials in his former best friend's eyes.

Alastor hunched over him and slowly raised his claws to grip either one of Vox's shoulders hard, digging into his turtleneck and skin below painfully, causing the TV demon to wince.

Alastor lowered his face, moving it close to Vox's screen and breathing out deeply, relishing in the way Vox shuddered at his hot breath fanning across his face with a grin that did not reflect his tone or true expression in the slightest.

Alastor then proceeded to stomp upon the shards of years of friendship seemingly with no care at all in one last statement, which brought tears to the already mentally crushed TV demon's eyes.

“You are nothing to me.”

-

But that wasn't true at all.

Alastor had disappeared in a flourish afterwards, leaving Vox shaking and alone in the bar, stalking home, and then absolutely losing his mind in private.

Alastor’s hands shook, slowly ripping through his hair and pulling out a few strands as he snapped back to reality and grit his teeth, lips twitching out of his perfect, unwavering grin for a second again as he looked at the smiling image of them together.

The truth was that he undeniably cared for Vox.

All these hollow, surface-level friendships which served as temporary entertainment that he held with demons like Mimzy paled in comparison to what they had.

Although still seldom, Alastor had shared much more of the truth with him than he had with others; about the same as with Rosie. The difference of course being their public rivalry unlike with Rosie. More even ground in which they were equal threats to one-another's power over the people of pentagram city.

He shuddered at the thought.

They were rivals, and with horror, he realised that he almost did regard Vox as his equal in their friendship. Enough to form a genuine care for him that wasn't solely him simply using Vox to meet his own ends.

They were close, and the fact of that hit him in a terrifying way as his old friend's absence burned an empty pit within him.

He was such an utter fool for letting it get to this point where he needed to destroy every last tie to stay powerful but simply couldn't.

His hands shook as he looked down at the photograph taunting him once again; him knowing he had to destroy it but not being able to.

Shameful weakness.

Alastor let out a frustrated growl, squeezing his eyes shut as he gripped at the photograph and ripped it down the middle.

He slammed either half of the photo on the floor in either hand, looking at the damage done. A literal physical manifestation of the relationship he'd metaphorically ripped down the middle.

Alastor would scoff at the symbolism normally with laughter, thinking it a stupid display of weakness of those far lesser then he if there weren't currently tears falling from his eyes onto the patch of wooden floor in between where either half of the photograph now sat apart.

He grit his teeth at the realisation that he was crying. For the first time since his mother died, he was actually weeping for another. The revelation curled as nauseating disgust for the demon, and he cursed the TV demon more than anything for making him this weak. Weak like him.

He needed to sever ties.

He needed to stop caring.

He needed to erase the TV demon from his life completely.

He knew all of that and yet…

Alastor laughed now - a sound without a lick of sanity behind it-, smiling as he gripped the half of the photo with Vox on it, falling back onto the floor and holding up the torn photo, looking up at it in the dim light of his room

The wooden floor uncomfortably dug into his back, but he didn't care at all. Alastor's laughing slowly died out, turning instead into a sound much like breathless sobbing.

“You will pay for doing this to me.” Alastor's red eyes shook, fluttering between his normal pupils and the dials as he regarded his next action with shaky euphoria, the emotion stretching itself over the logical side of himself screaming to let it go.

Alastor's anger of also being caught up in the silence he was supposed to have control over won over all rational decision making.

I will make sure that you need me just as much as I need you, you new-age trash.

Alastor's lips quivered around his wide grin as he gave a chuckle that was all too forced, pressing the back of his hand across his eyes and wiping away his tears, internally squashing his insecurity down and pretending he didn't care.

Even if he knew he did deep down, all that mattered was that onlookers, and especially Vox, didn't see that.

He would remain unbothered externally while locking the truth up deep inside that in the end the radio demon would be just as obsessed with Vox as he is with him.

-

After a long night of drowning his sorrows, the last thing Vox wanted was to answer the front door and face anybody. He of course, did anyways. If it was a business opportunity, it would hardly be wise to skip out on it. Especially after…

Vox shook his head with a hissing breath, trying to will the memory of the walk of shame he'd done away after apologising to the bartender who'd come out from behind the bar finally after Alastor had gone berserk for the disturbance.

Despite his picture perfect expression that never really fully dulled in the same way others experienced - the perks to having a TV for a head - it was clear that he was still struggling by the way he slumped and his brow was furrowed, eyes squinted; open just a crack to try avoid the thudding stabs of pain through his head with the hangover he was nursing.

It was bullshit to him that even with a flatscreen for a face, he still could manage to get hungover.

The tile floor of his tower, which he had bought recently, clicked under the heels of his shoes, dim fluorescent lights painting everything in a sickly, lifeless glow. It only sought to make his mood even worse.

He grumbled to himself as he reached the door finally, dodging all the unpacked boxes as he went and forcing himself to smile before swinging the heavy door open to greet whoever was there.

Dreams of new business partners and an underlying, pitiful hope that it could even be Alastor coming to apologise or pretend like nothing happened yesterday like after their usual arguments were immediately squashed as he was revealed nothing behind it.

Just the barely inhabited entertainment district he had been working on for a little while now. On the other side of the street a line of TV's, each with a monochrome display playing an ad for a cereal he had gotten a sponsorship with blared monotonously behind their glass displays.

It was clear none of the few people staring blankly at the screens had rung the bell so he could hear the door all the way in his room.

Vox's smile dropped and he then blankly stared into the empty air, tired eyes squinting as he deeply exhaled. He'd kill whatever asshole had rung and run for messing with him on the cameras positioned everywhere later, maybe that would lift his spirits a little bit.

He shut the large glass doors, once again locking them. As he did so, a piece of paper fell to the ground; formerly suspended in the door jam and dislodged by its movement.

Vox watched it flutter to the obnoxiously white tiles of the floor with a raised brow. He could see it was torn, seemingly a face-down picture of some kind from the different colour peaking through from the back under the lights.

“What on...” Vox said, unamused as he leaned down to pick it up.

Another cold wave of sadness that he thought he had numbed out already after last night swept over him as realised it was the first photo that he and Alastor had ever taken together - ripped down the middle so that Alastor was clearly present, a bit of his own face visible in the corner.

Vox’s screen glitched into a line of broken pixels, blurring his quickly souring expression as he realised that Alastor had just been here to deliver half of the photo.

He had been here and left wordlessly. So it really was over. His clawed hands shook as he pressed one against the wall of the entrance hall to steady himself, squinting his eyes shut.

His head spun; a dizzying mixture of his hangover, the overbearing lights all around him, and the god awful feelings of self-hatred, tiredness, heartbreak, and worst of all betrayal all mixing together. The fact that this is how their years of friendship had ended was a crushing weight on his shoulders. It was ridiculous.

In that moment as he had finally decided to confess he swore that they would still stay together even if it wasn't as lovers. That even if Alastor rejected his feelings, they would still maintain their friendship.

He was wrong, of course.

Him keeping his silence had hurt before, but it rang far more now he was all alone.

Vox’s eyes cracked open again despite the way his headache protested, looking back to his other hand which still held the torn photo delicately to avoid any further damage to it.

His blue pupils passively drank in the image of Alastor's smiling face again.

It was all ridiculous.

A screeching sound rang out in the entry room, echoing in an unnerving way through the mostly empty building as his claws dug into the wall he was leaning against, raking deep nail marks into the plaster as just about the most potent wave of anger he thought he had probably felt ever swept itself over every other conflicting emotion inside of him.

He had given so much to that asshole. His time, his dreams, and worst of all his secrets.

All of these were treated like nothing in Alastor's hands.

He was treated like nothing.

Alastor even said it; Vox was nothing to him. Nothing but a past-time.

'Occasional entertainment'

Vox’s chest clenched with burning anger at the insult to how much he was worth as a demon. He was worth far more than most of the pathetic low-lives in this city. Heck, all of them.

He was too good for Alastor even, and yet that snobby hazbin radio announcer had the audacity to treat him in such a way?

Ah yes, the delusionally grandiose rug over his kicked-in ego. A bitter thought which tugged at the back of his mind but got inevitably drowned out by everything else.

The lights overhead hummed louder and louder with the passing seconds.

He let out a growl that petered off into a yell interrupted by glitches, air filled with crackling electricity coming off of him in waves the longer he dwelled upon the state of everything.

-

From down the street, Alastor let out a satisfied chuckle as he saw the lights within Vox's tower flickering aggressively.

The deed was done, and although some pathetic part of him weakly protested, it was crushed where it stood. He turned on his heel, arms folded behind his back while he strided in the opposite direction.

He made his bed and now he had to lie in it.

His eye twitched slightly as a stab of regret once again made itself known.

As cold as it was.

Damn did my ass get carried away writing this one haha

[lesbianpraetor]

Extra Extra Initial thoughts about Furiosa now in bullet point format Summary the movie made me want to write several essays about George Miller's brain, but also I wish somebody had rained him in just a little bit. Spoilers Ahead!

-It was super obvious that George Miller was trying to expand images that he couldn't show in the first (fourth?) movie. Speciallyyyyyyyyy the History Men, Miss Giddy in Fury Road was a character by herself, but now the archetype is well and truly established with a very specific cosplaying Saruman in the desert with tattoos vibe. Also showing in detail the other two citadels, showing the green place, showing the absolutely vile way that the wretched live, going in depth with the war boys million other things as well. I personally loved it and the picaresque sense it gave the movie.

-The citadel looked soooooo similar to Fury Road it was eerie, since everything else looked so different. But I think it made an important point about stagnation and how the men at the top will keep killing the world for as long as they possibly can only even changing their methods when forced to.

-There's a whole extra movie in the vault about how exactly the wives that were there ended up disappearing. how the politics of it changed from women desperately trying to stay there to have the high life to five women deeply committed to their own liberation (with little Cheedo being the only detractor in retrospect when she is spooked by the wider world). I feel like there is a whole lit fic novel in there about them reaching a breaking point. Maybe a situation where Joe throws out all of them and only keeps the very very best because I counted a whole 11 woman in that vault, maybe the Wives from Fury Road are kidnapped all since wretched woman would not be able to give birth without any deformities? Is Angharad that inspiring? I don't think it's the first one because the fact that woman that chose to be there then decided they didn't want to live as things is much more powerful

-the other extra movie is how exactly Furiosa befriended the wives since she actually didn't spend that much time in the vault itself. I did feel it weakened my favourite reading of Fury Road a little bit, but oh well that always happens with new instalments.

-Talking about Furiosa I'm actually so deeply sad that they casted Anya Taylor Joy for this, not even because she did a bad job, although I think Young Furiosa did a much better job, but because I have watched Queens Gambit so many times that her mere presence made me think about the movie in Doylist terms. She also just seems too Holywood? I don't know there was something about her face that made me think that she was CGIed it was too smooth. Did she even shave her head? I felt Furiosa would not have let it grow out in between escaping the vault and joining the war rig crew, and don't tell me she couldn't, everyone else had short hair Praetor Jack had a nice salon haircut. But the acting itself was good! I actually think it was an effects and direction issue.

-Since we are talking about casting Chris Hemsworth did work for me and I'm questioning if I'm having internalized misogyny about him working better than Taylor. Maybe it was the copious amounts of beard, or that he wasn't the main character but I could really inmerse myself in his character and his parallels to not Furiosa, he was a fucking lying piece of shit about that, but to Immortan Joe. Can't quite articulate waht it was exactly but I think it hit whatever Miller was trying to hit with him. Although my favourite casting was the people I didn't know from anywhere, specially Mary Jo Bassa and the Biker Crew. Burn down the media establishment where we even see actors outside of their characters, it ruins the movies.

-Most viscerally hated character from that movie was the organic mechanic though, instant visceral disgust coupled with professional disdain at this point. You are trying to tell me you couldn't even try to steam the bleeding of the man's throat? you are trying to tell me you are giving birth on the floor like a fucking amateur? he probably didn't even know the anatomy necessary to start trying to close a neck wound. And it's cannon now that he didn't create either Immortan Joe's or Rictus breathing apparatus, because they already had them before the prisoner exchange. Absolute charlatan, no this has nothing to do with me still being pissed as hell as to how he treated Angharad what are you talking about? There's one man in the movie that instantly made me think in Watsonian terms I hate his guts so much.

-And in general I felt the hypocrisy of even the men trying to be kind to Furiosa much more keenly in this movie, which is to say that I did like Praetorian Jack as the pinnacle of the archetypical road warrior and parallels to Max are very interesting and I adored how it created even more parallels to Furiosa and Max's character development in the two movies. But, I don't know, there's something about how he carried himself with Furiosa that rubs me the wrong way I just can't quite place how, might need a rewatch. Anyway Furiosa's crush on him that honestly seemed pretty unrequited from his part was fun, although I hope people don't make it the most important part of the movie (it honestly reminding me of Cheedo and the Dag, they even had a similar was it a stolen kiss moment? but I digress, the parallels between him and Max were much more interesting)

-Back to the topic of the wives there was a moment in the beggining when Mary Jobasa didn't kill the woman who claimed to be a mother and then she betrayed her, which both shows the kind nature of the green place, how it really doesn't work like that in the wasteland and how exactly the vuvalini might have been so diminished in numbers. But my favourite part about this scene was when she said "I'm not to blame" that had to be on purpose because I wanted to shout at the screen " THEN WHO KILLED THE WORLD?" so bad. The fate of the world really hinges on the simplest choices since without that little bit of snitching they just get to go home.

-Honestly just Mary Jo Bassa appreciation, she died on the third day but damn what impressive three days. If I write fic it's going to be about her and Furiosa's other mother, who made the movie pass my personal Bechdel Test with the true purpose of the original Bechdel test, to woman talk to each other in a way that let's you see the Lesbianism in their eyes.

-The scenery of the green place definitely deserves a mention as well, it felt so tiny! it felt so different from everything else of course, they didn't linger to preserve both the runtime and the feeling of it being a place almost from Furiosas's dreams. But from space it felt tiny! the space shot of the outback with the most minuscle amount of green made it feel so deeply vulnerable, and the presence of the crows everywhere made me genuinely emotional. It did clearly have enough of everything to survive and for people to thrive and be super healthy, but it seemed like every millimeter was planned to the last detail to be of the best use.

-Honestly I think the relationship between Furiosa and her mother was the beating heart of the movie, I definitely liked the first third more than anything, it felt the most like something new and fully immersed not only in the setting of Fury road but honestly more of Road Warrior in way?, I don't know closest I got to crying was at Mary's death and her little good girl when furiosa killed a man to protect their home was the cutest most uwu part of the movie. Not to mention revenge of her death is the entire point of the final confrontation.

-Also I have to mention Mr. Norton. Mr. Norton I'm free on saturday for tying up to a motorcycle, I'm sure everything you did was totally justified and also super hot, thank you for your dirty rabid woman duties it was fucking awesome how you shot a man and the quartered your former boss.

-Last comment before I forget, that scene where Jack was killed had impressive Hector vibes. Tied to the back of the chariot while hounds eat you and disfigure your corpse? More to add fuel to the fire of George Miller adoring archetypical images, and I do too no complaints, it was gut-wrenching when I realized what was going to happen. The Horde in general had a mixture of Greek Charioteers and Mongol horde I really loved it.

-Also their first fight scene together where they work seamlessly together and then Furiosa threatens his life? classic crazy wasteland, you and Max really were identical. It also cements my idea that the movie is Fury Road backwards, since Max threatened Furiosa's life first and then they seamlessly worked together. I'll have to find where all the beats parallel and how they fit together, to see if I'm right.

In Conclusion honestly excellent movie, I didn't leave with the deep emotions Fury Road made but how much it's making me think about it is deeply appreciated.

[theladyyavilee]

we were running out through the storm (through the night)

Or the one where Buck almost kissed Eddie at Chimney's bachelor party and Tommy was there to witness it.

read on AO3

„You almost kissed Eddie last night.” There is no trace of accusation in Tommy’s voice and somehow the words still hit Buck like a slap to the face. The hospital staircase is empty and quiet now in the middle of the night, the bright artificial light giving the moment a surreal quality, and somehow, with everything that happened after, Buck did not see this conversation coming.

(The fear and worry of the last 15 or so hours made it so easy to push the memory down and away, something for future Buck to deal with.

Something for future Buck to figure out how to fix, maybe.)

It’s only been maybe an hour since Buck watched Maddie fall asleep curled into Chimney’s side on his hospital bed, her and Chimney’s hands with their matching gold bands interlocked right over Chimney’s heart and with Chimney looking down at her like he was unable to look away. Clearly feeling like the luckiest man in the world, no matter all the horrors he had to walk through to get here to this moment.

(Only maybe an hour since Buck caught himself thinking this is love, this is what love is supposed to be.

Only maybe an hour since Buck caught himself glancing over at Eddie – curled up in one of the horrible hospital chairs and looking smaller than he should, deeply asleep and with an equally conked out Chris leaning into his shoulder – first, instead of searching out his boyfriend’s eyes and the guilt flooded back into him.)

Looking back he knows there was something in Tommy's eyes when he helped Chimney out of the helicopter and found Buck’s eyes over Maddie’s head as she rushed towards them. A slight hesitation when Buck kissed him in front of everyone that Buck thought was just surprise at the public display in front of Buck’s parents. A flicker of sadness on his face when they swayed to the soft sounds of Islands In the Stream from Hen's phone loudspeaker in Chim's hospital room, before Tommy pulled him close enough to hide his face against the side of Buck's.

But Tommy wasn’t supposed to know, not yet, not until Buck figure out how to tell him.

Because that had never been in question, only the when and how.

Only apparently Tommy already knows.

And Buck feels like there suddenly isn’t enough air in the room to form words.

“I—I didn’t—I didn’t though, Tommy, you have to know I—”

“I know, hey, Evan, I know,” Tommy reassures and his voice is so gentle it makes something ache deep inside Buck’s chest. Maybe this would be easier if Tommy was angry. “I saw your face right after, I know you wouldn’t have done it knowingly, but for a moment there I don’t think you remembered.”

everything else, is—has been—stuck in that space between one breath and the next, flipping through every single visceral snapshot memory impression.

How he had felt terrifyingly sober for just that one moment, before letting himself fall even harder into drunkenness to forget.

That lightning strike realization when he caught on to what he was about to do, when he realized that for a second he had completely forgotten where he was and that he had a boyfriend.

(It had been so different from when he kissed Lucy, because then he had remembered Taylor for every single second of it and kissed Lucy anyways and he’s not sure if that was worse or this is.)

The fact that apparently Tommy was right there and saw that moment play out over Buck’s face? Yeah, that is definitely worse, even if Buck was immediately disgusted at himself.

Because he still almost did it and Tommy saw that too.

read the rest on AO3

[laniusbignaturals]

re: Honest Hearts, its especially bad when you consider the truly disgusting history of mormons slaughtering indigenous people. on playing it, i, as a native person, felt MASSIVELY weird about a mormon inserting himself into indigenous people’s cultures, the caricatures of native people lauding him as their great white savior one of their own, him being “their only hope” of survival—and honestly a lot of that paternalism that pervades much of the legion’s narrative (like ugh. uuughhh how visceral it is that the revived roman empire is swallowing up indigenous cultures again. ouch. but it feels like a bit of a hamfisted metaphor, and also why do all our stories in media have to center genocide all the time, it is so exhausting!)

it was really visceral, too, after having heard a professor/menotr of mine recounting his great-grandmother’s experience at the bear creek massacre. like this is real and tangible and painful. it made me feel so weird. mormons in general also have exquisitely bizarre beliefs about native folks.

honestly the whole dlc makes me have such conflicting feelings. on one hand, the region is beautiful, and seeing indigenous people reclaim a national park as their land is kind of nice? on the other— the white saviorism, the choice of making joshua & daniel not only white saviors but MORMONS, the accents, the paternalism that leeches into every part of the narrative. the vibes of the dlc are interesting and appealing to me. the portrayal makes me feel sick.

anyways sorry to rant in ur inbox i love ur blog 💖

Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit, we’re telling “adverse psychological responses to being surrounded by dehumanizing narratives” stories now? I found out my family had a cross burned on their lawn in the 80s around the same time Outlast revealed its new villain was a member of the KKK. The fact itself wasn’t quite as upsetting as the subsequent shift in the community, wherein a bunch of young white people loudly bickered over whether or not it was okay for them to publicly thirst over the Klan member, brazenly prioritizing their own self perception as a group instead of paying any heed to the experiences & opinions of players of color, even though. Y’know. That was the group of people whose brutalization the story was commenting on in the first place. Putting up with this shit is genuinely taxing, and that’s why so many POC leave fandom entirely, which creates a feedback loop - white sensibilities are given precedent, people of color decide to stay away, so fandom remains predominantly white, so white sensibilities are given precedent. This is a tale as old as time.

The trouble with Honest Hearts the story is that it, like most anti-indigenous media, callously lifts existing cultures and warps them into whatever shape is necessary to make then effective narrative tools for the white protagonist, or perhaps more accurately the predominantly white audience consuming them. I play this game on a $50 PlayStation Three that’s old enough to vote, so I’ve yet to get the chance to play Honest Hearts, though I’ve watched it. And while I’m grateful to have never had to wade through the discomfort of actively participate in that narrative, the fact that the most well-known of FNV’s dlcs is densely populated with anti-indigenous caricatures has repercussions on the game’s broader community. It’s for that reason that simply eating around media racism is more difficult in practice than in theory.

[star-going-supernova]

If you accept prompts can you do more protective/angry freddy? I just want him to snap and go off while all the other animatronics are just like :O :O :O :O!!!

We’re kicking off this round of prompts with number 38! I know some of y’all have been looking forward to more Freddy being protective, so come and feast, friends! I’ve given Gregory the chance to annihilate Afton a few times now. I think Freddy deserves a turn. :)

Feral

“You broke my puppet,” the monster snarled, raspy. “Therefore, I think it’s only fair that you replace her.” 

Gregory didn’t think telling the mostly dead man that it’d been Monty’s careless lunging that sent Vanny headfirst down the long spiral staircase in the west arcade would really help his situation. And also, fear was clogging up his throat as he tried to become one with the chair he was tied to. 

Even though it just made him feel worse, he couldn’t help but keep looking at Freddy, frozen in the corner with a vacant expression. The monster—Afton, he was pretty sure Vanny had called him during her frenzied mumbling—had just ordered him to stop, and it was the worst thing he’d seen all night, the way Freddy had immediately fallen still. 

Afton had laughed each time Gregory tried to call out to him, and he’d gleefully gloated that nothing could break his hold on the animatronics. Gregory didn’t want to believe him, but Freddy hadn’t so much as twitched no matter what he said. 

Now Afton shuffled closer, decaying and rotten, his rusty joints creaking, the heavy animatronic suit jerky and stiff. He was a masterclass in disgusting, the dictionary definition of something that should’ve died a long time ago. 

And in his clawed hand was a writhing, clicking, bug-like piece of machinery. It was like a grossly big centipede, maybe about three inches in length, with dozens of needle-like legs that flexed rhythmically. It was segmented in such a way that made it flexible, and the dark metal of its surface just made the shiny silver of its teeth in its round mouth stand out more. 

“For your neck,” Afton told him, borderline pleasantly. “All it will take is a small incision, and it will burrow the rest of the way to your brainstem.” 

Visceral horror seized Gregory’s heart. This was a world away from dumb animatronics hunting him—badly—or even the cheerful child murderer in a bunny costume.

“It will be agonizing,” Afton finished, glowing purple eyes flashing in what might have been anticipatory delight. “And then you will be mine.” 

Gregory futilely tried to push himself further away from the encroaching parasite. His heart raced, and he couldn’t stop himself from breathing fast and hard, panicked. He was cornered, trapped, helpless. He burned with it, with fear, and his wrists stung as he twisted them in their bindings. His legs strained against the rope. Everything in his body desperately wanted him to move, his flight instinct kicking in with no way to satisfy it. 

He shook his head, wide eyed and frantic, choking on desperate dread. As Afton picked up a knife, Gregory cried, “Freddy, Freddy, please! Please wake up!” It was better than begging Afton not to hurt him, even though Freddy didn’t react. His eyes burned, tears slipping down his face even as he squeezed them shut. He thrashed in place, whining. “No, no, no, no.” 

He heard Afton circle around behind him, and then his head was being shoved forward. His stomach lurched dangerously when he felt movement in his hair; Afton hadn’t put down the parasite, and it kept squirming, occasionally brushing against his head. 

“Freddy, please!” 

“No one’s going to save you,” the monster whispered. “It’s always been that way, and it will always be that way.” 

Heart fit to burst and eyes squeezes shut almost painfully tight, Gregory shrieked with all the desperate fear and need tightening his chest, “Dad!”

The cold line of the knife being laid to his neck made him stop breathing. Static crackled in his ears, and tension bowed his spine in the long pause before Afton started cutting. 

The expected stinging pain never came. Instead, a deafening roar had him flinching, and the echoes of it hadn’t had the chance to fall quiet as fast, furious footsteps stormed right up to them.

A surprised noise left Afton, and the unwanted touches to Gregory’s head and neck vanished abruptly. Barely comprehending the change, Gregory numbly looked up—just in time to watch Freddy pick Afton up with both hands and hurl him at the wall. 

The monster wheezed, and that was all he was able to do before Freddy was on him. He’d always been fast, clearly faster than the other animatronics, but Gregory distantly thought that Freddy must have been holding back before now. He moved with a speed that was truly inhuman, his eyes pitch black but for the pupils, which were stark, blinding white. 

Gregory watched, frozen in place, as Freddy grabbed hold of one of Afton’s arms, planted his foot on that same shoulder, and yanked. 

The rusty metal and rotting flesh that made up his body were no match for the sheer strength of an animatronic in his prime. The arm snapped clean off. Afton shouted in strained pain, scratching weakly at Freddy’s ankle with his other hand. 

Freddy threw away the severed arm like it was trash, and Gregory’s stomach turned when he saw the parasite still held in the fingers, wriggling mindlessly, denied a new host. 

But Freddy didn’t stop there. He swiped up the discarded knife and jabbed it through the hole where a nose would’ve been. He made a motion that Gregory could only call stirring with it, Afton screeching all the while. 

It sounded like he tried to command Freddy again, garbled though it was, and Freddy scoffed. He reached into a hole around the ribs and, as far as Gregory could tell from his chair on the other side of the room, wrapped his hand around Afton’s spine. Whether it was bone or metal, Gregory didn’t know. Afton thrashed, groaning, as he was lifted. 

Freddy effortlessly holding him one-handed off the ground was just insulting, and if Gregory hadn’t been on the edge of a panic attack, he probably would’ve laughed. As it was, he remained silent, a heaviness seeping through him as he pulled in choppy lungfuls of air. 

“I will not let anyone,” Freddy said, the first he’d spoken since breaking free, “hurt Gregory on my watch. Certainly not you.” He straightened even more and, wow, had he always been that tall? He hadn’t seemed like it, before. “His claim to me is far stronger than yours, and there is nothing I would not do for him.” 

He’d stumbled over the dad word a few times during the past handful of hours, admittedly, and though Freddy hadn’t reacted badly to any of his slip-ups, it—it was actually really nice to hear it acknowledged, reciprocated, like that. He sagged, boneless, in his bindings. 

If Afton responded, Gregory didn’t catch it. Freddy slammed his body into the concrete with such force that it shook the floor. There were clangs and snaps of metal breaking, and bits of flesh splattered out of the tears in the fabric suit. Afton very well could’ve been dead from that, but Freddy took no chances. He grasped the more intact of the monster’s ankles and, turning so he was holding on over his shoulder with both hands, seamlessly whipped Afton up over his head in an arc. 

There was no other way to say it: Afton shattered upon being reintroduced to the floor. His body split off into half a dozen pieces with an almighty explosion of delicate metal parts and brittle bones.

In the ringing silence afterward, Freddy turned with a growl and stomped down on the parasite, grinding it to dust with his fury. 

Gregory blinked tears out of his eyes, and then Freddy was there, kneeling in front of him with a soft hum. He snapped the rope as easily as if it was thread, and Gregory tipped forward into his arms with a weak sound of relief. 

Lifting him into a secure hold, Freddy turned and shoved his way out of that horrible room, leaving the stench of rot and blood behind. Gregory trembled faintly, gripping onto the edge of one of Freddy’s chest plates for the comfort of it. 

“Thanks, Dad,” he mumbled, closing his eyes and resting his head against Freddy’s shoulder. 

Freddy’s grip tightened slightly. “I will always protect you,” he swore. “I am only sorry it took so long.” 

Gregory shook his head. “You weren’t too late. You saved me. That’s all that matters.” And he dozed off a bit as Freddy carried him out of the buried wreckage, safer than he’d ever felt.

[ira-sairain]

This is kind of personal, but does anyone else feel disgusted when you find out other ppl like you?

Like it's just a pretty visceral feeling where I feel dirty all over.

I rejected a friend recently and we decided to stay friends(big improvement for me cause I used to just straight up ghost people or even quit jobs)but I can tell they still like me because no one finds me that funny when they don't and I just. I'm starting to hate them a bit and I really don't want to because I know that's not their fault?

For the longest time I just felt general awkwardness, but after a particularly bad experience with a guy who wouldn't take no I'm afraid it's tainted every possible reaction after.

Instead of fear I feel disgust, which is worse because then on top of my regular feelings I also have to fear guilt from rationally knowing it's not their fault if they catch feelings.

Idk, does anyone have any stories to commiserate? I feel like ppl would look at me like I was crazy if I said this irl.

[kittsu-and-company]

“Do you remember me now?”

TW(s) include:

Manipulation

Self Loathing

Mention of past Self Harm

Implied Suicidal Thoughts

Implied Kidnapping

-

Kittsu felt her skin crawl as the librarian’s piercing green eyes bore holes into her own, a gaze she refused to meet as a sickening familiarity in them threatened to swallow her in anxiety and dread. She felt as Achlys’ grip tightened on her shoulder, dragging subsurface thoughts to the forefront of her mind; Oh arceus, what did I do this time? What did I do? He’s mad he’s always mad he-

“Euphrosyne,” she flinched, and took the distraction as a moment to feign calmness, slowing her breath which had been gradually increasing, “c’mon, you wanted to look at the fiction section, right?” She was grateful the chimera-water type mask hid her emotions somewhat well, hiding the tears that wanted to spill out of her eyes at really any given moment. She was tired. She didn’t want to go to the fiction section. She didn’t want to go anywhere anymore, she just wanted to sleep… though she probably didn’t deserve that opportunity.

She felt herself squeezing the hand Achlys had offered to her, probably a bit too hard, but this was better than scratching at her arms like she used to do. She still felt the woman’s piercing gaze Burning Holes Through Her Skin, and almost felt as if the intensity could Char the Flesh Beneath. Achlys scowled past as he led Kittsu… Euphrosyne..? She was too tired to know which name was hers anymore. That smile with too perfect teeth made her feel as if her bones were being chilled. Dread. For what..? Was she forgetting something?

“Euphrosyne, don’t talk to her.”

“...Okay”

“She’s untrustworthy. She was… looking at me wrong.”

I’m not an idiot. “Okay, thanks for… telling me.”

“Euphrosyne. Listen to me, don’t talk to her, I know you want to.”

Please, for the love of Arceus stop talking. “Sure.”

Your voice is as grating as my own.

Kittsu felt as her face twisted into a closed-mouth snarl of disgust as she numbly followed Achlys. She missed her friends… wait, no, that was wrong, she’s not supposed to miss anything. She hated herself for a multitude of reasons, but she knew giving up and refusing to fight fate caused the majority of that. She hoped Sprite, Polaris, and everyone else she loved was disappointed in her; it’d make the inevitable hurt less. She knew full well that there was no future for her, and she knew that as soon as she met Mirror. She looked at Achlys and knew that she was just a support for him and… whatever his grand scheme may have been. She hoped, at least, that whatever he’s fighting for goes the way he wants, he felt important, the center of a hurricane of confusion and a story that she had no part in. She at least wanted to be helpful to one thing in this world.

…But why was Mirror interested in her, too? Was it just because it knew she played a part, no matter how small…?

And why did it leave?

Achlys flinched violently and whipped around to face the man with the Ninetales, who had suddenly placed a hand on his shoulder. Its name was Cocytus, if she remembered correctly. He spoke quickly, monotone, and only to Achlys with an intensity she oddly expected for this place. Mythos Under the Sun… she’s always wanted to come here, but now that they're all actually there, something about it feels viscerally off. Her skin crawls as if being watched, though when she turns back, the woman behind the counter was long out of sight. Loud whispers grab her attention once more as she looks towards Achlys and the unnamed man arguing in a hushed tone, Achlys argued for a minute before letting out a frustrated sigh and looking back at her.

“Me and white boy over here need to talk about something. You just- go wherever, but stay away from that woman. Go.”

She stood blankly for a bit, still processing the words before stepping away, scanning the library for anything that caught her attention. Eventually, something did; a small shelf stood out, as if it were glowing in a room of pitch darkness. Its golden-hued wood stood out against the red mahogany pillars that held books of all types across the library; it felt as if a spotlight were shining on it… it felt wrong, somehow. Her mind felt scrambled as she slowly approached the golden shelf, a throne of several beautiful, leather-bound journals, all marked by names she felt as if she should know.

Curiosity killed the Meowstic… but satisfaction brought it back, right?

She should’ve waited outside.

She felt like she was losing track of herself, staring at those journals. Something desperately clawed at her mind, something, a memory long buried. She should have fled. She couldn’t help herself.

Izuba, Matahari, Aelia, Samson, Saulė…so many names burnt into leather and memories immortalized as fiction. Sooraj, Sūrya, Adlaw, Helios. Something buried, demanding to be brought to the surface of memories long forgotten. Dielli, Zuva, Taeyang, Letsatsi, Grian; how far does it go? Araw, Aelius, Taiyō, Aurinko, Siqniq. How long has she been standing here, reading the names? Was it already too late? Ilanga, Savita, Arev, Elio, Kalinda, Cyra…

☀️ < Mirri Marisolis. > ☀️

Something clicked as her eyes finally traced over where the next journal would’ve sat, a hole in a story she swore she knew the name of. A missing journal, but who was next in line? She would’ve thought it would be Achlys’ name waiting to be filled in that missing cavity, if it weren’t for her pounding head, and a frantic, clawing desperation that she knew wasn’t her own. Remember.

The lights went out with a snap.

She flinched and tried to find Achlys, only to be met with green eyes that pierce the darkness behind her, a shade that mirrored old photos of herself.

Remember the Storyteller. Remember his name, remember, remember. She felt paralyzed both by the migraine and the too-familiar woman in front of her. She was so close.

“Welcome home, Éliane!”

The pieces were there. Remember. Remember. Remember.

“We missed you.”

Something broke, and the migraine was gone as a familiar, chilling smile cut through the dark, leaving her speechless and terrified. Voices that were not her own screamed in her mind as she felt memories surface and the world crumble around her. She recognized the sound of her “mother’s” Glalie, its frozen breath creating creeping mist that flowed in from behind.

Éliane didn’t have time to make sense of the puzzle in front of her before a flash of green fur and three crimson eyes caught her eye.

She didn’t have time to run before everything faded to black.

[mara-xx217]

Ending H (Fear & Hunger) Ch.7- 'Til Death Do We Part

It was a matter of survival in both of your eyes yet it was he that gained everything while you lost it all... It would have been kinder to have died a swift death but still... you fear the dark and the quiet as much as despise the man.

Warnings: Rape/Noncon, Necrophilia, Voyeurism, Enki is a Prick, Anal, Threesome, Magical Sex, Body Horror

His face did not waver as he spoke. Like he didn’t just tell you something so objectively horrifying, so utterly despicable and disgusting. Your mouth was like cotton and black specks began to invade your vision. The ringing in your ears was nearly deafening but his words were still clear in your mind:

“It’s rather simple: perform a marriage with my servant and I. Isn’t it you that said there was safety in numbers?” 

It wasn’t what you meant and he knows this! But… What other choice did you have? You will die here, you just know it. There is no safety, there is no salvation…. The non choice before you made you ill but the thought of dying to something else here trumped the visceral revulsion you felt in the moment. 

It… will be over soon, won’t it…? 

You hang your head as you begin to remove your armour. The dark priest seemed unbothered, perhaps even bored, as you undressed with trembling fingers and uneven breaths. His undead ghoul stood at his side, its glassy eyes staring not at you but somewhere to your left. It unnerved you greatly, even more when you watched it so shamelessly scratch at itself for the umpteenth time as its master leaned against a nearby wall.

“Only you are making this difficult.” You grit your teeth at how amused he sounded.

“...shut up.” It came out far more loud than you intended but the dark priest did nothing other than smirk as you removed your trousers. You hated how he leered at you, with his darken, deep set eyes that seemed to pierce straight through you… Somehow, he made you feel more vulnerable than you previously believed yourself to be. When your hands reached your shirt, you began to hesitate. 

“Oh? Having second thoughts, are we?” His tone was of mock concern. Silver white locks pool over one of his shoulders as he cocks his head to the side. His ghoul mimics its master’s movements. Your face is somehow both draining of colour yet also incredibly flush. You feel faint- 

“N-No- I- I don’t-” You ball your fists into your shirt. He sighs, feigning exasperation. 

“Here, allow me-” You furrow your brows. 

“W-Wha- W-WAIT-!” 

Your voice catches in your throat as the ghoul grabs you by your collar. Panic was already setting in and you fight instead of taking flight. 

“S-STOP-! I- I’M NOT-!” You didn’t even know what you were trying to say. The strength of this undead creature was uncanny and supernatural. It threw you to the floor with ease, swiftly falling after you so that you hadn’t the opportunity to rise to your feet. 

A flowing black robe invaded your peripheral as the priest moved to get a better view of the scene before him. The ghoul straddled your hips and had you pinned down by the back of your neck. The cool, slightly moist floor of the dungeon had your skin crawling and your body involuntarily reeling from its touch.

“L-Liste- L-LISTEN! I’ll- I’ll do it! I’LL FUCKING DO IT! J-Just don’t-!” The hairs on the back of your neck began to rise as a hardness began to press into the small of your back. The dark priest clicked his tongue and sighed softly.

“A little late for that, don’t you think? I believe it easier this way… It is difficult to have second thoughts halfway through if you are no longer under the illusion of having control.” Your blood ran cold. 

“W-What…?” He didn’t answer you. Perhaps he shrugged, as you heard him shift in place, but it mattered not the moment the ghoul began to clumsily feel around your behind.

“N-NO! WAI-! EEEH?!” An undignified squeak leaves your lips as the undead creature’s fingers slipped between the cleft of your ass. For a brief moment, you stiffened, unable to act in any way whatsoever. But your struggle quickly renewed and you kicked your legs out and tried to push up from the floor with your arms.

“T-That’s-! N-NOT THERE-!!” You become unstable as filthy fingers and broken nails prod and rake against your puckered hole. The ghoul wasn’t perturbed by your screaming and flailing in the slightest. It groaned and drooled against you as its forefinger firmly pressed against your asshole, penetrating it in spite of your best efforts to clench your muscles in a vain attempt to keep it from sodomizing you. 

Tears welled in your eyes as the true reality of your circumstances began to sink in. This really is about to happen, isn’t it? You really will be raped by a dead man, and its master will watch this torture unfold. You felt sick as the ghoul’s hard cock rubbed into your back. It didn’t seem to be moving its hips- at least, not intentionally. With every harsh, uncoordinated jab of its finger, it slipped farther and farther into you with more and more ease. The dark priest, while bemused at your cries and the way you struggled under his thrall, began to grow bored with each passing second. He began to remove his gloves, unbeknownst to you.

“Let’s get this over with, shall we? I already grow bored of this affair.” Huh? No- No, no-!

Your breath catches in your throat as the ghoul pulls its finger out of your ass suddenly. You thrash and cry out but it's all for naught. The undead being groans and snarls above you as it frees its hard cock from the scraps of cloth that provided it with the barest amount of modesty and jerkily bumped its hips against the softness of your ass. Your voice hits a new pitch as you scream at the top of your lungs.

“J-JUST STOOOOP!! STOP IT!! P-PLEASE STOP-!!!” Your cries for mercy fall on deaf ears. The dead will not heed you and its master is just as cold and uncaring. No, maybe not as uncaring as the dead, but perhaps worse in that he found your struggling to be a rather enjoyable sight to behold. 

“The more you struggle the more unsightly this scene becomes…” He drawls as the ghoul comes close to actually penetrating you. It doesn’t have the motor skills to handle so many tasks at once and alongside your struggling it left it with an impossible task. The Dark Priest knew this and sighed to himself.

“I suppose it can’t be helped…” What-?! You can’t rise off the floor- not with this damned creature keeping you down!! But the moment you free yourself, you will fucking kill-!

“H-Huh-?! HUH?! D-DON’T-!!” The priest actually knelt beside you and took its undead creation into his hand and guided it to your puckered entrance! You kept struggling, kept your muscles stiff! But in the end you couldn’t stop the dead man from ramming his cock balls deep into your tight and mostly dry asshole. 

A scream you didn’t recognize as your own left your mouth, surely deafening to any around but you couldn’t stop the panic and revulsion that surged up from your guts and ejected from your mouth with a ferocity that threatened to drown you as the back of your neck was held firmly down by cold and stiff fingers. 

No discernible pace was set as the ghoul clumsily humped into your prone body. It hurt-! It fucking hurts! Physically, emotionally, spiritually- Never. You never thought something like this possible. Not in your wildest nightmares, even after delving too deep into the dungeon of Fear & Hunger, was this a possibility in your mind. But here you were, sobbing and pulling away in vain as a corpse raped you while its master just stood by and fucking watched. The Dark Priest pulled your sweat and saliva and vomit and tear stained hair away from your face, tucking it behind your ear so he could see how your face twisted in anguish at every thrust of his ghoul’s hips. But it wasn’t enough for him or for the goddess. They needed more. 

Under his direction, the ghoul began to pick up its pace. Your eyes go wide and your hands search for something in the dark. Maybe your weapon, maybe an object of comfort. You find nothing but the unforgiving stone floor and you rake your nails against it as the burning, splitting pain begins to subtly shift into something that makes your loins ache and your face twist in shock.

“Ah. Now you are feeling it. Good.” You couldn’t hear the priest’s words over the sound of both your moaning and the ghoul’s snarls and grunts of effort. The flat of your palm finds the bony protrusion of the ghoul’s hip but any amount of pushing did absolutely nothing to either slow its speed or ferocity. 

Your screams of pain began to morph into keens of pleasure. You hate it. You hate how it feels, how cold the ghoul’s body is in comparison to yours. You hate the feeling of being pinned in place. You hate how easy its cock slipped in and out of your stretched asshole and the wet sound that accompanied the crashing of its balls against your ass-

“NNNGGGH-!! N-NOOO…!!” Its thrust went deeper. The ghoul was now rocking into your body, flush against the curve of your ass, and ramming its cockhead into something that had your body jerking and your voice rising in pitch. Your head hits the floor over and over again as you struggle to keep up whatever fight was in you. 

“AH-! A-AHH-! N-NNGHH! MMMM-!!!” A thin, black robe falls somewhere and the ghoul is suddenly pushed flat against your back. The ghoul’s pace becomes far more erratic as the Dark Priest breathes sharply out of his nose.

From behind, the priest had pinned the ghoul in a similar manner to how it pinned you down. It was easy to slip into the dead being’s soft, rotted flesh, and it wasn’t wholly unpleasant in spite of the cold in the ghoul’s bodily cavity. He kept it focused on fucking you as he fucked it from behind. It shouldn’t take much more… Perhaps he was lucky in finding you as a ‘willing’ participant in this little experiment of his. Who knows what would be gained from such a union…

The slapping of flesh and moans and snarls of pleasure and effort echoed deep within the bowels of the dungeon. Soon enough, you could no longer deny the pleasure that the ghoul brought you with each time its cock rammed against your insides, much as the Dark Priest couldn’t deny that he found great pleasure in both witnessing and participating in your rape. The ghoul was undead but still willing… It didn’t react as he slammed his cock harder and faster inside of its now ruined and gaping asshole but the priest found this pleasant nonetheless. 

Almost- A-Almost…! 

Just as you hit your breaking point the Dark Priest did too. The ghoul released its emissions on command, just as its master filled its insides were filled with hot seed did it release its colder and thicker cum that had the last thin cord in your core snapping in half as a rushing torrent seeped inside of your asshole. Your own release was imminent and you cried out as the more intense and wonderful sensation washed over you as all three of you cummed at the same time. 

Your cries, the ghoul’s growls and the Dark Priest’s grunts all blended into one sound of wanton pleasure. For a brief moment, just for a fraction of one, did the warm and soft sensation of pure, unabashed love blanket you. It wrapped you in its embrace, pulling you back and settling you into something that made you feel whole. You didn’t feel fear, you didn’t feel pain, you just felt… right. For the first time in your life, you felt like you were right… 

It wasn’t so bad… The embrace was warm and the dark of the dungeon wasn’t so scary now that you will never be alone ever again. You were never acknowledged but you didn’t need to be. After all, you didn’t need his love when Sylvian gave you everything you would ever need… 

Ending H- ‘Till Death Do We Part

@prettycutebunny, @infinitewhore, @kennbb, @slutwithadegree, @dead-bxxxtch-walking, @space-arsonist, @pink-soft-shadow, @sinlessdesire, @hoemine

[errorryx]

the lamb & the knife

read on ao3 | limited life, pearl & cleo, 1.8k words

a gratuitous fanon interpretation of cleo and pearl's sixth episodes based on this post, because i was feeling silly. cleo summons a war goddess for revenge purposes, and pearl isn't willing to sacrifice her cat.

warning for brief gory/visceral descriptions (i put the zombie in zombiecleo)

“Just a heads-up,” Cleo called across the small canyon between their bases. “Tonight I’m going to summon the goddess of war to my service.”

Pearl had been watching them approach from the top of her hastily-constructed stone wall. She’d never heard of a goddess of war, but it might explain the war paint Cleo had been sporting the last few days. “What does that mean, exactly?” she asked.

“Oh,” Cleo said, tilting their head. “You don’t know?”

“No, I don’t.” It felt like a trap, but as usual, Pearl’s curiosity got the better of her. She hopped down from the wall, ignoring the pain of impact in her soles as she climbed up the tiny gorge. “Can you tell me about it?”

Cleo grinned sharply, like she’d won something. “It’s very simple,” she said. “At moonhigh, I’ll call on the goddess of war to take over my body and enact my revenge. I’m going to draw a circle, make an offering, and win her favor.”

“Right,” Pearl said, as if this was all very normal. Maybe it was. Maybe she’d been out of the loop this whole time, while people had been summoning goddesses left and right under her nose. “What kind of offering are we talking about here?”

Cleo barked a laugh, making Pearl scowl. “If you’re thinking of trying it for yourself, Pearl, I doubt you have the sort of thing she’s looking for.”

“Which is?” Pearl pressed.

“Spoils,” Cleo said. “Yours or another’s.”

Spoils. Pearl frowned. “How am I supposed to get spoils in a game where people don’t drop their stuff when they die?”

“Oh, not that kind of spoils,” Cleo said dismissively. She rested her hand against the awful crevice in her side, then began to slide her fingers in. Pearl quickly looked away. “This is exactly what I mean. If you can’t even look at what I’m trying to show you, you don’t have much hope of obtaining a war goddess’s favor, now, do you?”

“Did you already forget who won last time?” Pearl asked. “I’m not sure why you think a war goddess would give you the time of day when I’m here. How many people have you killed again?”

Now it was Cleo’s turn to scowl. “We’ll just have to see who’s got the better offering, won’t we?”

Pearl lifted her chin. “I guess we will.”

“Between you and me…” Cleo took a step back, still clutching her side, and slowly began to draw something out from within—some kind of awful blackened tube, smelling strongly of rot and mildew. Pearl nearly gagged when she finally figured out what it was, but she pressed her lips together and held her breath instead. “I think I’ve got the upper hand,” Cleo said. “That’s what a goddess craves, you know. Carnage.”

She turned on her heel and walked back to the clock tower, her own entrails dangling in the dust behind her.

Pearl made a sputtering, disgusted noise, scrambling back to her tower. If Cleo was going to make an offering to a goddess, she’d just have to beat her to the punch.

She ran down the stairs of her strip mine, pausing at the spot that led to the ravine where she’d killed Jury—Judge Jury—whatever stupid name Jimmy had given the frog. She didn’t remember. All she remembered was watching the poor stupid creature fall to its death when she’d kicked the ground out from under it. She hopped down to the floor of the ravine, digging around in the rubble until she found—

Nothing. The frog was nothing but dust. Bodies rotted so fast in these games, she doubted she’d be able to use anything from another player, not unless she happened to kill them right in the center of her circle and do the ritual immediately after. Or maybe she could do it while they were still alive, but she’d have to find something that would sit in her circle long enough to make it work.

Pearl grimaced. She knew exactly what she could get to sit in the center of her circle and not move, but she didn’t like it. She went back upstairs to draw her circle, making it as even and symmetrical as possible, then starting on the inside. Summoning circles were meant to have five-pointed stars inside them, weren’t they? She started on the first point of the star, dragging her stick of chalk almost all the way to the center, before realizing she needed a reference point in the middle. She drew a tiny circle and connected the edges of her first point, then started on the other four.

Once she was finished, Pearl set down her chalk, dusted off her hands, and looked over at her unsuspecting cat, who watched silently from across the room. “Pspsps, Froggy,” she called quietly, “come here, baby.” Froggy’s head perked up, and she delicately rose to her feet and trotted right over to Pearl’s side, curling up in a ball at her feet. “That’s right,” Pearl told her adoringly. “Such a good kitty.”

Froggy gave a gentle purr and closed her eyes. Pearl scratched gently at her kitten’s ears and under her chin, watching Froggy’s breathing gradually slow into sleep.

Pearl sat back with a sigh. It would be a simple task to nudge Froggy into the circle, but she still couldn't bring herself to sacrifice her cat. Besides, there was a decent chance that she’d done something wrong, or that Cleo had made the whole thing up just to mess with her. She got to her feet, letting Froggy rest. “Goddess, if you’re listening,” she said, “could I get some kind of sign that I’m doing this correctly? Anything, really.”

She took a look at her circle. From this angle, her improvised pentagram didn’t look much like a star after all. With the smaller circle in the middle, it more closely resembled a flower with five pointy petals.

Maybe it was a sign from the heavens, or maybe it was just her habit of lunacy when the moon was high, but Pearl was struck by sudden inspiration. She climbed up the ladder to the chest room.

BigB was sound asleep on the floor above her, and Pearl could just barely hear his quiet snoring. She tiptoed over to one of the chests and lifted the lid as slowly as she could so as not to disturb him. For a moment she contemplated drawing a second circle, right around BigB’s bed, but she decided against it. Maybe as a last resort.

She only found three flowers in the chests: a poppy, a rose bush, and a lilac. If she were a goddess, Pearl didn’t think she’d be very impressed. Since there were five points to her star, she grabbed a couple dark oak saplings to complete the set. Somehow it just felt right.

By the time she returned to the ground floor, she’d developed a recurring yawn and her eyelids were growing heavy. Pearl never seemed to get enough sleep in these games, and this time was no exception. She knelt down in the center of the circle and arranged the flowers and saplings, one at each point of the star, leaving a space for herself in the center without really thinking. With a shrug, she lay down and stretched out across the stone and gravel floor.

If the goddess wasn’t impressed by the flowers, maybe she’d be impressed by Pearl offering not just some useless internal organ, but all of herself.

Or maybe it would just get her killed. Pearl didn’t know what to expect, but either way, she’d made her peace with it. She was much too tired to stay awake until moonhigh, but she hoped the goddess would accept her offering anyway.

She closed her eyes and went to sleep.

—

“Cleo.”

Cleo grinned, looking up from where she knelt in front of her meticulously-drawn summoning circle. “Hi, Gem.”

“Cleo, what is wrong with you?” Gem stood in the center of the circle, the partially-decomposed intestine dangling from her pinky finger. “Why did you give me this? I don’t want this! Couldn’t you have slaughtered a fattened calf or something?”

“It was just to get a rise out of Pearl,” Cleo said. “Who may or may not be attempting her own ritual tonight, so you’d better hurry up and grant me your favor before you get pulled off to her place instead. Knowing her, her offering might be even worse than mine.”

Gem wrinkled her nose. “Alright, you’ve got my favor, then. Who do you want me to kill? Pearl, I’m guessing?”

“Eh.” Cleo shrugged. “Pearl’s not a priority. It’s Etho I really want dead.”

Gem’s eyes lit up and her hoof stomped eagerly against the ground. “Say no more.”

“He’s also my husband,” Cleo warned. “Or ex-husband. It goes back and forth.”

“Horrifying.” Gem stuck out her hand, and Cleo took it, rising to their feet and stepping within the borders of the circle. “You’ve got a sword for me, right?”

“Of course.”

Gem embraced them, folding into them until she disappeared completely. When she next spoke, the words came out of Cleo’s mouth.

“Then I’ll be sure to collect child support,” she said. “One way or another.”

—

BigB woke in the middle of the night from some sort of humming sound downstairs that shook the whole tower. He jumped to his feet, immediately searching for his sword, before looking across the room at Pearl’s bed, empty and untouched.

His shoulders sagged with relief. If Pearl wasn’t asleep yet, it probably meant she was the one making the noise. But he just as quickly tensed up again, because he couldn’t think of anything she might be doing that would cause it. What if she was in danger? “Pearl?” BigB called, beginning to climb down the ladder. “Where are you?”

“Down here,” chirped a voice from below that was definitely not Pearl’s.

When he got to the bottom, BigB turned around to see Pearl standing in the center of a large flower drawn in chalk on the floor, with flowers in her hair and a very peculiar sparkle in her eyes. “Pearl?” he asked hesitantly, backing up a few steps.

“Not quite,” Pearl said, her lips moving in time to the voice that wasn’t hers—a voice that, now that he thought about it, sounded familiar. “Come on now, BigB. Don’t you recognize your queen?”

—

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