#description of slaughter/process

[etheries1015]

We all always do General Lilia with Human Reader but NEVER

General Lilia and Fae Reader

What you gon do? Spit out another angst right in my face? Come fight me coward

My first thought to this was to raise an eyebrow and inquire: "How could that possibly be angsty? Fae Lilia falling in love with Fae reader, they could live their lives out the way they want, and have ample time to bask in one another company! Doesn't this sound like the perfect win-win scenario?"

But then it hit me like a truck.

General Lilia X Fae! Reader - The fae with a dream

General warnings: Gender-neutral reader, angst w/ no comfort. Not proofread. slightly rushed ending..? let me know if you have suggestions and I can update and edit accordingly.

TW: Morbid descriptions of Death, emetophobia. Please make me aware if I missed anything and I shall update this section.

General Lilia was used to seeing death all around him. Humans and fae alike fallen into the fire of war losing their lives for...what? Power over one another? A battle of whose race is superior? Seemingly meaningless in the end, for why should the fae fight to prove their worth to live equally in a world where humans simply feared their magic and mystery? That's what made Fae beautiful, after all. And if the humans could just come to understand that their magic isn't all that heinous, perhaps they could find peace with their existence.

That was what you had said, at least.

"All this fighting is just so...pointless," You sighed to the general in your shared camp, "If all they fear is our magic, don't you think we should have some sort of civil conversation to-"

"(y/n)." Lilia sternly said, a scowl on his lips telling you all you really need to know with his displeasure of the topic, "Humans will never understand us. They fear us, and that's all the reason they need to kill our people. Do not try and speak words of peace when they obviously have no interest in hearing us out." You bit your lip to hold back the words of disagreement, something so like you. Always a peace maker, not wanting confrontation, especially not with him.

But he also knew better than anyone just how reckless you can get to obtain that peace, every day that passes by he wishes you spoke to him first before jumping into the noble idea that ultimately took your life.

He noticed the way you fought became sloppy, he could tell you were holding back your magical abilities in some sick and twisted mercy for the humans. He admired how strongly you dreamed of a world where the two races could live in peace, but he was disappointed in how naive and stupid you were to hold back during a battle for your life and the lives of your comrades. The general made certain to make you aware your actions had consequences, breaking your heart in the process.

The long-haired male looked down at you in distaste, blood red eyes squinting in authority and lips tilted in a disgusted frown as he grabbed you by the back of your hair and roughly pushed you into the tent. You let out a feeble cry mix of shock and pain, tears pouring down your mud-stained cheeks as the rough force of his push left you plummeting to the ground.

"Your actions as of late have been incredibly foolish and put the entire army at risk, (y/n)," He growled, "What were you thinking? Sneaking off with a human?! Do not think I have not noticed this past month what you have been up to," His voice raised in fury, a low growl the back of his throat, "Why can't you understand that they don't-"

"They do care!" You cried out, "Lilia, please! T-they just need-"

"They need to back down from the war and stop slaughtering our people. If they cannot do that, then I need you to fight by my side, as my subordinate. Do not forget who your leader is here. I am your general, and you abide by my orders. If you continue to deliberately go against what we stand for, I have no choice but to remove you from this battle and banish you to scullery work. Humans do not care about peace, they do not want peace, and they have no intention of doing so. What in your right mind makes you think you could change that outcome? You are nothing but an easy target for them to potentially squeeze information out of. Nothing less, nothing more. Do you understand?"

Lilias heart broke at the sight of you remaining on the ground, slowly sitting up and nodding with the light in your eyes fading. He felt a knife twist in the pit of his stomach and thought back to a conversation he had with Baul the previous night.

"You give (y/n) far too much leeway! I'm sure you've noticed, but the past month they have been participating in sneaking away to talk to some...humans.

"I'm aware, Baul. I've been following them and listening in on their conversations from afar." Lilia grunted, prodding away at the fire. His companion scoffed at this revelation, raising angry eyebrows and pointing an accusing finger towards the General.

"You were aware of this?! Why have you not stopped it sooner? Are you agreeing with their silly fantasy of changing the hearts of humans and making peace with those...things?" His voice raised in agitation. Lilia avoided his gaze, for he knew Baul had a point.

"I understand your concerns, however, They truly have the intention of changing their hearts, and if anyone could, I want to believe in (y/n). They are very persuasive, and perhaps this war..."

"Will never end until the humans surrender. Lilia, You are allowing your feelings for (y/n) to severely cloud your judgment! We both know that stupid fae is too trusting for their own good. This could compromise our position, and I don't trust them to keep their mouth shut."

"I have it handled-"

"Do you?" Baul interrupted, standing up, "Because it seems to me you are failing your duty as the general of the fae army right now. Failing our queen, failing Meleanor. Have you forgotten which side you are on? How many of our people died by their hands? And you wish to believe a singular fae with silly dreams could possibly persuade them to put this war to an end?" Lilia kept his mouth shut, staring at the fire before him, hunched over as his partner walked past him.

"The general I follow does not show mercy for humans, nor allows his heart to be swayed by such drivel. I sincerely hope you take care of this issue before I handle it myself."

Lilia had told himself it was better this way, to straighten you out with harsh words in hopes to dissuade you from becoming overzealous and taking advantage of his obvious favoritism towards you. He had to draw a line; you were an important part of his army and to him. He couldn't risk losing you, someone who has stayed by his side from day one.

Sighing with frustration for himself and the situation, Lilia walked up to your silently crying figure and bent down, pressing his forehead against yours attempting to pull your gaze towards his own.

"I can't lose you," He whispered, eyes peering into yours wide with concern, "Please, please understand where I am coming from. You are the only family I know. Think of Levan, and Meleanor. Think of the Valley. Think of our home, our people, and...our future together," His voice trembled slightly, coming out almost in a begging tone. You bit your lip and swallowed a sob, taking a shaky breath in and reaching your hands up to cup his cheeks.

"I'm sorry," you whispered back, a moment of silence reigning.

He knew something was wrong the second you said that. You apologized, not as if you were guilty for your actions, but as if you were saying...goodbye. He could feel it deeply in the pit of his stomach that if he let go in this moment, if he allowed you to leave, he would never see you again. in a final desperate attempt he breathed in sharply before in a boost of confidence roughly pressing his lips against your own, ignoring the yelp of surprise escaping your mouth. You soon found yourself kissing him back with equal force, the sob that you held back coming to the surface as you cried into the kiss and salty tears pouring down your eyes and mixing with the passion. Lilia pulled away and pressed his forehead against yours once more, interlocking his fingers with yours. You continued to cry.

"We're going to make it out of this war together, right?" His voice cracked, "We-we're...we're going to live the rest of our lives together and happy in the valley with Levan and Meleanor, and we're going to meet Malleus together, right?" When you didn't reply and simply dug your head into the crook of his shoulder, the general held you tightly with his rough embrace and simply allowed silence to overcome. There wasn't anything left to say.

It was inevitable for him to let you go and return to his duties. He was general, after all, which meant plenty of meetings and strategy planning had to be done, as well as updates to the queen. You had said your goodbyes, stars had completely painted the sky and the sun fully set to rest. While returning to the camp, Lilia had a strong uneasy feeling as the events that transpired prior to his departure left his heart in a state of unrest and beating frantically, as if trying to tell the General something.

That unsettling feeling was confirmed when you were nowhere to be found, and you hadn't been seen for the past few hours when he had left. Angered at the lack of information and of the unknown variables, Lilia barked orders for everyone to disperse and try and find where you might have wandered off to. Many disagreed with this; stating that fae wandering off was not uncommon, that you were able to protect yourself, that perhaps in the morning they would search. Baul, in respect of Lilia, had been the only one to agree although reluctantly to involve himself in the search of where you had gone.

Light touched the forest before you were found.

dead.

I could go into gruesome detail, but I shall spare the details. All you need to understand is how it stood; a truly disgusting and unruly sight. The way you were placed was almost as if they were being taunted, and mocked. You were almost used as a morbid warning from the humans, it was a disgusting and disrespectful way to die. Baul and Lilia stared in absolute horror at your lifeless body, jaw ajar and heart racing faster than it ever had before. He thought about how mere hours ago his lips were upon yours, you were safe in his tight grasp, nodding in understanding as he listed off the ways in which you would live your long life together, making it past this horrible war.

Even the General could not hold back the urge to vomit, doubling over in pain and anguish as his throat burned and eyes blurry with tears. Baul had to look away, tears pricking the side of his eyes and biting his bottom lip to prevent himself from sharing the same fate Lilia had. You were gone, and there was nothing else to do but scream.

The second to worst part of this was returning to the camp, without you following him as you normally would. The generals eyes were truly dark and empty this time, heading directly to his tent. The same tent he had chastised you in, hoping to avoid this exact situation. He kept repeating in his head the ways in which the two of you would have lived together. He was supposed to propose to you after the war ended, he was supposed to build a home for the two of you to share your lives together, you were supposed to stay by his side and experience new places together, you were supposed to die together. There was nothing to explain just how badly his heart yearned for you in the many years you had known each other, the way you accepted him while most fae turned him away, you were a part of his circle of most trusted people in his life. And now you were gone, and he could not stop seeing flashes of your smiling face soon replaced with your lifeless display. A truly revolting truth of war, a war he was determined to end.

He then noticed on his bed, a letter. With shaking hands and blurry vision, Lilia weakly picked up the paper with penmanship clear as day to be identified as yours, and read it carefully.

Lilia Vanrouge,

I presume if you are reading this letter at this time, it means I failed to return from my mission. I'm sorry. I understand this is the part where you tell me "I told you so" and chastise me for being naive, and maybe so. Nonetheless, I have to do this. I plan on meeting with knight of dawn, the human I spoke to said he would be able to get me an audience and plead our case.

"that fucking idiot..." Lilia muttered, tears dripping onto the letter.

I know you are probably thinking to yourself; "that stupid idiot." And I suppose you wouldn't be wrong, even I know the high possibility of not returning. But I like to believe the good in humans, and believe that their fear could be placed at ease if we simply...talked. I understand not everything can be solved that way, but how are we to know the outcome if we do not try? You have your way of fighting, and I have mine. With my words. I love you, Lilia Vanrouge. I truly do. I wish we could spend the rest of our lives together, but I cannot see that happening if this war does not resolve with a peaceful ending. I implore you to find love in your heart for all- and love others the way you loved me. Give them your blessing, for I know you have a lot of good in your heart and room for growth. As the years pass, remember my sacrifice was for the pursuit of peace for our people, and you continue on that mindset. I believe in you and trust in you, Lilia, you will go on to do amazing things.

your love,

(y/n).

You soon became the foundation of what he believed in and continued to live on doing. After the war had ended, losing his dearest friends and beloved, Lilia stood strong in his resolve to make your sacrifice worth something. From hatching Malleus, to even becoming a father and giving the blessing to a baby human. Something you would have surely smiled at him for. With every milestone you were there with him; guiding him, parenting with him, and placing those very values you trusted into everything he had done. He had come far and liked to believe it was your words that strongly influenced him. You were right, your choice of fighting was with your words rather than your magical abilities, and it worked wonders.

Thus, there he was... Lilia Vanrouge, vice housewarden to Diasomnia of Night Raven College, watching as his three underlings sat at a table in the cafeteria enjoying a meal with a mix of races. He felt a surge of proudness and pride fill his heart with sentimental joy, sitting in the shadows re-reading that same hundred of years old note from someone he cared for deeply.

I believe in you and trust in you, Lilia.

A voice interrupted his thoughts, the short-haired fae folding the letter and tucking it safely back inside his pocket. A familiar figure walked towards him with excitement and a comforting twinkle in their eyes.

"Lilia~!" The curious human called out, The red eyed fae smiling in return and flashing a toothy grin.

"Ah, why if it isn't our precious prefect from Ramshackle. To what do I owe the pleasure?" He chuckled, floating upside down.

"I'm doing this project-" You said, holding up a notebook, "And I have to interview a few students about who impacts their lives the most. Can I interview you?" Lilia raised an eyebrow and floated down to meet your gaze, a gentle smile planted on his lips.

You were always a curious soul to him, and in many ways, he found solace in the way you spoke so cheerfully and hopefully that he had almost deluded himself into believing perhaps the fae he had once known had come back as the thing they held credence in the most; a human. That you had come back to give him a second chance to have confidence in you, come back to see what the world has accomplished in your absence, to give him peace of mind that the world has truly progressed and you were there to witness it flourish. Perhaps it was the shared name or the same sparkling eyes, but he couldn't help but have a soft spot for this human who had come into his life.

"I'd be delighted to assist you! Now, where to begin...? Ah! I know,"

"There once was a fae with a heart as noble and pure as gold, with a beautiful dream for peace across all nations..."

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #Lilia #Lilia vanrouge #Lilia vanrouge x reader #General lilia #General lilia x reader #twisted wonderland angst #Lilia angst #Lilia x reader angst #Lilia vanrouge twisted wonderland #twst #twst angst #twst headcannons

[leviathanleva]

Daisy

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Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Fem Reader

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Description: Cooper Howard was not a kind man, he cared for nobody, but himself. Then he found you, a lost little dove, barefoot and crying, torn dress and big innocent eyes staring at him like he was a hero. He knew you’d be a burden, he knew you couldn’t survive in the wasteland, he was doing you a favor.

But he couldn’t pull the fucking trigger...

[Graphic description of gore] 🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼 Chapter 3 "The Vault"

The flickering ceiling lamps only exacerbated the grim atmosphere, but they did slightly help with finding your way. They also hid the majority of the massacre, but you weren’t blind to the horrific scenes of vault dwellers strewn up and skinned and prepared for processing. You’d wretched and convulsed at the sight, clutching at the wall for support and fighting back tears of terror, and if it hadn’t been for your empty stomach you would have most likely thrown up all over the ghoul’s boots. There was so much food around and the raiders still chose their twisted ways and treated the corpses of their victims, human beings, as cattle in need of rationing and preparation. It was engraved in them, you guessed, after living so long in an apocalyptic, hellish world, eating people was as natural to them as breathing. You tried to justify their actions even if they made no sense, but after seeing cut-open bellies and spilled intestines and dribbling blood as the corpses were hung to drain, you couldn’t.

No matter how difficult a life, nothing could pardon such barbaric actions, not when the cans of cram and sacks of tatoes were right there. The raiders didn’t kill and butcher out of need, they did it out of pleasure, they drew with blood on the walls, bludgeoned flesh and bone to a pulp, stripped skin bare, and let bodies dangle like slaughtered pigs.

The more gore was presented to you on a rusty platter, the smaller your pool of empathy became until there was nothing but the screaming aftermath of gunshots sounding right above your head. You still jittered, but didn’t flinch anymore, he had you, you were safe with him. His boots echoed with menace through the corridors, beckoning the raiders to their end, while your delicate bare feet glided over grime and glass and chaos.

He used you as bait once the raiders were close enough to spot you, your history with them causing a sudden urge in them to let go of their logic and self-preservation and charge headfirst into a shotgun barrel. You would have minded, but he was death incarnate with a weapon, and you were so set on restoring the sanctity of your vault, your home, that you were ready to do just about anything. He killed until there was nobody else with a heartbeat except you and him. He killed so casually, that you almost believed it to be normal.

Once his end of the bargain was done, you started searching, straining both mind and vision for that particular room with a false bookcase. You guided him past the vegetable field, through the cafeteria, and rushed past the school because there were too many bodies piled up for you to stomach. He followed with minor protests, but mostly kept quiet and alert, acting as a guard hound while you pursued the location of the emergency storage. It was only when you ended up in the residential wing with a confused noise that he spoke up.

“You’re lost, darlin’, admit it.”

You shot him an angsty look over your shoulder, arm outstretched in front of you as the white flashlight installed in the Pip-boy illuminated the vault hallway. When you enter the first home, just the structure of it is enough to tell that you’ve got the wrong place, you scowl, but trudge further inside anyway.

“I’m not lost.” you retort, refusing to let his remarks leave a stain on your photographic memory, and pace around the tiny complex. “It should be in this wing, I just need to find the right room.”

“Whatever you say…” he hums in mock and purses his lips, then opens the metal door wider before stepping in after you. He lets you explore, his eyes skimming with disinterest over the homey aesthetic he was so alienated from that it didn’t even ring a bell of nostalgia. His sights lock on the fridge and his feet react faster than he’d thought possible. Bingo.

The self-powered beacons perched over the whey field creep through the windows and it’s enough light to scarcely brighten the complex. It would have been a haunting sight if the ghoul wasn’t with you and a timid part of your consciousness tapped at you, reminding you that he wasn’t going to be present for much longer. You hadn’t planned on dwelling on such a thought for long, but you had no clue what to do once he was gone. Left alone to fend for your life with no skills or experience aside from dry theory accumulated from years of reading, there wasn’t much you could do except live off the remnants of the vault and try to keep the garden alive.

How would you be rid of all the corpses though?

It would take years to restore everything, or at least the parts that were salvageable, you’d never be able to swap the broken windows or replace the shattered light bulbs.

You scurried off the nasty reality of your future and proceeded to kneel in front of a shoe cabinet. Your feet were irritably sore and in desperate need of protection so you sunk your arms to the elbows in the darkness, the flashlight distorting under the pile of slippers and sandals.

“You’re not mad, mister?” you ask and turn back to find the ghoul waist-deep in the refrigerator, rummaging as a cacophony of clinking bottles and stuttering plates soundtrack his rampage. He looked almost domestic and you had to bite down on your bottom lip to keep from smiling. “Cuz I haven’t found the storage yet?”

He resurfaces at your question, a bowl of mashed tatoes and a platter of grilled cram cradled in his embrace, traces of soy milk stained his lips. He wiped his mouth on his shoulder and tossed the food on the kitchen counter before resting on his elbows while flicking his tongue.

“Plenty of Pip-boys layin’ around.” he shrugs simply and rips his glove off before sticking two thick fingers in the tatoes. “Can make a small fortune outta those.” he offers you a toothy grin before licking his fingers clean.

“Please use a fork, sir.” you grimace at his tasteless display before turning back to your task at hand.

“Mind your business, smooth-skin.” he grunts and sinks his teeth in a thick slice of cram, scarfing it down as if he’d not eaten in days. He scoffs at your faint giggle and waves you off, too high on the idea of a proper meal to care for your coquettish snip.

You continue to dig through the assortment of old shoes, relishing his vocal satisfaction as he feasts. He chews hastily, taking breaks every few bites to wash down the food with whatever juice or milk he blindly pawed at on the fridge door. After tossing away a pair of white fluffy slippers and jamming your hand against a leathery surface, you pull out a left-footed cargo boot. It’s stuck, tied by the laces to something crammed deeper in the cabinet and you feel your way until you find its twin. Once freed, you look them over with a tilted chin and a contemplative look.

They seemed remotely your size, with a pair of thick socks they’d probably fit perfectly and they were preserved and sturdy enough to withstand some broken glass.

“You think they’ll miss these?” you raise the boots in display and ask before thinking about how stupid your question was.

The boiled corn cob pauses just shy of his parted lips and he stares at you like you’d grown a second head. The silence that befalls is one of realization with a twinge of melancholy and you avert your eyes as your mouth twitches into a small frown. The shoes are lowered to your chest and you hold them close in wordless mourning, face dimming, shoulders lowering.

“Oh right…frick.”

“They’re dead, sweetheart.” he speaks softly, a hint of pity hidden beneath the layer of rasp. “Don’t think they’ll miss anythin’ anymore.”

In truth, you didn’t mourn the rest of the vault dwellers. They were strangers who’d shared the same living facility as you, there was no attachment there except for baseline human empathy. What you grieved over was your sanity, the solitude you’d be subjugated to and you’d grown accustomed to being alone, but after knowing the atrocities that had occurred and the reasoning for your lonesome existence, you doubted things would go well. You’d be forced to fend for yourself and there was no guarantee that another wave of intruders wouldn’t end up on your doorstep.

You picked at the soles of the boots absentmindedly, ignorant to the sympathetic stare targeting the back of your head.

You weren’t accustomed to caring for your needs, having been coercively babied all your life and lacking basic skills. The only bond you’d ever had was with your father and the knowledge that you’d eventually stumble upon his corpse riddled you in goosebumps. You dreaded that sight, eyes dampening at just the thought and mind failing to even picture such a sickening image.

You drag an arm over your drippy nose, sniffle and stand.

“Need socks.” was all you managed before hurrying to the bedside closet at the other end of the complex, hiding behind a wall and out of the ghoul’s prying gaze.

This was fine. You’d figure it out as you went. There was no point in worrying over things that haven’t happened yet, right?

You shone your flashlight into the closet's depths after flinging it open, searching for a ball of stretchy material, anything that remotely resembled a pair of socks. Shuffling came from the kitchen area, a throaty grunt, a few clanks, and the shattering of porcelain. Paying no mind to the ghoul’s ruckus, you sift through the clothing hangers, stopping only when an intricate floral pattern catches your eye. You tug at the cloth, pulling it off the bar and hooking a finger around the clothing hanger before straightening it out.

A dress, pretty and frilly at the bottom, littered with small hand-sewn red blooms, sparkling white and in pristine condition. It reminisced of better times when people reigned over a peaceful and bountiful land, when radiation existed only in the confines of nuclear factories and cannibalism was scarce and very taboo. Your dull expression softens with a doting smile as you coo over your new fit before tossing it on the bed.

Your search continues shortly after, rummaging and scanning, digging deeper until you find a small raft overflowing with undergarments. A pair of black tights and heavy woolen socks later, you pass an anxious glance at the edge of the wall separating you from your overly grumpy bodyguard before tugging the straps of your dress off your shoulders.

“What the hell are you doing in there!?”

“I’m changing!” you rush to answer, shimmying out of your dirty, torn attire before sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling the socks over your feet. After taking note of the now gooey gash on your ankle, you decide to postpone wearing tights until it’s been cleaned and bandaged. You swallow back a lump of anxiety and make disinfecting the wound your top priority…once you find the storage unit that is.

“Hurry up!”

Once the boots were secured, you neatly tied them up and scurried to slip on the new dress in case the ghoul decided he’d had enough of waiting and barged over in his typical unruly fashion. It fit you so well, but there was no time to enjoy yourself, you tossed the tights over the junction of your elbow and patted down the frilly edges grazing your knees.

The world came crashing when the zipper got stuck.

“Freaking fiddle sticks…”

You tried and failed to resolve the dilemma, patting blindly at your upper back, reaching over your shoulder, and coiling an arm behind your waist. Even when your fingers did manage to find the zipper again, it was jammed and no amount of vigorous tugging helped and you didn’t want to apply more force lest you cause a tear. A small whine, dainty and annoyed, bubbled in your throat and you hung your head back and stared up at the ceiling in despair. This had to be some sort of cruel joke, a jut at you for daring to find a sliver of happiness.

“Uh…mister?” you call out, weak with embarrassment as you slowly succumb to the walk of shame. You round the corner slowly, apprehension in every step and boring a shameful visage. “I need help…please.”

Your lovely bounty hunter had sprawled out on the counter, his hands resting on his now full belly, one perched up knee swaying nonchalantly as his other leg kicked dangled leisurely in the air. His hat rested over his face, obscuring his vision as he breathed slowly, in utter bliss for the first time in a long while. The shotgun once secured on his back was tucked under his neck. The empty plates were carelessly chucked to the floor when he’d made room to lie down and now you knew what all that ruckus had been caused by.

It would have been quite the heartwarming sight if you weren’t currently wallowing in self-pity.

He rouses at your beckon, sitting up and readjusting his hat and giving you his best acid scowl for disrupting his peace. Then he notices your pained expression and skittish shifting and quirks a nonexistent brow.

“The hell’d you do?”

Ah yes, the sardonic question a parent would ask their misbehaved child after yet another minor disaster. That’s exactly what you need at the moment.

“I – ” your teeth grit, jaw tightening in discomfort. A sad puppy-eyed stare plastered on your droopy features as you stand next to the counter before reluctantly turning around and brushing your hair out of the way to expose your back. “ – It’s stuck…”

A snort of laughter fills the dim complex and you shrink in utter humiliation, fussing at his reaction like the wimpy thing you’ve been demoted to. He turns in his spot and his knees encase your frame as he slopes closer.

“Can’t even dress right.” his berating smirk nips at the back of your neck and earns a sigh of defeat.

Cooper Howard wasn’t a man to regret many things and he’d done enough awful deeds to have him kicked out of a church if he ever dared set foot in one. Not putting his glove back on, however, would be one of those regrets. When his disfigured fingers dipped beneath the hem of your dress to hold it steady as he worked the zipper free, he brushed against your skin and it was so soft that he nearly missed the feeling altogether. A pang of something awfully warm wrapped around his ribcage like a vine and he was so shaken to the core that he forgot he needed to breathe.

You felt like the past, all lovely and nice and tender, as if ripped from a time he struggled to recollect and let go of both, and you were thrust in his hands and he didn’t know what the hell he was supposed to do with you. All charming smiles and sugary words and naivety that had him torn between hatred and incessant thirst for more of whatever it was you did to him. So addictive yet so detrimental.

He chalked it up to lust, a guttural craving any normal man would feel when presented with a cute little thing like you. But it wasn’t that at all. It had nothing to do with any carnal human craving.

You were a gateway to what he used to have, a walking memory of who he used to be.

It made sense if your story was true. Being tended to all your life while locked in a lab orchestrated to be your private room, it would leave anyone silk-skinned, bright-minded, and burden-free. But that didn’t ease him, it didn’t falter him from feeling like he was drowning.

You were the even tune of midnight jazz, a slice of hot apple pie, and a fresh cup of Joe on a Sunday afternoon; a little piece of heaven he’d never asked for and a cruel incarnation of damnation he’d always feared would catch up to him.

“Is it fixed?” you peep, saving him from the jaws of his mind, and look back, happily unaware of his self-destructive internal dialogue. The darkness hides the strain hovering over his distant gaze. “Did you manage?”

“ ‘Course I did.” he barks and is back to normal in an instant, pulling the zipper up before letting you go. “Done.”

He makes sure to secure his glove back on and cusses out the invasive thoughts.

“Thank you so much!” you grin with glee and throttle away like a victorious toddler. “How do I look?” you twirl with pizazz, then remember the tights dangling off your arm and bunch them up in one hand in case they took away from your dashing performance. “Don’t mind those.”

The ghoul scoffs, shaking his head in disbelief at how stupidly charming you are, and slides from the counter before reaching for his shotgun. You take his reaction as a good sign, satisfied with your new, clean look, and brush down the dress with the back of your hand.

“Les go.” he clicks his tongue at you, motioning with his head before fiddling to load his weapon. “Can gawk at yourself plenty when I’m gone.”

His remark receives no pushback. You follow suit, back into the benevolent corridor with hanging dead lamps, stepping carefully next to him with Pip-boy pointed straight ahead. It felt good to not have to constantly worry over a stray piece of debris catching on your feet anymore. Now your footsteps sang in tandem with your bounty hunter’s albeit much lighter and more frequent. With eyes darting from wall to wall, you peeked into each adjacent living complex. The sting in your ankle continued, snapping at your every move and your grip on the tights hardened. Your nails sank into the material for purchase as impatience nibbled at your nerves.

Apartment after apartment. Nothing even remotely resembled the room you were looking for, but it had to be here somewhere. The vault plans didn’t lie and neither did your memory.

You nearly tripped over a stray cable while ogling a bright pink suite layered with fuzzy rugs.

“You sure you ain’t just sendin’ us on a wild goose chase?” the ghoul asks while cracking open another steel door for you to inspect, then dips his hat and lilts “Ain’t gonna shoot you, sweetheart. Don’t need to lie anymore.”

“I wasn’t lying, mister.” you look up at him with hurt and he keens, blinking slowly at you and deciding to leave it at that.

Whether it was due to exhaustion or that look, he wasn’t sure.

If you were this set on proving to him there was a storage full of medical supplies and provisions he wasn’t going to stop you. There was plenty of food and drink to stay a while and his current bounty wasn’t notorious enough to top a fresh bed and a full meal. The caps weren’t worth it compared to what you’d offered him and he had enough vials to last him a while before any feral symptoms started poking through.

“It’s somewhere here, I know it is, these are just the wrong rooms. But the map showed it was in the living quarters to the north. It has to be a bigger space and with a bookcase in – ”

A hand clasped gently over your mouth, cutting your ramble short.

The ghoul grips your arm and shines the Pip-boy at the end of the hallway, the tense look on his face making your stomach knot. He takes one step forward, leaving you to linger behind him and you would’ve liked to believe it was to protect you, but it was most likely to get you out of the way.

You hear his gloved hold tighten around his shotgun and bite back the need to ask him what he’d picked up that you hadn’t. You never noticed the almost silent steps that had slowly crept closer and yelped when you were roughly tossed behind him as he spun around. The shot nearly left you deaf and the bloodied kukri barely missed your shoulder, having been a hair away from the strap of your dress.

You shriek along with the gargled gasp, latching onto the bounty hunter’s coat. The loud thump that followed made you duck and wrinkle your nose.

“Oh my jeez. Oh my God!” you glimpse from behind him reluctantly, forcing your tightly shut eyes open.

The raider twitched, clutching his blown-to-bits shoulder as a puddle of blood formed beneath him. He choked for air, coughing out a storm of crimson and it made your knees weak. The smell of gunpowder was sharp and overwhelming and your head spun with a nauseating speed.

“Guess I missed one.” the bounty hunter leers and the absolute insouciance at his actions sent a chill up your spine. He unclasps the hunting knife strapped to his belt and twirls it between his fingers, then tosses you a warning glance. “Look away, sweetheart. Ain’t wastin’ another bullet on this shit.”

The heels of his boots clinked closer to the raider convulsing on the floor and with a shaky sniffle, you forced your legs to move. The pleas of a desperate man rendered defenseless and feeble, the churring taunts of his merciless killer who squatted over his prey with blade readied. A sickening noise punched you right in the gut, so raw and revolting that you covered your ears the moment you stumbled into another suite and slid down behind the front door. Clutching at the sides of your head, fingers curled and nails delved into your scalp to ground you, you died a little inside.

The reality of your existence, the consequences for being alive hit you full force, ripping you out of the tranquility that had befallen both you and the ghoul. Peace never lasted, and neither did joy, not in a world bathed in chaos and destruction.

The two curt knocks on the door made you flinch.

“Come on out, scaredy cat.”

“I’ll – ” with a twisted tongue and a clenched throat, you murmur out words to keep him away because you didn’t want to see the blood he was wiping off his knife. “ – I’ll be right there. Just looking…for a false latch or something.”

What a horrible excuse…but he didn’t question it and you were so thankful.

His steps crinkle over broken glass and pieces of discarded metal plates. The tension lifts off your shoulders when he leaves with a grunt. You rub at your face with a timid breath, jaw easing as your lips part to accommodate your forceful inhales. The gloom of the apartment embraced you in your self-indulgent grovel.

To imagine someone lived here only a day ago was to concede to hysteria.

He saved your life again. And still, you were left shaken and bothered and speechless and burdened by what would have happened if he hadn’t been there to rip you away from death’s claws. The possibility of there being more raiders skulking about hadn’t been a thing until this one nearly chopped your arm off. Your arm was still there though, intact and function. All because of him. A dilapidated, volatile guardian angel that looked like a grilled chicken and sounded like a fizzled-out radio station and he meant more to you than anything ever had in your short, secluded life. What were you supposed to do without him when he finally left and you were sealed into a blood-soaked, corpse-ridden underground bunker with just your thoughts as company?

You slapped at your puffed-out cheeks ferociously.

This was fine.

It wasn’t fine, but there was nothing to be done, you’d work with what you had, you’d manage somehow. You had to.

The ghoul whistled you over, loud and clear enough for you to hear even while tucked away safely in your corner. Enough spiraling. You stood and with a determined huff, exited the complex only to see him standing in front of an open door with crossed arms and a tilted head. He noticed you from the corner of his eye and nudged his chin.

“This it?”

You poke your nose inside the spacious room.

It was the vault president’s office, completely untouched and eerily still, made to resemble the quarters of high-ranking officials from the olden days. Thin sheets of wood were plastered over the walls and the floor was carpeted and clean, the large windows overlooked the fields and dining area. An elegant leather chair was neatly set behind the paper-ridden desk in the center of the room, and yellowing files peak from every single drawer and bookcase. Everything seemed organized in spotless order, even the mugs on the coffee table were arranged corresponding to their color. There were so many paintings strewn about, past vault presidents, men and women in distinct white coats, same as the one your dad had always worn, supposedly scientists.

He leaned against the doorframe as you barged inside, watching your newfound zeal with a half-smile.

You pressed the tip of your middle finger to the wall and slowly extended your other arm at a precise angle, then moved it barely to the left. With a calculative spark imbued in your eyes, you take deliberate steps and move your stiff arms mechanically as you work out the location of the hidden storage. It looked ridiculous and you were well aware as you maneuvered about like a possessed puppet, but without any tools to point the way this was your only crutch.

“Three feet to the left, diagonal to the glass case with the cat sculpture. One step back and turn to what should be west. North should be to the right, then. And…”

“There.” you state once your hand points at a particularly overdecorated bookcase. “That’s it. Has to be.” you step towards it with determination, throwing away documents and an old plastic globe until there was enough space to grab at the shelves. It creaks when you give it a solid tug to test its stability. You bite your lip in contemplation before turning back to the ghoul. “Think you can move this, mister?”

“You better be right, sweetheart.” he tutted, but complied, pushing himself off the doorframe before joining you. He towers over you and rests his hands against the polished wood. “Move.”

You did as told and gave him some room.

He managed to slide his fingers against the back of the bookcase and spread out his legs before letting go of a throaty groan and pulling with all his strength. Your knee jittered with the need to step in and help, but you hesitated, succumbing to your manners and letting him do the heavy lifting. The last thing you wanted was to insult his capabilities or hurt his man-pride.

The case toppled with a thunderous crash and its contents spilled over the carpet, some trinkets bounced off your boot and rolled under the desk. The wooden planks that had been hidden behind it were slightly caved in compared to the rest. A thick carving resembling a door was engraved in them along with a small rectangular shape just a few inches to the side.

This was it.

“Hallelujah.” he chuckles and kneads his shoulder while flexing it, brows raised and eyes settled on the hidden entrance and glistening with wonder. “Guess you weren’t lyin’ after all.”

You clumsily step over the mountain of books and smashed wood, arms extended for balance until you’re close enough to press down on the rectangle. With a whirling hiss, the wood slides to the side and a hole perfectly shaped like a Pip-boy appears. You stuck your hand in without a second thought, beyond impatient and on the verge of crying because your ankle was burning so intensely you wanted to just rip it off.

The door gave way with a few audible clicks and the storage lit up instantly, you guessed the lamps didn’t depend on the vault’s fusion cores, another little trickery to keep this place hidden. The power management engineers would have most likely noticed the excess electricity being used for a room that wasn’t supposed to exist. A smart move and also for nothing, everyone was dead.

The cynic in you cackled.

You were quick to rip your hand free and enter, spotting the hefty array of medical supplies gathered over a metal cart, driven by pain and discomfort and lacking the self-control to keep it a secret any longer.

“Well, I’ll be…” the ghoul gapes at the overflowing storage, pleasantly surprised and nodding to himself. “Consider your debt repaid, missy.” he plunges his knife into a sack of tatoes and promptly empties it.

His arm swipes over a metal shelf of stimpaks, greedily bunching them up and into the sack as he licks his teeth at the upcoming profit.

When you don’t reply to his remark he finally takes his gaze off the mounds of supplies and medicine and looks to you.

You’re a mussing mess, abrupt jitters causing bottles of pills and packages of bandages to pile at your feet as you scour for something specific. Initially, he opts to leave you be and focus on his own task, but when a disheartened noise slips past you he caves.

“The hell’s got you scramblin’ about like a cornered rat?”

You wince and turn back with a trembling frown. Your search had come out fruitless, the plan was spoiled at the absence of any antibiotics and you internally cursed for not stopping by the med-bay earlier and checking there first. Then again, you needed a key card and you weren’t fond of checking the pockets of decapitated vault residents just for that. But your open wound didn’t care for your antics. Now your ankle was probably red, still oozing and by how it rubbed against your sock, it was even more irritated and sickeningly sticky.

His stern look was relentless and you sucked in a breath before speaking.

“I can’t find any antibiotics…for my ankle.” you swallow a sob like a child caught red-handed trying to sneak past a broken vase. “The cockroaches – One of them bit me or cut me I think and… And it was fine at first, but then it started getting infected and I thought I’d find something here to help, but I don’t think only spirit will help so I thought antibiotics, but I can’t find any and it hurts so bad now – ”

You halted when his jaw stiffed and did nothing when he stomped close enough for you to feel the heat radiating off him. The sack was slumped by you and as he glared you simply averted your eyes to the floor.

“Sit.” he commands in a rigid tone, forcing you on your rump as the coldness of the tile floor seeps through your dress. “ ‘N take it off.” the tip of his boot nudges your foot before he tugs his pants up and squats in front of you with elbows resting on his thighs.

It’s only after you slip off your now-ruined sock that he cringes in annoyance and grabs your calf to turn it for a better view. Angry red outlined the open gash and the dead skin that still clung to it was soaked in colorless stickiness. He pressed on the side of the wound, shooting down your attempt at escaping with a scalding look, and more goo was excreted.

Radroaches were clean creatures, he’d seen them grooming themselves more than hunting for food. However, being mutated by radiation did tend to add some spice to their bites and you trudging around barefoot for a good full day had only added to the accelerated decay. Nasty little cut that was.

“Stupid git.” he hisses and stuffs a hand in the sack. “Nothen’ a lil stimpak can’t fix though. And lucky for you, we hit a goldmine.” the large syringe glints under the blaring white lights and he pushes at the base to snuff out any air bubbles before lowering it to your calf. “Now hold still.”

The sight of the needle makes you stiffen, a plethora of memories flashing past your widened eyes, and you’re overtaken by such a raw desire to get away that you nearly kick him off balance in your struggle.

Too many years stuffed full of constant medications and transfusions and scalpels and cuts and taking blood samples and fucking needles. All your life you’d suffered through nothing but medical treatments and the first day spent away from such hell had you realized just how traumatizing it had all been. Obligated to just take it because there was no alternative, you were never given a choice in the matter. You weren’t ready for this again, seeing that stupid needle so close to your skin made your heart drop in your stomach.

“Wait. Mister, wait. Wait!” you grab onto the metal bars of the cart as his grip on your calf tightens painfully.

“Quit fussin’!” he all but growls and pulls you back in place once you’d made some progress in slipping away. His tolerance for your display vaporizes when you land another inadvertent kick to his knee. He lets your calf go and reaches for the back of your head, grabbing onto a fistful of your hair and jostling you still. He’s right in your face and spitting acid. “What the hell’s wrong with you?!”

“The needle.” you hiccup and wrap your sweet little fingers around his forearm. Tears swell in your eyes from both pain and fear and it does something to him again, but he doesn’t relent. “The needle…I can’t – ” you whimper and plead, crumbling in his hold. “Please don’t, mister…”

He’s taken aback. The menace drains from his gaunt features, baring snarl gone, and his grip on your hair loosens.

“You’re kiddin’ me.” his eyes roll from you to the stimpak as if you’d said the most mind-blowing bullshit he’d ever heard. He dangles the wretched thing in front of you, watching you follow it incessantly, not even blinking. “You’re scared o’ this?”

You make a noise of displeasure and avert your face when he brings the stimpak closer. For once his mocking laugh isn’t welcomed. When he’s assured you’re not just being a brat and actually hold a crippling distaste for the needle, the ghoul pulls away with a scoff.

He thinks, rubbing his knuckles against his jaw while you sit between his knees, immobilized by his grip.

“Well shit...” he lets you go and you bonelessly slump back into the cart.

He’s not one for comfort, doesn’t know what words to use to help you overcome your dilemma; he can’t just jam the stimpak in and risk striking a bone, can’t slide it in gently because you’ll go into another fit. He could just leave…

“Look at me.” he beckoned and snapped his fingers at you. When that didn’t work, he grabbed your face and squished your cheeks, forcing you to obey by giving you a sharp jerk. He leans close enough for you to feel his breath hit your nostrils and of course, it smells like cram. “I said look. At. Me.”

Your eyes go from dazed to bulging when you feel the needle press back against your calf. A pathetic ensemble of bleats accompanies your heaving chest and you hold onto his wrist like it’s the only thing keeping you from dying on the spot.

“Shhhh – shhhh – shhh, ‘s okay sweetheart.” he hushes you with peculiar softness, stifling your meek complaints and scolding your eyes back to his own when he sees your attention dart down to your leg. You wince briefly at the prickle and his pinkie and ring finger leave your cheek and settle at the edge of your jaw, pressing down and rubbing ever so lightly. With an even push of his thumb, the syringe is emptied. “There you go…” he gives your cheek a good pat and leans away, resting on his knees. The pack of gauze you’d carelessly tossed away in your rampage was picked up and ripped open. “The good news is, you don’t need no stitches…but how d’ you intend to survive if you can’t even use a stimpak?”

“I’ll…” you smile in pain and it’s so crooked it rivals his. “I’ll figure it out.”

Chapter 4 >>>

🌼 Masterlist 🌼

Tag list: @bountydroid @judgementdays-girl

#cooper howard #cooper howard x reader #cooper howard x you #fallout tv series #the ghoul fanfic #the ghoul x you #the ghoul x reader #the ghoul fallout #x reader #fallout the ghoul #fallout show #the ghoul

[moongreenlight]

Ptolemaea P. 1- Huntsman!Ghost x Runaway Princess!Reader

CW: BRIEF mentions of animal death, description of gore and violence, noncon implied. No smut yet.

Your kingdom was once powerful, revered by others for its political prowess and strong army, but it does not have the sway it once did. Hordes of wealth dwindled into something unrecognizable. Subjects growing poorer and more restless with only wormy apples and stinking meat and moth-eaten fabrics to barter at the market. War raging to the East, word of civil unrest in the West. Your father was left with few other options than to auction off what little possessions of worth he had left.

He was given four daughters, you, the youngest and the last to be married off. Sold like swine to the highest bidder with no consideration for character or condition.

All your other sisters went gracefully save for a few tearful goodbyes in the privacy of their quarters. Bowed heads pushed together, shaking hands clutching and grabbing at others for stability. Weeping softly for the loss of company, for the fate that awaited them, for the mystery of when you’d be reunited. Four, then three, then two, now one.

You’d been trussed up in your best dresses and jewelry. Made a spectacle of for a few days as suitors came and went from the great hall. Slobbering their way through promises of riches or alliance or armies in an attempt to win your father’s favor.

Their eyes were wild and hungry when they threw spare glances at you. Lecherous smiles showed sharp, clenched teeth. And each offer of an extra five men to an army or hundred gold pieces more than the last brought you closer to being shoved to their chests. A twine-wrapped packet of mutton scraps tossed to a pack of starving dogs.

It was a heavy feeling, sinking ever deeper as each new suitor strutted down the long walk toward you. Peacocking and vying for favor. You imagined it felt like watching the executioner approach the stand while you waited with your head laid on the chopping block.

You’d read your sister’s letters after they left. Poured over every word and learned of their new realities. Their dogs and horses slaughtered, gowns burned, all former possessions seized and thrown to the river to be replaced with tokens of their new kingdoms. Branded over their old marks like cattle in a trade. You noticed that as the weeks and months drew by, the letters became more and more censored. Stopped detailing the further horrors and discomforts they faced at the hands of their husband and opted to regale you with detailed descriptions of their gardens or their plans for children.

The same wretched sickness you felt when you read the letters ate its way into your belly as you watched the funeral procession of suitors and remembered the way your sisters’ neat, loopy writing slowly turned into something rushed and sloppy. You imagined the way it would happen to you.

Perfect cursive lettering that had been learned to you for years by a sour schoolmarm that rapped your knuckles with a ruler when you dawdled during your lessons shoved from your mind to make room for brainwashing. You sat on your hands and dug your nails into your palms until they bent backward to keep your attention away from the scream packing itself into your chest.

You were promised to a king from the South. Some larger country near the capitol that wielded far more power than your kingdom, even at its pinnacle. The new king brought to you from across the channel because of his surliness. You’d heard stories of him whispered among the maids. He was cruel and choleric by all accounts. Not to mention fat and old and ugly and impatient to produce an heir. Made it all but impossible for him to find a bride.

He brought lavish gifts with him to sway the vote. Chestfuls of diamonds and precious stones and gold that his men laid at your father’s feet. Thick furs, expensive perfumes, and silks in colors you’d only ever heard of for your mother. A new dress in his kingdom’s colors for you.

You were escorted from the room by your father’s guard when he began negotiating a deal with the new king. You’d tried to sink your slippers into the stone, tried to kick and scream your desperation for your father to reconsider. But you were thrown from the room. Dragged out under the armpits by knights whose armor shone so brightly you were able to see your teary, crumpled form on the floor reflected in their chest plates before the heavy door was snapped shut on your nose.

You heard your maids and the castle guards whispering after the new king left. Saw your mother gracefully swipe away a single tear after dinner when she kissed you goodnight. The new king’s guard would be by early the next morning to snatch you up. The narrative you knew to be true only confirmed further by gossip. Two or three days of showboating, a decision made, negotiations, and then the next sunrise another sister is plucked up.

So you waited until darkness was cast over the castle. Until you were certain your maids and the guards at your door had gone to their own quarters for a few hours rest. You made your escape barefoot and in your thin nightdress. Stole one of your mother’s new fur cloaks to help protect yourself from the bitter cold that had settled over the land. Padded down the winding halls and staircases until you were able to slip through the grand double doors of the front. Evaded the indolent guards that were no doubt sneaking a smoke or a nap in the garden and moved quickly down the path to the stables. Tacked your horse with a knight’s saddle and took off into the night.

It took no more than four hours for the castle to know of your absence. Your maid had gone to wake you up in the wee hours of the morning, pack a bag before you were picked up by your new husband, and all but flew to your father’s quarters to alert him of your empty bed. It wasn’t half six before both your father’s and the new king’s men were set out on the land in search of you. Horses and hounds kicking frost off the lawn as the sun rose.

You managed three days without capture. Traveled through the skirts of the forest. Slept for a few hours at a time huddled close to the belly of your horse wrapped in your fur cloak. Ventured into small villages and cities to see if you couldn’t convince a vendor to spare you a cup of soup or a stale loaf of bread. Heard snippets of the news of the nearest kingdom who’d lost their last princess and tucked your chin close to your chest on your ride out.

The deep woods were unforgiving. Thin, winding paths that connected kingdoms littered with wolves and marauders and hunters. It was safer to stick to the edges where trees were younger and light could still filter in. Moving West as long as you could with no real plan as to what the permanence of your situation could look like. Maybe find a city far enough away from your kingdom to settle. It was a half-cooked idea from the beginning, you knew that. Born out of fear and anxiety and bull-headedness. Freedom without direction was better than being forced into the arms of a man that would sooner cage you like an animal than see you leave.

So you followed the wood and the few slow-flowing creeks that were not dammed by slush or ice. Kept your head on a swivel and your guard up. Anyone you ran into was presumed foe, so you set a punishing pace to minimize the chance of an encounter.

–

It was an act of desperation when your father called on a huntsman. Needy for the power trade tied to the contract of your marriage and looking to stop the simmering of his people under him from boiling over. His guards had returned in couples every few hours to give him bad news. They’d sent ravens to ally cities asking them to look for you and still they’ve come up empty.

Ghost refused to meet with your father or the new king directly. Sent a tawny hawk with a scroll tied to its leg that detailed the conditions of his employment. Your father promised anything for the return of his youngest princess. The new king offered obscene riches and painted whores. And privately, in a post script penned in tiny font on the back of the scroll, he promised an opportunity for Ghost to lay with you after you’d produced an heir.

Ghost sent his hawk back a few hours later. His letter was short, only responding to your father like he couldn’t be arsed with the superficial promises of the new king. He requests ten gold pieces, some of your perfume, and a cutting of fabric from one of your dirtied gowns.

–

It’s the eve of your fourth day out before you run into trouble. Great plumes of thick black smoke alert you to either a brush fire or a village close off your side and it drives you further into the forest. You move slowly through the dusk, even slower as the light stops being able to filter through the dense leaves and branches. The ground is lost to darkness, and you’d already made the mistake of trying to stumble your way over the uneven terrain barefoot, so you opt to stay on your horse’s back until you find a clearing to settle in.

In the blanketed silence of the wood, it was easy to remember how alone you were. How defenseless. You cursed yourself every night for not swiping a kitchen knife or a hunting blade so that you had some security. Not that either would have done you much good, but it would have served to give you some peace of mind.

You were torn from your thoughts when you heard heavy footfalls in a thicket a few yards in front of you. Snapping of felled branches, two low voices carried to you on a breath of wind. You stopped your horse and tried to lay down close to its back, tuck your head in behind its big neck. You held your breath as the voices grew closer, tried to will your shivering muscles to still. But your horse is a massive beast; stark white and practically spotlighted by the faint light of the moon. It did nothing to hide you.

You weren’t sure if the men were poachers or thieves or member’s of the guard patrolling the area for you. It really didn’t matter because everything happened so fast. There was the distinctive thwack of an arrow burying itself in the tree just next to you. Bark exploded out like a bomb, grazing your cheek and spooking your horse. Somewhere in the chaos of the shouting of the men, and the hurried sounds of boots trampling crisp leaves and your lame sounding yelp of surprise, you were thrown from your horse. Sent crashing to the ground and landing so hard on your back that it knocked the wind out of you and left your vision spotted.

You would have cried out if you had any air left in your lungs. Your chest was burning. Legs weak and awkward from hours on hours of riding. All you could do was scramble back. Bury your fingers deep as you could into the semi-frozen earth and try to drag yourself away. Gasping for air, blinking away the flashes and pops of darkness that camouflaged your assailants.

You hit something hard, knocked your head on it in your rush and nearly went unconscious. It made your ears ring, adding yet another layer of distortion to your senses. A tree, probably. Or a boulder. You recoiled, pulling your knees to your chest and trying to make yourself small under the mass. Tried to make out where the footsteps and the muffled shouting were coming from. Your shaking hands felt clumsily along the ground, looking for anything you could use to defend yourself. A rock, a stick, a hard clump of mud.

There was a flurry of movement from a few yards in front of you, specifics of limbs or bodies lost to the inky darkness. And then your hands found something large and warm. Disturbingly so. Maybe a rodent or a stray animal caught in the crossfire. It takes two hands to lift the thing. You bring it closer to see if swinging the carcass of what could have been a hefty pest would provide you any defense.

Not an opossum or a raccoon struck down by an arrow. Not quite. It’s the head of a man. His face stuck eternally in a look of putrid shock. Mouth gaped wide, eyes bugging out, eyebrows shooting up to his hairline. He’s got a decent stump of what used to be his neck. Hot blood trailed down your wrists and arms and dripped onto your nightdress.

Someone was screaming. A tortured, twisted sound coming more and more clearly to you as you caught your bearings. The kind of mangled cry that tore its way up out of someone’s throat so ferociously that you were sure you could feel it in your own chest as well. The kind of scream that left your tongue bitter and filmed with iron.

You’re not sure where it’s coming from, but it’s loud. Almost deafeningly so. You wish it would stop. Wish whoever was making such a spectacle would realize the severity of the situation and pull themselves together for a moment so you could think. Maybe you’d find them and work together to get out of this mess. Get away from the forest and find your horse and get back on your path.

You think that maybe it’s the head still clutched in your hands. You remember a cook telling you stories when you were young about how the chickens from the farmers used to be able to run around for nearly eight minutes after they’d been decapitated. You wondered if their heads still squawked after they were severed. You wondered if humans operated the same way. If this poor man’s body was stumbling around meters away in search of his head.

A big hand clamps over your jaw. Forced your mouth shut with such punch that your teeth clack together. You taste blood and you’re not sure if you’ve taken off the tip of your tongue. The screaming stops. It takes you a long moment to piece the situation together. Sat there huddled in on yourself, still gripping at the head and letting the thick blood dripping from its- his- neck sludge down your shins and pool at your feet.

You almost forget about the hand shutting your maw in your daze. Muzzling you with the bitter taste of iron and leather and the vice grip of a bear trap. You’d almost returned to your mind. Remembered that this was not a friendly situation and the body attached to the hand was likely not of pure intention. But you were jerked up by the scruff of your neck. Another strong hand fisting a good portion of the hair at your nape in the process. It lifted you clear off the ground, left your feet dangling inches above the earth. Shocked you enough to get you to let the head tumble out of your hands and back to the ground from where it had come.

You tried to cry out, but your voice was shot. Shredded by the dryness of your throat or the screaming or pure exhaustion. You clawed at the hands, but they were wrapped in thick leather gloves that branched up the arms of your captor. Tried to kick out, but they were wearing thick armor that deflected the force of your blow straight back up into your leg.

You yowled as best you could from under the thick covering. Clawed and grabbed at the air feebly until you were shook by the neck like a rag-doll.

“You’ll quiet or I’ll cut out your tongue and quiet you myself.”

#moongreenlight #moongreenlightwrites #cod mw2 #call of duty #cod x reader #141 headcanons #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #simon riley #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost mw2 #cod 141 #cod mwiii #cod mw3 #cod mwii #cod modern warfare

[sexlapis]

-> to take a life

❀ : levi ackerman x reader

ᨳ  ࣪ . cw : gender neutral! reader, reader almost kills someone, levi does kill that someone, descriptions of blood & murder, angsty, hurt/comfort (kinda), implied age gap, vomit, hyperventilation, levi being soft for reader, levi comforting reader in his own levi fashion, idiots in love

ᨳ  ࣪ . summary : reader almost kills someone and is sad. levi comforts them in his own disturbing way.

wc : 1k

a/n : this is vry late but thank you all for over 1,000 followers :) i typed this up very quickly. i just had to get it all out bc i am in my levi phase again. he is so papa ♡.

*

ringing is all you hear. your body trembles and shakes, gasps and short breaths escaping your dry mouth.

tears blur your vision as you stare at the now almost lifeless man before you, lying limp on the ground. blood flows out of his mouth as he gurgles, pools next to his body, coats his shirt, his eyes still wide open. a shocked expression on his face.

your fingers twitch and you drop the bloodied sword from your hand and fall to your knees. your hands are stained red. now and forever.

heat curls from your stomach up to your throat, and before you know it, bile and acid is rushing out from your mouth and splashing to the floor, next to the man you have just near slaughtered. you gasp, heave and groan, crawling backward and away from the consequences of your actions. you’re on the crisp of hyperventilating.

a hand grasps your should from behind and you jump violently. on instinct, you grab the hunters knife strapped on your hip and swing behind you aimlessly. the person grabs your wrist and stops you with no effort at all. your weapon falls from your clammy palm.

“hey! calm down, cadet. it’s just me.”

you know that voice. your captain. levi.

you turn to face him. he looks relatively unharmed and unphased.

levi stares at you, his silver eyes concerned. you must look like hell, rogue painted on your face, and face wet with tears and snot. then his eyes look behind you. at the man you had stabbed repeatedly. who’s life was fading away quickly.

the tears are uncontrollable as you choke out, “i..i killed him. i killed him! i had to..i couldn’t..”

you look behind you and look at the dying man, mumbling incoherent gibberish to try and justify your actions. levi stays quiet.

you’re trying to process what’s just happened before levi takes your forgotten knife into his own hands and stalks up to the half-dead man.

levi kneels down beside him at his head. the soon to be corpse gargles and garbles, trying to lift his hand up. then levi is shoving the knife into the man’s throat. turns it half clockwise to ensure he’s finished the job.

you gasp, covering your mouth. your heart skipping at the display of violence. you knew levi was ruthless and was only doing what was needed, but you couldn’t help your reaction. you weren’t used to this, not like everyone else on the squad was. you would never get used to the bloodshed, the death, the gore. your heart couldn’t handle it.

“you didn’t kill it. i did.”

he says it so casually. like it means nothing. dehumanises the person too. this must be his sick, odd way of trying to make you feel better.

‘no you didn’t kill him. you injured him to near death, with no chance of recovery. i just finished him off. don’t worry about it.’

levi is familiar with this. violence, murder. he justifies it like he has his entire life. he is doing it to survive.

he kneels down in front of you. you’re staring at the floor, almost sobbing again. levi sighs.

to be honest, levi knew you were too soft for this life. he’s surprised you’ve even made it this far. he expected you to have quit or have been dead by now. but he’s not going to lie to himself and say he had no part in how you’re alive today. he won’t lie to himself and say that he doesn’t keep an eye on you more than the others, no matter how guilty that makes him feel. always watching out for you. more protective of you than anyone else. he can’t help it. levi’s fond of you. you softened his old, stone, ancient heart. just a little.

but now isn’t the time for heartfelt confessions. he’ll justify your actions like he justifies his own.

“look at me.” levi commands. when you don’t look up, he repeats himself, softer this time. “_____, look. at. me.”

you whimper and sob a bit and look up at him, eyes red and teary.

“you killed somebody. yeah, you have blood on your hands..but you only did what you had to. you killed him because you had to survive. it was either you or him.” he speaks firmly. “you’ve killed now. and you will kill more. there’s no way around it.”

but i’ll try to take the burden for you as many times as i can goes unsaid.

you whine sadly at the truth of his words. you wish it didn’t have to be like this, but what you want does not matter. you have to do what you must to survive in this world.

“understand?” levi asks, surprisingly gentle.

his change in demeanour should’ve shocked you more, but you’re not. not really. you can’t act like you don’t notice how much more gentle levi is with you. you just assumed it was because you were young, the youngest on the team, more sensitive. you’re not so sure now.

“mhm-hm.” you nod, sniffling and shaking the dizziness from your head.

levi hums and stands. “good. now wipe your fucking nose. jesus christ.”

there’s the levi you know and love. you’re too tired to laugh, so you just huff in slight amusement and wipe your face with your sleeves as best as you can.

“can you stand?”

you nod quickly and attempt to stand on your shaky legs. levi softly grabs the side of your arms and helps you to stand. he briefly caresses your arm with his thumb.

you take some shaky deep breaths and clear your throat.

levi waits patiently until you’re finished calming down. he keeps his hands on you.

“you ready?”

you nod in affirmation. you’ve been doing a lot of nodding.

levi nods once and he’s already walking, guiding you in front of him with his hand on your back. “let’s get out of this shithole.”

#levi x gender neutral reader #levi x reader #levi fluff #levi angst #levi x you #levi x y/n #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x gender neutral reader #levi x gn!reader #levi ackerman x you #levi ackerman x y/n #levi ackerman fluff #levi ackerman angst #levi aot x reader #levi imagine #levi ackerman imagine

[nyxthejinx]

ʀᴇᴄᴏʀᴅ 1 | ꜱʜᴀᴅᴏᴡ ᴡᴀʟᴋ

Wowowow another short and cryptic chapter!! If it doesn't make sense it means it's working :) it will- in due time. For now I just wanna smooch my loves 😔

[ ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ ] You're not part of the script, they must get rid of you. But will the Hunters become the hunted once your true nature is revealed?

[ ᴛᴡ ] talking about dying in the beginning with some graphic description (lots of nihilism on reader's part), generic description of blood, smoking, Kafka lil kissie mwah, lemme know if I'm forgetting anything (it's 5 am 🙃) finally baby Blade enters the scene!!!

[ ꜰᴛ. ] Kafka x GN!Reader x Blade

[ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ ] 718

ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ | ᴊᴏɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ ʜᴇʀᴇ!

ʏᴏᴜ’ᴠᴇ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ᴡᴏɴᴅᴇʀᴇᴅ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ ʟᴏᴏᴋꜱ ʟɪᴋᴇ.

If it wore a sword’s, a knife’s or a gun’s clothes. If it appeared as a bottomless pit, staring at the depths of existence, or if it looks like the ground inching closer the more you lose altitude.

You think of sidereal space and the cold it harbours, of those fifteen to thirty seconds necessary to run out of oxygen, of those twelve to twenty-six hours it takes for the body heat to disperse, in the lack of atmosphere.

You imagine how it would be to be torn apart, choked, burned, have your flesh chewed to its bones. You imagine a pain that finally ceases, once the body has been slaughtered.

Going to sleep without the risk of waking up again: you project the image in your mind.

Before Kafka bursts your little bubble, dragging you back into the elevator.

“Your death will not be vain, Drifter. It serves for a greater cause."

She smiles in the corner of your eye, pristine and serene as if she wasn’t asking —ordering— you to die for her cause. Kafka is an amazing dancer when it comes to sticking to the choreography, lest the outcome steer away from what her master foresees.

No matter what it takes. Who it takes: the script has been set in stone already.

Too bad death is the last of your concerns, and so are her empty, poorly crafted words.

“I don’t really care.” You shrug.

Kafka’s brows shoot up in mild surprise, but she’s chuckling the next second already. Her eyes wrinkle at the sides, her shoulders shake gently— the radiant darkness of her soul glows brighter than ever and she’s just something else, straight out of this world.

“Are you mad at me?” She inquires, unfolding her arms to run a knuckle over your cheek.

Trying to process her words feels so impossible under her touch. Your feelings have long faded like cheap colours, brush strokes watered down by time, flowing into a grey puddle at your feet. There’s something stirring inside your chest, you know it- but how can you name it when your skin tingles and your knees go weak?

It’s not fair. But you lean in anyway, letting your eyes fall shut briefly. “Does it matter?”

“Not really, no.” She sighs. “Frilly words won’t change a thing, especially yours.”

“A kiss would, though.” You place a hand over hers, flutter your lashes gingerly. “I’d die with a silly grin on my face.”

“That can be arranged.”

Her smiling lips lock on yours, gentler than last time. There’s no love, no passion, no longing nor lust— it feels like a sorry kiss, a consolation prize, a sop to prevent rebellion. But it’s also one to be broken reluctantly, as both her hands drag you deeper by the jaw and trace your cheekbones with unexpected tenderness.

Maybe there was personal pleasure hiding behind her sense of duty, that night. But it ends all too soon and you will never tell.

Kafka leans back, cleaning the smeared gloss from the corner of your mouth. You glance at the panel in the elevator, see that you’ve almost reached the final destination.

If the Hunter is saddened, she doesn’t show it.

She's busier rummaging through the pocket of her coat now, as she pulls out a cigarette tin you know very well; it’s yours, just like the smoke she extends to your lips. You hold it gladly, waiting for her to light it.

“It wasn’t my choice.” Kafka whispers, voice delicate like the flame of your lighter.

Once the cigarette burns to life, you don't waste time— you inhale until your lungs are full of cloves with a hint of cinnamon, until it invades your senses and makes your mind dizzy in a way that never gets old. It tastes of memories you can’t remember, dreams yet to be dreamed, but most of all nostalgia you have no reason to experience.

"I know." You exhale eventually, as your shoulders sag. “Just remember me, even if it’s meaningless.”

Kafka smiles yet again, brushes your cheek as her other hand returns the two items to you. Inside the pocket above your heart.

And your lips quirk in the slightest, before the elevator stops at the floor where your blood will spill.

-

"Another one like you, Bladie." Kafka ponders, staring at the merging skin of your freshly wounded neck.

The puddle growing at your knees and the crimson path staining your clothes would convince anyone that a life was taken, today.

But the iridescent purples and blues lining your blood tell another story.

The story of someone who's walked across this universe for many years. Centuries, millenniums even.

Someone just like him.

Who Blade sees smiling at him, as if his sword wasn't dripping with their blood.

"Not yet, so it seems."

DON'T copy/repost my work. REBLOG instead! ©nyxthejinx

#Honkai Star rail x reader #hsr x reader #kafka x reader #hsr Kafka #Blade x reader #hsr blade #Honkai Star Rail #gn reader #| Star Rail 🌓 | #| Nyx Writes 🌑 |

[saey707]

Imagine you're new to Noxus... very obviously unaware and unused to the brutality of this culture. Like a sheep to the slaughter, all doe-eyed and innocent. Which yandere would this catch the eye of? Someone who wants to protect you, or perhaps someone who wants to mold you to their liking?

(Not a request for anyone in particular, just a concept idea wanted to share and curious who you would picture for this certain scenario. Congrats on surviving the dreaded finals btw!)

✿ Prompt: Which Yandere? Scenario ✿

♡ champion focus: swain ♡ tw: yandere, manipulation ♡ Gender-neutral reader

Author’s Note: Thanks so much for submitting this concept, anon! Even though it isn't a request, I did want to get some of my ideas out for this particular idea! (๑>◡<๑) Hope you enjoy! ( ˘͈ ᵕ ˘͈♡)

ALSO! Fun side quest I came up with: Count the number of ravens (headcanons) and view the old English rhyme under the section titled "Astral Travel" here to see Swain's omen attached to you... ♡✧( •⌄• )

From the description you gave me, Swain was my immediate thought on your best bet for who is most likely to protect and shelter you, but also mold your potential to his liking!

Swain wants to test your limits, but he also wants to assure you won't get hurt in the process. In Noxus, you have to be strong... But the General isn't opposed to having a pretty little thing at his hip, or better yet, on his lap~

It's a rare find for someone to be so innocent and unaware of the bloodshed, brutality, and war that came with Noxus- An innocent sheep to the slaughter as one would say. And that's exactly what makes you all the more appealing to Swain.

Given how much power and influence he has over the people of Noxus, there would never come a time when anyone would question his judgment for why he keeps a pathetic, little thing like you around. And should someone dare to question his judgment, then they'll be sure to meet his demonic hand...

Even if you make a mistake or two, Swain will always forgive you. While your knowledge is still limited, he will graciously be your guiding light in shaping you into the perfect lover.

Even when you seek a fresh start, Swain will always drag you right back down to where you need to be: At his side, as his pretty, little lover.

Even if your heart longs for power and prestige, Swain will gladly give you that and more. He would give you a throne, even if it must be built atop bloodshed.

Even if you attempt to leave him all alone, Swain always knows the proper words and whispers of the demon to lure you right back into his arms.

Even when you are miles or even leagues away from him, Swain is always watching. Now, it wasn't because he didn't trust you... It was more because he cared for your well-being for lack of better terms! He can't have a lowborn Noxian or assassin laying a filthy finger on you! It is the entire reason why there isn't a raven out there that isn't reporting back to the General about your status!

Doe eyes and an innocent heart can get you quite far, but never enough from the longing General who wants nothing more than for your eyes to be on him... Even when he has an entire unkindness of ravens keeping their eyes on you.

There will never come a day that you will be unhappy with Swain. You can have anything and everything you ever wanted if you just stay by his side... Don't you see? The possibilities are endless!

#saeybaewrites #request #headcanons #yandere #x reader #jericho swain #jericho swain x reader #swain league of legends #lol #lol swain x reader #swain lol #swain league of legends x reader #swain lol x reader #lol x reader #league of legends x reader

[analexthatexists]

THIS. TOOK. FOREVER.

BUT IT'S FINALLY FRICKING DONE.

Introducing my take on the Nightmare of this Superhero AU. This story and Nightmare’s design(s) are highly inspired by Spiderman villains, Resident Evil, and The Last of Us! Thanks to @thenocturnenarrator for helping me with this! Superhero AU belongs to @thelunarsystemwrites!

This turned out so much more gruesome and complex than I expected, so VISUAL AND DESCRIPTIVE CW for the following;

Lab Experimentation (Might be considered child experimentation), Body Horror involving mushrooms growing out of the body, Gore, Blood, Insects, Vomiting, and potentially heavy subjects that not all viewers may like.

Backstory

Meet Nightmare “Nyx” Yggdrasil, a 12-13 year old who was kidnapped and experimented on alongside his brother Dream. At the time, he was only able to talk to plants and comprehend how they felt, but that was going to change very soon. The scientists wanted to enhance the powers of the soul’s magic, creating a serum that could do so but was incapable of working on Nightmare’s current state. His “soul” couldn’t be classified as one, seeing as it was more of a purple fireball of pure negative energy, so they needed a way to make it something tangible and experimental. They eventually gain the idea to have the brothers eat a Gold Apple from their home world so their “souls” can merge with the apples and therefore be alterable. While Dream’s process goes fine, Nightmare’s Apple obviously rots, but he’s still forced to eat it, and soon after so he’s injected with the enhancing serum. This not only enhances his ability to talk to plants to being able to control them and connect with them on a higher level, but it enhances the magic and power of the Black Apple, causing black goop to begin tearing out of Nightmare’s body. To prevent his body from literally ripping itself apart from the inside, Nightmare controls the plants around him to seal himself away into a large, cocoon-like growth. A few months pass after Dream escapes the lab with CORE FRISK, and the cocoon breaks open.

The fungi and other plant life had merged with his body. Nightmare was still mostly mentally there, but the cordyceps merging with most of his body was taking tolls on his brain and making him go a little crazy, not to mention the pent up vengeance and wrath he was feeling. Naturally, he slaughtered everyone in the laboratory and fled to the same place Dream and various other superheroes found themselves in. Craving any sort of comfort and affection, he forced together a team of supervillains including Dust, Horror, Killer, and maybe other willing characters. He’s convinced everyone including himself that he assembled the group for personal revenges on the world and to show everyone that they’ll be more than just tools, as well as general instinct telling him to feed off people’s suffering and all that.

But deep down, it’s just because he doesn’t want to be alone with nothing. Never again after all of the suffering he felt growing up in the laboratory…

Powers

Pre-Experimentation

Plant Communication

Hand-To-Hand Combat

Post-Experimentation

Phytokinesis / Plant Manipulation (Includes roots, mushrooms and fungi, flowers, ETC)

Poison Expulsion and Immunity (He pretty much vomits it up, or can poison people with poisonous plants/spores)

Regeneration

Spore Infiltration (He uncontrollably gives off spores every time he exhales as well as from his body’s fungi. Inhaling these spores can cause headaches and nausea, but severe cases can result in brainwashing, in which a host will become a mindless drone forced to take commands from Nightmare)

If a skeleton is spore-infested, they must wash out their skeletal system and clear all spores before the spores begin growing inside of the body and through the eye sockets and bones. The fungi that grow from these spores feed off a person’s negative energy and soul magic, slowly draining them and turning them into an emotionless husk, eventually killing them and leaving behind a visceral mess of flesh and flora. Humans and non-skeletal Monsters require more advanced surgical procedures to remove spores and fungi, and have far lower chances of surviving the infection.

Abilities

Insect Attraction (The foul stench that Nightmare gives off usually attracts flies, maggots, worms, caterpillars, ETC to feed on and live in parts of his body. This also means it’s not just chunks of moss and goop he’s throwing up…)

Nauseation and Headaches (Nightmare smells like rotting flesh and mushrooms, and the scent is very potent)

Intimidation (He’s scary!)

Weaknesses

Extreme Flammability/Fire

Explosives (He’s weak to those and generally dislikes the loud noises)

Light/Blaster Magic

Herbicides/Plant-Toxic Chemicals

Low Temperatures/Cold Climates

Abandonment (General Fear/Phobia)

Other Information

Alignment is Chaotic Neutral that eventually becomes Chaotic Evil

He's asexual and biromantic

One drastic difference involving this Nightmare from the original personality-wise is that Passive Nightmare is still in-tact. He's not dead in this AU, he's just been driven a little mad by vengeance and his own fungus. The apple he had consumed WASN'T the one that was possessed by the human that killed Nim; It was a Gold Apple he turned rotten, meaning he'd have more of his conscious than the main universe's Nightmare

Furthermore, he's also more of a liar and willing to bend the truth, such as when he lies to himself and others about the true reasons as to why he formed a team

Nightmare doesn’t leave his team to fight alone; he comes along with them every chance he gets to, even if it seems like a bad idea towards the others

When Nightmare realizes who Dream is, he’s hellbent on killing him and everyone that he has bonds and friendships with. He believes Dream had abandoned him and wishes to exact the same suffering he had to go through. It’s that Spiderverse-Miles-And-Spot “They turned you into a lovable hero, but I was turned into THIS.” dynamic we all know and love. Nightmare’s also very envious of his brother due to the fact he got to live a better, more fulfilling life than he did

Nightmare could definitely do that sick “Akira hand explosion attack” thing

#“Keep it simple” says my friend when I tell her about the Superhero AU #I absolutely did not keep it simple #I’ve never cooked this hard on a character’s motives and inner fears #i’m so proud of myself #dreamtale #nightmare sans #sans au #dreamtale au #passive nightmare sans #corrupted nightmare sans #superhero AU #Utmv superhero au #alex draws stuff #cw gore #cw vomit #cw blood #entomophobia #cw bugs #SH!Nightmare

[haunted-xander]

Chiaki hasn't seen the two girls since she helped them deal with the Monokuma hoard. The only notable people she's met are a few of the captives scattered about, all wearing an armband with the Monokuma eye symbol on it. The girl Fukawa-san was with was wearing one too... She must've been a captive. She has Fukawa-san and a hacking gun though, so she's probably fine... I think.

There was also a pure white Monokuma covered in bandages that tried to talk to her, telling her about a 'secret hideout' he'd been bringing surviving adults to. Chiaki didn't trust a word of what he said, so she left him alone, vaugely taking notes of the bear's description of the supposed hideout. Just in case. Even if he acts friendly, I can't trust him. His claims of an advanced AI only makes him more suspicious. If this was a video game, I bet there'd be a twist reveal at the end that the hideout was a trap all along and Monokumas would swarm the place and kill all the adults. That 'Shirokuma' is bad news.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees a blue-haired kid run away from the nearby shrine. That kid... he's part of the 'Warriors of Hope', right? What's he running from? ...Maybe Fukawa-san and that girl are over there... I should check it out. Having made her decision, Chiaki cautiously walked up the stairs.

By the time she had walked all the way up, Toko was laying on the ground talking with the girl. The girl sounded like she was crying. Unexpectedly, she heard a familiar voice coming from behind them. Chiaki was still too far away to make any words out, but there was no mistaking it. Komaeda-kun...? What's he doing here? This can't be good...

She got as close as she dared, making sure to be quiet all the way. Now able to see Nagito clearly, she noted that he had a single mitten on his left hand, a metal chain collar around his neck, and... face paint? Crudely scribbled all over his face. He briefly glanced her way, and she quickly ducked behind the torii gate's pillar. It'd be bad if I got spotted... I could end up putting those two in danger. And... I don't want them to know my relation to Komaeda-kun... As she could now hear them, she started paying attention to the scene.

"Well, personally... It's for the sake of the game. Byakuya Togami is important to you, is he not?" Togami-kun? Did Komaeda-kun... "Then allow me to lend a hand. See, you'll still make it if you go now." What's he talking about? Did he make a deal with Fukawa-san? Nagito opened the lid of the small container and poured pepper over Toko's face, who covered her nose and tried not to sneeze. "Toko!" The unfamiliar girl made to move towards her, "Don't come near me! You, you...! Run!"

Right after she said her warning, Toko sneezed and promptly jumped up, twirled in the air and masterfully landed on her feet. "TA-DAAAA! Don't get your blood on my glasses~ I'm the Cinderella of the slaughter flower garden~ AHAHAHAAHHAHAAHA!" Her voice and body language was completely different, now resembling more how she was when Chiaki met her holding back the Monokumas. "Please... Please stop!" The girl tried to plead with her friend, but to no avail.

With her scissors ready for attack, 'Toko' dashed forward in between Nagito and the girl at a speed Chiaki could barely process. She swore she saw the scissors making an 'X' in the air from the slash. Clearly expecting to be the one hurt, the unfamiliar girl's face shifted into shock as Nagito's thighs started bleeding as his knees wobbled and he fell down.

Standing up, 'Toko' started making mocking blabbing noises, "SHUT the hell up, you lanky wavy-haired bastard!" By now she had turned around to face him. Chiaki guessed she was scowling at him, though she couldn't see 'Toko's' face to confirm it.

"Ah, oh right. Even though you two share knowledge, you don't share memories, correct?" Nagito's reply was calm, completely unbothered by his wounds. "So then, you have no idea who the real enemy is. An honest mistake I suppo-"

"You IDIOT, it's no mistake." 'Toko' started walking closer. "What I share with her isn't just knowledge. She and I also share... emotions." 'She'? "If we didn't, there's no way we'd both love Master." Pointing her scissors at his face, she continued, "And my emotions are telling me this: To kill you and let Dekomaru escape." 'Dekomaru'? I get the feeling that's a nickname... "And you're something of a pretty boy yourself, so I can kill you as I like, no remorse~" Why would it matter if he's pretty? ...Ah! Could it be...?

"Haa, I see. So you've stopped trying to take advantage of Komaru Naegi. Is that friendship?" 'Komaru Naegi'... So that's the other girl's name. 'Naegi'... She's probably related to Naegi-kun. Sister, maybe? He has mentioned having one...

"HUH?"

"To travel the harsher path for the sake of protecting your friend... Such beautiful friendship... I truly think it's a... splendid thing." ...Well, Komaeda-kun's being his usual self at least. "But, aren't you a serial killer? A person who has no problem taking lives to satiate your own lusts." Oh, so I was right. She is Genocider Syo. Guess that explains some things. "For someone like that... saying things like 'friendship' or 'friends'... Do you not find it strange? Or even shameful?"

As Nagito finished talking, Syo retreated the scissors and statted clutching her stomach. "MhmhmhahaHAHAAHAHAHAHAAA-HAAH I CAN'T BREATHE! 'Friendship'? 'Friends'? HahaahaHAHAHAHAHAAHAAA!" The moment she finished laughing, she grabbed him by the hair and lowered her face to be eye-level with him. "Obviously freaking not." She lifted herself back up and threw her scissors back preparing to stab. "WHO ARE YOU CALLING MY FRIEND!?"

"No! You're my friend!" Komaru rushed and grabbed Syo's arm with her entire body, hugging it close to restrain it. Annoyed, Syo grunted out, "Uggghhh what are you doing... Let go!"

"No, I won't! I mean, you made a promise with Togami-kun, right? You said... you wouldn't kill anymore. If you keep your promise, you can be an official member of Future Foundation." She's not one already? ...I guess they'd be wary of recruiting a serial killer... "That's why you... you just can't!" Komaru voice cracked, clearly keeping back tears, but Chiaki could still make out the corner of a smile. "I...never thought of you or Toko as abnormal. You're just a little strange, that's all. But even so, you're important to me! No matter what, you're a precious friend and I won't let you do this!" Her voice cracked as she finished speaking.

"You know... You're probably wasting your time." Komaru's attention shifted to Nagito. "After all... She knows she needs to kill me. Togami-kun's life is in danger as long as I am alive. If she breaks the promise we made and let's you escape..." She looked back to Syo, and made a decision. "...I'll stay. If that's how it is. If I stay in this city and go with her, then it's fine, right?"

"That's right-"

"HEY" Syo broke out of Komaru's hold and released Nagito. "Do you know what the hell you're talking about!? You were crying and whining about escaping earlier, remember!? Now what, you changed your mind?"

"I still want to escape! I'm still scared, even now! But you feel the same way, don't you? You're still scared, but you tried to help me escape. You hid how scare you were inside, didn't you? There's no way I can run now, leaving you behind!" Syo lowered her head at Komaru's words, her voice getting quiet. "...As expected. You just don't get it."

She stabbed her scissors towards Komaru's neck, just barely avoiding cutting the skin. "I betrayed you. I betrayed you, you know!?" Not at all fazed by Syo's actions, Komaru grabbed the scissors with both hands and spoke. "...No. No, you didn't. And you're suffering from guilt, aren't you?" She smiled "If you're hurting, you can tell me. I'm an unreliable, normal girl who can't do anything... But...I can at least do normal things, right? And it's normal for a friend to help a friend." Speaking louder, "I'll... stay. No matter how much you say no, I will definitely stay with you, alright? I've... decided."

Syo finally let up and turned her back to Komaru, now facing the stairs. Chiaki made sure to hide herself more discreetly. "...Man, so annoying. All that lip-service talk I hate, so irritating. Anybody can just say something." Komaru started to look more and more dejected. "In that case, I'm a great detective, an austronaut, a reporter and a tera-suuuuper beauty!"

Finishing her mockery, Syo lowered her head. "...And besides, you have absolutely no idea what I'm really like." Komaru took a step forward. "What do you mean?"

A long pause followed, the silence finally breaking at Syo's reply, "...There's no way I'd say no."

"Huh?"

"Rather... Thanks."

Komaru broke out into a relieved smiled, the tears disappearing "...Toko!" She ran towards her, when Syo's face suddenly scrunged up and she sneezed, switching back to Toko. Now feeling awkward, Komaru tried to explain herself, "...Oh. So, um. About what just happened..." Toko started to blush and twiddled her fingers together. "I-it's alright... I kinda figured out what was happening..."

"Huh? Really?"

"F-friend...? T-the last time I was called that w-was in a dream I had in grade school..."

"That's pretty depressing..." As the two girls' conversation started devolving into banter, Chiaki tuned them out and focused her attention back to Nagito.

"Well, guess it turned out alright. If Komaru Naegi had run away, the hope of this city would've gone with her... To prevent that... A wound like this will not dimish my resolve. ...Though it does hurt." As he spoke up, the girls remembered that he was still there, and focused their attention back to him. Toko approached him first. "It's time you started talking. How do we release Master Togami?"

"All you have to do is defeat the Final Boss. You save the princess after defeating the Final Boss, right? ...In theory."

"In theory...?"

"I was not the only one who came up with the plan to take you to the children's base. I have a partner... But I'm not sure what they are planning, to be honest." So Komaeda-kun is a part of this after all... Guess I should've expected that. He is still Ultimate Despair... "Wh-who is that...?"

"There's no way I would tell you that. I have... already been disqualified from the game." I wonder why he keeps talking like it's a video game. Maybe the kids have something to do with that? "But, it'll be alright. No matter what kind of despair awaits you, hope will overcome it. The deeper and darker the despair... the brighter and more powerful the hope born from it." ...Typical Komaeda-kun.

"Yeah... you're crazy alright." Oh, you have no idea... "You are seriously disgusting... You're like three steps below vomit in a toilet." ...That's a bit far. Clearly ignoring their comments, Nagito ended his exposition. "Anyway, all you need is to progress forward. I will support you until the very end."

"So in order to get Togami-kun, we have to stop the children's rioting, right? Then... I'll do it. There's no other choice." Komaru turned to look at Toko. "...Right, Toko?" Turning to Komaru as well, Toko questioned, "B-but... are you sure you can do this?"

"There's no way I can accept leaving you behind. Thanks to you, I've come this far... And not just that... Maybe I'm not really attached to this town, but I will save my friend."

"Komaru..."

Nagito started talking about hints or something, telling them where they should go now. Chiaki wasn't really paying attention anymore, but she did catch Komaru talking about a 'resistance', and mentioned Shirokuma alongside some 'Towa' guy. At that, Nagito mentioned an alternative route they could take to arrive at the resistance hideout. ...Not very secret, now is it, Shirokuma? Having made their decision, the girls went back down the stairs and left the area, neither of them noticing Chiaki behind the pillar.

"...You can come out now, Nanami-san. There's only me left here." Chiaki jumped, not expecting Nagito to have noticed her. She cautiously peeked out from behind the pillar, looking around to make sure there really wasn't anyone else around, and stepped out once she had confirmed it. "...Komaeda-kun. I didn't expect to see you here. You look... different."

"Ah, right. I apologise for making you see me like this. I must be such a repulsive sight."

"...That's not what I meant. It just suprised me. ...Did those kids draw on your face? Should I wash it off?" Deciding to focus on the more simple change, she pointed out the... less than professional face paint. "Ah, that. I completely forgot about that, haha. Little Monaca-san got annoyed by me, so she told the other kids to draw on my face as punishment, that's all."

"...I'm definitely wiping it off." She pouted as she dug into her bag for tissues. Finally finding them, she took them out and started wiping Nagito's face paint off. Since the tissue was dry, she ended up just making a smudgy mess instead. Annoyed, she put her hand back into her bag, hoping she has a spray-bottle of water or something. She took out an ordinary water bottle and poured a tiny bit onto the tissue, trying to wipe his face again.

"...You, ah, really didn't need to do this, Nanami-san. It was my fault for ticking off Monaca-san to begin with..."

"Shut up. The face paint looks stupid so I'm removing it. ...And there! all gone." She stepped back and reviewed her work, nodding to herself when she confirmed there was no face paint left. "...Now, what about the other stuff?"

"...Other stuff?"

"You know the... Mitten and chains. Did the kids put those on too?" Honestly, she found the sole mitten weirder than the chain. A chain collar seems like something Komaeda-kun would be into, it wouldn't surprise me if it was some kink thing he forgot to take off... But the mitten seems out of place. "Ah, those... Well, the chain collar was indeed from the Warriors of Hope. I have been working as their servant for a while now, so it is not odd for them to chain me to signify that."

"Oh, I see. That makes sense. ...And the mitten?"

"Well-" Nagito was cut off by the sound of moving metal coming from behind him. "...Ah, it seems we are out of time. I do hate to cut our reunion short, but I believe you should leave now, Nanami-san."

"Komaeda-kun...?"

"Ahaha, do not worry about me. I will be fine. Now, go. I will live, but you will be killed on the spot if he sees you." Who's 'he'? "...Alright. But I'll be looking for you later, okay?" Nagito simply smiled in reply and waved with his right hand.

As Chiaki turned her back to him and walked away, she started thinking about how she hadn't seen Nagito use his left hand at all. Did something happen to it...?

And with that, she walked away from the sound of heavy metal.

#omg gay people #also pls ignore any typos and mistakes i was tired when i wrote this chapter #chiaki nanami #komaru naegi #toko fukawa #genocide jack #genocide jill #genocider syo #tokomaru #syomaru #nagito komaeda #remnant searcher chiaki au #danganronpa #super danganronpa 2 #sdr2 #danganronpa another episode ultra despair girls #udg #danganronpa 3 #dr3 #art #my art #xanders art #xanders haunting art #digital art #fan art #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #cw blood #tw blood

[thirstydiglett]

Heyas, if you need some thoughts to help your mind spaces, I'm happy to help.

Hmm... Let's see... How about a fluffy Buggy x reader story where they end up buying the same gift for one another? I can Buggy being a little sad about it in a "how do we tell which is which" sort of way and the reader does something to make one obviously theirs or his and it's just sweet and low stakes.

Have fun with it - what the gift is, what flavor the reader is, you can even take it a different route if inspiration strikes ^_^ 🥰

ITS HEREEEEEEE

Ended up going Shuggy with this one just because I find their relationship both fascinating and relatable, and apparently inspiration did indeed strike because it’s almost 4K words 🤪🤪🤪🤪🤪

I’ll be posting this on my Ao3 as well (look for corazon_lived), check it out there if you want!

———————————————————————-

Build Me Up

Summary: Buggy’s always being forgotten on Roger’s crew. Except by Shanks…

Pairings: ShanksxBuggy (could be read as platonic, but its not supposed to be)

Warnings: Long 😬 very tame descriptions of violence, and lots and lots of gag-worthy fluff

xxx

“Did you see that???”

Oden grabbed Buggy’s shoulders, shaking him back and forth in excitement as they looked out to sea.

Buggy glanced back to see the rest of the crew’s faces. Rayleigh was grinning, Crocus pumping his fist in the air. Even Roger was biting his lip to hold back a cheer.

Shanks had just slaughtered a Sea King single-handedly.

And as usual, that meant no eyes would be on Buggy. Again.

Shanks leapt from the corpse of the sinking sea king and landed perfectly on the wall of the deck, his balance impeccable as always. Buggy tried to look away, but Shanks had always been excellent at making eye contact—wanted or not.

“Did you see, Buggy? First I slashed it like that— and then I grabbed its fangs like that— and then I finished it off with my sword straight through the head like this!”

Leaping down onto the deck, Shanks pantomimed ramming his sword directly into the skull of the sea king, getting the sword stuck between the floorboards in the process.

The crew had gathered around him, slapping his back, pulling off that stupid hat of his to ruffle his hair. Roger even pulled the boy into a short embrace, tight enough to earn a small oof from Shanks, before letting him go.

Buggy, motionless, rolled his eyes. “It wasn’t even that impressive. Roger’s killed dozens of Sea Kings.”

Roger turned to Buggy, chuckling. “Well sure, but I didn’t kill my first one till I was 19! Shanks is only 11!”

Shanks had pushed everyone else away to walk over to Buggy, his face slightly red. “Wasn’t that cool, Buggy?”

“Tch. Not really. I could’ve done that in my sleep, but I didn’t because some kinds of sea king are endangered, and unlike you I actually care about the environment.”

Shanks rolled his eyes. “Buggy, you dropped all your leftovers into the sea last night and said the fish would eat them. Since when do you care about the environment?”

Buggy sputtered, lacking a retort. “Th-this is stupid!” He turned on his heel and stomped into the galley. The rest of the crew watched him go, but quickly returned to praising the redhead.

Stupid Shanks. Everyone thought he was so cool. Killing sea kings like it wasn’t even hard.

And of course it had to be today of all days.

Why couldn’t Shanks have waited till August 9?

***

A knock on Buggy’s door a couple hours later stirred him from a daydream in which he’d killed fifty sea kings with his bare hands, and Shanks had begged to be his apprentice.

“What.” Buggy grunted, rolling over to face the door.

The knob turned, and Rayleigh poked his head through the crack.

“Hey kid, we just dropped anchor. Roger decided to throw a little party—“

Buggy sat up. “A party? Really?” He tried to keep his excitement from showing. “For who?”

“For Shanks! Isn’t that obvious? Anyway, we’re docked, and I need you to help me pick up food and the like. Come on.”

Buggy’s mouth dropped. “Today?! F-for Shanks. Today. And not anyone else?”

“Well, no… this is Shank’s big day after all. They say the day you kill your first sea king is the day you truly become a man, y’know.”

“SHANKS’S BIG DAY???” Buggy could feel his heart racing, his face growing hot. So no one had remembered?

Well, fine. If no one was going to bother to remember that it was Buggy’s birthday, then he’d play it cool. Wait patiently, then ruin their birthdays one by one until they realized there was only one great pirate on the ship–him.

“Fine.” Buggy said grumpily, rolling out of his bunk and slipping into his shoes. “Let’s just go.”

“Hey, I’ll even let you pick out a nice present for Shanks, as a treat. You two are best friends after all—I’m sure it’ll mean a lot to him.”

“We’re not friends!” Buggy snapped, resisting the urge to kick Rayleigh in the shin for implying something so stupid. Instead, he spat, “I don’t even like Shanks that much!”

Rayleigh chuckled and shook his head, choosing to remain silent. Entering out onto the deck, he loudly announced, “We’re headed to pick up stuff for the party! Anyone have any requests?”

Everyone always did. Oden ingredients for Oden, Inuarashi wanted some rawhide to chew on, and Pine wanted a new handsaw. Even more stuff for Buggy to carry.

The pair headed out, Buggy hoofing a few steps behind Rayleigh, and soon managed to find the island’s central market. It was surprisingly huge, and Buggy had to admit that his heartbeat sped up a bit looking at all the different stalls and vendors.

“What do you think, Buggy?” Asked Rayleigh as the two made their way through the crowd. “We need balloons, decorations, a cake—you know Shanks best. Why don’t you pick out the colors and designs he’d like?”

Buggy smiled to himself—an opportunity. He’d choose his own favorites. Then maybe it would feel like a party for him.

Even if it wasn’t.

Even if it was Shanks’s party, and not Buggy’s, even though it was Buggy’s birthday, and not Shanks, and….

Buggy took a deep breath,. “Let’s get that blue and orange party set. Those are definitely Shanks’s favorite colors.”

Rayleigh glanced over at him for a moment, his expression unreadable. “All right. Blue and orange it is.”

They paid the vendor and walked on.

“Hey, Buggy. A boy coming of age deserves a nice gift from his best friend, eh?” Rayleigh said suddenly, fishing around in his pocket. After a moment he grinned and pulled out four 2,500 berry notes. “Why don’t you go get him something he’ll like? I’ll do the rest of the shopping myself, and we’ll meet back on the ship in an hour or so. How does that sound?”

Buggy was aware that his jaw had nearly hit the floor, and he hurriedly closed his mouth. “Ten THOUSAND berries? Just for Shanks?”

Rayleigh laughed. “Sure, why not? You two are just apprentices, but you deserve something nice every once in a while.” He winked conspiratorially. “Get him something you can both enjoy.”

“O-okay…” Buggy stammered for a second, then quickly regained his composure. “Yeah, sure. I’ll get him something he’ll love.” He had to turn away to hide the devious smirk that crept onto his face,

“Perfect!” Rayleigh smiled, apparently oblivious. “Don’t get into too much trouble while I’m gone, eh?” With that, the older man disappeared into the crowd, leaving Buggy alone with an entire market full of treats and 10,000 whole berries to enjoy them with.

And Buggy had no intention of spending a single cent on Shanks.

The boy wandered between the stalls, musing. Candy? Historically bad idea. Some cool clothes? Too flashy, everyone would know. Juggling balls? Far too unambitious with his current budget.

Then he saw it.

A stall just down the way from him, a bright yellow banner strung across its top that proudly proclaimed—

WE HAVE YEGOS

Buggy could scarcely contain his excitement. Shoving his way through the crowd, he hurriedly made it to the front of the stall.

Sure enough—the stall had more different Yego sets than Buggy had ever seen (not that he’d ever seen one in real life before—they were usually too expensive for anyone but nobles’ kids to get them). The colorful, interlocking bricks could be used to make all sorts of things. Famous palaces, islands, sea kings—Buggy even spotted a set designed to look just like Mariejois. He and Shanks had enthused together for hours over the Yego catalogs sometimes dropped off by the news coos, talking about the coolest sets, the ones they wanted the most.

Buggy’s heart suddenly dropped into his stomach as he spotted it. The One.

Yego Skypiea.

Of course, it looked nothing like the real Skypiea, Buggy scoffed. The colors were wrong, and the writing on the poneglyph piece resembled a toddler’s scribbles more than it did an ancient language, but still. It was huge, and colorful, and it even had the giant serpent and a Noland figurine. It was rare. It was coveted. It was… 15,000 berries.

Shit.

But as Buggy looked closer, he noticed a thin layer of dust covering the set. So it wasn’t selling, huh?

He smirked. Time to put on a show, and get the ultimate Yego set—all for himself.

“E-excuse me, sir?”

The merchant—tall and rotund, with a perfect handlebar mustache—glanced over at him. “Eh? You want to buy?”

“I do… b-but…” Buggy blinked hard, allowing tears to well up in the corner of his eyes.

“What, kid? I don’t have time for buts. You buy or you leave.”

“Th-that’s just the problem. I just don’t have enough for the set I want…”

“Then I guess you are shit out of luck then, are you not?” The vendor guffawed and moved to turn away.

Buggy grabbed his sleeve. “Mister, please! It’s not for me….” Scrabbling in his shirt pocket, he pulled out a picture. A tear-wrought Buggy, sitting at the bedside of none other than Shanks. The boy was covered in artfully applied stage makeup, surrounded with IVs and beeping monitors stolen from the sick bay. He looked very, very ill. The photograph had come in handy more times than Buggy could count.

“It’s for my little brother. He’s only 9, and the doctor says he doesn’t have much longer left to live… please, Mister. I just want that Skypiea set for him, but I only have ten—I mean, seventy five hundred berries. Is there any way we could make a deal?”

The merchant’s lower lip began to tremble slightly as he regarded the picture. “My son has red hair just like that…” he whispered.

He looked up, decided. “The set is not selling anyway. For your little brother, you can have. 7,500 berries. I will cut a special deal just for you.”

Buggy slapped a hand over his mouth in mock surprise. “Really, Mister?? You’re such a kind man! Thank you, thank you so much!”

After the merchant broke apart and boxed up the set (wiping a tear from the corner of his eye as he did so), he handed it over. “You tell your brother…” a sniffle. “You tell him to keep fighting, okay?” The man turned away, clearly hiding his emotion. “You are a good brother, kid. He is lucky that he can depend on you.”

Buggy, turning away from the merchant, rolled his eyes. “Thanks again, Mister!”

Walking off with his well-earned prize, Buggy used a bit of his remaining berries on an ice cream bar or three before heading back to the ship, extra cash in pocket.

But despite the noise of the crowd, Buggy couldn’t get the merchant’s voice out of his ears.

“You are a good brother, kid. He is lucky he can depend on you.”

“It’s not even like Shanks is my real brother anyway. So who cares if I keep this for myself?”

He kicked a rock, nearly hitting a sparrow drinking from a nearby puddle.

“It’s my birthday anyway, and not stupid Shanks. So I deserve this more than he does.”

An image flashed in his head—Shanks grappling with the sea king. Its fang scraping a long, deep cut down his arm. The bruises that were just starting to form on his face when Buggy had left the ship. Buggy swallowed. Shanks really had looked terrified…

“Yeah, but it’s still my birthday!” Buggy cursed as he stomped up the planks and back onto the ship, glaring down at his feet.

“Hey, Bug-oof.”

Not looking where he was going, he collided directly with Shanks himself, sending the precious set flying into the air.

“Oh, sorry Buggy! I got it!” Shanks moved to catch the package, but Buggy shoved him out of the way.

“Hey, that’s mine, firehead!” As he reached for the package, it tumbled between his outstretched hands and was knocked away. The boys both watched as if in slow motion as the package flew toward the edge of the deck and toward the ocean…

Only to be caught in the nick of time, smoothly between Rayleigh’s palms.

“Looks like you found something good, Buggy!” Rayleigh laughed, turning the large package over in his hands. “Shanks, I believe this is for you.”

Shit.

“Well, not exactly, I mean…” Buggy trailed off at Shanks’s expression. The redhead didn’t look excited. He seemed genuinely bewildered.

“But Buggy… why would you get me a present when it’s your birthday?”

Buggy felt his face turn as red as his nose.. Someone had remembered.

Of course it had to be Shanks.

Shanks’s face suddenly brightened. “Hey, I have a present for you too! Let’s go open them together!”

“What—“ before Buggy could get the words out, Shanks had reached out, and softly interlocked his fingers with Buggy’s. Their eyes met, and Buggy felt his cheeks redden at the sheer adoration in Shanks’s expression. There was a weird feeling in his stomach. Sort of… fluttery. Buggy attempted to finish his protestations, but all that came out was a soft little “oh.”

In an instant, Shanks was turning away, pulling his friend along with him. “Let’s go!”

Smiling, Rayleigh handed the brightly colored package to Buggy. “Have fun, you two.”

Shanks tugged Buggy along until they were below deck, in the spare storage room where they liked to play.

“Ok, close your eyes!” Shanks said excitedly, reaching down behind some boxes and barrels.

Buggy rolled his eyes, but shut them. A moment later, the sudden weight of a heavy package plunked into his outstretched hands. Big, he thought to himself. Maybe giving up the Yego set wouldn’t be so bad.

Shanks held Buggy’s original package, and sat down happily on the floor with it. “Let’s open them at the same time!”

Buggy couldn’t help but smile despite his foul mood. “Ok. On the count of three!”

“One!”

“Two!”

“Three!”

A frenzy of torn wrapping paper filled the room with the noises of crinkling and ripping. Buggy could scarcely contain his greed as he revealed the contents of the package, the logo of the brand.

Yego.

He flung the remainder of the paper aside, and felt his face turn red.

Yego Skypiea.

The very thing Buggy had wanted most. That he’d had to give up. And now it was his—no scheming, no tricks, just perfect little Shanks.

Shanks, who couldn’t have been more excited about his own gift. “Whoa, you got me the Yego Skypiea set too?? I was hoping you’d let me play with yours, but now we both have one, and…”

Buggy stared down at his own set, feeling himself grow angrier by the minute. Shanks, the perfect sea king killer. Shanks, the perfect apprentice. Shanks, who always remembered your birthday. Shanks, who always gave the perfect gift.

The redhead seemed oblivious to Buggy’s growing rage. “…and now we can combine them together to make a huge giant Skypiea, just like the real one!”

“I don’t WANT to combine them together, idiot!” Buggy suddenly stood, kicking Shanks’s box across the floor. “You’re so perfect, why don’t you just make your perfect little Skypiea all by your perfect little self, and I’ll make my Skypiea and all the crew will say ‘wow Buggy, that sure is nice, too bad it’s not as nice as SHANKS with his perfect little Shanks world!”

For once, the characteristic grin on Shanks’s face faded.

“Oh… okay, well… I guess if that’s what you want…” the boy said softly. He suddenly looked much younger than his eleven years. Like the “nine year old baby brother” in their faked photograph. “I guess I’ll just play with mine over here, and you can build yours in that corner over there then.”

“Fine,” Buggy snarled. He stomped over to the corner and loudly dumped his Yegos onto the floor. “Mine is gonna be a thousand times cooler than yours.”

“I can’t wait to see it,” Shanks said quietly from his own corner.

Time passed, each boy working on his own set. Buggy loudly cheered for himself every time he managed to assemble something tricky, but Shanks worked in total silence, with only the clicks of the bricks attaching to indicate he was there at all. Buggy would have felt a bit guilty for snapping at him—if he hadn’t been absolutely right, of course.

But he had to admit, it was boring playing alone.

“Hey Buggy?”

His head snapped up. Shanks, as if he’d read the other boy’s thoughts. He held his half-finished Skypiea model in his hands.

“What do you want?”

“Um… I think I’m missing a piece. See this little arch thingy? I’m supposed to have two…”

“What do you expect me to do about it?”

“I thought you might have an extra?”

Buggy laughed out loud. “Like I would give it to you if I did.”

“I could trade you for one of my flat pieces, if you want. I think you’re missing one there on the corner.”

Buggy followed his eyes. It was true—he was short a piece. Stupid vendor, selling faulty merchandise.

“Fine. One piece,” he grumbled, making the trade.

“Thanks, Buggy!” Shanks said, skipping back to his corner.

Not fifteen minutes later, he was back. “Do you have one of those ones that looks like a torch?”

Buggy sighed. “Yeah, but my serpent is missing a fang. Gimme one of yours.”

“Deal!”

And then Shanks was missing a six-block. And a wall piece. And half a dozen other pieces. Eventually, Buggy tugged him over to sit next to him. “This will be easier. I’m still doing my Skypiea alone, though!”

“I know!” Shanks said. “Yours looks really cool, by the way. Better than mine does. I just can’t figure out how it all goes together.”

Buggy couldn’t help but grin, despite his still-simmering annoyance. “Yeah, I always knew I would be really good at Yego. Way better than you.”

Shanks looked back and forth, comparing their models. Then he looked up, his face brightening. “Buggy! What if we took my set and used it to make your Skypiea even cooler?”

Buggy’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Yours is so much better than mine is. But we could take some of my vines and put them here…” Shanks demonstrated, affixing the pieces to an outer wall. “And then it looks more realistic!” Buggy had to admit, it did look better.

He looked at Shanks for a long moment. “What if… What if we used your wall pieces to make a tower for mine instead? And those floor tiles can be for the roof?”

Shanks’s grin was back, flooding the little room with strange warmth. “Whoa, yeah!”

Buggy felt his heart flutter at that smile. Maybe he’d missed it a bit, even for the few hours that they’d been angry. That… that Buggy had been angry, really. Shanks hadn’t seemed anything other than, well… lonely.

Slowly, the boys began to work on the tower. More and more of Shanks’s pieces found a second purpose attached to Buggy’s set. The hours passed, and soon they were both laughing, planning, building, the instruction booklets forgotten on the floor. Towers and grottos and houses started to litter the expanse of Buggy’s set, looking more and more like the Skypiea the boys remembered.

And in here, in their own world without Roger or Rayleigh or sea kings…

Buggy felt like a person. Not just Shanks’s shadow. Like… like a real equal. Someone who maybe had a shot at being a great pirate someday.

Everyone else had forgotten.

But not Shanks.

Everyone else overlooked him.

But not Shanks.

Everyone else—even Roger—was just another face, another person to impress, another member of the audience.

Shanks was more.

“Buggy! Shanks! Come up for the party!”

Oden’s voice suddenly echoed down the stairs and into the storage room. “We’re having sea king oden!”

The boys looked at each other, snapped out of their reverie.

Shanks smiled. “Let’s go! We can finish after we celebrate!” He moved to turn away. But before Buggy even knew what he was doing, his hand was on Shanks’s shoulder.

Shanks turned, his eyes inquisitive. “What—“

He didn’t get the words out. Buggy’s arms were suddenly around him, pulling him close, burying his red nose in Shanks’s neck. He wasn’t sure why he was doing it—maybe it was the birthday gift, or the sea king, or the new and improved Skypiea model. Whatever it was, Buggy could feel tears welling up in his eyes as he held Shanks tightly, tighter than he’d ever held anyone before.

A sudden rush of embarrassment as Buggy realized what he was doing, and he shoved Shanks away. “Let’s go.” He hurried ahead, hiding his reddening face. The other boy stood there for a moment, his own face bright red. Then he shook his head as if to clear it before following Buggy up the stairs.

As Buggy climbed out onto the deck of the ship, he suddenly stopped. There on the big long table the crew only used on special occasions, was a massive birthday cake—strawberry frosting, Buggy’s favorite—with exactly 11 candles. The blue and orange decorations Buggy had chosen adorned every inch of the table, and several presents were stacked at one end. A huge handmade banner with the words “HAPPY BIRTHDAY BUGGY (and congratulations Shanks for the sea king)” was hung beneath the sails.

“Surprise!” The entire crew leaped out from hiding places all over the deck as Buggy stood dumbfounded, his jaw hanging loose.

“You- you- you didn’t for- but…”

“Happy birthday, Buggy!” said Roger, pulling the boy into a tight embrace. “Eleven’s a big year. You’ll have more responsibilities on the ship now. But you’re a stellar apprentice. I know you can handle it.”

Rayleigh, walking up, slapped Buggy on the back. “We really got you with the whole ‘party for Shanks’ thing, didn’t we?”

Shanks was behind him. “It was my job to distract you while they set everything up!”

Roger chuckled. “You did it well, my boy. I can always count on you two, can’t I?”

Buggy barely managed to nod. Finally, words came to him. “You did all this for me?”

“Of course we did, Buggy,” Shanks said softly. “You’re important to us.”

The rest of the crew was nodding in agreement. “We love you, Buggy,” said Rayleigh.

“Who’s hungry?” Oden’s voice echoed from the kitchen. He held a huge pot of his famous oden.

As everyone gathered around the table, Buggy felt Shanks’s hand brush his own. The boys glanced at each other.

Swallowing, Buggy grabbed it and squeezed.

He wasn’t sure what it meant. He wasn’t sure what he felt.

Maybe it was happiness.

xxx

Hey thank you for making it to the end! Realized halfway thru this story is literally about my relationship with my brother (minus the lovey parts) so that was a fun little chat to have with my therapist lol. I hope you enjoyed!

#Shuggy my love my life my obsession #they need each other but Buggy doesn’t think Shanks needs him even though he DOES he does so much 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 #shuggy #buggy the clown #buggy #akagami no shanks #red haired shanks #shanks #gol d. roger #silvers rayleigh #one piece #shanks x buggy #diglett writes

[writers-advocate]

tearing contracture scars | j.w.

description: john loses the only guiding light he has

cw: angst, pretty canon typical violence

you were off limits.

a weight seems to leave his shoulders when he hears his name tumble from your lips. the one whose call he will always willingly answer. “c’mon! i told you i’ve got a surprise for you.” he comes to you like a moth to a flame.

a yell tears through his throat when he sees smiles on familiar faces. they give him until midnight to give himself up.

he comes to you like a lamb to the slaughter.

“don’t you dare jo-!” a figure comes into frame, the camera goes fuzzy, and bile rises in his throat with the thud of knuckles on bone. the sound of your little cry.

time stamps indicate hours of footage. that’s what drives him to race down streets and highways, to come to you with no intel. you yell at him, scream for him to stay away. if you see his face you swear you will never forgive him for coming to you. it cuts to what he fears may be the next day and you’re crying now. bloody, bruised, broken, and yet begging him not to come. you plead with him to run, to leave you and to never look back.

he’d told you far too many times to pretend you’d never met him. to run away, move across the country and forget about him, your “bestest friend” as you called him. you did it to make him laugh. eventually it made him smile.

every time, his advice was met with a giggle, and you’d simply continue whatever you were doing. he could see the unspoken fear in your features but it wasn’t until that year, the one of his final night, that he’d realized…

it’s funny. you’d considered him a friend practically from the moment you met. you’d done things friends do. and things they don’t. stitching him back together, bandaging his wounds, staving off infection. how was he just now realizing?

you can’t have friends in this line of work.

he’d made sure you were off limits. one of his conditions when he left. it was a miracle you’d gone so long caring for him without incident and he wasn’t going to risk it.

it was all for nothing. you really can’t have friends in this line of work.

the car screeches to a halt in front of your home and he practically launches himself out to sprint towards it, gun in hand, your name on his lips.

“john!” your shoes pound against the pavement, sprinting up the long driveway. the terror in your voice is enough to pull him out of his daze and he looks up from the burning rubble at his feet.

“john where are you?!” you’re not looking where you’re going and he catches you, softening your impact on his chest. you clutch at his shirt, gasping in relief, he’s here, he’s safe.

“where were you going?” he murmurs. you don’t answer as you stare into the smoking remnants of his home, simply dragging him away to your car to get him patched up. it begins again.

the doorframe splinters from his impact. he can see the chair from the video at the end of the hall. one that he’s seen you in so many times, laughing, smiling, focusing on some frustrating task. he’s ready to call for you when he feels the wave of heat. he’s thrown back out onto the steps, and he finally processes the reason his ears are now ringing when he sits up. it’s gone. your home is gone. you are gone.

“my door’s always open for you, john.”

everything around him is crumbling, turning to glowing embers. fueling the fire.

“let’s take a picture! i need something to hang in my place, the walls are bland.”

edges of paper burn quickly around your smile.

a lingering touch. a gentle hand. a quick glance. a worried look. blind. he’d been so blind.

heartbreak claws through his chest to pave the way for something worse. something darker. and your light is no longer there to guide him out. all he can do is walk the scorched path once again.

a/n: i’ve been too horny the past couple weeks n i got sad so have this d:,)

#advocate writes #john wick x reader #john wick imagine #john wick #soft hubby #john wick angst

[yanderes-galore]

Here's my last bear for you, it's your first yandere alphabet for Fluffy AU, right? And it's for Funtime Freddy!

(Since this is a yandere alphabet, i don't think it will add much to the Fluffy AU lore, so we can see this piece as something separate from the main story. I think this serves more as extra information for Funtime Freddy)

Sure! Here you go, disturbing/Gorey as usual. Which means, if you hate gore or body horror, DO NOT READ.

"Yandere" Alphabet - Fluffy AU! Funtime Freddy

Pairing: Platonic/Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Gore, Blood, Body horror, Grotesque descriptions, Manipulation, Biting/Marking, Sadism, Kidnapping, Isolation, Jealousy, Possessive behavior, Mass murder mention, Death, FNAF Fluffy AU might as well be a trigger warning, Horror oriented, Violence, Forced companionship.

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

When it comes to any version of Funtime Freddy, affection is not soft and lovely. Especially in this form… Funtime Freddy's obsession is sadistic in nature. He likes to bite and mark you while “rewarding” you with odd cuddles for affection. 

Safe to say he's intense… perhaps even to the point of being lethal.

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

Messy, he lives for messy. Even his creation is messy. Blood is something that comes with this bear.

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

He's cruel yet oddly delusional with his affection. He wants to bite you, taste you, and hide you away for himself. He treats you like a toy he has to hide away from the rest of the monsters in the facility.

He would mock you all while chasing you down. There's no way to escape him, he knows it. Which only feeds into his sadistic desires.

Yet once he's shown he's claimed you, he squishes you against his body and nuzzles into you. You're his and his alone. If you disagree… he has ways to deal with that.

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

Yes.

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

He isn't vulnerable except for if someone tries to take you away from him. He isn't very metaphorically open… he is physically very open though.

A concerning thought….

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

Excited! You fighting back and running away feeds into his hunting instinct. Just prepare to have a bear chase after you….

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

Yes and he loves it since he knows he can win!

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

Literally anything he does can be considered bad. However… the worst experience? The stomach hatch.

The moment he grabs you to stuff you inside? Yeah… that right there is horrible. Especially when he doesn't let you out.

Can you even breathe properly?

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

Funtime Freddy sees you as a toy yet also a caretaker. He plans to keep you with him in the facility. If you manage to die in the process, oh well!

He'll still keep you all to himself… deep inside.

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

Yes and he will lash out.

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

Sadistic, cruel, manipulative, and possessive. He's a beast in every way. He will hunt you down and slaughter any other creature in the process. He'll mark you, dirty you, and corrupt you. You won't be able to leave him.

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

It starts as you being his caretaker in the failed section of the facility. You care for him by supplying basic needs and observing him. He can't touch you due to his extreme volatility.

Yet he still expresses sadistic desire through the glass.

It isn't until the facility falls that he hunts you down. His only goals are to play with the rest of the experiments as his prey, while also finding you. Once he does?

The fun begins.

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

Nope.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

Biting… that's probably better off than him shoving you into the stomach compartment he has… which he also does.

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

All of them. 

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

Moderately patient but he leans more into impatient territory.

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

Yes, he would move on, but he never forgets you.

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

No and no.

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

His nature and creation.

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

Impatient and sadistic. He may mock you about it but you're still his caretaker. Maybe he'll be merciful enough to give you a break?

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

Yes. His whole character is, actually.

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

None I can think of, unless you try to kill him.

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

Yes.

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

Not a worship yandere, would probably kill every creation in the facility for you though. How dare they take you from him!

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

Doesn't pine very long if at all

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

Yes.

#yandere fnaf #yandere five nights at freddy's #yandere fnaf fluffy au #yandere funtime freddy #yandere fnaf fluffy au funtime freddy

[ladyofthewolfsbane]

They’re Made of Meat: How the Texas Chain Saw Massacre Forces Us to Confront the Horrors of Slaughter

This will be an analysis focusing on my interpretation of TCM and how it criticizes the meat industry. 

11/8/23 note: I originally posted this on my old horror blog. Since I privated my old blog, I wanted to post this here.

Disclaimer:

Three things before we start. First, given the nature of this analysis, I will describe the deaths of animals (as well as their mistreatment) and the fictional deaths of humans. I will use some images of animals in making my argument, but I’m not using images of dead animals.

Second, I am a vegetarian for ethical reasons, so my perspective will be undeniably biased. If me just mentioning that bothers you, this might not be the analysis for you.

Third, I’m not saying all of these things were intentional on the director’s part. This is simply my interpretation of the movie.

All that said, let’s begin.

You enter a dim room, and something feels … wrong. You have spent the last several hours in a hot metal vehicle, cramped with your companions. Now that you’ve left the vehicle, you’d hoped that this new place would provide some help and relief.

But this new place is dark and smells of decay.

You hear a sound and call for your friend. You come forward and walk up a ramp towards a strange room, and —

A hulking figure appears from nowhere and strikes your skull. You collapse, your feet flailing and clattering against the metal ramp. The hit downed you, but you still remain conscious. It takes two more strikes before you lose consciousness.

What I just described is the death scene of Kirk from The Texas Chain Saw Massacre.

What I just described is also the hypothetical destruction of a cow that entered a slaughterhouse and was improperly stunned with a captive bolt gun and who had to be stunned twice before being rendered insensible.

The Texas Chain Saw Massacre criticizes the meat industry by performing the very same trick I just played — by forcing the characters and the audience into the perspective of livestock. It accomplishes this by putting the characters in the position of animals sent to slaughter when each character encounters the Sawyer family.

Themes of slaughter and the meat industry enter the movie early on. Within the first 10 minutes of the movie, the characters pass cattle awaiting slaughter. At least one of the animals is clearly suffering — the audience is given a quick shot of a cow panting and frothing in the unforgiving summer heat.

Franklin then begins to describe how cattle were previously slaughtered with a sledgehammer, but a captive bolt gun is now used to stun them prior to bleeding. During his description, the ethics of meat is explicitly questioned.

Pam says, "People shouldn’t use animals for meat." From the beginning, Pam is essentially setting up the thesis of the movie — animals suffer for meat consumption, and we shouldn’t do it. She has heard the information and come to a conclusion.

However, Sally simply wants to look away. She says, "Franklin, I like meat, please change the subject."

Sally does not want to confront the reality of where meat comes from and what animals go through to provide her the meat she enjoys. Ironically, she will eventually be almost put through the slaughter process that she originally refused to confront.

Soon, the protagonists pick up the first member of the Sawyer family — the Hitchhiker. (Note: I know the family members are given names in TCM 2, but since I’m only talking about the first movie, I won’t use those names here.)

The confrontation of meat production continues as the Hitchhiker describes how his family has historically worked in the meat industry.

These two scenes being set at the beginning of the movie and the detail they go into about cattle slaughter frame the movie as a criticism of meat production.

Now, I’ll go into specific scenes. It won’t be a blow by blow recap of the movie, though I will go in order of events.

The first to be killed is Kirk. Kirk’s death closely parallels that of the slaughter of cattle. He enters an unknown area and travels up a metal ramp, not knowing what fate awaits him. His death occurs with little warning and is performed dispassionately. As mentioned at the beginning, his legs flail and kick before he dies, similar to cattle struggling during improper stunning in undercover slaughterhouse footage.

Leatherface’s weapon is even a sledgehammer — previously used in slaughtering cattle, as discussed at length by Franklin and the Hitchhiker.

Additionally, the sliding metal door that Leatherface slams is similar to the sliding metal door of a knock box that cattle are herded into so that they can be stunned.

Indeed, the entrance to Leatherface’s room is even surrounded by what appears to be cattle hides.

Soon after Kirk’s death, Pam comes to find him. She stumbles into a room covered in chicken feathers and filth. The floor closely resembles the living conditions that broiler chickens are forced to deal with inside factory farms. They are packed closely together and stand in layers of feathers and their own filth. In that room, there is even a chicken held in a small cage, perhaps paralleling the tiny battery cages factory farmed chickens have been kept in.

When Leatherface finds her, he treats her just as dispassionately as Kirk, and he hangs her on a meat hook like a side of beef.

Now, I think it’s time to discuss the Sawyers a bit more. The Sawyer family treats the protagonists in the same way that they would treat any non-human animal. In the Sawyer’s minds, it makes sense. Humans are, just like any animal, made of meat. To them, there is nothing that makes a human different from a cow.

While the movie primarily focuses on the plight of the "livestock," there is also some focus on how the meat industry is toxic to the workers as well.

In one scene after Jerry has also been killed, Leatherface is visibly in distress. People have been coming to his home in quick succession, and he feels he has had to kill them.

Slaughterhouse workers are often pressured to increase speed on the line, resulting in stress for the workers and lowered welfare standards for the animals they kill. According to the article Meatpacking: A Closer Look Inside a Secretive and Dangerous Industry, slaughterhouse workers are at a high risk for anxiety and PTSD. 

Later, Leatherface is berated and threatened by the Cook because the Cook believes he has performed below the standards expected of him. This parallels the pressure and mistreatment slaughterhouse workers may face from supervisors. 

"Some said their supervisors screamed and humiliated them to keep up production speed," Meatpacking: A Closer Look Inside a Secretive and Dangerous Industry said.

Returning to the protagonists, there are many striking scenes with Sally. Of all the characters, her experiences put the audience most directly and vividly in the position of an animal meant for slaughter.

The most disturbing parallels begin after she has escaped the Sawyer house for the first time. In this section of the movie, she goes to the gas station and briefly thinks that she is safe. Of course, she isn’t. 

The Cook recaptures her and proceeds to treat her like an animal, such as prodding her and beating her with a broom to get her to go where he wants.  Slaughterhouse workers have been caught on undercover footage similarly beating pigs with paddles and sticks and using electric prods to herd them. 

Then there is the infamous dinner scene. Sally is tied to a chair, staring in terror and screaming while the family mimic her cries and laugh at her. Her screams of distress mean no more to them than the bellowing of a cow or the squealing of a pig. In fact, there are even the sounds of pigs squealing and grunting in the background while she screams. Intermingling her sounds of distress with the cries of animals cements that they have become one in the same in this scenario. 

There is a lot of undercover slaughterhouse footage that captures workers mocking and taunting the animals that are clearly in distress, paralleling the Sawyer’s mockery of Sally. 

This mockery and verbal abuse in the meat industry likely comes from what I mentioned earlier — the need of slaughterhouse workers to disassociate to do their jobs. This causes them to see animals as objects to take their frustration out on rather than living things that can suffer.

"The worst thing, worse than the physical danger, is the emotional toll," said a former slaughterhouse employee in Slaughterhouse: The Shocking Story of Greed, Neglect, and Inhumane Treatment Inside the U.S. Meat Industry. "Pigs down on the kill floor have come up to nuzzle me like a puppy. Two minutes later I had to kill them. … I can’t care."

There are moments when the Cook seems to have twinges of regret about what they’re doing, saying he takes no pleasure in killing, that they shouldn’t torture her.

But he believes the killing is necessary. He has to shut down his sympathy for Sally. Just like the former slaughterhouse worker quoted above, he can’t care.

Eventually, the Sawyers decide to allow Grandpa to kill Sally. They lean her over a bucket and hand him a sledgehammer, again using the same method to kill her as they would to kill an animal. All the while she screams and cries and the verbal abuse continues.

 The Hitchhiker uses misogynistic terms to refer to her, similar to workers using such terms for female animals trying to escape their fate.

And Sally does manage to escape her fate. 

I doubt this was intentional, but there is a striking parallel between her escape and the rare cases of cattle escaping from slaughter. She smashes through a window and runs for her life in any direction she can and ends up on a road where chaos ensues. 

There are cases of cattle escaping slaughter by breaking through a fence and running the streets, which causes similar confusion and chaos to Sally’s escape. A notable example are the "St. Louis Six," who were six cows that escaped slaughter and were later taken to a sanctuary. 

Sally, too, is helped by kind strangers. One of the most notable strangers who helps her is a cattle truck driver that throws a wrench at Leatherface. While his job is to transport cattle to slaughter, he has unknowingly saved a woman who has escaped the same fate as the cattle he transports. 

At the end of the film, Sally escapes in the back of a truck, covered in blood and laughing. 

At the beginning of the film, she said, "Franklin, I like meat, please change the subject."

By the end, Sally could no longer look away. She could no longer ignore reality of the meat industry, for she had been dragged to a slaughterhouse herself, now no different than the meat she enjoyed. And the audience, too, is forced to witness the terror of the slaughterhouse through Sally’s eyes.

#the texas chain saw massacre #the texas chainsaw massacre #the texas chainsaw massacre 1974 #sally hardesty #leatherface #bubba sawyer

[ashanimus]

This Belos Essay is Gross

I fully admit I did this to myself. I voluntarily went HEY you know what animates me like a vengeful eidolon to the point where I could chew solid stone while laughing? Ragging on the history of Christianity in America! Oh look! A cute gay show about disabled witches sticking it to Puritan Cult-Peddling Murder Grandpa (also known as Ash's personal bugbear)? SIGN ME UP? Lets dissect this dreadful son of a bitch in the context of his theological bullshit!

But then I get to the parts where I have to think about Belos and all the Grimwalkers and its sicker the more I think about it. Everyone knows of course its just. The depth of the violation and desecration and depravity in its own context is Beyond Grotesque.

I'll elaborate more on this later, but Puritans were obsessed with how a person's remains were kept. This scabrous donkey's bastard was mutilating the unburied remains of the brother he murdered for 400 years. The thing that makes me insane is that any attempts to tell himself "I'm saving your soul, Caleb" had to have petered out pretty quick in that process. He discards the Christian name. Starts calling them all Hunter. Witch Hunter, a title, a job description, a fucking factory tag. He even started branding them after a while, which we know now is a death sentence no matter how perfectly obedient they could have hoped to be. He knows he's not saving Caleb. He's farming the experience of his death.

"I'm starting to think you make those things just to destroy them."

Belos demurs, "Of course I don't, Collector. It hurts every time he chooses to betray me."

The fact they included this line from the Collector--someone who has observed and gleefully enabled this sick fuck for centuries--seems to suggest Belos' denial here is a weak one.

He does enjoy it! They show us! As soon as Luz and Hunter enter the mindscape, he goes out of his way to sabotage Hunter's loyalty. He gleefully drags the kids around, building up the reveals that will make Luz crumple to her knees and destroy Hunter's entire world. The timing. The showmanship of it all. He smiles when he flicks Hunter's little forelock.

"What a shame. Of all the Grimwalkers, you looked the most like him :)"

These are the words he intends to kill this kid by. The dude has been playing this game for CENTURIES and still enjoys the process of torturing them before he slaughters them. How many Grimwalkers died with some variation of "What? Who is Caleb?" on their lips--but the part that haunts me are the ones who lived long enough to say "Sorry" before they were killed. Phillip isn't saving Caleb's soul, he's punishing him over and over.

So why does he do this? How does the Puritan part factor into it? Other than the pleasure of murder that is. It makes me think of how the main purpose of missionaries is to experience rejection. Particularly when it comes to sending kids out from the church. The purpose of the whole affair there is to reinforce that The World Bad, and Rejects the Word of God, and the Only REAL community you have is the Church. They understand you. This creates not just the insulation that gives them a chance to practice the script of the Rejected Religious Warrior, but create distance from reality.

Belos has been working on the worlds most horrible DIY project. He's been doing it for 400 years. What on earth can sustain that laser focus, him working while his body monsterizes and turns to evil Ghibli goo around him? Man hasn't eaten real food in 400 years.

His brother's death! The point of no return in Phillips villain origin (inciting incident: the moment Caleb fell for Evelyn). Each incarnation is going to to have a witch's pointed ears and the Grimwalkers pink eyes, wear different scars that Belos himself stuck there, but it's still his face. Sure it's a younger face than Caleb had when HE died, but at this point it hardly matters. Phillip is farming Caleb's death to re-inspire the moment where genocide entered his heart. These witches have taken you from me, Caleb. I'll make them all pay.

But first, I'll make YOU pay.

This bitch was going to take time out of the Day of Unity to kill Hunter if he got him. My god. Given that he was pressed for time I like to think it would have been quick but god if this is any indication...ugh.

I feel gross! 8)

#toh #the owl house #toh spoilers #toh hunter #hunter wittebane #emperor belos #this is so messed up #ari don’t look! #this will end up in the video essay with more stuff but I had to get my thoughts out because its making me insane #ash's owl house meta

[convexicalcrow]

Cairo, 1921

It's been a long season of exploration for Pix, leading expeditions into the oases west of Egypt in search of new discoveries. Much of what he'd found was rubble, or buried several feet under sand. But it had not all been for nothing! He was particularly interested in what some enscriptions call an invasion of the Sea Peoples towards the end of Dynastic Egypt which seems to have plunged the country into chaos. There's more records in Greek and Roman sources, but they're much more sedated in their descriptions, and mostly talk of Egypt falling into ruin. Concerning, but not that concerning for a civilisation that had lasted for thousands of years relatively unchanged.

The problem was, such an invasion was unlikely to leave much evidence behind, if some of the stories aare true about the scale of the slaughter. Which, of course, could have been for dramatic effect. To the victor goes the spoils. Certainly, in Bahariya Oasis, he'd uncovered some broken pots with various bits of papyrus in them, and evidence to suggest things had once burned. The temple that once stood there was barely standing anymore; it was just a few columns and stelae and statuary half-buried in the sand.

And now that the digging was over, he was now tasked with recording his finds and writing up a report for his benefactor, so he might continue exploring next season. Most of the papyri in the pots seemed to be letters to the dead, though there was no record of these sorts of papyri being buried in pots. Still, this could mean it was ground-breaking research and that was exciting! Well, as exciting as reading through such personal expressions of grief could be, Pix mused.

On their own, they were pretty standard. Children talking to their parents. Parents calling for their children. Others calling for other family members or friends, some who may or may not have been buried. They seemed to be the newest Egyptian artefacts found in terms of dates, as the hieratic they were written in was only from this late period around the time of this supposed invasion.

It was when Pix looked at them together that it kind of hit him how grief doesn't really change. These could have been written twenty years ago and no one would think them odd. And there were so many of them! Some were dated, some not, but he had uncovered over 115 of them in one necropolis, and another 97 more in a second necropolis further towards the outside of the main town in the oasis. That was a lot of grief, and might not have even been all of them. All of them written in the space of, perhaps, ten years or so, as if something calamatous did indeed befall the oasis. The letters are vague about what happened, but given the dates, Pix is sure it can only mean one thing. Some invading force reached this far-flung oasis and left a lot of people dead.

Pix finds himself returning to one letter in particular. It's written from a son to his father, with writing that's erratic and disjointed. Some of the ink has smudged, making parts of it unreadable. It's also remarkable that it contains no names. The son simply calls him, father, and himself, his beloved son. Which is rather unusual indeed. The remembrance of the name was considered vital to a good afterlife, so why would this letter remain so anonymous?

He picked it up to examine it. It was a small piece of papyrus, torn in places, and folded hastily and shoved into the pot, unlike the others that were rolled and tied with a piece of cloth. It suggested some reluctance, or haste, or perhaps he was disturbed in the process of writing to his father. Perhaps he'd never know. But some of the words just kept echoing around in his brain, as if somehow, these were people he once knew. Which seemed absurd of course! He was no ancient Egyptian! But something nagged at him. It was just-

"A letter from a son to his father. It begins, 'Praise to my father, who died for Ma'at, who rises with Ra into the sky from the belly of Nut! Praise to you, O Wesir, who gives life to the lifeless, shine on with my father, may he be justified! Please… keep him safe. I know not where you are. You would not recognise me today. My heart is. weary. How can I mourn when there is so much at stake? I have few friends in this world. Your beloved son misses you, and perhaps, one day, when my heart no longer rages, perhaps then I will find peace. Please just let me know you are okay. Let me know you made it to Wesir's court, that you are an akh in the skies, who lives forever. Every day I am met with uncertainty. I remember the last time I saw you. I remember the fear in your face. I think I knew then, that this would be the end. I was too young to understand, but somehow, I knew. I' and then it cuts off. I feel this son's sadness and confusion as if it is my own. But why though? Who are you? Who are you who haunts my dreams?" Pix said, staring at the papyrus as if it might give out more secrets.

He sat back in his chair, letting the papyrus sit on the desk. He could see- candles. A dark place with candles. Some kind of weird memorial. Nothing Egyptian, it looked nothing like that. And as soon as the image was in his head, it was gone. A fleeting imagining of something. Or a sign he was up too late again. It was, after all, after midnight, he confirned, checking his pocket watch. Perhaps sleep will cure him of his ills. Perhaps another expedition out to the oasis will yield more finds. Perhaps then he might be able to put these letters to rest, along with those who were being remembered.

#hermitcraft #empires smp #fanfic #pixlriffs #the lost prince au #reincarnation #past lives #letters to the dead #ancient egyptian au #i couldn't help myself #this is so self-indulgent #but archaeologist!pix is so precious to me #i had an idea and ran with it #so sue me lol #hermitfic

[usbotthrills]

Now that I’ve officially read 50 books this year I want to list some of my top ones, because let’s face it, I love talking about books…

The goldfinch (Donna Tartt) - Theodore Decker was 13 years old when his mother was killed in a bombing at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York. The tragedy changes the course of his life, sending him on a stirring odyssey of grief and guilt, reinvention and redemption, and even love. Through it all, he holds on to one tangible piece of hope from that terrible day -- a painting of a tiny bird chained to its perch. // This one isn’t a surprise, with all I talk about it’s a little obvious I’m obsessed. This book really takes masterpiece to a new level, with it so intricately thought out, with the characters feeling almost real. It’s a book that will stick with me forever.

The secret history (Donna Tartt) - Under the influence of their charismatic classics professor, a group of clever, eccentric misfits at an elite New England college discover a way of thinking and living that is a world away from the humdrum existence of their contemporaries. But when they go beyond the boundaries of morality, their lives are changed profoundly and for ever. // Can you tell I like Donna Tartt?? Because fucking hell, I do. If you’re looking for a book to fall in love with - this is the one.

This Is How You Lose A Time War (Max Gladstone, Amal El-Mohtar) - Thus begins an unlikely correspondence between two rival agents hellbent on securing the best possible future for their warring factions. Now, what began as a taunt, a battlefield boast, grows into something more. Something epic. Something romantic. Something that could change the past and the future. // Did I know what was going on in this book? No. But I loved it. Now, it’s a confusing book, we can all agree on that, but it’s so well written, you feel compelled to read more.

Tender is the Flesh (Agustina Bazterrica) : Working at the local processing plant, Marcos is in the business of slaughtering humans--though no one calls them that anymore. // Looking for the most fucked up book you’ll ever read?? Well here you go, nothing says fucked up like graphic descriptions of cannibalism and human being treated like cattle. But, I think I like this book for how messed up it was - it’s the sort of book that stays with you.

Heaven (Mieko Kawakami) : In Heaven, a fourteen-year old boy is tormented for having a lazy eye. Instead of resisting, he chooses to suffer in silence. The only person who understands what he is going through is a female classmate, Kojima, who experiences similar treatment at the hands of her bullies. Providing each other with immeasurable consolation at a time in their lives when they need it most, the two young friends grow closer than ever. But what, ultimately, is the nature of a friendship when your shared bond is terror? // This is another one of those books I’m not going to forget any time soon. It just pulled emotions from me like it was easy and I’ll be forever in awe at how this book has my very soul.

If there’s anything we should take from this, it’s that I like messed up books. And you know what, I’m fine with that

#these books are just all so fhakskkska #my love for them knows no bounds #books #the goldfinch #the secret history #this is how you lose the time war #heaven #tender is the flesh #Donna Tartt #my love #<3333 #boris pavlikovsky #Theodore decker #Theo decker #richard papen #bunny corcoran #books and literature #booklr #book #literature #uhhhhhh #I should stop tagging now #yep

[char-lie-spirals]

So, since @gristlebloom-orchid asked, I DO have a Flesh!Graham AU and I finally sat down to put my thoughts about it into something comprehensive, and then into words! So, I figured I might as well make a post about it! Actually this is my 2nd attempt at making it because apparently version 1 was like 2 times too long for a Tumblr post or something?? Messed up :/

Warning for Flesh-typical content, mostly of the dysmorphic kind, along with some Drastic measures to "fix" that

So, the entire AU starts with one simple change - the NotThem doesn't manage to kill Graham when it attacks him. He survives by pure chance, and doesn't come out of the encounter unscathed, but no matter how much blood it spilled, at least he made it out alive!

Except, the whole thing really messes with the way he sees himself. He can barely recognize his own reflection, so many little things about it seem wrong, things he doesn't even know words/names for, but they're all just wrong wrong wrong that's not him!!

The NotThem gets a good meal out of him just... feeling like a Stranger in his own skin, so instead of finishing the job, it hangs around, sometimes pretend-attacks him just so that he locks himself in the bathroom and has nothing to do but stare in the mirror, and it's enjoying this "arrangement" very much!

It doesn't take Graham too long to pick up on the pattern. A few weeks in, he locks himself in the bathroom with nothing but a notebook on him, and ends up trying to write down what exactly bothers him in the reflection.

No matter how hard he tries, the descriptions aren't detailed enough. His face isn't "wrong", it's his eyes and nose and mouth and skin and- no, no, that's still too broad. His eye color seems too dark, and his eyelids are folded differently, and they seem too far apart, and-

The NotThem leaves him alone, satisfied enough, much faster than usual. This is the point where a realization strikes him, and all of his previous thought process gets off-track for a Stranger victim. Because you see, from his perspective, all what he knows is:

There is something herding him around, and he keeps falling for it's tricks. It torments him, and then leaves, seemingly content enough with his fear. Seemingly... fed by it. On top of that, he's barely himself through his own eyes, so to anyone else he's surely unrecognizable, just one slip up away from losing his self entirely, and is he still a person at that point? Is he a person at this point??

He doesn't feel that far off from an animal serving its purpose up until it will get slaughtered. With this one simple trick (overthinking), he has managed to change his fear of the Stranger into a fear of the Flesh! The NotThem hates him!

Does he react impulsively to this realization? Yeah, probably, since his response is to up and leave his flat instantly, only grabbing a few necessities along the way and with not intentions of coming back

He wanders for a while, feeling horrible and shuddering at each reflective surface he passes by because there is something wrong with his body, and it makes his skin crawl. Before he knows it, he's already desperate enough that he'd do just about anything to fix it

He feels he can't really trust anyone to try and fix all those little things without messing them up further, so that's off the table. He'll have to fix them on his own, with his bare hands if he has to. Then again, there's no telling if he won't mess himself up more by trying to fix things!

He decides he needs to get some practice. And some tools. And sure, he's been walking around for a while now, but it doesn't take him all that long to come across the nearest butcher store, and it's open! Just... strangely quiet. Up until,,, oh oops! uh oh!

Yeah, he kind of. Happened to walk into Jared Hopworth's Butcher Store? While the man is in the middle of disposing of a guy for the mafia? And those people were quite clear, no witnesses are allowed to leave, so... he's just stuck here now.

He's scared at first, as one would be upon walking in on a Huge guy torturing some other guy, but then... then he sees the way Jared pulls bones from the man, how he re-shapes them...

If he's going to die here, he might as well ask for help with a few of his own issues. For a start, he's pretty sure his right forearm doesn't look quite right because the bone should be a bit more squashed, and at a different angle, but that's apparently fixable???

Jared's not used to people wanting to be reshaped (this is like early-mid 2006, 6 years before the gym statement takes place, give him time), but he complies and is even more surprised by the honest positive reaction.

He asks if Graham needs help with anything else in his body, and Graham just pulls out his notebook. He knows that much fixing won't be free, but now at least one of his limbs looks his own again, he can't possibly stop now?? Not to mention, some of the bits are easier to replace or add to rather than re-shape, so... if he ends up having to lead a few people to their doom... well. So be it.

With every little change, he becomes more himself, but at the same time, strays further and further from who he used to be. And when he's finally satisfied with his results? He might just keep trying to bring more people to the butcher shop out of habit. :]

That's about it for the story I have properly planned. I do, however, have the idea that once Jared moves on to owning that gym of his, Graham will be Very helpful in finding future customers! All he has to do is approach people and kindly point out the few things he can just see are wrong about them, and then tell them he knows a place where they can fix those!

I'm not sure how/if he'll get involved with the main archives crew - maybe when Jane Prentiss traps Martin in his own home, he reaches a few similar conclusions that Graham did and that draws him in? Maybe he's been looking for the NotThem in case it slips up and can't finish the job properly again, which leads him to the institute? Maybe he happens to be one of the people Jon contacts all the way in season 3, since he managed to escape the Stranger's grasp and that might be useful? Who knows! I certainly don't, not yet!

Also I'm open to feedback on this AU since I don't cover Flesh much in my AUs and writing, so I feel a bit out of my depth? But I figured the body dysmorphia aspect of it could fit the mess I like to make of -selfs and identities when the NotThem is involved and I'm feeling a bit silly :] but I tried not to abandon the more animistic aspects of it? But again if that just Doesn't Work as well as I was hoping it would, like I said I am open to feedback!

#text.char #graham folger #However about that feedback: #1) be nice about it please #2) I will respond tomorrow #I spent 4 hours on a plane today and my eyes are closing on their own already #oh and yea lastly if this reminds you of the 2nd episode of tmagp - fair! I had this in the works for ages and I was very happy to hear- #-something similar in the podcast! at least similar in some aspects of course!! But regardless! #Cool things can will and should be invented time and time again #it just means its super cool!