#* ❪ ooc. ❫ ▬ have no fear. a rabbit is here.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Hello!! I just started reading your works recently and I think it's safe to say that I have fallen in love with them <3 the way you write both the cod guys and the reader feels so real and poetic that I just, eat it up everytime. I read your Barbarian! König post and it got me thinking about something.

König and Ghost are kinda opposites when it comes to their darlings. König likes darlings fiesty and snippy but Ghost likes his darlings as more agreeable or soft but not weak, ykwim??

And it got me thinking about Barbarian! Ghost. Whereas König got his darling bc he killed her husband and she was there when it happened, I see Ghost as going to take one girl originally but then the darling steps in front of said girl and says to take her instead, saving the girl and sacrificing herself. Idk but I think he would be very attracted to that, and unlike König who gently picks you up and puts you upon his horse while you kick and bite him, Ghost grabs you and lays you stomach first against his horse harshly, keeping a sturdy hand on your back as he rides away.

Sorry if this is weird or ooc!! But it was just a thought that came to me!

Oh Barbarian!Ghost would be sooo disinterested on the outside. He only saves her ass discreetly, but saves it more than enough times to spark her curiosity.

Why does he come to her rescue and then abandons her to her own devices?

CW: Minor violence (bruises), noncon groping, fear of SA, blood, cuddling & snuggling, Ghost being a complex PTSD weirdo who has a fascination towards bones.

It’s actually she who approaches him first, not the other way around. He allows her to seek protection by staying near him and thus get the others off her back: he might even throw her a piece of roasted lamb as if she were some stray cat, lurking about his campfire. But there’s not much more than that on offer for her: only a few sideways glances that tell her he regards her mostly as a nuisance and a liability, accompanied by a few scrap bones that luckily have some meat and fat still on them.

He shows her how to snap the bigger ones in half to get to the life saving marrow, and that’s when she realizes he regards her a bit dumb, some pretty royal girl who doesn’t know how to survive without a man.

And who’s to blame for all that? Clever men who have forced her to learn poetry and songs, pluck chords and recite philosophers from memory. No one ever even taught her how to ride a horse, the only things she can do is chat about the latest political turns and whether it’s old-fashioned to style your hair Southern style.

Now she’s supposed to strike a conversation with a barbarian who dresses in furs and wool, who collects the knuckles of his fallen enemies and looks at her like she’s the uncivilized one here. He probably plays dice with those bones, and she’s never seen him force a woman under him; she’s never seen him take a woman at all.

He’s probably half dead already, some ghoul raised to ravage this earth. But everytime she gets drooled over or spat upon, groped or squeezed or slapped on the soft flesh of her butt, she makes her way to him and only him. To become one with the shadows too, or to disappear, perhaps.

He gives her his biggest, thickest pelt to wrap around her shoulders, to cover those assets that make these wartorn men so crazy. Or then he doesn’t want to find her frozen to death at dawn... Dark, vast eyes look at her in the early morning fog, up from above from the highest heights, as if asking why she overslept again.

A rabbit is thrown at her feet, but she doesn’t know what to do with it: she knows he wants her to skin it, yes, but how? Even with the knife he provides her, she can only stare at the soft creature helplessly, lick her dry, creaky lips until he sighs and comes to wrench the blade away, taking the hare before it turns too stiff.

She’s almost certain he’s not even interested in women until one day, someone goes a bit too far and grabs a handful of her to squeeze. The spitting, jerking and screaming turn into a whole fistfight until she gets drawn to her knees by her hair. He’s about to rip her scalp off, of that she is sure from how much it burns.

Tears stream down her face from pure pain alone, but this time, the bone marrow man doesn’t only save her. He walks to the scene like a shadow, yanks her gropers head back, and slits his throat right then and there. The others take a few steps back, mist rises from their gaping mouths as he lets go of the bleeding slump, looking at the pulsing, open vein as if he intends to drink from it. But it seems he only wanted to confirm that the dead stay dead because his interest in this man fades as quickly as it was aroused.

She rises to her feet, only to get swept off them as he dives for her hips and raises her to a crude carry, mainly meant for wheat sacks and sheep.

With a wide palm resting on her butt, he hauls her back to his fire, further away from the open field, and she doesn’t dare to utter a word. He doesn’t squeeze her, he doesn’t grope or slap or force her, but he does throw the fur away from her shoulders to check her body for bruises. She stays silent for the whole inspection as he moves her joints and limbs to check if anything’s broken, carefully like she indeed was only a little lamb. Brushes the pads of his fingers across the darkening spots that tell a story of violence, and it makes her shiver.

They’re just bruises, but they’re also evidence that her body is not her own anymore. Still, this clinical inspection feels far more intimate and warm than the rough hands and demanding mouths from before: it’s not just the intention behind the touch, it’s his presence.

You’ve never felt so thoroughly seen.

A low rumble rises in agreement to you taking his probing so well, and you kind of wish he would hold you tonight.

Just… Hold you.

When he withdraws, content with finding you relatively intact after the attempted assault, you grab his wrist. His head snaps back instantly, but he doesn’t pry himself away from your insolent little fingers. If anything, he’s curious.

You don’t know his words, and he doesn’t know yours, so you decide it’s best not to speak at all.

Pulling his palm back, you bring it to your hip, then further up to your waist, trying to make it clear that it’s only closeness and body warmth you seek. You leave it there, and it stays there, out of its own free will. A thumb brushes over your ribs, explorative. His eyes travel, they move down the line of your neck and try to decide what you might want from him, but then you see the fathomless depths he’s been hiding. His eyes come alive, and there’s such darkness there, an unquenchable well of want that shoots fear straight down your stomach.

You were wrong about him, so wrong…

He’s not disinterested, he’s just been holding back a tide as if it’s no big deal to fight back the very gods on his own.

His palm feels like fire, but he doesn’t move, only battles with his demons for a while. You lie there before him, feeling utterly idiotic for thinking he’s different from the rest of the men.

But then… The fur gets drawn over your half naked body. Slowly, deliberately. He’s not reverent: he only knows the consequences of his actions, and this is a path he does not wish to take.

It doesn’t prevent him from laying himself down to sleep next to you, however.

It doesn’t prevent you from slowly reaching an arm around him, the rigid form that slowly, so slowly turns lax. You risk to curl against him: not safe, only warm. A stray royal cat and a ghoul who collects bones, you think, but then the ghoul sighs and turns. You should feel rejected from the way he presents his back to you, but you suspect that it has something to do with him coming alive downstairs.

And you cling to him.

He doesn’t rip you off of him as you slip a hand under his arm and bend against him, like a river otter who just found a fat clam. His solemn breaths lull you to sleep, and he stays still for you: all night until the birds start to sing and the sun warms your face, the whole heap of you two.

Like a big pile of snow, melting on a summer’s day…

#writing for Ghost is like #trying to start an engine that was forgotten outside for the whole fucking winter ://

[vanillacreambunny]

enjoy the silence

genre: fluff, hurt/comfort, romance

words: 2034

warnings: reader is not gendered but has breasts, smut (mdni), biting, blood, established relationship, probably ooc; if I forgot anything, let me know.

notes: this scene popped into my head, and I wrote it. I intended for it to be around 500 words, and it quickly grew out of control. There is no dialogue. I wanted to write something without it, and it seemed to fit what I envisioned. I'm unsure if I accomplished what I wished to. I enjoyed writing it, but I'm not exactly happy with the end. Perhaps I'll rework it one day.

Second time writing for Dottore. Second time writing for Genshin Impact. Second time writing smut, which I didn't want to write in too much detail (for the sake of the story), so I'm sorry if it falls short; I did my best.

Titled after Enjoy the Silence by Depeche Mode.

As always, I apologize for any spelling or grammatical errors that may have gone unnoticed. Thank you to those who take the time to read and comment on my work; it’s greatly appreciated ♥

Another failure. 

Dottore’s not one to let his composure slip, cool and calculated in his actions after centuries of learned patience. First and foremost, he’s a scholar; he cannot allow his emotions to distract from or influence his work. Frustration and doubt simmer below the surface, buried deep within his heart as he starts over from square one with a determination to see the experiment through to the end—to prove to himself he can. Now here he stands, materials knocked haphazardly across the floor, blood on his hands, and his work in ruins. He rips the pages from his journal, cursing his past self for his incompetence. Days locked away in his lab, forgoing sleep, wasting time that could have been better spent elsewhere, and for what purpose? 

His fingers tangle in his hair, pulling until pain pierces his skull and dances along his spine. A laugh reverberates through his chest, shaking his shoulders, and echoing off the walls. His voice sounds foreign to his ears, and he almost doesn’t recognize his reflection when he catches his gaze on the scraps of metal at his feet, the smile on his warped face unsettling even to him. A monster stares back at him—expression bordering insanity—baring its pointed teeth in mockery as it too laughs; not with him, but at him. 

Wrenching the mask from his face with an angry shout, he tosses it across the room, nearly hitting you as you step inside. 

No one dares to approach him at his best and certainly not at his worst—except for you. There’s not a trace of fear in your eyes, only concern. You treat him akin to a wounded animal and not the predator he is, a growl of defiance dying in his throat as you reach up to cup his face in your hands and kiss along the scars that mar his skin, whispering words of comfort he doesn’t deserve though refuses to deny. You’re a mystery he has yet to unravel, and he wonders why you make his heart beat when so little in this world can. 

You coax him from the bowels of his lab into your shared living space, once cold and empty until you wandered into his life, a rabbit making its home in the wolf’s den; fortunately for you, he decided to keep you and claim you as his own against his better judgment. You proved yourself useful, and he’s loath to admit to anyone—including himself—that he longs for your touch when apart and finds solace in your arms, the chaos that is his mind falling quiet in your presence. If he’s a madman, he’s convinced it’s your doing, and his fellow Harbingers may agree. He’s spent years alone, growing accustomed to the loneliness that followed him in his adolescence, embracing who he is and what that meant for him. You’re an outlier, blindsiding him and driving him to question all that he’s come to know. 

With a gentleness that brings him pause, he observes you as you clean and bandage his hands. You care for him. The cynic in him wants to laugh and renounce your foolish affections. How can you let your guard down around him; do you not realize what he is? Your lack of awareness infuriates him. If he were anyone else, you would be dead. The thought itself is sickening. He shouldn’t be bothered; however, you speak to the part of him that yearns to be understood—accepted—to feel the love he once believed out of his reach. 

Smiling, you kiss his knuckles as if those same hands hadn’t spilled blood and taken countless lives. Your eyes meet his, and he’s at your mercy. 

Your patience knows no bounds. No matter how long he’s away, you wait for him. Maybe he had it wrong. It’s not you who is fortunate, it is him, and he’s unsure of how to feel when he comes to that realization. 

He brings your hands to his lips, looking up at you through pale lashes. You shiver beneath his touch, your skin prickling with heat, and he smirks, a low chuckle escaping him. How easily you fall into his grasp, leaning into him instead of pulling away. Sweeping you into his arms, he cradles you against him, humming in contentment. His frustrations disappear, your warmth and the softness of your body easing his mind. You understand the importance of his work, never complain when it demands his undivided attention, and, in turn, he always makes up for lost time. 

His eyes meet yours, and he sees himself mirrored in them, his gaze intense—hungry. Your scent alone is dizzying, and he thinks he’s truly lost it. These carnal desires were of no interest to him before, but you drive him mad. He wants your mind, your heart, your body, and your very soul itself, hoping you can continue to accept a monster such as himself into your loving embrace. He’s so pathetic, and he can’t find it in himself to care. 

The anger that coursed through his veins boils over into an excitement he often feels when his research ends in success, his hard work culminating in a fever pitch that leaves him sated and breathless. And you, you never disappoint. No, you are familiar and comforting, similar to the Ruin Guards he’s studied time and time again, mapping you out from head to toe in a way no one else can. Rather than wires and circuits, you are flesh and blood, full of life and love—a love you willingly give to him. He doesn’t need you. He wants you, your affection, to chase the emotion that swells within his chest when you’re together. These are the moments he accepts his humanity, and he ponders a life that could have been . . . 

The bed creaks under your weight as he lays you down upon it, studying you, how your breath hitches in your throat and his touch leaves goosebumps in its wake. His actions are methodical, precise, removing your clothes at a painstaking pace and trailing kisses down your body all the while. You reach for him, tugging at the collar of his harness, but he pins your arms above your head with a growl and nip of warning to your lips; he wishes to lose himself in you and analyze every dip and curve, every little detail that makes you who you are—he cannot afford distractions, and the tenderness of your caress is far too potent.  

He swallows your whine with a kiss, slow and languid, his free hand coming to rest on the column of your throat, stroking the delicate skin with his thumb. Still, you do not fear him, baring your neck to him with a sigh of longing that makes him all too aware of his own arousal as your legs spread to accommodate him. You’re so needy, but he’s no better, his resolve wavering the second he tastes you on his tongue. 

Your thighs tremble, muscles tensing, as his fingers gather your wetness and sink into your heat. The sound that leaves you is music to his ears. Nuzzling between your breasts, his lips poised above your heart, he listens to the sweet melody of its beats mingled with your breathy moans and the slickness of his thrusts. You are far from perfect, a slave to your humanity, and yet your beauty is unparalleled. Without your flaws, you would not be the person he’s come to adore.  

When his cock replaces his fingers, and your warmth envelops him, he sees stars.  

For a moment he forgets to breathe, his chest tight and eyes glazing over. Every time feels like the first—beautiful and agonizing all at once. He both curses and praises you for bringing him back down to earth and forcing him to feel things he hasn’t in years. How is it possible to hate and love something as much as he does you? His attempts to snuff out the flames you ignited in him failed long ago. In the beginning, the burn was much too painful, and now he welcomes it, melting into you without hesitance or remorse. 

He exhales, shuddering as you brush the hair back from his face and stroke his cheek—tethering him to this godforsaken planet. You gaze up at him, face flushed and eyes brimming with affection. You’re exquisite, and his heart aches at the sight. His fingers flex, digging into your hips, and your lips meet in a bruising kiss. 

You want him. 

Your legs wrap around his waist, drawing him in as he pulls you into his arms and holds you tightly against his chest. This close he can watch the pleasure flicker across your face, not missing a single detail, not even the most minute. His desire comes second to his observations, mind working to commit the image of you to memory. For as long as he lives, he wishes to remember you this way, tears on your cheeks and back arching when you call out a name he once considered long dead. 

You want him. 

His head spins, your cries a siren song he can’t help but follow over the edge. Your body tightens and convulses, and he loses all rationale, swept out to sea in the waves of your ecstasy. It’s as if he’s drowning, gasping for air but unable to stay afloat, and he doesn’t want to. 

A deep growl reverberates through his chest, and he thrusts into you like the madman he is, sloppy and unrefined, but he loves the way you squeeze him, your body begging for all he is and has, and he gives it to you. You writhe beneath him, screaming when his teeth sink into your shoulder, the heady scent of blood filling his nostrils and sliding down his throat like a fine wine. Laving his tongue over the wound, he tilts his head up to lick away your tears before kissing you, staining your lips red. 

In his eyes, you look perfect; his finest creation. Beads of sweat dot your skin like stars, creating constellations he could study for hours. You’re more real than the sky above at any rate. 

Collapsing atop you, into your awaiting arms, you tuck his head beneath your chin as your fingers stroke through his hair. The sensation is electrifying, grounding him as he steadies himself and catches his breath. Exhaustion weighs heavily upon him, though he hasn’t felt such peace in weeks. He allows himself this, your warmth and affection regardless of how many times he’s told himself he doesn’t need this—need you. It’s a part of himself he has yet to come to terms with, but he doesn’t want to lose the happiness you bring him. It’s different than the happiness his work provides. It makes him feel human—it makes him feel whole. 

There’s no harm in exploring it further, is there? 

He rolls onto his back, bringing you with him. A smile softens his features, and he doesn’t hide the fact he’s enamored by you, admiring your blissful expression in the afterglow of your lovemaking. Sliding a hand between your legs, he gives a purr of satisfaction at the stickiness of his release that now coats your thighs and the shiver that travels through you from his touch. 

This calls for another round of tests to evaluate his findings, he decides. A true scholar wouldn’t stop here, after all. 

The following morning, fractured sunlight pours through the frost on the windows, and you snuggle into his thigh, blanket pulled over your head to keep out the cold and catch a few more minutes of sleep. Perhaps he merely required a good night’s rest to clear his mind, and he has you to thank for that. His pen glides across the parchment with ease, and it’s almost infuriating how everything falls into place. You were the exception it seems. Setting his notes aside, he joins you under the covers, tongue tracing the bruise that now darkens your shoulder. He grins, all teeth, when you gasp. 

It’s only fair he rewards his assistant for their hard work. 

#genshin impact #dottore #dottore x reader #dottore x you #reader insert #noelle writes

[whirld-of-color]

Wishing Well AU Masterpost

Hi hey hello welcome to the Wishing Well AU, where we ask questions like “hey so what if Mango dug up an eldritch horror in his backyard and also the horror revived his dead son at a terribly high cost?” Purple is involved, for some reason. There’s a lot of blood and a lot of sickness and a lot of dirt and decomposition involved.

This AU pulls inspiration from living houses, the movie Skinamarink, games like Anatomy and Lethargy Hill, Subway Midnight, and the analogue horror genre. It’s all kind of body horror, kind of gross, ominous house, red lighting go brrr.

It has come to my attention that this AU is very much something that requires context whenever I incessantly post about it so I’ve compiled all of the posts into a fun little masterpost while procrastinating on my various tasks and things. Here you go.

You can read all of the posts included here in the order they were created via the tag: Wishing Well AU. (there’s also some aesthetic detritus and a few random text posts floating around in there.)

The Important Bits

The Inciting Post: Version 1, Version 2

Payment: Nowhere to Run, Nowhere to Hide. No Cost Too High. Aftermath.

Purple: Friendship, Promises, Story Role

Teeth

Baby Teeth, Dear Diary, A Choice, A Decision, A Consequence

Welcome Home

The Basement

The Call, Deep Dark, Bloodroot

Skin

Scars, Discoloration, Unfamiliarity, pain, Not A Choice, Love, Fear

Bundle Up

(ooc note here about the Fear poll, if the glitch fixes itself sometime down the line)

The Garden

Orchid Update! Flowers, Reminders, O Mother, Deeper, Rewind

Eye

Retrograde, Communication, Dreams, Ticket, Questions (I, II, Eavesdropping, III, IV, V, VI, Rabbit), The Exit

I Hate This House Too

The Train

Hurricane Season, Malmo, Encounter, DEAL

Hair

Exit, Homing Dove, am i home yet? / Entry, Pathway

Threes(noncanon)

The House

dreaming

Supplementals

Don’t Look Down

Them ^-^

To Go Again

What Is A Malign?

Drip, Drip

This One Ask (read the garden first)

Her

Character Designs!

Looking Down

Epilogue

Fun Little Memes

Textposts.png

Venns Your Diagram

He's BACK IN THE STAIRCASE (ft an unrelated oc)

ah shit. ah fuck. purple's fucking dead

Gold Moment

You be slanging it?

(note that other people’s (@nzn43, @stick-named-figure, @bugsinspace, @sammy8d257 @luizastarry @itzcomedia @codexcracked) art and writing are linked in this post. i am in no way claiming them as my own, its just that the things other people have done for this au are relevant and cool and i want to include them. also parts of this au literally cease to make sense if i don’t include the stuff other people have contributed, and also, i really want to include it all because all of the art and writing is amazing and beautiful and wonderful and some of it is really really funny actually)

#animation vs minecraft #animator vs animation #alan becker #avm au #ava au #original posting #wishing well au #bookmark

[yanderes-galore]

Fandom: BioShock (Infinite)

Character: Sander Cohen

Pairing: romantic

Type of Fic: a short! Sander requests that the Darling, who's been invited to his fancy shindig in his club in the frolic (from the game, idk if you know but you can look up clips to see what I mean) dances on the stage and gets angry when They disrupt his muse and BOOM! SHOCK TIME! Rest is up to you :D

I'm apologize because this may be a bit short but here's what I got! I made it open ended as I felt it may be creepier but it's a vague yandere here.

Luckily I did not lose my draft like I thought ^^;

The title is inspired by this Bioshock rap by JT Music, you can find it here! I personally like it :)

Masquerade

Yandere! Sander Cohen Short

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Delusional behavior, Implications of stalking, Manipulation, Violence, Anger issues, Murder, Kidnapping, Forced relationship implied, Open ended, Dark content, Grotesque descriptions, Vague on darling's fate, Possible OOC Cohen???

Chills ran down your back as you walk through the event. Sander Cohen is a known artist, and psycho, in Rapture. It's a big deal to be invited to one of his clubs and events.

Especially his artistic Masquerade parties.

Everyone knows only certain organizations are given a rabbit mask to go. However, you aren't part of any big organization. Despite such a detail... a mask was delivered to your room.

You thought it was a mistake, in fact you hoped it was. Unfortunately when you check the hand written note... you see your name. There's no mistaking it, you were meant to come.

You didn't know why but was Cohen ever a predictable individual?

As much as you dreaded to go you gave it a shot. You wore the mask with a matching outfit and left. Part of you only went because you wanted to know why you were picked.

Even if you may dread the answer anyway.

Before you even entered the club you got a weird feeling. Giving your name they let you enter without much fuss. Now you're left to wander corridors filled with men and women dressed as rabbits.

You didn't even realize your mask was slightly different than the rest until you saw them.

Looking into their eyes gave you a feeling of fear. Despite looking almost like the rest you felt you were the only prey. Ignoring such feelings you walk deeper in hopes of seeing what you need to see before leaving.

Hopefully this would all be done quick.

You hoped no one would pick you out of the crowd. Even when you walked down some stairs and found the "main event", you hoped you could blend in. This whole event activated your anxiety.

It only worsened when you saw Cohen.

You watch silently as the psychotic artist paints on a canvas. Dancers twirl in front of him with praise. Hesitancy makes your movements stilted as you take your place beside the other guests.

Is this it? Just some painting and praise? Seems... less scary than you thought it would be.

Then there's the sound of hissing electricity and the screams of the dancers.

Your mind nearly doesn't process it at first. You don't realize what happened until the smell of burning flesh meets your nose. Then there's the frustrated yell of Cohen.

"IT'S NOT GOOD ENOUGH! You've ruined my muse..." Cohen snarls, the corpses of the dancers now being lifted in the air to be around of the way. The artist tries to soothe his anger before combing the crowd with his eyes. You go to hide behind another guest...

Only for Cohen to make eye contact with you.

You start to have a feeling the slightly different mask was on purpose. His glare of anger turns to excitement when he sees you and he beckons you closer. Your anxieties quickly make you feel ill.

"You! I'm so happy you came, my most important guest.... You will be my muse! Come come!" Cohen encourages, stepping closer to you.

You bite your lip before slowly glancing up at the hanging corpses. Like an actual rabbit you find yourself shaking before being dragged to Cohen. You were going to die....

"Now now... no need to be so worried! My little moth, you'll do wonderful on that stage. I'll paint every moment of your beauty!" Cohen coos before changing his tone. "Don't disappoint. Now dance! Dance for me!"

You're roughly shoved onto the stage, stumbling pathetically as a result. Not wanting to die and succumb to a similar fate of the dancers, you sway yourself into a rhythm to appease the artist. For now... he seems pleased.

"Beautiful..." He breathes. "Your beauty is splendid! Every movement is divine.... You and I are going to be something great!"

You try not to spend too much time on his words, you need to survive.

"I knew I picked out the right one when I saw you... took forever to find you, my muse! But now you're here...."

He swipes a brush against the canvas, observing your moves to the music. You try to keep your movements correct. Yet you can't help but come to a twisted realization...

Have you been stalked?

"Now that I have you... our art will be wonderful! You'll forever be my muse... forever depicted in my art..."

Was he inching near a lever?

"I think there's only one thing that can accentuate your beauty, my little moth..."

Wait, no, please- You did everything right!

"Pain makes the best art, don't you agree?"

With a flick of the lever electricity courses through you. Your mind draws a blank as your seize, each muscle and fiber of your body being burned. Once he flicks it off you collapse onto the floor.

Your senses burn, everything burns. Are you alive or dying? You can't tell... you can barely even see Cohen walking towards you.

"You'll be my greatest masterpiece..." Cohen grins, touching your overstimlulated skin.

"Just you wait and see, MY muse."

#yandere bioshock #yandere bioshock infinite #yandere bioshock burial at sea #yandere sander cohen

[yanderedbdimagines]

Could I ask for more huntress with a female reader? I really like how you write them.

Merging the following three requests:

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

For some reason, I always see the huntress as a bit of a housemother when it comes to her obsession. Especially when she realizes of what she’d need to do to keep someone else alive, including children. Therefore, I have to apologize if she comes across a little ooc, although I could argument that the Entity may have helped her a little bit. xD It wouldn’t want to resurrect you over and over again after continuous starvation now that a tiny part of its food source won’t be in trials anymore.

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

Warning: Slight! NSFW below! 

The Huntress

A small shiver overtakes you as an all too familiar tune hits your ear before you make yourself smaller in the claustrophobic space that is tucked beneath the cottage’s staircase, the metal chain around your neck tinkling as you move. Your left side digs into the many children’s books she gave you right after she chained you to the wall because of an escape attempt right after she had brought you here. Unfortunately, these books are all in Russian, and you can’t understand them in the least.

The door on the side swings open, the woman in the rabbit mask marches in with a hand behind her back.

Her humming is at its softest compared to all the times you’ve heard it before. Even compared to the time when she had unorthodoxly captured you during your last trial before hauling your struggling form straight to her territory in the Fog.

You look up at her fearfully as your hands tighten around the upper arms they are clasped around. Of course you are afraid of her. She has you in a place where she can do whatever she wants with you. This counts extra heavily because the Entity is allowing it for some reason, making you fear the worst.

You flinch when the hand hidden behind her back is thrust towards you, revealing a dark red apple. By the small swish of her hand, you eventually understand that she wants you to have it. Still on your toes, you slowly take it from her larger hand, shuddering at the slightest touch of her skin.

Seemingly satisfied, she towers back up to her original height before walking away again into the outside world, leaving you all alone. The door was closed and you stare at it for another five minutes or so, your nerves simmering down when you realized she wouldn’t be back anytime soon.

Only now do you realize how hungry you are, your stomach growling in response, the barely present aroma of the fruit in your hand finding its way to your nose. You take a bite out of it and soon marvel at its sweet taste. Under normal circumstances, you might even have let out a small squeal and a wide smile at how delicious it is. Instead, you are only slightly relieved that she didn't mean to hurt you....

About a day passed. She came back with roast venison and another apple.

The day after, she came back with roast rabbit and freshly picked plums.

Each time you gradually felt more relaxed in her presence and she slowly visited you more often.

At least a week or two after that, she returns empty-handed, but she did something you didn’t see coming by far. With a click, she removes the metal chain around your neck, pulls you up by your arm and leads you to the back of the cottage.  

There she had set down a metal tub of clean water and has thrown a small pile of simple clothes and a towel-like piece of cloth next to it.

Then, for the hundredth time since your capture, she leaves you alone yet again, but this time she lingers so close that you can still hear her from a reasonable distance.  

You can tell she wants you to take a bath and change into some clean clothes. This actually makes you happy, because the last time you were able to clean yourself may have been ages ago. However, it also makes you suspicious of her intentions.

You consider the possibilities. Take the risk and try to escape again now that this unpleasant and slightly painful chain is off you, or actually indulge her for a little while anyway?

You consciously dip your hand into the water. It feels good. Neither too warm, nor too cold. With a loud sigh, you make a decision you might regret later.

After stripping down to your bare minimum, you step into the tub and quivering in delight at the sensation of the water embracing your legs, before lowering yourself further until only your head is still above the water. You remain to sit a certain way for at least a minute or two.

A pleased little sigh then escapes you as you rub the dirt and grime from your body and dip your head under the water’s surface to wet your hair.

But after you surface again, you let out a loud gasp, moments after turning your head slightly, before throwing your arms in front of your naked chest. 

The huntress looks at you with your dirty clothes now in her arms. She tilts her head and begins to hum, leaving again just as quickly as she had quietly entered.

You stare after her large but surprisingly feminine figure, a burning sensation crawling up your neck before it finds its way to the tip of your ears and both your cheeks.

Nibbling on your bottom lip, you quickly gaze your eyes downward at the water you’re currently bathing in.

How long has she been standing there? Do you even want to know?

You try to calm your beating heart, a little bit embarrassed by your own thoughts. Maybe she doesn’t even consider you in such a way- a potential romantic partner. But it could partially explain her infatuation with you. At least, if you ignore the possibility that she sees you as nothing more than a child she has to take care of…

You throw your head back slightly as the burning feeling slowly dissipates.

Perhaps time will tell. But for now, maybe it's best that you stay for at least a little while. And when there is finally an opening in the metaphorical net she has stretched around you, you will try to escape.

After all, you believe that her current kindness to you is not guaranteed to persist as it is. She is, after all, a killer, and they can be as unpredictable as they come.

#dbd #the huntress #dead by daylight #yandere #reader #insert #reader insert #dbd x reader #anna

[0himio]

MDZS Fanfic Recs -- Completed

I am in such a MDZS rabbit hole and its driving me INSANE! I've never done this before, but here are a couple of completed MDZS fics that I saved. Not all of them are my top ones but I enjoyed them quite a bit. I don't think the characters went too OOC but having said that I can't tell too much. At least I know that they are goo goo gaa gaa OOC iykwim

Forget Myself in Memories

Ten years after the events of Guanyin temple, the juniors accidentally step into an array that sends them to the past, just before the beginning of the Sunshot Campaign

Author: geethr75 Words: 10,300 Chapters: 7

The ending is pretty sweet and it's a "juniors time travel and decide to fix things" trope. I'm a sucker for that type of thing and it's cool to see how the past interacts with the future -- especially since instead of the usual time travel to Cloud Recesses, they travel at the start of the Sunshot Campaign.

ghost (What's your name)

Wei Wuxian spends the 13 years after his death as a ghost, except that nobody outside of four little kids seems be able to see him.

Author: pearlAngel Words: 3,086 Chapters: 1

This goes into a bit of the perspective of all the juniors and their opinions on the Yiling Patriarch and how different his ghost is. NHS also shows up and his little section makes me tear up a ngl

When The Soul Returns Home

"Jiang Chenggggggg!" He whined, taking extra care not to jolt the man any harder than was comfortable, in fear of being whipped to death. "Heartless shidi, ignoring me. The least you could do is threaten to break my legs, you know." That last part came out more honest than he expected. Because yeah. He'd rather Jiang Cheng threaten him with Zidian for all he cared that he might die, hell he'd rather Jiang Cheng maul him right here right now than straight up looking through him as if he was glass. Jiang Cheng flinched upon contact, but he didn't turn. Wei Wuxian was only perceptive enough to notice the shiver through the thick fabric of his shoulder, gone in a second, replaced instead with firm, tense muscles. . During a night hunt, Wei Wuxian gets his body back and is now responsible for telling his shidi what happened without having a chance to escape. Of course that went wrong as well, but in a different way than he imagined. It seems like no matter what happened, Wei Wuxian will always be surprised by the sheer unconditionality of Jiang Cheng's love and faith.

Author: yue_yinbai Words: 11,164 Chapters: 1

This is an au where WWX gets his body back and he has a lot of mixed feelings about it. Many other people have feelings. There's a heart to heart and a make up/feelings session with WWX and JC that is really sad but sweet to read about.

A Grand Immortal Made Me Soup

One thing had become incredibly clear. Wei Ying was much sicker than he had thought he was, and as a result, was now hallucinating. There was no reality where a Grand Immortal had actually shown up in his apartment, yelled at him about his shit-hole residence, and fed him soup. Absolutely in no way was a Grand Immortal in his apartment, and shitting on him for not finding a place that banned pets.

Author: s6115 Words: 5,040 Chapters: 1

This one's just hella funny but there is a bit of angst. Its a mix of an immortal au and a reincarnation au where JC is an immortal and WWX reincarnates in the modern world. Lowkey felt bad but it's a really heartwarming story. There are a lot of things that WWX doesn't get but he's trying.

The One-Body Problem

The good news is that Lan Jingyi has found a mentor, friend, and constant companion through the difficulties in life. The bad news is that that’s because he’s been accidentally possessed by the Yiling Patriarch.

Author: metisket Words: 28,689 Chapters: 2

LJY acts without thinking and gets possessed by WWX. It's such an interesting concept, especially since they are both hiding things from each other the whole time. It's a bit of a joyride tbh since yk LJY and WWX make an interesting combo but it's one of my favs

Tell Them How the Crowds Went Wild, Tell Them How I Hope They Shine

A-Yuan knows he has to be very careful in his new home. He has to be mindful of the hem of his pristine white robes, cautious of the volume of his voice, dutiful in his manners. A-Yuan has to be very, very good. Really, really good. Because otherwise, Baba might have to leave, like Mama. A-Yuan did not want to lose Baba too. Or: A-Yuan did not forget everything of the Burial Mounds - he remembered a bright smile, a cheerful laugh, the warmth of strong arms, and a single name. It's up to Lan Wangji to make sure he does not forget it all.

Author: GinnyRose Words: 4,598 Chapters: 1

This is told in LSZ's point of view. It's a bit angsty but not too bad.

i don't know how to be something you miss (i'll watch your life in pictures like i used to watch you sleep)

Wei Wuxian died. That should've been the end of it. He gained consciousness again in the Jingshi, unable to leave, while Lan Wangji was in seclusion. He proceeded to watch A-Yuan grow up.

Author: mfingenius Words: 7,071 Chapters: 1

This one is kinda sad. Halfway through I lowkey almost cried because of how bad I felt. I don't want to spoil but this one gave me the feels. I love ghost WWX aus and I actively search for them but this one- *chefs kiss*

A Dramatic Reading

Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian make out in a room full of Sect Leaders, Jiang Cheng tearfully declares his love for his estranged brother, Sect Leaders Yao and Ouyang beg for the Yiling Patriarch’s forgiveness, and Lan Qiren openly welcomes a new nephew-in-law into his family. None of them want to be doing any of this. Thanks to the Juniors, they don’t exactly have a choice. (Or, wherein the Juniors accidentally write a cursed fanfiction, and everyone has to reenact their parts in it, or potentially cease to exist).

Author: pupeez4eva Words: 5,627 Chapters: 1

This is such a crack fic but is so damn funny. Everyone just wants to kill the juniors because their guilty pleasure of writing wangxian fanfics gets outed. LWJ and WWX don't get together post-canon and the juniors got sick of them and started writing cringy fanfiction. This fic cured some of the angst I've been reading.

#mdzs #mo dao zu shi #the grandmaster of demonic cultivation #mxtx #fanfic #fanfiction #archive of our own #ao3 fanfic #wangxian #fic recomendation

[multifanderwrites]

| Previous Scene- General Grevious on Utapau |

{Padmè’s Apartment, Guest Room}

(The door slides open, and Anakin helps Katniss to settle in and get her things in place for this mission. After a while, Anakin can’t stop himself from letting the secret out. Although… maybe he didn’t want to keep it from his sister in the first place) “You’re gonna be an aunt.”

(Katniss has just finished putting her toiletries in the bathroom when she hears that sentence. It makes no sense to her) “What?”

(Anakin is grinning like a madman) “I said that you are going to be an aunt.” (A beat. He exhales in exasperation, knows he should definitely clarify the fact he’s trying to make) “Padmè is pregnant.”

“And it’s yours, right?“

“Yes, it’s mine.” (That rabbit hole is filled by now. No need to revisit it) “Well? What do you wanna be called?” (He’s so happy that he doesn’t register the way Katniss is reacting. He just wants to know…) “It’s a mouthful to say ‘Aunt Katniss’, isn’t it?”

*not happy* “You need to stop this war now.”

(Anakin can see the panic and fear in his sister’s eyes) “Oh, the baby’s only five months along-“

“The war isn’t over, Anakin. It’s still happening and you can’t have a baby right now… or at all!” (Katniss starts pacing around the room) “You can’t even be with Padmè-“

“Katniss, let us worry about the logistics, okay?” (He stops her and takes her shoulders) *im going to help you kill snow* “Besides… the Jedi Order isn’t what it used to be.”

(A forlorn beat) “Anakin… I’m not Ahsoka.”

(At the mention of his former padawan’s name, he frowns) “I know.” (He hugs his sister) “You guys would’ve gotten along.” (He sighs) “You should probably go to bed now. It’s late.”

(Katniss is pretty tired, so she doesn’t argue) “Okay.” (As she pulls out of the hug) [hold on, what is Damien Haas doing here? Jk. No one from Smosh is reading my fan fiction] “Well… get out.”

(Anakin is a little hurt… until he realizes that he’s making it difficult for her to get ready for bed) ��Sorry. I’m- I’m leaving now.” (He peers through the doorway) “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Yeah.”

(Katniss contemplates this news. Yes, it does make her a little happy to see her brother so happy… but it feels too good to be part of such a dark story. But maybe this is the happy ending. It has to be, right? So far, every mission she’s been on has ended in a positive way for the characters. Yes, there’s always been some dark moments but the main character is always fine when it’s over. This mission can’t be any different! Katniss knows her job well, and she knows that her brother is going to end up on the right path. It’s just super unclear what that path is right now) [😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩 you’re not even close to correct, Katniss! But whatever. Just please prepare yourself for super OOC Katniss Everdeen very, very soon. Actually, it might not be that OOC. In fact, I think it’s Anakin who’ll be OOC. Fuck it. Everyone is OOC, and it’s coming soon! Just wait a while]

| Next Scene- The First Nightmare |

#fanfiction #the mixiverse #star wars #anakin skywalker #hayden christensen #katniss everdeen #Katniss is gonna be an aunt #literary siblings #Anakin being a dork #Katniss being a dork #just dorks being dorks #damien haas #jennifer lawrence

[izakvoros]

The moment you spot one of these birds and move closer to investigate is the moment you are overcome with a sense of dread that is heavy enough to send you running!

You know that this is deeply tied to the symbol that appeared on your body. As you stumble deep into the surrounding forest to try to escape, everything becomes more terrifying.

There is no doubt that you are being hunted now because you can hear someone chasing you through the trees and you can practically feel them breathing down your neck… OOC: Your character will find it extremely difficult getting out of this headspace and will need the help of another character to break out of it. This character can only be one who has broken free of the oneiroi’s magic.

His chest heaved with each rapid beat as he tore through the forest, running deeper and deeper and deeper until the canopy intertwined into a darkening, symbiotic embrace. He barely felt the cuts on his legs as he snagged against hidden brambles, and he thrust his hands out in front of him to feel his way through the pitch, colliding with rough bark or mossy stone. Every few strides had him slowing down, almost as if the forest itself was out to get him too.

Though, he wasn't sure what the real danger was. All he remembered was a single bird, and when their gazes collided, ice dripped into his veins and the world sunk into a pinpoint. His heart hammered deep and hollow like a bass drum, and in that singular moment of fear, he shot off like a rabbit away from the festival. The lights had been behind the bird, and behind the bird was also the beast that was determined to kill him. He would have never made it back to the party if he risked it, and he was too young to die.

A root caught his toes, and he stumbled forward, crashing into a pile of leaves and twigs. He wanted to vomit into them, but he couldn't bring himself to, shuddering in dry, cracking gasps instead. He was going to die here. He was going to die alone. It was a fear in him that he instilled in himself since he was a child, and his body would lay rot and forgotten and devoured by worms.

He crawled forward, muscles tight. He never experienced what he truly wanted, never got his desires or his wants or goals. He wasted it on the drugs in his system, wasted it riding the coattails of his father's fame. Would they even be sad if he was gone? He had been nothing but a pain, terrorizing the house for his own amusement under the guise of a big-grinned moron who couldn't bother with simple tasks that bored him.

His friends might miss him. They might hold a candlelight vigil, but once they graduated, had children, got jobs, they'd move on. He'd be the one they felt sorry for for not having a chance to grow up, the one they would think about on occasion when doing the dishes or seeing a similar face on the side of the street. He'd be bones, he'd be alone, he'd be dead.

He fell forward, the fear and anxiety overcoming him. He could get up and run, but he knew that the beast was not far from him. He could smell its acrid breath, feel the ghost of its stiletto claws. Or maybe he was fooling himself and it was nothing more than a man hoping to gain a bounty for killing the son of a public figure.

He curled into himself and threw his arms over his head.

#vcghostfestival2023 #self-para #[[ ignore how late this is ]]

[idv-ask-the-showman]

since you started to work on the mirror essence’s skins, is it alright if I asked about some of the lore?

To be honest, the lore is kinda big and all over the place, and it's not finished yet, but I'll do my best to explain part of it, and what better way to start with the lore than with Laurence? I mean, he's the first skin I've posted, and he's also one of the characters I think about the most and have the most lore about of all. No worries, it won't be that confusing because Lau was present even before the mirror world existed.

Anyway here we go!! The following is the backstory of both Phineas, Laurence and Flynn but only at the beginning and not all of it and is a bit long and maybe OOC but bear with me!!

(TW:- death, grief and depression)

Laurence and Phineas were best buds in a small town back in the 1920s or 1960s. They had this one stupid habit since they were kids: sneaking out at night even though their families warned them it was dangerous, especially going to the nearby forest, which was like a death trap! They were fearless and somehow nothing bad ever happened to them, but that didn't apply to everyone else.

One day, Flynn caught his brother sneaking out and decided to secretly follow him to the forest. But damn, that place was so big and dark that he lost Phineas, who had already met up with Laurence. They were fooling around like always. Meanwhile, poor Flynn was lost deep in the scary forest, all alone and terrified, screaming for his brother for help, but no one heard him. Well, almost no one. It seems his cries caught the attention of some wild wolves, and that definitely wasn't a good thing.

Phineas and Laurence were hanging out under their favorite big willow tree in the middle of the forest. They were so far away from the town by this point. Suddenly, they finally heard Flynn's screams, and they were filled with terror. Fear covered both of their faces as they jumped up and raced to save Flynn, wherever he was and whatever danger he was in. But then, the screaming stopped, making Phineas even more terrified.

They finally found Flynn, being attacked by wild wolves! They grabbed anything they could find to scare the wolves away. After a long and painful fight, they managed to chase them off. But it was too late. Flynn was on the verge of death, blood everywhere from his ripped-off arm. Phineas picked him up, trying to run back to the town for help, but they were so far away that Flynn died in Phineas' arms, nowhere near any the town nor any help.

Laurence could only stand there, in shock, as Phineas cried and begged God not to take away his brother. It only got worse from there. Phineas fell into deep stage of grief and depression. He isolated himself, hating the world outside and blaming himself for Flynn's death. Years went by, and he never got better. All Laurence could do was be there, comforting him, but it broke his heart to see his once lively and cheerful friend turn into a shell of his former self.

Then one day, Phineas went missing, like he vanished into thin air. Rumors started flying around, each one worse than the next. Laurence couldn't stand hearing those awful rumours anymore, so he decided to find Phineas or at least some clue about what may had happened to him. The first place he thought of was the forest where Flynn died. He searched for hours, reaching the deepest parts and the willow tree where they used to hang out. Everything seemed normal and he was about to give up… until he stumbled upon a mirror embedded in the ground. Oddly enough, he saw no reflection in the mirror, even his own.

While staring at the reflection-less mirror, Laurence thought he saw Phineas for a split second and turned around, thinking his friend was behind him. But he wasn't. Only an unclear image of Phineas was in the mirror, confusing Laurence even more. He leaned in to get a closer look but ended up falling into the mirror like a rabbit hole!

...That was the day Laurence disappeared, never to be seen again. It was also the day that marked the first victim of The Mirror's World.

I would had talked more about the lore but I feel this is enough for now :)!!

#the circus of mirrors essence #identity v oc #identity v #identity v ask blog #idv #identity v hunter #phineas smith #ask blog #ask #the showman phineas #identity v survivor #news reporter// laurence godfrey #Flynn smith #the knives thrower

[jeeperso]

D&D Quotes Without Context

Ravenloft edition, Har-Akir arc, part 3

"Well, off to go tomb raiding once more. Let's hope the traps weren't made by a sadist.” “Oh, Nyx. You sweet summer child.”

"The local monsters no better than to attack a Vistani caravan, but we'll be on our own.” “We can make a few examples. They’ll learn about us fast. Just remember to leave a survivor.”

"At least it isn't vorpal rabbits. Stupid idiot just had to use magic to crossbreed rabbits with wolves.” “And that's what hand held explosives are for.”

"Suffer not The Love Guru to live…"

"Fear not children, hope has arrived! Why? Because WE ARE HERE!”

GM: The ogres are now moving in slow motion. OOC: BGM All-Star at .05 speed.

GM: Actually wait not. You catch the guy int he knee. He starts screaming. Edmund: "Ill fix that! I'm a doctor!” Jonni: “Stop crying! We’re rescuing you!”

Poom shoots the non-groveling one with a ray made of clocks. Nyx: ”Ewww, Poom, did you have to rot the ogre? Couldn't you have done some other form of damage so it doesn't explode in a shower of guts when that damaged?” Edmund: ”Apparently Ogres become more juicy with age.... “ Poom: "Only if you store it wrong.”

Jonni stands in mid air. “Here! Let me show you a big … bang… kind of atta… fuck it, fireball!”

“I AM THE GODDES OF HELLFIRE AND MOLASSES! AND I BRING YOU THE GIFT… OF FIRE!”

Gorbash: “It's Ogres, My Great Uncle always said they're often too stupid to realize they're already dead.” Jonni: “They are. Torm the Almost Unbeatable was nearly killed when one kicked him after he cut its head off. That was a good solstice festival.”

“I’d say you can take a bite out of them, but Ogres taste like crap.” Poom: "You have to pickle them first.”

"Easy now... Let me look you over... I think. You have an arrow to the knee.”

Azathoth: "Giant rubies are never a good thing.”

OOC: Oh, shit, it’s Akio Ohtori! Don’t get in any cars with him!

OOC: Put some sand in there. Maybe a helmet made from a skull.

“I, sir, am a Paladin. It is my sworn duty to keep the innocent from harm.” “He is. Trust me. It’s almost gotten us killed.” “Please, all of our virtues or vices have nearly gotten us killed at some point.”

The circus tent that walks like a man's heavy iron tread echoes through the halls.

Edmund: ”Which... might be quite..... Deadly. Assassins are rather known for it. “ Jonni: “I mean, so am I.”

OOC: DREAM WARRIORS ASSEMBLE!

The streets are empty, the buildings are basically empty shells like the set of a stage play. “Is there still booze?”

As you look around, you hear singing in the distance, along with the dragging of something. “Yeah, yeah, creepy dream demon 101.”

"Mouth eyes, cute. I've seen worse in my own nightmares.”

The ruby is gone, in its place is a deck of cards. Gorbash slaps Eddie's hand instinctively.

Poom: "I'm not sure I dream any more so much as have 'enforced family time’."

"Are you guys still in town? What happened?” “Minor delay, unrelated cursed nightmare shit. Nothing you need worry about.” "Right yeah, I forgot you guys are addicted to the side quests. Alright carry on.” “Yeah having a functioning conscience can be inconvenient.”

Jonni: “I think I can see the curvature of time, guys.”

Jonni flies back and does her sexy Identify dance on the wagon.

"DOG! I HAVE BEEN IMPRISONED IN THIS ACCURSED BOTTLE FOR 500 YEARS, I VOWED TO SLAY THE FIRST LIVING BEINGS I SAW WHEN I EXITED AND THAT SHALL BE YOUuuuu…" He lowers his scimiter and looks at Jonni. Then at her bottle. Then he quickly bows.

"I am the duke of boiling rage, hurler of 10,000 curses, collector of 10,00 skulls, who has brought low everyone who has insulted me.” "Your haircut is very fancy!” "Thank you.”

SANDSTORM! OOC: I had that book.

OOC: No fair! I’m using Mon-Ra in Spelljammer! Their the unholy spawn of Mum-Ra and Mon-Starr.

Jonni: “Their last name is ‘Golzana?’ I could have been making fun of that this whole time?!?”

OOC: FUCK THAT! JONNI NEEDS HER EYES FOR LOOKING AT TITTIES!

OOC: Also, bold of you to assume Jonni’s cylindrical shaped vessel has been a bottle.

“Mistress, can I chop this ones hands off? He wont leave my flask alone.” "No. I need my hands. For Reasons!”

Jonni: “Efreet don’t get powers from bottles. They only get into them at all for weird sex stuff.”

#dungeons and dragons #dnd 5e #quotes without context #ravenloft #har-akir #sandman #special guest villain #the corininthian

[moonatiic]

;;so despite how we continuously call dreamsiders rabbits / bunnies / bunnypeople, I might have thought of a factor that really separates the animal from the characters. I think dreamsiders would actually fear rabbits & maybe animals in general, --but mostly rabbits.

;;IT SOUNDS SILLY DOESN’T IT, but hear me out ! let’s refer back to these pages with this character, gary. gary is absolutely FEARED by MULTIPLE dreamsiders throughout his appearances, all because he resembles an actual IRL rabbit. --although, comparing someone like him to how the dreamside ‘ species? ‘ look must be pretty terrifying to them. like comparing cartoon features to IRL ones, basically.

;;BUT IN SHORT, they’re unsettled by gary’s appearance, due to the fact he looks like an actual rabbit.

;;whatever his species is considered in the land of dreamside, be it rabbit or ‘ beast ‘ or whatever he’s actually dubbed, I imagine what we can take from this is: realistic rabbits are terrifying to the anthropomorphic ones -- the great majority of them, if not all of them.

;;so I would also IMAGINE - especially in terms of RP interaction, if one were to present a pet bunny in the face of a dreamsider, they’d go APESHIT.

;;I talk about this on my cosmo cucumber quest roleplay blog why? no reason at all, completely unrelated - obviously.

#|[ OOC. ]| #|[ THEORIES / DISCUSSION. ]| #;;I repeat a lot of my own stuff here I'm sure so LEMME PUT IT BLUNTLY #;;I have reason to believe these bunnypeople fear rabbits #;;actual non-fictional ones #;;because mama gigi said so #;;DISAPPEARS IN A CLOUD OF SMOKE #cucumber quest #;;also tagging the fandom bc rping aside - still an important observation

[heartbae]

❛    one by one she slew her fears,    and planted a flower garden over their graves.    ❜

amy rose from sega's sonic the hedgehog.    re-established on december 12, 2017.    written by a rabbit.    heavy video game focus with selective sonic x influence.    ————    previously avidlass.

#* ❪ ooc. ❫ ▬ have no fear. a rabbit is here.

[seiyasabi]

ブン-ブン

(Here’s my Yandere Bunny Polnareff x Female Reader story :)) 

Sorry if this is too OOC or too fast paced! I tried my best, but I’m unhappy with the result. 

TW: !Noncon!, Pol is a hybrid!, breeding kink!, cumflation!, !!!HOMIE PISSES ON YOU (this is not really a kink, just animal instinct)!!!!, alludes to cat violence (Not you)!!, marking (rubs his scent glands on you)!, overstim!, etc..)

Please proceed with caution!!)

Hearing a loud yowl from your backyard, you hurry towards your back doors. It seems your tabby cat, Garfield, has gotten himself into some trouble. 

Clicking your tongue to gain his attention, you unlock the French doors, flinging them open.  

You only allowed the fatass outside for a few minutes! How is he already into something he shouldn’t be in? 

Stepping outside, your eyes are immediately drawn to a mass of white and orange. Your cat is currently wrestling with the biggest rabbit you’ve ever seen. 

It’s the same size as your fatass cat, hell, maybe it’s bigger! Its head alone is larger than your fist! 

Its ears are currently being gnawed on by your feline son, specks of red dripping from the bun’s white coat. Garfield is nailed in the side with a powerful kick, causing him to yowl once more. Seeing this, you snap out of your shock, immediately hauling it towards the fighting duo. 

“Garfield, stop it! Leave that bunny alone!” They pretend they can’t hear you, and continue to brawl. Once by the two, you yoink them up from the lush grass, separating them by holding them in opposite hands. You’re grabbing them by the scruff of their necks, frowning at them, “Alright, break it up!”

Your cat takes a couple swipes at the rabbit, the rabbit tries kicking at your cat, both of them ultimately missing one another. 

“Would you two stop it?” You huff, pouting cutely. The bunny is a lot heavier than you originally thought, forcing you to readjust your hold on it, “Do you see how dumb you look? You’re both fighting the air!” 

Garfield hisses in response, causing you to roll your eyes. At least the rabbit has better manners than him. 

“Fine, whatever. We’re going inside now, so I can patch you hooligans up. You both better both behave.” 

Turning on your heel, you stomp inside, wounded animals cradled to your (bountiful/small) chest. Both of them calm once in the crook of your arm, allowing you to have a moment of peace. 

Great. Now you have to patch up your asshole cat and his rabbit friend. 

Bringing them into your master bathroom, you set them on opposite sides of your two sink vanity. Opening the vanity’s middle drawer, you quickly grab your first aid kit, and lay it between the two annoyed animals. 

“Alright you two, if you can’t get along, don’t go near one another. Stay on opposite sides of the sink, okay?” You keep talking to them as if they know what you’re saying, and unbeknownst to you, a certain rabbit finds it endearing. 

Popping open the box, you withdraw white wrappings, q-tips, and hydrogen peroxide. Twisting the cap open on the peroxide, you set it on the countertop, before pouring a capful of peroxide into it. Grabbing your cat’s shampoo from underneath the sink, you turn on your sink’s tap, filling it with warm water. Once done, you slowly approach the nervous bun. 

“I’m not going to hurt you, but I need to bandage your wounds,” Its nose twitches, seemingly sniffing out if you’re a threat. After a tense moment of silence, it makes itself look as small as possible, showing submission. 

Giggling quietly, you pick it up, and place him in the water. Its head and ears are above the water, keeping them from becoming wet. Dipping your hands into the water, you smooth down its fur, slightly wetting the top of its head. Once done with that, you pour soap into your palm, rubbing your hands together. 

Now that your hands are sudsy, you start to bathe the calm bun. Its blood quickly washes off, cleaning its wounds. 

Once clean, you pick it up, placing it on a hand towel you got from beneath the sink. You dry the bunny off, making sure his ears are completely dry, before dipping a q-top into the peroxide, and cleaning out his wounds completely. 

After seeing his wounds, you realise he doesn’t need any wrappings, thus leaving you to set him on an old t-shirt that’s sitting on your tub’s ledge. 

“There you go, Bun Bun. Sit there until I finish with Garfield,” You unplug the sink on the bun’s side, and move towards your seething cat. Drawing him his own bath, you clean out his wounds, and give him many kisses, “Good boy, Gar. I’m proud of you for not scratching me.”

He meows in response, allowing you to dry him and fix his wounds. 

Now that the two animals are clean and no longer have raw, open wounds, you pick them up, and move towards your living room. 

Setting Garfield on the left side of the couch, you move towards your back door. 

“Okie dokie, now that you’re all clean, you can go home now! I’m sorry that Garfield was mean to you.”

Opening your back door, you gently place the bunny on the ground, before going inside, and locking the door behind you. 

Little did you know that that bunny wasn’t truly a bunny at all, but a man who’s severely touch starved. 

And, is a man who’s completely, totally in love with you.

-

When Polnareff returned to his burrow, he was practically shaking with excitement. He’d found his mate! 

Once laying down, he could hear his leg thumping with happiness. He can’t wait until you go into heat! 

Then, the two of you can have cute kits! He just knows that they’ll be beautiful, just like their mother… 

Oh yes, once you go into heat, he’ll be there to keep you satiated. 

He just needs to make sure that fat cat stays out of his way. 

-

Garfield lays on your tummy, practically smothering you with his weight. Looking down at him from your lying position, you roll your eyes, “You’re so heavy! Move off of me!” 

He ignores your whining, nuzzling against the area above your uterus. Huffing in annoyance, you pick up the snoozing cat, and walk towards the kitchen. The little shit wouldn’t let you move for hours, and you’ve become rather hungry. 

Once in the kitchen, you set him on the counter. He stretches dramatically, before rubbing against you like a madman. His hackles are raised, yellow eyes transfixed on something outside.

Looking out at your backyard, you see a certain giant rabbit. Sighing, you choose to ignore your pet’s dick measuring contest with the bunny outside. 

Pulling out (microwavable food), you quickly open its packaging, and chuck it into the microwave. Pressing in the time, you rest against the counter your cat is standing on, petting down his raised hair. 

“Garfield, you’re honestly acting ridiculous. The rabbit isn’t scary-” The orange fiend jumps into your arms, furiously rubbing himself onto you. He’s cuddling you like a good boy, stopping you from scolding him, “Awe, you’re so cute when you’re clingy and not biting my shirt sleeves.” 

He lets out a small hiss, but stays in your arms willingly. 

His yellow eyes are trained on the bunny, practically taunting the other male. 

Polnareff is seething. How dare that undeserving feline take his rightful place? How dare that fucking cat scent you during your heat? 

It takes everything in him to not crash through the window and beat the cat into the ground. But, he knows his nightly bathroom break outside will be soon, and that’s when he can strike. 

The blue eyed man watches you eat, happy that you’re preparing for your upcoming heat. Ignoring your pet, Jean feels happiness overtake him. You must know that he’s watching, if you’re eating such fatty foods. 

Little does he know, that’s just the normal way of human life. 

You continue to chow down on your yummy food, a smile on your pretty face, none the wiser to your hybrid stalker. 

Once finished, you let Garfield out into the backyard, “Don’t cause trouble with that rabbit, Garfield.” He didn’t listen to you, and ran in the direction of that damn white rabbit. 

You pinch the bridge of your nose in annoyance, but do nothing. If he wants to fight with it, that’s on him at this point. 

Sitting on your couch, you turn on your TV, flipping channels until you land on a forensic science TV show. Leaning back, you recline yourself into a comfortable position. 

You sit in that position for about an hour, before you realise your cat never came inside. Shooting to your feet, you rush outside, turning on your phone’s flashlight. 

“Garfield? Garfield?” You call out, searching through the bushes, and clicking your tongue to grab his attention. 

He doesn’t come, causing you to panic. Garfield and you grew up together, and you can’t remember the last time you went without him. 

“Gar-Gar? Please, please come home!” Tears well up in your eyes, as a sob escapes your throat. 

As the first tear falls, you feel someone grab you from behind, “Why are you crying, Mademoiselle?” 

You jump a mile off of the ground, and stumble, almost falling face first into the grass. Whipping around, you come face to chest with a very naked, very large man. 

“Who the fuck are you, and what are you doing in my backyard?” Your scent is thick with fear, and your voice trembles. A saddened feeling pools in Jean’s heart; he didn’t wish to scare you or hurt you in any way!

“Do not fear me, My Love. I am Jean Pierre Polnareff, your future mate!” Blanching at his statement, you finally notice the very apparent white bunny ears on the top of his head. 

“What. The. Fuck.” 

With that, you turn, and haul ass into your house. His heavy footsteps are heard behind you, same with a few pleading words for you to come back. 

Once inside, you slam your French doors closed, and use your body weight to hold them shut, as you try to lock them. His built frame slams into the doors behind you, using all of his strength to bust inside. 

“There’s no need to be afraid! Just open the doors, My Heart! I’ll treat you well!” Your nimble fingers try to turn the lock, but the constant shaking of the opening makes it very hard to do so. 

“Leave me alone! Did you do something to my cat? Because the moment you showed up, he disappeared!” Immediately, the doors stop shaking, allowing you to lock them. 

A long beat of silence follows, before he speaks again, “Oh, I didn’t realise you found him.” 

You gasp, feeling as though your heart was ripped from your chest. He really did something to Garfield! 

“Get the fuck off of my property! I'll-I'll Call the police!” Tears Pool in your eyes, before dripping down your face. Whoever this bunny man is, he must be dangerous if he goes around killing things for no reason. 

“My heart, how you wound me,” You peek through the curtains, only to see him looking back at you with an intimidating gaze. His ice blue eyes seem to be staring into your soul, “This… Garfield of yours was challenging me. He may have had you first, yes, but the rules of the animal kingdom say that if we find our mates, the new found mate must be left alone. But, that feline of yours blatantly disrespected our relationship, My Heart, so I had to teach him a lesson.” 

You gape at him in horror, backing away from the doors, “Stay away from me! I’m not your mate, I’m not your anything! How do you even know me?” 

You hear him laugh through the door, as he lands a swift kick towards the door handle, “You bathed me just the other week, don’t tell me that you’ve forgotten?” 

Running towards the kitchen, you grab a small knife that is easy to use. Did you seriously help a hybrid? 

You hear him kick a few more times, before the doors come crashing down. His heavy footsteps echo across your hardwood floors, as he makes his way to you. Looking around for an exit, you quickly move towards the kitchen window. 

Unlocking it with ease, you slide it open, making quick work of the screen keeping the bugs out. You hoist yourself onto the counter, shimmying towards the opening, only to be yanked back by two strong hands. In your (dominant Hand) is the knife you grabbed, allowing you to slash at the large man. 

“Get away from me! Don’t fucking touch me!” He releases you for a moment, dodging your erratic movements. A saddened look crossed his handsome face, as he man handled the knife out of your sweaty hands. Once disarmed, he forces you against his chest, chucking the knife into the sink. His now free hands grip your wrists, stopping you from fighting against him. 

“Shh, calm yourself. There’s no need to be so erratic-“ 

“Fuck you! You killed my cat and broke into my house, there’s plenty of reasons for me to be erratic!” You try kicking at his strong legs, but he doesn’t even flinch. 

“I understand that your heat is making you irrational-“ 

“What the fuck are you talking about?! I’m not an animal, I don’t fucking have heats!” Thrashing with your entire body weight, you try to bring him to the ground, but he’s too sturdy for you to do so. 

Instead of answering, he brings his head into the crook of your neck, sniffing the area loudly. You don’t see it, but a look of disgust is apparent. 

“We need to fix this awful smell. Hold still and I’ll scent you-“ You head butt the large male, knocking him back and off of you. 

He stumbles back, and you make a run for the open window. You get halfway out of it once more, before you’re dragged back inside by your waist. 

You’re thrown to the floor in an instant, shoulder hitting the wood harshly. A yelp leaves your lips, as more tears drip down your face. 

“Don’t be difficult, Love. I don’t want to hurt you. Just let me scent you, and I can help you through your heat. You just have to trust me,” 

You shake your head, “No, just leave me alone!” 

He frowns, but nods, “It’s ok if you’re difficult, I’ll make sure everyone knows you’re mine.” 

Without warning, Jean grabs his half hard cock, aiming it towards your crumpled form. 

“What the fu-“ A stream of clear piss hits you straight in the mouth, causing you to gag and splutter in disgust. You wipe at your tongue, a wretched sob wracking your form. 

The stream hits your neck next, before traveling down your entire body. You’re absolutely covered in piss, all whilst crying your eyes out. You try to scramble away, but end up skipping in the acrid liquid. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you? Why the-why the fuck would you do that?” He fries. to approach you, a small smile quirking at his lips, but you kick at him, trying to keep him away from you, “Get the fuck away from me! Don’t fucking touch me! You just fucking pissed on me like a-like wild fucking animal!” 

He grabs you in his arms as you slap, punch, and scratch, quickly bringing you to your bedroom. He tosses you onto your mattress, effectively sullying your new sheets. You try to scramble off of your bed, but his large frame suddenly dwarfs yours, trapping you to it. 

“I didn’t want to do it, My Heart, but you left me no choice. You wouldn’t let me scent you, and I couldn’t let you wear another male’s scent-“ 

“You don’t own me! We don’t even know each other!” You smack at his well toned chest, as you cry. He kisses you on your piss covered forehead, nuzzling into your slightly damp hair. 

“But we will. We’re mates, after all,” With those words, he starts to strip you. “All you need to know is that I know what’s best for you. Right now, you need a big, strong mate to breed your in heat womb, and I’m the right one for the job! So, just lay back and let me help you!” 

Your top half is exposed to him, breasts bouncing as he tears your clothes to shreds. Your hits have no effect on him, as he is stares down at your naked body hungrily. 

“Why are you doing this to me? I’m not a hybrid, it doesn’t make any sense-“ 

“Nature doesn’t need to make sense. Nature decided that we’re made for one another, and the sooner you realise this, the sooner you’ll realise that I’m good for you,” He hoists your thighs over his broad, muscular shoulder, a teasing grin on his face, “But right now, I’m going to make you cum as many times as I can.” 

He attaches his mouth to your unprotected pussy, lips sucking at your clit, whilst his tongue enters your unprepared opening. A loud yelp leaves your lips at the feeling. 

His veiny hands grip the fat of your thighs, as he moves your hips to rub against his face. At first, you’re really uncomfortable, but after a few moments, you’re having to restrain yourself from moaning lamely. Jean is paying special attention to your clit, sending jolts of pleasure down your spine. 

A particularly hard suck has you gushing with arousal, and although it wasn’t an orgasm, it was enough to make your thighs shake pathetically. You can feel him grin against your slit, as he inches a hand down to your cunny, and slips a thick finger inside of you. A loud mewl echoes through your chest, as your once slapping hands cover your face in shame. 

“Are you feeling good, Heart?” His airy voice would be suave if it weren't for the fact that you’re being assaulted, and you’re covered in a strange man’s piss. 

“Nu-no!” He chuckles at your weak attempt of denying him, and dives back into your weeping pussy. Polnareff rubs his finger against you g-spot with ease, not struggling to find it at all. 

That, coupled with the intense suckling on your clit, sends you over the edge. Your juices shoot out onto the white haired man’s face, coating him with your essence. 

“That was a strong orgasm, My Love. Are you sure you’re not enjoying yourself?” The teasing lilt in his voice makes you want to punch him in the face, so that’s exactly what you do. 

He grunts in pain, and in a moment of anger, flips you onto your stomach, hands held firmly in his grasp. Your back is arched just right to be in the prime breeding position, causing his cock to throb in need. Jean always liked a head-strong woman. 

“There’s no need for violence. If you wanted me to make love to you that bad, you could’ve just told me,” He didn’t wait to hear your response, instead choosing to sink his massive cock into your tight walls. Gods, you’re so tight. 

The rabbit couldn’t help bun moan at the feeling of your spasming cunny. It’s almost like you’re trying to draw him in! 

If that’s what you want, then that’s what you’ll receive. 

Jean starts a rapid pace, his hips slamming into yours harshly. His heavy balls smack against your clit with every thrust, causing you to scream in both pleasure and pain. 

Within moments, you’re creaming and gushing around his length. Moaning in unison with you, he speeds up his ministrations, quickly cumming inside of you. His hips stutter, before stopping, allowing him to cum what seemed like buckets. Your body sags, signifying your belief that he was finished, when in all actuality, he’s far from it. 

He immediately restarts his jack hammer pace, his free hand gripping your hip, “You’re perfect! A perfect pussy that squeezes me so good, a perfect personality, and a perfect body. I’m going to knock you up with many kits!” You sob into your pillow, trying to block out his voice, cock, and smell of piss. 

You cum again and again, being filled with liters of virile cum. His hand that once held your hip cups your bloated tummy, a dopey smile covering his handsome features. 

Jean can practically feel you becoming pregnant, and it satisfied him greatly. 

Noticing your lack of movements, he realises that you’ve passed out.

Oh well, when you wake up, he’ll be sure to attend to you once more. 

#polnareff x reader #yandere polnareff #jean polnareff #yandere jjba #yandere jjba x reader #jjba x reader #yandere jojo #yandere jojo's bizarre adventure #jojo's bizarre adventure x reader #stardust crusaders

[allyce-11]

Okay another Hogwarts AU that nobody ask for but i did anyway :D 

Let me introduce the mystery trio! and the reason for the headache of many teachers! 

So I love Gravity Falls, and I saw people before making their own AU with them in Hogwarts, so I just wanted to do my own and have a bit of fun! Here are some of the important parts I thought about the story in general.

(clarification: Bill is OOC for obvious reasons because he is a human here, not a chaotic psychopathic demon… He is a chaotic hyperactive troublemaker, with pretty grey morals but not, you know evil.

And I'm NOT writing a fanfic about this, why? because i can't write :D but if any of you feel like doing one because i inspire you with this bunch of nonsense, i will love to read it so please send me a link.)

Okay this is a long post so put yourself comfortable! 

- The twins are muggleborn but the Stans are wizards so when their parents discover that they are magical they send them to live in Gravity Falls so they can adapt a bit better.

- Gravity Falls is mostly a magical town but still has some muggles. (the people there think is a tourist town and basically explain any weird thing that happen there with the locals searching new ways to attract tourist with their “magic and mystery town act”)

- The twins go to live there at the age of 9, when they start to show signs of accidental magic, two years before starting Hogwards.

- Bill is an orphan. There is an orphanage just outside Gravity Falls.  A catholic orphanage at that, and let's say that when Bill started to make weird things happen around him… well, they didn't like it, they thought he was possessed. He gets punished, the staff and the kids ignore or fear him calling him a “demon”, all in all not really healthy for a small kid…   He started to leave the orphanage and run to the forest, the forest has weird things like him so he likes it. 

- Then one day he and Dipper run into each other (because of fucking course Dipper go to the forests even if its dangerous and he is a little kid, because who is gonna stop him? his responsable guardians?) and who would have seen this coming? They became fast friends (two lonely kids, wizards, that love the forest and are a bit of nerds? they got no problem getting along) Dipper eventually brought Mabel too and the mystery trio was born. 

- The three of them became really close at the point that Bill was more in the Mystery Shack that in the orphanage (though he has to go back regularly still, because you know, he is still they problem and all) 

- Eventually the Stans managed to adopt him so he could live with the twins (this happened at the end of three year.) The guy was there all the time anyways and Stan got a soft spot for the little bastard. The orphanage was just too happy to get rid of him. 

- Stan gets expelled in his fifth year. He runs the Mystery Shack as a tourist trap for muggles and sells some not so legal things for wizards.

 - Fords gots 12 NEWT and becomes an inventor, he works for the ministry and does all his experiments in his lab in the shack. 

 - The twins and Bill knew that they probably wouldn't end in the same house but promised to keep being just as close. 

- Dipper got into Ravenclaw, he does good in the majority of his classes but his best subjects are Transfiguration, Potions, Arithmancy, and Care for the magical creatures. (He chose Ancient Runes, Arithmancy and Care for magical creatures.)

- Mabel got into Hufflepuff, her best subjects are Charms, Herbology and Care for magical creatures. (she chose Care for magical creatures and Divination) her worst subjects are Potions. 

- Bill got into Slytherin and his best subjects are Defence against the dark arts, Astronomy, Arithmancy and Care for magical creatures. (He chose Ancient Runes, Arithmancy and Care for magical creatures.)

-The three of them became animagi in fifth year (in secret) Obviously Dipper make sure they do everything right and get the other two to be serious because “guys if we fuck this up in any point we can end up in some sort of half transfigureted animal so you are taking this seriously or i swear i gonna drown you in the black lake!” [Dipper is a dog (Border Collie)] [Mabel is a rabbit (lop)] [Bill is a wolf]

- The Mystery trio go to the forbidden forests rather frequently (they got caught half the time and get in trouble but they keep doing it)

- Mabel keeps putting patches and glitter in her robes even when the teachers take them away the next day the girl appears with more, it reaches a point where they just give up. 

- Bill and Mabel play quidditch, Bill is a beater, and Mabel a chaser. They can be really competitive, Dipper has no interest in quidditch and does not like flying, he only goes to support his friend and sister. 

- I see Bill and Dipper getting together in their, idk fifth year maybe? but you can also see it like a platonic close friendship.

 Mcgonagall: Why is it when something happens, it is always you three?

Dipper: Believe me, professor, i've been asking myself the same question for years  

(something explode somewhere)

Snape: Mr Pines! Where is Mr Cipher? 

Dipper: I don't know! why would i?!

Snape: …

Dipper:..

Snape:...

Dipper: three floor, boys bathroom.

Okay i gonna stop it here because this is long enough, if you read all of this, you have a place in my heart wow thank you. 

PS: (For anyone curious:

Ford: Ravenclaw

Stan:Slytherin

Wendy: Gryffindor 

Pacifica: Slytherin

Grenda: Gryffindor

Candy: Ravenclaw

Soos:Hufflepuff

Gideon: Slytherin 

Robbie: Slytherin )

#gravity falls #dipper pines #mabel pines #bill cipher #hogwarts #hogwarts au #au #harry potter au #Harry Potter #ravenclaw #slytherin #gryffindor #hufflepuff #bill cipher x dipper pines #billdip #art #Fanart #I REGRET NOTHING #i regret everything #just for fun

[acesophiewalten]

Beauty

Word Count: 1,326

Fandom: The Walten Files

Tags: Mild Gore, mentions of broken bones, Character Study, well it's a bit of a character study anyway, Canonical Character Death, Angst, Jack Walten Is Bon, of course disclaimer that i don't condone jack's feelings on beauty here, Rosemary Walten Deserves Better, does jack love his wife? yes, is that going to stop him? no!, possibly ooc, i'm not sure honestly

Read on Ao3!

Tagging!! @batmarriedacat @petulant-poet @another-her

She isn’t beautiful anymore. That’s the first thing he notices.

How much could one person have changed? Her eyes are red, dull, with deep purple bags underneath them. She is close to tears, though whether that’s simply how she looks now or whether that’s the natural reaction of seeing a nine-foot-tall animatronic rabbit stand in front of you, he isn’t sure. Her skin has paled, thinned, if he squinted he was sure he could see her veins poking through. The idea of her not eating made his throat constrict - well, as constrict as much as it could, being metal. Her turtleneck hung on her body, loosely. She’s trembling - once again, is that due to being confronted, or was it simply something she had acquired? - and her breath is so quick he can’t pick up on when she takes a breath in and lets it out, he can only make out the small movements of her bony shoulders. Due to the paleness of her skin and the brightness of her sweater, she appears to glow among the dark backrooms. In one hand, one emaciated, translucent, shaking, nearly destroyed hand, she holds a flickering flashlight, right up to his mechanical face. Her mouth slightly opened, closed, then opened again, before settling in a white line. She must notice, then, his moving eyes, the grinding jaws, the movement and life to him. Her hair is down, uncombed, and frizzy beyond belief. He thought - she wasn’t even like this when Edd and Molly died, this had to be because of his disappearance.

So this is what she’d become. He lured her back here to discover a shadow, a remnant, so consumed by loss that she had been completely destroyed - at least looked like it. What was the point of seeing her again, then, if all he saw was some poor, run-down, barely-functioning version of his wife? The Rosie! Rosie! I know where he is! Rosie! had done nothing but show him what she’d turned into - a shell, suffering under the weight of her own ignorance, her own fears. He’s disgusted, why does he suddenly want to cry?

And yet, she’s still pretty. It’s hard for her not to be - she has a sort of internal prettiness that never once falters, fades, or shies away. If her hair had been shorn off, if she hadn’t slept in weeks, if her clothes were shredded and her face bashed in and her skeleton showed beneath rotting, mottled, blue skin, she’d still be pretty, for that was simply her way. Even now, he could recognize that her eyes were still their brilliant dark blue, her hair, though frizzy, though let down, loose, and soaked with humidity and sweat, was still the loveliest caramel-brown, and its bounce and curl could still be seen. Her lips could extend into a smile that made you feel giddy, weak. Her skin was still adorably freckled, her lashes long, her large eyes even larger with terror. It was more than her looks, though, it was the way she simply was, as real and as natural as her hair, her eyes, her limbs. You couldn’t take the prettiness out of Rosemary Walten unless you scratched at her body, peeled at her skin, ripped her apart, bit and tore and forced it out of her.

But prettiness wasn’t beauty, now was it? No amount of prettiness could compare to true beauty - the beauty of happiness, the beauty of awareness, the beauty of feeling safe, wanted, loved, adored, needed, desired. She had been drained of beauty. Through a lack of knowledge, through despair, through his disappearance that made her so, so desperate, she wasn’t beautiful anymore. She was in shards. He felt a disturbing amount of pity for her, she was so saddened, so frightened, so clearly incapacitated by grief that all she could do was to stare up at him, tears now let free and running down her face, her body shaking, her lips quivering. He had succeeded in tearing out her beauty, and he had to fix her. He’d done this, of course, not forcing her to see, sooner, not letting her in on the truth, refusing her until she became horribly, overwhelmingly, utterly...not quite ugly. She wasn’t ugly. She’d never be ugly. He couldn’t stand to see her like this, though, and what was he supposed to do, now that she was in front of him? Let her go? Let her go on living, terrified, shaken beyond belief? She was broken, and he, as her husband, as her confidant, as her companion for god-knows-how-long, had to fix her. He simply had to.

He thinks, at the moment, that this is an act born out of tenderness. He looks at her - the frizzy hair, the dull eyes, the shrunken skin, the large turtleneck, the pure, draining hope that her husband is around here, somewhere, and feels as if he is about to fall over. If bile could rise in a machine’s throat, it would be rising. He sometimes took pleasure in what he did - he took pleasure in Susan, in Charles, and sometimes others - but this, he assures himself, is a necessity. An act of love from a husband who had abandoned his wife. Left her to rot. He finally says what he’s thinking - Rosemary, he relishes the name in his mouth, you’re broken. I will fix you.

He hopes that, even with his wheezing voice box and the monotone voice he now has, his emotion can show through. He hopes she understands that he means it, that this is, in no way, out of malice, out of hatred, out of a desire to hurt her. The idea that he is lying to himself crosses his mind, and it violently repels him.

He takes a step towards her and she finally starts to scream.

Perhaps it is simply that, her screams, her attempt to run away, that makes him grab hold of her arm, and perhaps it was who exactly she screamed for - Sophie, Felix, anybody! - that made him squeeze it and hear the agonizing crush of her bones. Why was she crying out for Felix, of all people? The very thought of it made him tighten his grip more, only bruising her, breaking her, and Sophie? Sophie could be here, he remembered, watching, staring on with fascination, unable to look away, unable to move. She could be behind the door, looking through the window, even behind him, having come in unnoticed, hands covering her mouth, possibly shaking. Possibly trying to get herself to run in and distract him long enough to save her mother, sacrificing herself in the process. Sophie could be behind the boxes. Sophie could be at his feet, and he hadn’t noticed. Sophie could be in the next room over, hearing everything. Sophie could be getting Felix, assuming that Felix wasn’t in the room as well, looking on with shock and horror. His eyes scan the room, trying to spot anything, anything - but he cannot. He is sure he’s alone, with his screaming, writhing, petrified wife - pity and something very, very close to love, almost indistinguishable from it, fills him.

Jack Walten destroyed Rosemary particle by particle, scratched at her body, peeled at her skin, ripped her apart, bit and tore until only her prettiness remained, stubborn as it was. By the time he was finally satisfied - her mechanics were properly set, her skin was sitting comfortably inside Sha’s suit, the blood had been slightly cleaned up, he watched as her eyes opened, her limbs began to move, her mouth opened and closed with small creaks and groans in the metal joints - he had never seen anything more beautiful in his life. He sat next to her and nearly laid his head on her shoulder. How truly perfect she is, he thought, is, was, and will be, forever.

#jean.posts #jean.writes #i have given in and written twf fic #thank u to ocean for beta reading!! #gore tw #death tw #violence tw #injury tw #just everything you would expect to find in a fic based on a horror series #i'm actually really proud of this #the walten files #jack walten #rosemary walten #felix kranken #sophie walten #boozoo's ghosts #susan woodings #charles

[theblackberrygirl]

Dead Hearts

Summary: The Red Room is destroyed and Natasha has some unresolved goodbyes to say.

Author’s Note: alright I wasn’t super happy with this bc I felt like it was kinda OOC but my beta reader said she rly liked it so here it is!

Warnings: torture, death, death of children, hypothermia, grief. It’s sad alright

This is a song fic and it’s inspired by Dead Hearts by Stars

Tell me everything that happened

Tell me everything you saw

They had lights inside their eyes

They had lights inside their eyes

“JARVIS, show me the article,” Nat asked, her voice trembling ever so slightly.

“Of course, Ms. Romanoff.”

The headline streamed across the TV in her room. Russian training academy, Red Room, has been destroyed and burned by the US government.

Her stomach dropped. No. It can’t be true. The Red Room doesn’t just get destroyed. That’s not possible, it’s not true.

But it was. It was true. The Red Room had been reduced to a pile of burning cinder blocks.

She felt a strange feeling in her heart. She definitely wasn’t nostalgic. The Red Room had kidnapped her from that house fire when she was 4, leaving her parents to die. They tortured her, made her into a killer, messed with her mind and memories.

They made her kill her friends.

When she had escaped when she was 16 and Clint had found her, she never looked back. She ran and ran because running was what she knew, it was all she knew.

But now, she couldn’t run away. No, for once in her life, it was time to run towards something.

“JARVIS, is the quinjet fueled up?”

“Yes, Ms. Romanoff, but-”

“Get me 29 roses please. I’m leaving in 10 minutes.” JARVIS didn’t answer her, but she knew he was listening.

It was late, around 2 in the morning. Tony would be in his lab. The others would hopefully be asleep. Clint… well, he was a wild card at night. He could be anywhere. But she had known him for years. She knew how to avoid him.

She threw some essentials in a bag before heading towards the quinjet. JARVIS had been listening, because a bundle of blood-red roses laid on the countertop.

She picked them up on her way out to one of the jets. She needed to do this. Not just for herself.

But for them.

-

Did you see the closing window?

Did you hear the slamming door?

They moved forward, and my heart died

They moved forward, and my heart died

-

“Mr. Stark, Ms. Romanoff has just entered the roof.”

“What? Why?” Tony asked, actually pausing his newest project to listen to JARVIS.

“She asked me to make sure one of the quinjets had fuel and to get her roses.”

“That’s helpful,” Tony grumbled. “Is Barton still up?”

“Mr. Barton is currently downstairs in the archery range.”

“Typical. Tell him to come up here, will ya J?”

“Right away, Mr. Stark.”

Tony didn’t go back to his tinkering. He wanted to give Natasha her space, since she’d probably kill him if he didn’t. But at the same time, if this was something important, he didn’t want her to be alone.

“Tony? What’s up?” Clint had arrived in the lab, his bow on his back.

“Hey, do you know if today is anything important for Nat? An anniversary or something?”

“...no? Not that I know of anyways. Why? She alright?”

“I’m not sure, Katniss. JARVIS just told me that she was going up to the jet with roses.”

“Where is she going?”

“The GPS coordinates are set for an area approximately 50 miles West of Vorkuta, Russia.”

“Russia? Why would she be going back to-”

“JARVIS, how many roses did she want?” Clint interjected.

“29, sir.”

“That’s specific,” Tony commented.

Clint didn’t say anything. He wordlessly picked up one of the laptops Tony had laying around and typed something into the search bar.

“Oh no, Tasha… I knew you talked about it doing something, but...”

“What? What is it?”

Clint spun the laptop around for him to see. “The Red Room. It’s gone. And I think I know why she’s going back”

-

Please, please tell me what they looked like

Did they seem afraid of you?

They were kids that I once knew

They were kids that I once knew...

-

Even in a quinjet, the ride from New York to Northern Russia was pretty long, giving her plenty of time to think and contemplate.

She did not want to think. Not about the Red Room, or Madame B, or the other girls, anything.

You owe it to them to remember.

All of her memories before 16 were jumbled. But some things… some things can’t be erased or altered by drugs.

She remembers their names. All of them. All 29.

She had been the youngest girl in her class of Black Widows. Some said that was a weakness. Others said it was an advantage.

But when they brought little Natalia Romanova to that place, still covered in burns and ash, she didn’t care about becoming the Black Widow. She wanted her mother, and father, in their little one-bedroom apartment, with her stuffed rabbit Alexei. It was always cold in that apartment, but when she was snuggled between her mother and father, she felt safe.

She learned quickly that safety was not a feeling in the Red Room. That was something for children, and she was not a child. She was Natalia, made of marble.

On her first night there, when she had silently cried from the pain of cold metal handcuff cutting her wrist, one of the older girls had helped her. She was 8. Her name was Nadia.

Nadia had stolen one of the handcuff keys from the guards. She had unlocked the cuffs and hugged her. Made her a makeshift doll out of an old sock and toilet paper. Told her stories of magic and heros.

In the morning, they found out about what Nadia had done. They punished her until she couldn’t scream anymore. Just before they killed her, she looked at Natalia. “It’s ok”, she whispered. Just before they pulled the trigger.

Magic had not been in that place in a very long time.

After Nadia had been killed, Natalia funneled her grief and fear into her training. She rose to the top, taking down girls who were twice her age and twice her size. She used untraditional methods on the mat, using her legs to take them down since that was where she was strongest.

Her handlers were very impressed with her sudden prowess. She became the best dancer, best fighter, best liar. She picked up the languages quickly. She was as stoic as stone, never flinching or backing down from the threat of a punishment.

They never knew what fueled her excellence. Never knew that she was motivated by rage and grief. For her parents. For Nadia.

When she turned 9 years old, she decided that it was time to repay her debt to Nadia. There was a new girl, the last one for their class. The thirtieth. Sasha.

No one knew what had happened to Sasha. But they did know that she was good. She was unwavering, unmoving. During the day, anyways.

At night, Natalia could hear the girl in the bed next to her trying to muffle her cries. She took out the key that one of the guards had foolishly left in the washrooms. She carefully unlocked her own cuff and Sasha’s.

She rubbed her back silently. Rebraided her French braids that had come undone in the night. Made her a crude doll out of an old sock and toilet paper. Just as Nadia had done for her.

The next morning, Natalia had waited all day for someone to take her to a room to be killed. But they never did. They hadn’t been caught.

Sasha and Natalia continued their routine every night. It was nice to have a friend in a place where friends were a myth.

They were friends for 2 years. They learned to master sneaking around. When Sasha turned 11, someone took her into a room alone. They did this all the time for training, interrogation practice, or just a mental test.

When Sasha didn’t come back that night, she knew something was wrong.

She never saw Sasha again. She didn’t know what happened to her. She still didn’t.

“Landing in 10 minutes,” the jet intercom told her. A wave of anxiety washed over her. She didn’t want to be here. She wanted to turn around, go home, and never come back.

She hated the memories associated with this place. This was the closest she had ever been in the 12 years since Clint saved her. She avoided it like the plague.

The clearing the jet had landed in was still about 2 miles from the old academy. She pulled her coat and hat on and began her march through the barren fields and forest.

Tank tops and shorts. No shoes, she thought to herself. When she was 13, Madame B had given them all black tank tops and shorts. She took away their combat boots and forced them out into the bitter winds.

“Only the strongest will survive this challenge. Only those worthy of the Black Widow title will make it through this. If you are not ready, well, hypothermia isn’t a bad way to go,” she had told them. 2 girls out of the remaining 18 had died that day.

Then they had gone inside to train. The cold made their muscles achey and stiff, but the Red Room was not a place for complaints.

Then they did it all again the next day.

By the end of the week, 7 of the remaining 18 girls were dead, either from exhaustion or the cold. 11 remained from a group that was once 30.

Anastasia. Irina. Svetlana. Alina. Manya. Eva. Kyana.

Their dead hearts were everywhere. The lights inside their eyes extinguished. They’re still out there. And she still cares.

She always will.

-

I could say it, but you won't believe me

You say you do, but you don't deceive me

It's hard to know they're out there

It's hard to know that you still care

-

Pepper, Tony, Clint, Bruce, Thor, Steve, and Fury had all boarded a jet to Russia as soon as Clint told them what had happened. They weren’t going to let her go through this alone.

Natasha Romanoff liked to pretend she didn’t feel things. But they were her family. And family helped each other.

They all sat in silence. Natasha only had an hour on them, but that was still an hour where she was alone and hurting. Even Tony didn’t say anything.

Clint was playing with the spider necklace he always wore. Natasha had a matching one with an arrow. It was a symbol of how deep their friendship went.

Fury was completely still. He had his arms resting on his knees, looking straight ahead. His lips were more downturned than usual, and his forehead was more tense. You could only tell if you had known him for a long time, but Fury was upset. Upset that the woman he looked at as a daughter had to relive this. That she even had to live through it at all.

Clint and Fury were probably getting hit the hardest. They knew the most about what went down in the Red Room. They knew the most about how painful this had to be for their friend.

As the jet lightly set down in the field near the jet that Natasha had taken, they all prepared to walk the 2 miles in the cold weather.

The ground beneath their feet was completely frozen. Permafrost. Snowflakes rushed around their faces. It was painfully beautiful.

The sound of dried grass and leaves under their feet was the only sound on their walk. The wind whistled in their ears. The cold air bit into their exposed skin like needles.

Clint’s breath caught in his throat when he saw her.

She was standing on a pile of rubble with her back to them. Her flaming red hair was flying in the wind. In her arms was the bouquet of roses. Each rose had a note attached, written in Natasha’s small, elegant penmanship.

As Clint looked closer, he saw what the notes were. Names. All of them.

If Nat had realized they were there, she made no move to acknowledge them.

She just stood there. As if she was in shock. To be honest, she might’ve been.

“Sometimes, I swear I can see them,” Natasha spoke. She sounded so… broken. “Everywhere. In the reflection of a window. When I heard a door slam, it was like they were right there like they used to be. Like how they were in here.”

They all stayed quiet. She needed to get this out.

“It’s like they’re following me. Protecting me. I miss them. I miss them all.”

“Inna, Katrina, Larisa, Polina, and Oksana were the first 5 to go.” She held the 5 flowers tightly in her hand, like if she squeezed it tightly enough, she could bring them back. “5, 7, 6, 4, and 8. I’m sorry I couldn’t save you,” she whispered. Her emotions were coming to the surface, hidden by a thin veil of control.

“Raisa, Sonya, Ulyana, Vanka. I didn’t know any of you. Not personally. But all of you deserved so much better than what you got.”

“Luda, Lubov, and Klara. You were 8 years old. Triplets. Nothing could come between you three. Not the Red Room. Not even death.”

Clint started to move closer towards his best friend. He could see the way she was shaking.

“That week when we stood outside for hours. The cold and exhaustion took 7. Anastasia, Irina, Svetlana, Alina, Manya, Eva, Kyana. I hope that you weren’t in pain when you died. I hope you’re finally resting.”

Only 10 roses were left in her arms, the other 19 laid out on the ground in front of her. The bright red petals contrasted sharply with the grey cinder blocks and white snow.

“Yelizaveta. Liz. We were in actual hell together, and yet you somehow managed to make me smile with your fucked-up sense of humor. In a place like that, dark humor is the only kind you have.” A small smile joined the tears running down her face. “I hope I’ll see you again one day.”

“Taisiya, Sonechka, Nikita, Mischa, Maya, Luda. You were all so smart. And so strong. You fought harder than everyone. Even now, I have yet to meet someone as smart as you six, and 2 of my best friends have more than one PhD,” she laughed.

She was down to the final three roses. Clint put his arm around her. The dam was threatening to break any moment now.

“Nadia.” She let her tears fall for Nadia. “I wouldn’t be alive without you. I wouldn’t have gotten to meet my family. I wouldn’t have gotten to become an aunt without you.” Clint had already been crying, they all had, even Fury, but that had struck him deep in his heart. “I owe you. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she choked out. She bit her lip to keep it from trembling as she gently set the rose down on the ground.

“When I was 14, we had to do torture training.” Pepper let out a small gasp. “After I had finished the whipping and electrocution day, Anya split her bread with me. She cleaned the cuts that I couldn’t reach. In the morning, I-” Her voice began to crack. “They made me be the one to kill her. She was 15.” She set Anya’s rose on the ground next to the others. “You didn’t deserve it, Anya. You were always so good. Better than I ever was.”

“Sasha. Sasha and I were best friends,” she let out a small bittersweet laugh. “When I was with her, I felt like, maybe, we could lead normal lives. Escape. Be happy. One day, when we were 11, they took her away and never brought her back.” She held the rose with Sasha written on it in her hand. “I’m sorry, Sash. I’m so, so sorry. For everything.”

“You forgot one,” Clint whispered. He held out one more red rose. “Natalia Romanova. A little girl orphaned in a fire, who did what she had to do to survive. Who walked through hell and back and still found herself a family and a home.” He set the rose down with the others.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she cried. Clint hugged her tightly as they sank to the ground.

“We were all so young. We were all kids. Just kids,” she sobbed into his shoulder.

Years upon years, over 2 decades worth of grief, sadness, fear, rage, and pain came pouring out. She had been bottling these feelings up for 24 years, shoving them down, and now they were finally being released. Finally being set free.

“They were kids that I once knew. They were kids that I once knew...”

-

Now they’re all dead hearts to you.

They were kids that I once knew

They were kids that I once knew

Now they're all dead hearts to you

Now they're all dead hearts to you

They were kids that I once knew

They were kids that I once knew

Now they're all dead hearts to you...

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