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inkskinned · 1 month

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okay if you're really cool about things, i can be honest with you. before you read further, decide if you're a girl's girl. if you're cool and actually cool or like not cool.

men don't talk in my book because i was fuckken tired of the way they're the center of every fucking story. i was tired of how every story takes a moment to let them talk. men can shut up for literally one fucking book.

unfortunately not everyone is cool. professionally what i usually say is i didn't want to add violence to the world. the only men in my book are abusers, so they don't get to talk. they don't get to take up space. they ruined my life, they don't get to have their words echo anymore.

because like, yeah! you find practically any story about a person surviving trauma and... there's a man at the center. men are often rescuing us from these things. a "good man" is always standing around, being a good man, proving to the victim that good men are the real men. that her experience was unique rather than universal.

the redacted text has not been taken well by all of my early readers. there is this weird, crouching growl that keeps occurring with men-of-a-certain-age. why don't we hear his side of the story?

when i sat down to write everything that happened to me, i couldn't look at the frank brutality of my abuser's words on a page and think to myself: i actually let him speak like that. i had to redact his words from the manuscript. i then left it redacted. no victim is going to read this book and hear the person who hurt them. it is a book for the victims to speak. abusers shut up challenge, forever. for eternity.

my father once told me, chuckling, i should just have a page of redaction where i let the man just finally talk. it is funny to joke about how we should make a whole page in my book about a man that hurt me. this was not the only time someone commented - it feels like you're hiding things. how do i know you're actually a victim if he doesn't get to speak?

there are books where women aren't even present. i even genuinely like some of those books. like, who doesn't like the hobbit?

i keep running into people defending this imaginary man. the default narrative is so true to some people that they will defend any man, just by virtue of the assumption - "if he's acting like that, you had to push him." certain people need definitive proof that you didn't accidentally make your partner into an abuser. they need to decide if you deserved it, because they want to be able to judge you.

which makes sense, i guess, from a hind brain perspective. if you can figure out "why" someone was cruel, you can protect yourself against it. if you defend the bully, the bully might side with you. i don't really know their explanation for feeling this about a character in a book. trust me, i wrote the guy. he is not going to protect you.

i guess i just - there was a time in my life where i desperately wanted anyone to defend me. where i could have really used someone saying holy shit are you okay instead of what did you say to make him act like that to you.

instead, over dinner, a friend-of-a-friend i just met is pouring herself wine. i heard you wrote a book, she says. she gives me the kind of chilly smile i associate with knives. i heard it's unfair to men.

#the author is nonbinary. don't get fucking weird.#btw if ur a woman and u do this u go to advanced special hell. like if u defend ab*sers at all #u dont get to pretend ur protected from being misogynistic. ur not. we all have internal work.#writeblr #i can't write lately wtf

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mabbbish · 11 months

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wonderful day to remember ninjago has a canon highschool au

#mad as hell i posted this like two days ago and tumblr ate it then logged me out of my acc????#lloyd has dyed blue hair inspired by mr snail dood inspired by that one ninjago scriptwriter that said he would btw. if you even care #anyway there are many scenarios buzzing in my noggin about gaps in the movie i’m filling them all with hcs #like i am so sure nya could go into service or social work or law or security because shes a genius when it comes to laws and rights #but she has anger issues and she hates authority so she can’t get a job anywhere #that’s why she loves being a ninja!!#plus her steel cap boots are for stomping on people!!!#hate zane’s characterisation in the movie it’s creepy asf in this he’s just everyone’s favourite lab partner #anyway more hcs in art cominbb soon #ninjago #the lego ninjago movie #tlnm #lego ninjago #lloyd garmadon #ninjago lloyd #ninjago jay #ninjago nya #kai smith #nya smith #ninjago kai #ninjago cole #ninjago zane

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soybean-official · 1 year

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Listen i love the Dadgil fluff as much as the next guy but let's be real here neither Dante nor Vergil are even remotely suitable to take care of a small child

#devil may cry #devil may cry meme #devil may cry fanart #dmc fanart #dmc meme #dmc nero #dmc dante #dmc vergil #devil may cry nero #devil may cry dante #devil may cry vergil #yeah i'm sick of character tags #dante sparda #whatever #beanie art #it's fairly common but yes this is au where somehow vergil does not go to hell #and instead raises nero with dante #i've seen some really good fics about it #go read fathers may cry by like nightwingingit? i think? on ao3 if you havent #dont remember the authors name off the top of my head i'm a fake fan #same goes with thewritingsquids series #and that one fic ghirahimu sama wrote that personally rewrote my brain chemstry #verbena or asparagus i cant remember which one is second #i cant remember any others right now but those 3 are really long #i'll actually do the smart thing right now and go to sleep instead of fervently reccing fics that made me go insane #dmc

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thatsnotmygunflash · 7 months

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Are there any Professor Snart fics out there? The thought came to me and now I'm lying on the floor trying to get my brain to reboot.

Think about it. The gossip surrounding the hot new English professor. The casual but professional outfits. The captivating lectures. The charming smiles. The corny jokes. The starry-eyed students. The never-ending string of faculty friends and students visiting when he's in his office. The abundance of award-winning books he's written (James Patterson who?). The Dean is ready to offer him tenure if Len agrees to add another class or two to his roster because they have so many students begging to be in his class. He goes to his students' poetry slams to encourage them and has a writing workshop for inspiring authors. He sponsored a scholarship in his name for LGBTQ+ students. He volunteers to help with the theater department. Not long after he's hired, Professor Leonard Snart seems to be the only thing anyone wants to talk about at Central City University.

#theres so many ways to fit barry into this #a stressed senior who can't stand hearing Iris go on and on about her new hot teacher #a fellow professor who cant string two sentences together in front of his favorite author #an inspiring CSI hell-bent on proving the picture-perfect professor isn't who he seems to be #the Ezra/Aria meetfuck in the bar bathroom the day before he realized he just had sex with his new professor #Barry's work friends have adopted Len into their friend group and think they should date #professors rivalry aka how many times can we pretend we actually hate each other before we fuck on your desk #i could go on #but I'll run out of tags #leonard snart #coldflash #barry allen #the flash #captain cold #professor snart

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jester089 · 6 months

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Error log &$*%

So I wrote another chapter for "going through a digital hell together" but tumblr wouldn't let me post it. So for now I'm going to do a one shot based on an idea I like. TADC x glitch reader. While setting up for a future adventure Caine accidentally created you. A glitch in the digital circus. But before he could realize or fix his mistake you gained sentience.

You plain and simple were a mistake. If the fact your voice and appearance are constantly glitching doesn't prove that I don't know what will.

You were created by Caine... Sort of. It was an accident and by the time he realized what he did you has a mind of your own and couldn't be deleted.

So Like any good ring master would do he gave you a room and shoved you in with the others and hoped nothing would go horribly wrong.

Despite being a glitch and being a mistake the others took your arrival rather well. Even Jax treats you well! He tried to prank you once and learned the hard way to never do that again. He glitched out and was put into a ton of pain till Caine found him.

The others slightly fear you but also appreciate your company as you have some sort of control over everything. One time Ragatha was ranting to you about Jax putting another centipede in a place he knew she would find it. You listened in intently and before either of you realized she had a can of bug repellent in her hand.

Since that day people will go to you if they want something small that makes day to day life easier. Pomni is constantly asking begging you to make a way out of this place. You've tried your best. Really you have. But, nothing yet.

On a more light hearted subject the others think of you as a big ol teddy bear, in the sense of your a big softy towards all of them and are constantly seeking out someone's attention and or affection.

Sadly though you never get any as anyone or thing that is in contact with you for too long starts to glitch out. And if you keep in contact for long enough it ceases to exist all together. You found that out the hard way when you and a close friend were cuddling and they disappeared. Not even Caine could bring them back. (I feel like I'm on a roll today. I've written like 5 things. Hope you enjoyed whatever I did post. And have a lovely whatever time it is for you.) xoxo, Jester

#tadc x reader #the amazing digital circus x reader #tadc caine #tadc gangle #tadc pomni #pomni x reader #gangle x reader #noob author #not beta'd #Going through a digital hell together

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carnivalcarriondiscarded · 5 months

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trying to write the decapitation fic and it's like there's been a Franklydear Renaissance in my head. my fucking god those two

#WAILING WAILING WAILING #ah yes the fic centered around barnaby tearing wally's head off #CLEARLY it should have a whole franklydear subplot #HELLOOOOO????? WHO AUTHORIZED THIS!!!#canon-oriented brain did.#im finally exploring eddie's memory problems and AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA FUCK FUCK FUCK #when its real. and comes into play. im not going to survive #its about the names its about the names its about the motherfucking names-#and other things but. THE NAMES!!!!!#where the hell is my chalk i need to Eat It.#absolutely unprompted #me before writing the fic: okay this is barnaby centric. we're focusing on him and the effect of temporarily killing wally #me now: Ahhh I See! It's Been Love Amidst Cosmic Horror The Whole Time!#either my third eye is wiiiiiide the fuck open #or its 3 am.#...its 3 am.#JUST ATE THE THICKEST FUCKIN CHEEZIT. THAT WAS EXQUISITE!!!

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valiantstarlights · 11 months

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[Priest Hob AU sequel] Some Months Later, December 24, Evening.

Tagging @alexxuun because they deserve credit for the AU. 😊 I can't tag the anon who requested a sequel in an ask, but here you go! I hope you like it. 🖤

"I don't...I don't understand." Hob clutches at Dream's arm when he realizes where Dream has transported them. "Why are we here?"

'Here' was the corridor they got married in, months ago by now. Nothing has changed. The fourth window left of the door was still cracked, and the tile near the first pillar was still placed unevenly. Time has passed, surely, but Hob doesn't know the time difference between Hell and Earth. For all he knows, only a few minutes have passed since he was last here with Dream.

"To pray, I suppose," Dream replies, sounding amused at his question. "Is this what being in my presence does to you, Father Robert? Have you forgotten the purpose of churches?"

Panic flared bright in his chest. "No, please, don't call me that. You know I'm not...I'm not that person anymore. I'm your husband now. Right? Dream?" His heart was suddenly beating so quickly. Dream was looking at him strangely, all traces of humor gone from his handsome face. "Why are we here? Have you...have you grown tired of me? Is this you returning me to my old life?"

No. No. Anything but that. Anything but the crushing loneliness, the prayers that ring hollow when he recites them, the misguided belief that suffering brings you closer to heaven. That it is worth being miserable your entire life, giving and giving until you have nothing left, for the sake of having a place in God's kingdom where it would be more of the same: worshipping an absent, indifferent being, the air filled with songs of zealous, nauseating praise, fake beatific smiles on the face of everyone you meet.

Hob would rather die than live that life again. He would rather starve in the streets and die a peasant's death than leave Dream's side. If his husband has fallen out of love with him--

"Hush, my love," Dream says, and then Hob is enfolded in his strong arms, Dream's dark wings also moving to shelter him. Hob immediately clings tight. If Dream wants him to let go, he's going to have to break Hob's arms first. "I am here. I will not leave you. You are mine until the end of time."

"Then why?" Hob asks against the rich fabric of Dream's robes. He still sounds panicked, short breath coming in gasps. "Why are we here? I don't want to be here."

Dream rubs Hob's back comfortingly, up and down and up again, sometimes brushing his long fingers through Hob's hair, until Hob calms down. Until he can breathe normally again. Hob doesn't know how much time has passed, but their surroundings are undisturbed and not a single person walks by them.

And then Dream asks, "Are you sure?"

What?

Dream sighs but continues his soothing gestures. "I know you miss it. I hear you hum sometimes, when your mind is focused on a task. Religious melodies. Christmas songs, of late. I don't think you notice it, but some of the staff do. Lucienne tells me you must have wanted to visit, but are too afraid to ask me." He leans away from Hob so Hob could see how sincere he looks, but all Hob reads in Dream's face is the sadness in his eyes at the thought of Hob not trusting him enough to tell him his wishes.

"I do not want you to think that you can never visit again," Dream tells him, soft and a little vulnerable. "I do not want you to think that by marrying me, you have lost your freedom." He looks around them, at the high ceilings and the tall windows. "And so here we are."

"Dream," Hob says as earnestly as he could. "It's just a habit. I hum when I feel like it's too quiet. It just so happens that the songs I pick are...well. But if you enchant a violin to play by itself and follow me around, I assure you the humming will cease, or if it persists, then it would be to the tune of Mozart or Bach or whichever composer you pick."

He places his hand against his husband's cheek and watches as Dream leans against it before turning his head to kiss his palm. Hob's heart breaks at the tender movement. How long had Dream been worried about this?

"As for my freedom," Hob says, "You did not clip my wings. You unbound them. And since you have, I have never felt happier. With you by my side, I feel like I can achieve anything. You opened my eyes and taught me better. Helped me unlearn all the false teachings I grew up believing to be true. You have made me into the best version of myself I could ever hope to be, and I would not have anyone else by my side. I'm glad I'm spending my eternity with you."

Dream's eyelashes flutter in pleasure at his words before he leans in and gives Hob a soft kiss on the lips. Hob returns it with a passion, wanting Dream to understand that Hob has already decided his fate, and that he has chosen Dream. Will always choose him. Each and every time. Hob needs him to understand that. But how..?

An idea forms in his mind, and as soon as their kiss reached its natural conclusion, he pulls Dream towards the church proper.

"Hob?"

"Come, husband," he says, still filled with a giddy kind of joy whenever he says the title. "I want to make something clear to you."

Dream follows him.

A few moments later, the two of them stand in front of the door that would open to the main hall of the church.

"Is it empty?" Hob asks.

"Yes," Dream says. "The midnight mass won't be starting until later this evening."

"The midnight mass?" Hob repeats in shock. "Is it already Christmas Eve?"

Dream nods.

"Good," Hob says firmly. "Even better." He opens the door, and indeed, there was no one inside.

Hob marches them past the rows of votive stands, past the carved wooden pedestal holding the lit advent candles nestled upon a wreath of evergreen, and right up to the altar. Then, with only a moment's worth of hesitation, Hob shoves everything on the altar crashing down on the ground: the book stand, the large Bible it's holding open, candelabras with unlit candles, and a couple of flower vases. He winces as the objects make a dreadful amount of noise, the water from the vases seeping onto the pages of the Bible, the heavy book stand crushing the flowers, the candelabras dented in a couple of places, the candles placed upon them rolling across the floor.

"Is there a point to this destruction?" Dream asks behind him, sounding adorably confused as to why his usually mild-mannered husband is acting this way.

"No," Hob says, then turns back to Dream. He wants to see his husband's face for this. "I just wanted to clear the altar for my offering."

"Your offering?"

Hob starts to strip, and Dream immediately shuts his mouth, eyes darkening as he understands what Hob is trying to do.

"I am offering myself to you," Hob says, and starts reciting Dream's many titles. "--King of Dreams and Nightmares, One of the Seven Rulers of Hell, and my beloved husband. I would have you stake your claim on me in front of all the angels and saints, right at the altar of the god I used to worship."

Dream stares at him, now fully naked and slightly shivering from the cold air, his nipples pebbling. "You do not know what you're asking for, Robert Gadling," he says, though if the echo of Nightmare's voice tainting his is any indication, then Hob knows exactly what he's trying to do. "This would be unlike our marriage. Offering yourself to me in this way..."

"Can I be any more owned by you?" Hob asks, genuinely curious. "Am I not offering you myself, body and soul, so in the future you will not do stupid things like think I would want to be away from your side? Away from our home?"

"You would be offering yourself body and soul to me, Hob, this is true," Dream says. "But you must know that in offering yourself to me the way you are planning, naked and willing upon an altar, you are also offering to bear my children."

"Your chil--" Hob gapes at him and looks down at himself, at his own body, which is still very hairy and very male. "You can get me pregnant?" He asks, only sounding slightly hysterical.

Dream nods gravely. "And now you see why offering yourself this way to me would be unwise. However, I have noted your intention, and will try not to do...foolish things in the future."

"And if I want it?" Hob asks, unwilling to leave just yet without being fucked here, in the place where he went through life like a ghost, upon the very altar he stood behind and spoke words of faith while having none in his heart. He feels his cock growing hard under Dream's eyes, the hunger in them barely restrained. "If I want to become pregnant with your child?"

Dreams eyes are turning so dark, it was like the stars in them have started to go out one by one. The end of multiple universes. "Hob."

"I am willing," Hob says. "And while I am no longer a virgin, I had been when you first--"

"You should not say these things," Dream says in Nightmare's voice, stepping forward into Hob's space. The shadows were gathering around him and slithering around Hob's feet like snakes. "Not unless you want me to fuck you pregnant in the house of your god."

Hob steps closer until his naked body is flush against his husband, precome staining Dream's dark robes, then leans upwards so he could kiss Dream's and Nightmare's fanged mouth. They nip at his lips and push him back against the altar, the stone cold and hard against his back. Hob moans and twines his arms around their neck, letting them lift him so he could sit on the altar. "Haven't you heard, my husband?" Hob murmurs against their lips. "I worship a different god now."

"More," Hob begs, an indeterminate amount time later. Dream's cum drips from his hole and onto the altar, but still Hob spreads himself open. "Again."

Dream kisses him lovingly and obeys. Half of his face is Nightmare and the other half is Dream. He only gets this way when he's feeling so much pleasure that both sides of himself come out to play. Hob loves him like this. Dream is generally a gentle lover while Nightmare prefers a hard fuck. But both of them at the same time means petal soft kisses from Dream while Nightmare chokes him with a hand around his throat as his cock jackhammers into Hob.

"Insatiable," Dream says in Nightmare's voice as he thrusts hard into Hob. It's good that the altar is made of stone or else it would have broken under their vigorous fucking. "Do you really intend for me to breed you here? Are you not going to be satisfied until my seed takes?"

Hob moans. Yes. That would, in fact, be the ideal outcome. He spreads his legs wider.

"And to think you had been a virgin when I married you," Nightmare says in Dream's voice, possessive and fond at the same time. "Your hole was so tight I had to spend hours with my tongue between your legs to loosen you up. And now your body knows my cock so well you can take me with minimal preparation."

Hob squeezes him as much as he could in retaliation, though it was a weak little thing, his hole already fucked sloppy and loose.

"What a slutty husband I have," they tell him. "Uncaring that at any point now, the deacons and the sacristans will be arriving to do last minute preparations. I doubt they'll have anything to say about the mess you made on the floor, not when they see a former priest of this church getting fucked like a whore right on top of their sacred altar."

Hob mewls at that, aroused beyond belief. He knows he probably shouldn't feel that way. How he should instead feel humiliation flooding his veins at the thought of being found in such a position by the people who used to respect him.

But oh, to be found pleasing his eternal husband, undeniably marked with his teeth and claimed by his large cock...

"Want it," he gasps. It was so hard to speak and his thoughts are a scattered mess. "Show. I'm yours."

"You want me to continue fucking you in front of them?" Nightmare asks, delighted. "You want me to laugh in their faces as they wield their wooden crosses at me when they try to banish me? Shall I bathe them in flame and watch them burn alive when they do?"

Hob doesn't care. He could barely remember them anyway.

"It is tempting," Dream admits. "I want to see the look on their faces when they realize that Father Robert didn't just disappear mysteriously, but was instead granted a better life. However," and here he grinds harder to emphasize his point. Hob keens, toes curling and legs shaking. He has lost count of how many times he came, but he could feel the pressure building in his stomach once more. He'll probably cum dry this time. Or totally lose control of his body and squirt all over Dream. It's already happened once. "I do not want anyone else to see you like this. Only I should have that privilege. Don't you agree?"

Hob nods frantically. Whatever his husband wants. Fuck, his cock feels so good. Hob wants him to fill him up more until he grows round with his cum.

"No, I think we'll just leave them a nice little Christmas present." And with that, Dream wraps his hand around Hob's cock and starts stroking him to the rhythm of his thrusts. Hob practically seizes, wailing, cumming dry, as Dream pounds him harder through his orgasm before shooting another batch of cum straight into Hob's newly formed womb.

When the first group of deacons arrive to make the final preparations for the Midnight Mass, the mess on the floor that Hob created is not the first thing they see. Nor do they notice that the altar was desecrated by a truly overflowing amount of both human and demon cum.

They would have noticed these things, but Dream kept his promise and left them his Christmas present, to help make the church look more festive at such an important time in their liturgical calendar.

He did this by covering every interior surface of the church, from ceiling to floor, and not missing a single statue, with fresh, bright red blood.

#Priest Hob AU #CW: blasphemy #i'm not joking or being cute about this #the blasphemy level in this is so high that I the author herself am warning you about it #CW: altar sex #CW: nightmare!dream #honestly just assume that things are gonna be unhinged whenever he's present #am I intentionally posting this on a Sunday? N-no #if this were a vine it would be the 'you're all going to hell 😊 goodbye 👋' one #if this were doctor who this would be the christmas episode #I'm gonna end up calling it that aren't I #2000 plus words wtf #good job my thumbs #dreamling #the sandman #my writing

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sparring-spirals · 1 year

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Started writing an affectionate shitpost about the joys of the Bell's Hells plans going awry versus the joys of the Mighty Nein's plans going awry, realized I was just making this post again, and decided to make a visual aid instead.

[Image description: An edit of the "stepping on rakes meme".

The top half is a cartoon character, labelled "Bell's Hells", about to step on the rake, thinking "haha you know what would be funny", with a thought bubble of that same character stepping on a rake and being hit in the face by the handle.

The bottom half is a cartoon guy, labelled "The Mighty Nein." He's drawn in a different style, clearly doing some very fancy skate-board esque manuveurs on a rake, down a flight of stairs with no injury, with panicked cursing of "oh no" "oh god oh fuck" "oh shit oh god" "haha- fuck" throughout. His descent ends with him landing on the rake head at the bottom, still winding up hitting himself in the head with the handle, identical to the top image.

End id]

#Bell's Hells: Haha imagine if we INTENTIONALLY incited one of your murderous rages tho :)#The Mighty Nein: Oh God an authority figure is looking at us LEAVE LEAVE LEAVE *becomes heroes for a completely diff authority figure*FUCK #critical role #the mighty nein #bell's hells #party comparison post #Its truly the art of 'we know what could go wrong and its funny' and 'sometimes our panic avoidance brings problems to us'#shitpost #<3 #(said with great affection towards both parties)#spar speaks

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dreamersbcll · 9 months

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What if chad doesn't stop tara from opening quinn's door in the apartment scene? Let's suppose that ghostface was right behind it, waiting for someone to do something. Maybe when tara opens it, ghostface pulls her inside and locks the door... please, if you decide to write this, make it angsty <3

so, i did a mashup of au’s. here’s the other inspo post….

“Guess”

————————————————————————

The fucked-up part of the whole night was that Tara genuinely thought they would eat dinner together until the screaming started. The newly coined Core-Four gets one nice moment together, which again is ruined by some death wish. Once the screaming began, the facade of a good life was stripped away, and the kids ran toward the source.

Tara didn’t know why she went to open the door. Every fiber in her being begged her to back away from the door, but naturally, she ignored her instincts. She instead reached for the door handle, feeling the electricity crackle between her fingertips and the knob. She knew deep down that something was wrong.

But she twisted it anyway.

The second she did so, she looked up and made eye contact with Sam, dread swallowing her up whole. As if Sam could read her mind, her expression quickly changed from confusion to horror. Her big sister reached out, trying to get her away from the door, and that’s when Tara was snatched.

The door violently swung open, and a gloved hand wrapped around her shoulder, yanking her inside. She could see the moment that the other kids knew- that Tara wasn’t coming out unscathed. She could feel her stomach drop, her hands instantly shaking. The door slammed shut behind her, and the noise of something being shoved in front of it made her ears ache.

As she was thrown to the bedroom floor, she saw Quinn’s dead body strewn across her bed. Blood spattered the walls and sheets, and she cried out as she fell into a puddle. Hot and sticky, and her head throbbing, she stared at Ghostface, a sneer across her face.

Though every part of her was terrified, she put on her brave face, snarling back at her latest assailant.

“You better make it fucking hurt. My sister will tear you apart, limb by limb!” she growled, ignoring the throbbing in her panicked chest.

Ghostface tilted his head at Tara, and she swore she saw him smile.

“I hope she does, Tara,” he sneered back, raising the knife.

Before she could react, she kicked her square in the head, knocking her out cold.

——

Turning around towards the sound of screaming, Ghostface stared at the door, watching it shake. He could hear the bitchy sister beg for Tara, and the conceited asshole Chad threw his body against the door. It didn’t matter what they prayed for or who they begged. He was in control now.

Making his way to the shaking door, he pulled out his knife, tapping the blade against the door. Immediately the pounding stopped, the screaming dying to a bated breath.

This was too fucking easy.

Scraping the blade against the door, he spoke quietly, just above a whisper.

“Hey, Sam. Let’s play a game,” he taunted, goosebumps rising as the shrill knife scraped against the old wood.

A gasp could be heard, and someone stumbled back across the hardwood floor onto the couch. He grinned, knowing that he had them all wrapped around his finger.

Her voice, low and controlled, broke the silence.

“Try me, motherfucker,” she hissed back, her voice strained.

Without warning, he slapped his free hand against the door hard enough to make the ground jump and shriek in fear. God, did this feel fucking good. He didn’t care if he was going off-script. This was what he wanted. It was his game, and they had to play it.

How delightful.

Leaning against the door, he let his mask touch the wood, relishing how he could hear Sam breathing fast. The bitch may be a stone-cold murderer, but behind that, she was still a scared little girl.

And he was about to teach her what happens when you kill his brother.

“Question game. Three questions, to be exact. Each time you’re wrong, I get to stab your sister. If you get them right, she lives with minimal brain damage. If you don’t decide in the next ten seconds, I’m gutting her like a pig on Quinn’s bedroom floor,” he snarled, slapping his hand against the door again.

It took a few moments of frantic whispers and soft cries of Don’t do it, Sam, but he eventually heard the words he was waiting for.

“Fine. You lose, and I get to tear you apart,” she gritted back, slamming her hand against the wall.

He grinned and picked up the crumpled girl by the hair.

This was too easy.

——

Sam doesn’t know why she decided to play into this asshole’s delusions. Nothing good was going to come of it. She knew deep down that she was doing the wrong thing, but what could she do? She was damned if she did and damned if she didn’t.

Tara was going to bleed either way. Whether or not Sam burst into the door armed and ready to fight, Tara would get hurt. It didn’t matter what she did.

It didn’t fucking matter.

Digging her nails into the soft wood, she could feel the twins flanking her side. Annika was behind her, pressing gently against the small of her back. Taking a deep breath, she shuddered, the twins holding her upright.

“Okay. Now fucking get on with it, you sorry sack of shit,” she blurted out, trying to sound intimidating. But her shaky voice gave her away.

She could hear someone dragged across the floor, presumably her little sister—dead weight. Tara sounded like dead weight. She could feel her stomach churn and twist, knowing that her baby sister was in the hands of a butcher with a knife.

“Sam?” a confused Tara slurred out, yelping as she was slapped again.

Sam punched the door in a rage. “Don’t fucking touch her!”

After what seemed to be an eternity, he finally answered her, laughing at her pain. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to control her breathing. If she broke focus, Tara would die, and she couldn’t have that. They had just reunited.

They had just reunited.

“Question one, Sam. No freebies,” he drawled, Tara whimpering at his feet.

The twins sniffled, Anika, rubbing Mindy’s back. Sam could feel her hands trembling, and she took a deep breath, trying to control it. The kids needed her to stay upright. The kids needed her to be strong.

Fuck, Tara needed her to be solid and correct.

“How many people have you killed?”

Sam felt her mouth go dry, her hands limp at her side. This wasn’t a trick question, just one she wasn’t expecting. But she knew she was right because she had killed zero people. She smiled to herself, knowing that Tara would be safe this round. Mindy breathed a sigh of relief, Chad putting his face into his hands.

“None. I’ve killed none. Fuck you!” she spat, curling her hands into fists.

“Wrong answer!” he taunted, and before she could react, Tara screamed in pain.

A guttural scream of torment and the sound of skin torn apart by a knife. Chad stumbled backward, turning green, while Mindy fell to her knees, dragging Anika down.

Sam stood there, swaying slightly on her feet. She could hear Tara crying, the type of cry she had when she was in distress. It had been a while since Sam had heard that, that cry of despair. She should’ve known that this asshole had some fucked-up vendetta against her. Another conspiracy theorist who couldn’t accept that she wasn’t guilty.

“Let her go! Take me! Let her go!” she screamed, throwing her shoulder into the door. She felt it splinter under her touch, but before she could throw her body against the door again, she heard Tara wail in pain again.

“Careful, Sam. That’s against the rules—quick follow-up question for you. How many times can I stab your little sister before she bleeds out?” he gloated, laughing maniacally at his words.

She tugged at her hair hard. “That’s not fair! That’s not a real fucking question! Fuck you! Let her go!” Sam wailed, slamming her hands against the door.

Tara coughed a wet, sticky cough. “Sam, please,” she begged softly, coughing again.

There wasn’t anything Sam could do. She was stuck in hell, and she couldn’t do a goddamn thing to claw her way out. Tara was begging for her to help, but the game was rigged. No matter what, her baby sister would bleed- and Sam couldn’t control how much.

She slammed her hand against the door again, pathetically.

“Please,” she whimpered, tears welling up in her eyes as she heard Tara take a ragged breath in and out.

“Answer the question, Sam. How many people have you killed?”

Tara whimpered, and the twins behind her sobbed. Sam could feel every part of her body fighting the answer that sat on her tongue, but she had to give in. There wasn’t a backup plan. This was it- this was the end.

And she had to play into it.

“One. I’ve killed one,” she whispered, digging her nails into the door.

Ghostface laughed, a loud, mocking sound. The twins flinched, and Sam nearly stumbled back from the noise. It was an unnerving sound echoing throughout their apartment, one that wouldn’t ever be forgotten.

After a bit, he collected himself, clearing his throat.

“Do you know what it’s like to lose a sibling, Sam?”

Her stomach bottomed out, and her knees hit the floor. She pressed her forehead against the door, her nails digging into the wood, blood oozing down the wood.

“Please. Please don’t do this,” she begged, tears flowing down her face.

She could hear her baby sister crying, mumbling through her anguish and tears. He slapped Tara, the sound making Sam flinch in pain.

“I know what it’s like. You killed my sibling. I think it’s only fair if I kill yours. A life for a life,”.

“Richie was your sibling?” she stuttered incredulously, Mindy gasping behind her.

He laughed again, plunging his knife into Tara, who cried out in pain.

“She has a brain, ladies and gentlemen! The killer, the cold-blooded murderer, Sam Carpenter, has a brain!” he crowed, stabbing Tara again.

Ghostface dragged Tara towards the door, pressing her against it. Sam could practically feel Tara’s breathing, and she pressed a shaky palm against the door, trying to soothe her little girl.

It didn’t matter. This was the end. She could feel Tara's blood ooze under the door, soaking into her jeans. Tara breathed raggedly, her voice thick with blood.

“Sam. It’s Ethan. He’s the killer,” she softly whispered, her voice barely registering in Sam’s mind.

“Ethan?” she replied incredulously.

If she were wiser, she would’ve kept her mouth shut. But she wasn’t.

“Hi, Sam. Goodbye Tara!” he triumphantly yelled.

The screams of the group echoed throughout the building, Tara’s blood covering their floors.

#scream #sam carpenter #tara carpenter #carpenter sisters #ao3 author #my writing tag #this took a left turn and straight to hell #this is the angst you wanted. this is what you wanted!#don’t yell at me i’m sorry #AU: go with grace

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