#ignore the one vincent on the right he ended up looking weird

[homoeroticvillain]

man goes insane and draws blakeworth a million times

#first time using watercolours in a long time #not sure how i feel about it but it was fun #ignore the one vincent on the right he ended up looking weird #also not sure how visible it is but i used a like shiny paint for victor's arms #anyways i prefer drawing victor much more then vincent #vtsom #blakeworth #vincent: the secret of myers #klepto talks to himself #klepto's art tag

[deepestnightcolor]

Hi I love your writing!! Not sure if you take requests so please ignore this if you don’t!! What if Sam and reader were dating and then reader finds out about Sam/Penny liking each other in the past so they get kinda insecure and Sam reassures them

nsjhdwj thank you so, so much! <3

It really means the world to me to hear it! :) Thank you so much for your request as well, it was absolutely LOVELY to write. I hope you will enjoy it! Have a lovely day, dear anon~ <3

(Needless to say, I do take requests >:))

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Sam (SDV) x GN!Reader

ᴡᴄ: 1889 words

✧ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: a lil jealousy, a lil insecurity. it is mostly fluff, though. gentle kisses and all~

☾ ᴡʜɪꜱᴘᴇʀꜱ ☽

The relationship between Sam and you had begun to blossom in the fall of your first year in Pelican Town. It had all started out quite simple; playing pool with the blond and Sebastian in the saloon turned into hanging out and playing video games together. Taking turns trying hard levels bled into fleeting touches and looking at one another longer than necessarily needed; until it all ended in a chaste kiss behind near the river. It hadn’t taken Sam much longer to show up on your doorstep with a bouquet of flowers, asking you to officially be with him.

Ever since, your relationship had grown like the crops on your fields – filling your heart with a deep, comfortable feeling of contentment and calm, something no one ever had managed up until the town. However, whenever Sam walked up to you, looking at you with these deep blue eyes filled with excitement and genuine happiness and smiling at you as if you were the first warm day in spring, you felt like you were at the right place, at the right time.

However, there was gossip in town. Little whispers, really, nothing you wouldn’t have expected living in a sleepy community like this. The gossip here was nothing more than a fleeting thought that was spoken out; here one moment, gone the next.

You had always promised yourself to not let these whispers stick to you, to just smile and forget about it. And so far you had done well; the most attention you had spent on anything that wasn’t rock solid was wondering how someone would come up with something like that.

In all seriousness, you just didn’t care for it. It rolled off your back like droplets of rain rolled off your raincoat.

You didn’t think a simple visit to Pierre’s would change that. You were standing in front of one of the shelves in the far back, looking at the different seasonal seeds in stock, considering trying out something new on the fields when you heard Marnie’s voice. It was hushed as it usually was when she was gossiping. Any other day, you would have just turned back to the bags in your hand, but today, you heard your boyfriend’s name. Much to your shame, your ears perked up almost immediately, and even worse, you actually tilted your head a little to catch what Marnie was saying.

“Yes, I am surprised he didn’t end up with Ms. Penny. The crushes they had were quite obvious, even my nephew picked up on it,” she hummed.

Another voice now answered with a hum, but when they talked, you were able to identify it as Mayor Lewis’s. “Even my old eyes picked up on it! I saw them at the bridge often, and I always thought Ms. Penny just waited for him to make the first move and she would have been all his.”

Your heart sank. Sam had had a crush on Penny? You furrowed your brows as you thought back, trying to remember if you ever had picked up on anything like that. Then it hit you – they had often hung out by the bridge together, and if you were honest, you had always felt a weird tension sizzle in the air between them.

Marnie again: “It is quite a shame, really. Jas told me that Ms. Penny looks a little sad when they pick up little Vincent. I think they would have made a good couple; she could have taught him a lot, I bet.”

“And maybe he would have helped her to get out of her shell a little. I thought they were a good match as well.”

You couldn’t take any more. You stepped out from between the shelves and almost ran to the till, slamming the bags onto the counter. “Just these, please,” you smiled at Pierre, loud enough for the hushed whispers behind you to stop.

“Thanks,” you murmured after you had been rung up, fleeing the general store without as much as a look in the two chatterboxes’ direction.

You had genuinely wanted to let go of what you had heard today. After all, Sam was with you now, and he seemed genuinely happy with you. Even now in his sleep, he was looking peaceful and content; his arm stretched out towards you as usual. Whenever you and Sam slept together, he had to touch you in some way. You didn’t mind that, in fact, it usually calmed you and lulled you into a deep slumber. Tonight, it didn’t help.

You had started thinking as soon as your conversation with Sam had faded as his breathing had grown heavier; a clear sign that he was drifting off to sleep.

Had you gotten in the middle of something between Sam and Penny?

Would he maybe be better off dating her?

Would he be happier with her?

Why did he choose to be with you when there seemingly was a spark, big enough for others to notice?

Penny, in all honesty, was not only a beautiful human but had an incredible personality at that. She was a catch, no doubt. Maybe you had ruined the best relationship Sam could have ever had, because what could you offer? You were a farmer, nothing more, nothing less. Doing work many considered as nothing but simple and dirty. Whereas Penny was always clean and well-kempt: being noble enough to try and give the town’s kids the best possible education. Trying to give your boyfriend’s little brother the best possible chances, for crying out loud!

Holy shit, you had probably ruined Sam’s life, what did he even see in you?

“Babe?” a groggy voice next to you asked, making you tense up. You had been so lost in your whirlwind of thoughts that you hadn’t even realized how much you had been tossing and turning. You tried to stay still, even out your breathing. Maybe he would just go back to sleep.

But you knew Sam better than that. And just as you had expected, two strong arms slowly snaked around you, pulling you into a warm chest. Sam’s hand found your hair, long fingers running through it just mere moments later. Sam knew you, sometimes better than you knew yourself, and he knew what to do when you were nervous. And even now in your state of inner turmoil it helped; you relaxed into his arms, and for a split second, your head was quiet.

“What’s wrong, baby? Bad dream?”

That was your chance. If you said yes now, he would probably cuddle you, caressing your hair until you fell asleep. Sleep sounded nice right about now.

“Did I ruin your chances with Penny? Would you rather be with her?”

The caressing stopped, and you could feel the mattress behind you shift. Was he leaving now?

The light switched on, and before you could say something else, you saw Sam’s face hover right over yours. His rough hand was placed on your cheek now, thumb caressing the skin gently as he peered into your eyes. All sleep had vanished now, replaced by honest concern and confusion.

 “Why would you think something like that?”

You bit around on your lower lip, looking away in embarrassment. “I heard Marnie and Lewis talk at Pierre’s today…They…they talked about the crush you had on Penny and the crush she had on you and how you would be a great match and how she is sad when she picks up Vincent now and-“

Noting how stupid you sounded, you stopped yourself, taking in a deep breath and not being able to stop yourself, “and it had me wondering, because I saw you hang out as well and Penny is so beautiful and kind and noble and she would have a good influence on you! And what am I, just a farmer, you have seen me in dirty clothes more often than in clean ones and-“

You looked at Sam helplessly, tears in the corner of your eyes. “And I just…Why did you choose me when you could have had her, Sam? Why didn’t you choose her? You could have…I…” The blond looked at you, patiently waiting for you to finish speaking.

Only when your stream of words had seemingly ceased did he lean in and press a soft kiss to your lips.

“Because Penny isn’t you, my love,” he murmured against the plush of your lips, looking into your eyes. His thumb was still caressing your cheek, allowing his other hand to lock together with yours.

“Yes, Penny is a good-hearted woman, and yes, I might have had a crush on her.  But you touched my heart in a way no one ever has. I fell in love with you, and I mean all of you. Your eyes; the way they light up when you’re proud or happy. The way you smile and the many different smiles you have. I love every single one. I love that you get dirty every day while doing what you love. I love that you give it your all every day.”

Sam kissed your nose carefully, his eyes peering into yours again.

“I love how careful you are with everything, especially with things that are dear to you. Yoba, I love the way your breathing sounds when you are next to me, I love the way you ramble to yourself when you are working on something and think no one can hear you. I love the random sounds you make. I love seeing you. I love being around you. I love you being mine. I love you.”

Sam kissed your lips again, holding onto your face. You looked up at him with teary eyes, hiding your face in his chest. The blond laid back down, carefully pulling you on top of him. He drew random patterns onto your back; mostly hearts and clouds and little stars.

“I remember the first actual date we went on. My heart was pounding in my chest, and I was so close to just throwing up. Sebastian kept teasing me, asking me why I was nervous, I had been to the beach so often…” he kissed your head again, holding you a little tighter to his chest. “And then I saw you there. All bundled up in your winter clothes, and I asked myself why I had been so stupid to suggest a date on the beach in winter. But when you smiled at me…Shit, that was the moment I just knew that you were my one and only. And I wouldn’t want to live a life in which you weren’t.”

You sniffled a little, but smiled a little as you thought back to the date. You had, in fact, asked yourself why Sam would want to meet up at the beach in winter, but you could have never allowed yourself to pass up the opportunity.

You closed your eyes; taking in your boyfriend’s scent. He smelled like cotton and a hint of vanilla. Honestly, you found he smelled like home.

You could feel Marnie’s and Lewis’s voices quieten down, as did your worries.

Sam could feel you relax in your arms and slowly lifted your chin with two fingers.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too, Sam.”

“And tomorrow I will skate on the Mayor’s property.”

“No, Sam."

#sdv #stardew valley fanfic #stardew valley #stardew valley farmer #sdv fanfic #sdv sam #fanfic #sdv sam x reader #stardew valley x reader #SDV #SDV Sam #SDV Sam x reader #Stardew Valley Sam #fluff #fluffy Sam

[honeycollectswhump]

Things End | People Change – Staining Touch

this is shameless friendfiction of my dear friend @whumpcloud's story Things End | People Change, featuring poorest little meow meow vincent, my beloved. go check it out if you haven't already !!!

CW: guilt, so so much self-blame and self-deprication, references to past torture and also past SA undertones (vincent is going through it)

Clary has brought him something new, something to slowly fill out the empty space of the basement that is not his but as close as it gets. 

It’s a mirror, almost two-thirds of his height, strange and wobbly and cause of a weird noise Vincent cannot categorize into his existing knowledge when it is bent. Arguably, it is doing a very bad job of being a mirror, besides the fact that it is floppy and almost entertainingly noisy before being put up on the wall, because it distorts his reflection at the edges, pulling him into comical shapes like dough if he moves.

But most importantly, most off-puttingly is the fact that it portrays his reflection at all. 

At first, he can do nothing but stare.

In a little under two hundred years, all Vincent has seen of himself was through the eyes of others and those never regarded him too kindly. Not that he didn’t share that sentiment.

He knows what he can see, from the brown of his hair to the shape of his body, he knows what little is left that connects him to Henry, like the green of his eyes, and he knows what separates him, like the scar that sits right under them, as if mocking. 

And now that he can see his eyes again, for the first time in what feels like an eternity, for the first time in two human lifespans, which is distinctly one more than he had any right to, he can’t look at what remains of Henry without seeing what remains of Lyfelde. 

That man, he… 

Vincent swallows. If it could, his undead heart would be beating faster –skipping like a rabbit– with each step that thought takes.

…He loved to leave marks. 

Not for some desperate desire to be remembered in an ever-changing world, but instead with the same expectations as couples that carve their initials in the bark of a tree, curious to see the way the tree tries and fails to heal the cuts, to see how they will twist with time.

Vincent is no stranger to cuts, to initials carved into his delicate flesh, to being torn open for amusement and to satiate careless curiosity, even though they will never show on his skin, no matter how he twists and turns to get a good look at himself in the mirror.

Lyfelde however never needed force to leave evidence of himself, even if he can proudly wear the title of the last permanent remainder of Vincent’s weak mortality long gone by, and at his hands no less.

After years and years of captivity, of relentless, giddy torture, Vincent couldn’t point out individual marks of memory, couldn’t remember the incisions, the lacerations, the breaks, only the aftermath, the pain ripping at the edges of his sanity.

But when Vincent closes his eyes, when he imagines his being as he sees himself, there are stains on his chest, in the shape of a freezing claw, long delicate fingers decorated with rings much older than Vincent ever hopes to be. 

There is one right over his heart, claiming it rightfully as Lyfelde’s, honouring the hard work he put into tearing him apart just to shape him into a–

Into a toy.

He is collared –like a pet–, marked by two hands wrapping around his throat and squeezing, a brute display of strength Vincent thought could keep him safe. 

Even now, after all of these years, his mind produces the image of his hands clearer than the face that is already blurred beyond recognition by time. Neither time nor the Hunters could beat Lyfelde’s touch out of Vincent’s memories.

Vincent stretches, looking over his shoulder, pointedly ignoring the way his ribs protrude through sickly ashen skin. Even the thought that this is a far cry from his jutting ribcage in captivity, the corpselike result of starvation, turns sour with the sacrifice of those that feed him. 

He is tainted, he knows, from comfort twisted to form a blade –a stake– and embraces that should have been kind and understanding, that Vincent now can’t even bring himself to call “warm”.

He wonders –briefly– if, behind his back, in the security of Vincent’s blindness, Lyfelde’s expressions would have betrayed his intentions. If there was a way a trick of light and precognition could have warned him, if he had just seen it, seen the signs that should have been so glaringly obvious.

Still, at the cost of himself, he had found comfort and solace in the deathly cold touch, and that should have been warning enough.

Almost obsessively, his gaze scans over his own marred, unmarred skin, even as it is stretched and squished by the metal-mirror, now that he finally has the chance to, after decades of nothing. Some quiet, drowned-out part of him whispers back that this is why he avoided anything similar for so long, that the evasion of his own reflection was not only by force of his vampirism but by some self-preserving instinct.

It’s excruciating in a way that is dangerously addicting, a sizzling fire that he cannot look away from. Pain for the sake of pain for the sake of entertainment. 

Curiosity and her twin sister punishment.

If he dares to let his eyes drop lower, his hips will carry two hand-shaped brands of intimacy and trust that were only ever one-sided, burned into his skin deeper than any silver and scratch marks betraying the attempts to rid himself of the ever-present poison seeping from every pore. 

They condemned him to be both poisoned and poison at the same time, always a victim and always a monster and always rightfully so.

Vincent swipes the mirror from the wall, heaving, watching it fall to the ground, deafening but too slow. He wants to fall to his knees, begging and ripping the metal to shreds, ripping his own reflection to shreds so that he will never have to look at it again. … So that it will never be looked at again.

#today i bring you: insanity. tomorrow? who knows #we were being so so insane about him #and then polly said something that made me go into an hour-long spiral #with this as the end result #vincent has ISSUES #and i love him dearly for it <3 #also in case it wasnt already clear: #this is a love letter to basically everything polly has ever written <3 #seriously go read their stuff!! #things end | people change #vampire whumpee #vampire whump #self deprecation #victim blaming #self blame #past torture references #sa undertones #emotional whump #self image issues #intimate whumper #vampire whumper #grief #other people's ocs #honey's writing

[blametheeditor]

I just had this idea, wouldn’t the smell of the giants be amplified for the smalls? Everything else is amplified. David’s cologne would be overpowering to anyone unfortunate enough to be near him (he would wear it you can not change my mind). Like the bacteria that creates smell would be more/bigger to tinies than to the giants so in my peanut brain it makes sense! I understand if this makes you uncomfortable though as smell is… weird. Just an idea I wanted to share. Have a great day!

Anon, I have made an entire saga on your idea alone.

It just didn't want to work with me! So I made three separate stories, all about 2,000 long, and then I combined them together. I'm not lying when I say I want to write another one to tag onto it.

So I hope you feel validated! We will have peanut-sized brains together because I absolutely agree and love it! AND, I hope you have a great day as well!

Ignorance At Its Finest

Content Warnings: Cursing. Mentions of murder. Mentions of death. Treating people as lesser than. Unintentionally making someone scared. Being uncaring toward others. Being unsympathetic toward others.

It's all fun and game until Fritz claps back with the 'you smell like'

___________________________

David never thought him wearing cologne would ever be an issue.

Look, he’s a business man. He understands certain things are luxuries, knows the difference between needs and desires.

He’s also a very wealthy man who doesn’t need anyone telling him how to live his life.

Besides, out of everything he has, from the house that’s considered too big for only one person to live in, to the insanely expensive car that sits in his garage and is used once a year, he never thought something that costed a fourth of what one suit in his wardrobe does would make such a ruckus.

Yet here he is.

"Excuse me?”

“The cologne needs to go,” Vincent repeats as he continues to walk toward the door. Because this was stated at the very end of their first meeting, the purple man making it seem as if this is final.

“Hold on!” David exclaims, standing up to follow the other. “You can’t just say-!”

“I did.”

“-there’s no reason-”

“There is.”

“-you have no right-”

That’s when Vincent turns with a look of murder in his eyes. “Oh Davey, I have every right. Besides, it’s just cologne! You’re not going to die without it. The same can’t be said if you keep it, though!”

And that’s how David was left, staring open mouthed after the thing that criticized him for wearing cologne.

He ignores it. Because as much as Vincent terrifies him, it was an inconsequential thing. Honestly he’s unsure how the purple man even knew he was wearing it. Unlike high school boys, he knows how to properly wear it, not to mention it was only spritzed across his neck and not his wrists.

“Go wash your hands and face.”

David knew the name ‘Scott Cawthon’ didn’t belong to a fellow giant. As much as he loathed the idea of one of the lowly creatures technically in a position higher than himself, there wasn’t much he could do.

The only saving grace was the fact the man hadn’t been to his restaurant yet. Only phone calls demanding certain information as well as reviewing the documents that had a singular letter missing. Though it wasn’t certainly fun to realize the resident mutated grape favored the little pest. Meaning when he first hung up on Scott bitching at him, he got a lovely visit, and therefore has to keep himself from so much as accidentally ending the call before his supervisor was truly done.

Today was a special day, however. Apparently, wanting a human to get transferred to his restaurant required a personal visit from the voice over the phone. ‘Ensure the poor boy won’t get stepped on by an egotistical asshole of a giant’ was the exact quote.

When he first spotted the miniscule thing standing in his doorway, he wasn’t impressed. Unlike David as he sits at his desk with gelled hair and a full piece suit, Scott apparently thought appropriate work attire consists of a graphic t-shirt and shirts, his hair left to do as it pleases.

With the words acting as greeting, David’s pissed. “Would you like to repeat that?”

Scott doesn’t hesitate. “Go. Wash. Your. Hands. And. Face.”

“You little-”

“You want a human to come work for you,” the man snaps. “I’m the one who gets to approve or deny your request.”

David glares as it becomes clear Scott does in fact have power over him. And unlike Vincent, someone who should have it considering he stands only an inch shorter than the giant, it’s a human who couldn’t stop being squeezed in a fist or kicked by a shoe.

Yet here they are. Scott having the upper hand with his position in the company, and an extremely dangerous giant who’s at his beck and call.

“May I ask why?” David snarls.

“Your cologne. I know Vince brought it up on your first day.”

Goddamn it!

“What is with you dumbasses and cologne? It’s not like it’s hurting you.”

Scott goes silent. Looks him up and down. “David, out of everyone you could’ve requested to get transferred, why did you want a human?”

He’s not admitting that might’ve only crossed his mind to check once he saw the impressive notes regarding Fritz Smith.

You could’ve backed out.

And let someone waste potential like that?

You own a giant only restaurant. What could a little pest like him do for you?

…that’s a valid question.

“Is this an interrogation?”

“This is an interview. If you have adequate answers for a job description that is nigh-impossible for someone who stands no taller than the fingers of the customers who come here, then we can move onto what you’ll be doing to ensure his safety.”

“I need a face for the restaurant,” David begins with a scowl. “His profile states the animatronics are extremely respectful and mindful of him, some even say they ‘favor’ him. And considering the long list of being fantastic with customer service, glowing reviews, and coworkers stating how reliable he can be as well as the person to go to in any situation, he would be a valuable asset to have him assisting in customer relations while I focus on the business.”

Scott gives a look. “Is it safe to assume you want a secretary?”

Yes.

“My animatronics should be overseen by someone with experience. Considering the dark past Fazbear Corporation hired me specifically to eradicate.”

“God I hate business men.”

“Did I pass your test?” David sneers.

Scott wipes a tired hand over his face. Sighs because he knows the giant is right.

“David, I know this is hard to believe, but the world doesn’t revolve around you. Meaning Fritz will need safety precautions put in place-”

“I’m not an idiot, Scott.”

“-and giants realizing how much they affect humans. This includes your footsteps causing earthquakes, yelling capable of bursting our ear drums, and cologne being almost suffocating.”

David finds himself stopping himself midsentence as the last part registers. Because, of course, he never thought about nor cared how any of his actions effected their smaller counterparts. Not to mention he tries to avoid them all together.

“Aren’t you technically a mile away?”

“I can smell it from here.”

The business man immediately scoffed. “Bull-”

“I’m sure you get plenty of compliments on it, I was getting a nice warm smell with spice undertones when I was first entering the hallway. But standing here, I feel like I’m going to get knocked out from the earthy musk, and the flower doesn’t help mixed in with citrus and chocolate.”

David’s mouth drops for a second before he snaps it shut.

“No more cologne.”

. . .

Fritz is well aware David wears cologne.

When he was first getting transferred, Scott had approached him to ensure he was okay with changing restaurants. And not just the typical checking how far the commute will be and confirming his pay will stay the same or increase. No, the meeting was more in the direction of-

“Your boss will be an egotistical giant who thinks humans are nothing more than pests.”

Honestly, Fritz appreciated the sandy haired man warning him. Despite the older being a human himself, certain things are obvious when someone owns or works for a business that’s categorized as ‘giant only’. He might be a naïve teenager, but it’s impossible to completely avoid belittling comments and actions that every human receives at least once in their life.

Those who live in human only cities might not, but it’s guaranteed working at a restaurant that caters to both counterparts.

“It sounds…interesting.”

Scott had stared at him. “You’re seriously considering it.”

“Think of it this way,” Fritz grinned, held his hands out to physically stop the judgement. “On one hand he was definitely too prideful to back out again once he realized I was human. But if you didn’t immediately tell him no once meeting him, then it sounds like he’s willing to make some changes!”

“And turn you into a stress ball.”

The redhead tensed up at that. Paled at the thought that, if he agreed to it, then he’ll be completely at the whim of not just one giant, but an entire restaurant.

He knows there’s multiple reasons for people wanting to go to only businesses. Taking into account the fact they’re talking about a children’s restaurant, putting giants and humans together isn’t always the best idea. Kids get rowdy, don’t understand the moving action figure is actually a person, and it’s almost impossible to constantly stare at the ground while waiting tables.

Not every giant who works or goes there will treat him like a nuisance who shouldn’t be there.

But for those who do, would he feel comfortable knowing not even his boss cares if he’s safe or not?

“…what’s the updated job description?”

“Greeter,” Scott grunted, watched the surprised expression before he continued. “As well as animatronic watcher, coordinator, and on-hand assistant.”

“Like, on-hand-?”

“I can guarantee you will be grabbed randomly multiple times without being asked first, and not just by David. Your potential coworkers weren’t too happy about me being there. Not as much as your boss, but they won’t respect your preference on how to be picked up. Or if you’d want to be in a hand at all for that matter.”

Fritz looked down in thought. Nearly flinched at someone stepping outside the human hallway they walked in to speak privately.

Snapped his head up with something akin to panic. “Did they touch you-”

“No,” Scott stated gently. Smirked. “They know not to so much as look at me. I’m worried about you.”

Fritz hadn’t known where exactly the human blatantly worried for his safety has in the chain of command. Knew he was the person to go to when it came to hiring, finalizing reports for those who ‘quit’ or got fired, but even a lowly waiter knew the name ‘Scott Cawthon’ held respect and power behind it.

He didn’t have to ask the redhead. Could’ve denied David’s request for any number of reasons without even bringing it up to said employee. Or approved without a second thought and let the teenager get thrown into a circumstance without so much as a warning.

But he had gone to the restaurant. Berated the giant none too fond of those who stand no more than 3 inches tall.

Fritz didn’t want that to be for nothing.

“When can I start?”

Scott sighed. Ruffled his hair. Whacked him upside the head with a look that said ‘you’re an idiot’.

“Tomorrow. And heads up, he wears cologne.”

Fritz was actually confused why that had been a necessary add-on. He works around giants all day long, and never had that been brought up before. He’s noticed when customers and his coworkers come in wearing it, so it’s nothing notable.

He realized why on his first day at his ‘new’ job.

He wasn’t really paying attention at first. David hadn’t been at the door to greet him, instead waiting inside his office just like he had with Scott. Meaning Fritz was more focused on simply surviving the restaurant.

No one would open the door for him. It was Fritz vs. making the perfect timing behind a family while avoiding catastrophic shoes and a slow but very unhuman friendly door.

No one would look at him for more than one second, and even then it was only to sneer down at him. So he had to locate the elusive office himself.

No one would offer a hand either, meaning he was thoroughly terrified trying to get to the wall to travel in safety, forced to sprint as fast as possible and hope some kid didn’t stomp or grab him.

Once he reached the hallway toward the back of the restaurant, had gotten far enough from joyful screams of kids he could actually hear his own thoughts, that’s when he realized two things.

One, he made a terrible mistake agreeing to be transferred.

Two, he could smell something warm with a hint of a spiced undertone.

Fritz didn’t think much of it other than it being a weird second thought. He only continued to travel further into the hallway after spotting a sliver of light escaping from a doorway.

On the plus side, there weren’t any giants walking in and out of the hallway. He was able to take his time and let his racing heart slowly calm down.

But the closer he got, and admittedly worried that if that had been the greeting he received from his coworkers than how is his boss going to react, he couldn’t shake the smell from his thoughts.

It kept getting stronger. Nearly dizzying. He could pick out specific notes from floral, to ‘earthy’, to chocolate.

It hit him as soon as he knocked on the door barely open enough for a human to slip inside. Remembered Scott warning about David wearing cologne.

“I do believe you’re 5 minutes late.”

Fritz tensed up, allowing terror to clench his heart, truly afraid he might be crushed without a second thought. And of course, no one would care. No one would report a lowly human employee ‘disappearing’.

Scott would.

He took a deep breath, nearly choking on the overwhelming smell. “I’m sorry, sir. It won’t happen again.”

Since the beginning of the meeting, he hadn’t been looked at once. The giant suited man remained turned toward his computer, speaking without even looking at the teenager he wanted to hire. But finally hazel eyes much colder than Scott’s glanced over at him.

“Make sure you’re here ten minutes early tomorrow.”

You know, I wonder what I’d prefer. Death by a glare, or death by suffocation via perfume.

“Yes sir.”

Surprisingly, that was the end of it. No specific task to complete. No instructions on what his first day should have. Not even a tour. He was dismissed.

So Fritz did as Fritz’s do. He found the animatronics and immediately struck a deal of having a safe way of getting around the restaurant as well as back up if need be. The best part? He had a long list of bribes thought of on how to convince them to help, but apparently them interacting with a human was enough to bargain with.

And that was that. He had coworkers he could trust as much as possible because Lefty gets grabby when Orville’s around and a boss who ‘trusted’ him on knowing what to do.

He learned the flow of Fazbear Entertainment Center as well as the rules. It really boiled down to getting work done in a timely manner and never bug David. And that meant, if there’s a problem, you make someone ‘David’.

It used to be the day guard named Greg. Until Greg was faced with the issue that Lefty apparently couldn’t keep his paws off the arcade machines. Their boss said ‘take care of it’ and his giant coworker had no idea what to do.

Fritz knew he wasn’t turned to because they realized he didn’t just teleport from place to place. Knew his giant coworkers didn’t pay attention to who exactly swept him off the counter. With the smug look given before a singsong ‘Red!’ it’s safe to say they thought this would be the thing to get him fired.

It’s a right of passage being ‘David’. Fail, and you’re fired without hesitation. Pass, and you get to keep your job.

“Hey Lefty? What if we challenged each other’s high score on the game you choose. I win, you promise to only play before we open and after we close.”

“I win, and I get to challenge you once a day whenever I want.”

Fritz won. Unlike the bear, his other coworkers thought he was delusional for one, trying to bargain with Lefty, and two, think he could play a machine meant only for giants. As if there’s no fancy electronics that can be plugged into any game and allow him to play normally. And if they cared about his safety, they would’ve realized long ago all of the animatronics not only helped him, but respected him with the things he did to make their day better.

Of course, that problem was an easy fix in his eyes.

The issue was that he became ‘David’.

Sometimes it was about the animatronics fighting. Others it was about his coworkers. But a large portion/ was calming angry customers.

He’ll admit, it was draining. But it earned him a lot of respect being able to navigate the best solution for an upset mother or Greg angry at Lefty for hiding his things.

He loves the bear, but the bear is the bane of his existence.

The thing is, with being ‘David’, the true David Harrison took notice.

“Fritz.”

The redhead had to force himself not to jump at the semi-familiar voice he only distantly heard. Because why would the business man waste his time on lowly employees, especially the one human he hired.

Which was fine with Fritz! He didn’t want to be constantly berated with comments of ‘pest’ or looks of hatred or be terrified he’ll get grabbed in a fist and squeezed as if he’s some kind of living stress ball-

“Yes sir?”

“Are you able to join me in my office?”

I don’t have a choice, do I?

“Of course!”

He should’ve expected it. He was standing on the counter for the register. Near the edge because, with how many times his coworkers both giant and animatronics alike grab him, it makes it easier for everyone to just pluck him from his work.

It scared him with the speed David grabbed him. And then he was overwhelmed by the suffocating smell of vanilla/earth/flower.

He couldn’t breathe. And being held in a tighter fist than most giants didn’t help either.

By the time they got to the office, Fritz simply freed onto the desk to catch himself from falling on his face, he felt light-headed.

It’s a miracle he hadn’t tripped and fell. Not with how he stumbled a few times before standing with his legs apart, hands held straight on either side, the world seeming to spin, and with each deep breath he took he was only slapped with yet another wave of the cologne.

David stared at him with an unamused look. “What are you doing?”

Fritz panted, trying to breathe without perfume tainting the air, coughing as it just seems to be everywhere. “C-Cologne.”

He received a blank stare. And knowing Scott being as thoughtful as he was, he’s sure the eldest guard had made a comment about it.

It looks like he’ll just have to get used to it.

. . .

David realizes he is the only one who doesn’t realize how much his actions effect humans.

He’ll admit, he’s egotistical. And despite the fact he’s a giant and therefore should be knowledge of how his actions effect those no taller than 3 inches less tall, he doesn’t take the time to be self-aware concerning the smaller counterparts until he’s addressed and told he needs to change a few habits.

It happened when he didn’t watch the ground as he walked, something Vincent had to physically yank him back from possibly stepping on Scott.

It happened when he didn’t realize he turns whatever he’s holding into a stress ball, James seemingly appearing to save Fritz with the redhead too panicked to speak.

It happened when he allowed himself to forget he had a human in his pocket, Mike promising to kick his ass if he ever forgot about a Jerber, and by extension, Irish Jig, Egged Jackass, Hell Spawn, or Phone Guy ever again.

David trusts the others to tell him when he needs to pay more attention, or change something in his routine. Not because he truly trusts them, but because he has much better things to do than realize what the humans he interacts with need.

The only problem is, while the other giants are more self-aware and therefore will watch and teach him how to ensure no one gets severely injured by his hands, they don’t know everything. And if one of his human ‘coworkers’ ever brought up something to him, he would’ve forgotten about it in seconds.

That’s what he believed happened with his cologne. Because Vincent doesn’t count when it came to his first week of meeting the mutated grape.

The only time David remembers anyone bringing up his cologne was during a birthday party at what’s considered Fazbear Entertainment’s ‘first location’. Considering Mike’s the night guard, he’s usually asked to assist the day guard to ensure everyone is safe. Especially due to the restaurant being a mixed one for humans and giants alike, a large party can become concerning.

The only problem was Mike getting sick and needing to stay home.

If this had been before multiple locations being shut down and needing to turn a new leaf less the entire franchise is shut down for good, any human would’ve been asked. Meaning Jeremy would’ve been contacted, though most likely Scott being forced to take his place.

But this was after. So to keep up the good name David bent over backwards to accomplish, a giant had to be found.

Vincent was an obvious no. James apparently had classes to attend.

That’s why David of all people got summoned.

“You do realize I’m a restaurant owner,” he growled down at Scott. Who, surprisingly, hadn’t looked smug in the slightest seeing him at Mike’s location instead of his own. More just looked tired.

He hated it more that Fritz, Eggs, and Scott had been told to come as well. But apparently three humans working together can’t replace an actual giant.

“David, I might be your supervisor, but Afton had to approve someone ‘unqualified’ to take role of a day guard.”

“No one’s qualified.”

“That’s why I put air quotes around it. Just watch for any humans getting grabbed. Mike can do it, so it can’t be that hard.”

David knew what the bastard was doing, comparing him to Mike of all people. But it worked, and he fell silent. Obediently watched the running kids. Upset with himself he had forgotten to bring earplugs considering he can’t duck into his office once a headache began to form.

Realized with a start Fritz had seemingly disappeared from the human area.

In the back of his mind, he knew the redhead at worked at that location previous to being transferred. He also was aware that, despite Mike being Mike, their lead guard knew how to protect both humans and giants alike. Was arguably the best for keeping track and stopping some brat from snatching someone up before it happened.

David doesn’t really watch his only human employee in the giant only restaurant he owns. He both loathes and appreciates the comparison, but he is a bit like Afton in the way Scott is protected purely by name and association across all locations. Everyone who comes into Fazbear Entertainment Center knows Fritz is his human that is never to be touched.

But unlike Afton, no one at Freddy Fazbear’s know the redhead is his. Not when he’s only stopped at the location previously to draft plans on better improving the reputation past the ‘rumors’ of murder and missing night guards.

David cursed before quickly leaving his post, eyes scanning across tables in the hopes of spotting a living action figure having been abandoned. He moved onto searching the floor, wanting to not think about any human attempting to dodge and hide from giants unknowing and uncaring if the smaller counterparts ended up underfoot.

While his search was methodical, he didn’t see a single glimpse of a human. No miniscule flame of-

“HARRISON!”

David froze. Turned toward where he could’ve sworn he heard “Eggs?”

“TABLE! PARTY HAT!”

The business man hadn’t known what he was expecting, but it certainly hadn’t been the human mechanic breathing in relief when a cheap purple and red hat was lifted up to free him. Yet there he was, and David had no choice but to offer a hand that was immediately leapt onto.

Despite the fact Fritz was still missing, he took a moment to look at the chosen item to keep Eggs trapped. “Were you yelling my name the entire time?”

“If you ever became a human 101,” the blond began, slumped into the curled fingers cupped protectively against the giant’s chest. “Don’t ever make a sound until you know a trusted giant is around.”

“How the hell did you know it was me?”

“Dude, I can smell you from a mile away. We need to get Fritz from Freddy, though.”

The idea of Eggs apparently smelling him left his mind the second the human he specifically went looking for was brought up. “Freddy as in…”

Eggs gave him a look like he was losing it. “Fazbear? How many Freddy’s do you know!”

David rolled his eyes. Dropped the blond into his suit pocket. Made his way over to the animatronics locked on stage. “How would I immediately assume Freddy Fazbear had him.”

“Because despite that fact he’s your employee,” said bear begun with a growl, David left frozen at the hostile tone. “You allowed someone to grab him right in front of you.”

“Have anything to say for yourself, David?” Chica added, looking smug as hell.

David. Demeaning and angry attitudes. He had forgotten not all locations were like his animatronics, programmed to address everyone formally by last name and be nothing more than passive aggressive.

“It’s busy,” the giant bristled. “And I realized he was missing and went looking for him. Now hand him over.”

Freddy’s ears flicked unhappily, but his paw offered the redhead as Bonnie snipped “Shit wouldn’t have let either of them get swiped.”

“Well I’m not Mike. Your fucked up night guard will be back by tonight.”

The animatronics didn’t say anything else as he walked away. Or maybe they had, and he was too focused on checking Fritz over for injuries.

“Mr. Harrison, I’m fine,” told him the human had been more shaken up than he let on, voice wavered and hands shook as his prodding fingers were shoved away. “Thank you for finding us.”

“Thanks for trapping me in a pocket, bitch!”

Scott agreed to forcing the two to have a time out once they were put where they belonged. It wasn’t able to be long, not with the party still scheduled for another hour, but David didn’t let any of the three out of his sight after that.

That’s what lands them to now, with him frozen at the door after walking in for their weekly get-together after Eggs called over to him.

“Harrison, is that a new perfume?”

David mentally stumbles over his words until he finally manages a few. “You can smell it from there?”

He can barely see where the blond stands on a table several feet away. He’d be impressed if he wasn’t unnerved and hoping it was guessed purely to try and get inside his head.

He can’t even confirm the miniscule head is tilting in confusion. “Uh, yeah?”

No fucking way.

“No you can’t.”

“Still an earthy smell like your other one,” Scott joins in, freezing David in his tracks once again. “There’s a really small hint of vanilla instead of chocolate. Vince would be the one who can name the flower if he was here tonight, but that’s different too.”

How in the hell-

“Please tell me it’s not on your wrists,” Fritz pipes up if a bit tiredly.

“What’s that supposed to mean!”

At the sound of him being almost distraught, everyone at the table looks over at him, the humans exchanging looks.

“David,” Scott probes. His gentle tone encourages the giant to finally walk the last stretch to the table. “Do you realize just how much your cologne affects us?”

“No.”

“Vince told me he addressed it with you on your first day,” the human deadpans.

David can believe that. He’s also aware of how much the purple man is a bitch.

“I had also made a comment…” Eggs prods.

Yes. Though it was small. And again, he can’t trust the blond for shit.

Scott face palms as frustration slowly appears. “I also told you when we first met.”

Now David does not remember that in the slightest.

The business man looks the information over in his head. Turns it this way and that. Comes to the conclusion the humans in their group including Fritz are being dramatic. Though it’s hard to explain knowing the key notes to his newest cologne, Eggs could’ve found out and did reckon before tonight just to mess with him.

Despite being silent before, James straightens up. “So, much like how our voices are loud even when we’re whispering, smells act in the same way.”

David doesn’t miss Fritz glancing between him and the horror guard. “Right. When giants wear cologne or perfume, it’s pretty potent. Sometimes gets a little overwhelming, especially around the wrists if we’re picked up.”

“Then it might be a good idea we’re conscious of not wearing too much. Never on the wrists.”

David knows what James was doing. This is how he explained humans shouldn’t be treated like a stress ball at least unknowingly, a calm and specific explanation so it’s easy to understand.

Of course, it works. He’ll change his habits concerning putting cologne on before leaving the house. “You’ll just have to deal with it tonight.”

“Because James said something,” Scott snaps.

“Be happy I'm listening at all.”

“Because you never do!” the eldest guard exclaims, standing up as he begins to gesture. “I guarantee Fritz brought up not being able to breathe at least three times before giving up. I did bring it up and proved it when we first met, but you didn’t bother to even remember. Eggs constantly patronizes you with comments regarding it. But you don’t listen until a God damned giant tells you!”

Well I can trust a giant’s judgement, I can’t trust a human’s.

David nearly says it. And then he sees Fritz’s expression like he’d been betrayed.

“I…hadn’t realized,” the giant says carefully.

Scott narrows his eyes. Eggs makes a motion that says ‘bullshit’.

“In the future,” David sighs. “I will try to listen better.”

“Bet $50 it’ll last a week at the most.”

“$100 it’s two,” the business man immediately fires back at the smug looking blond.

“I’ll give it a day,” Scott snarls.

#thank you anon! #i am so sorry for how long it took #just would not want to be finished #but we did it HAHA #thank you for being so considerate ^^ #but there ain't really anything I won't enjoy writing #and besides that's DEFINITELY something Fritz would clap back with #“You taste like Starbursts” #“You smell like chocolate on fire” #it's cannon David wears cologne now #g/t #giant #tiny #FNAF bois #Ignorance At Its Finest #BTE writing #answer #cw #content warning

[devil-doll13]

Wax & Wane

(Part 2)

Tw: Swearing, Implied Death, Violence, Blood, Gun, brief mentions of Torture bc Abby is unhinged and so are the Sinclairs lbr

Part 2!!! I am on a roll here and hopefully it will follow me until the next and final chapter. Also I ended up coming up with this headcanon that baby Vincent had a secret way to get in and out of the basement as a child, I don’t know how much sense that makes in canon but who cares.

Ellie and Percy who are mentioned briefly here belong to @rottent33th and @the-pinstriped-hood respectively

Summary: On discovering that her car and therefore only means of escape has been stolen, Abigail sees no other way out other than to confront the charismatic serial killer and mechanic Bo

Part 1

Dividers by firefly-dividers

Bo hadn’t expected the dark-haired woman to return from her trip to the House of Wax.

In fact, he’d already transported her car to his storage area for safekeeping - had to hotwire the damn thing - because he was so sure his twin would get her first. He could only hope she hadn’t noticed that her vehicle was missing yet…

He swore quietly under his breath as he unlocked the door to his workshop in the gas station. It was his idea the entire time that he’d give her to Vincent to kill; Bo knew he liked the strange ones. So when he’d seen her staring vacantly into the glass door of his garage - as if hypnotised by something beyond his comprehension - he knew that there must be some miscommunication at play here. He’d have to have a little word with his brother about this later…

Bo peeked out of the doorway to see the outsider having suddenly switched intentions, deciding to stare directly at him instead of blankly into his window. Or perhaps she was seeing through him; she had a sort of glazed over look, like some kind of druggie. He forced himself to beam a practised smile back at her.

Something just wasn't right about that woman.

“Sorry, was just in a rush to get somethin.’” He explained quickly, determined not to meet her accusatory eyes. “Here I thought your car had broke down, turns out someone else’s did! Heh.” He pretended to rummage through his tools for something important.

No reply.

Bo didn’t like it when these things got complicated. He’d have to get her when her back was turned or something because was getting damned tired of her weird aura hanging around him. He walked briskly back into the shop entrance and hauled his toolbox onto a nearby workbench.

“…Where is my car?” The woman’s voice was quiet.

His left eye twitched at this.

“Just where ya’ left it!” He replied flippantly, mimicking the casual lilt of his polite victim-greeting persona; his better half.

An overlong beat until she responded.

He glanced nonchalantly over his shoulder, and continued to stir up his toolbox like he was brewing some kind of metallic soup.

“We both know it isn’t.”

He stopped.

“…It isn’t?”

“No.”

There was silence between them for some time. He grit his teeth as he ignored her chilly glare. Despite the usually stifling Louisiana heat outside, he felt the temperature drop drastically in the shop. He mistook it for a rogue gust of wind; though he realised did not remember opening that upper window…

Bo puffed out a breath as he reached up to shut it.

She knows.

It didn’t matter how she found out. Either way, she knew. And that was a problem. One that he had to fix now that his twin hadn’t…

“Huh. Well, I can’t say I do know.” He said, keeping his voice subdued and measured. All friendly like.

(The steel handle of a hefty monkey wrench gleamed in the afternoon sun. His fingers wiggled in anticipation. Her head was surely soft. Easily breakable. It would be over in an instant.)

“But between you and me, there are a few folks in this town who aren’t entirely decent…” He continued.

Bo turned around in place to give her an innocent shrug of his shoulders. There was a cold new weight in the pocket of his greasy blue coveralls.

“I can believe that.” She spat harshly.

He grinned fiendishly down at her, bracing himself against the workbench. She was poorly concealing a scowl, reminding him of some kind of nasty stray cat.

(If she was clever like one, she’d give up on fighting and let him kill her quick and easy.)

“Well, It mighta’ been one of them… But I’m afraid I can’t help you with that.” He offered a mockingly sympathetic gaze. “Real busy, as ya’ can see.”

Bo couldn’t help but relish a little in her trepidation as he prowled forward. He noticed she had her arm curled around her bag and quirked a cruel eyebrow.

Got a lil’ switchblade there, huh? That’s adorable.

He circled around her like a predator, watching her in amusement as she stiffened up. Her whole body was taut and rigid, muscles trembling. Clearly she was anticipating his next move. Bo leered at her. There was no longer any kind of pretence between them, so he didn’t bother hiding his malicious intent now.

They both exploded into motion.

His victim made a break for it; or she appeared to. Bo was too fast and caught her anyway. He swung his wrench down low and felt it make contact with something hard and breakable. Then an object made of cold, wet metal hit the side of his cheek.

Suddenly he was left blinded. All he could see was pure, searing white.

A disgustingly unpleasant taste discharged inside his mouth, sharp and coppery like he’d been crunching on coins. His teeth festered in agony like they were about to rot right in his skull. Bo clutched his head as he doubled over in pain, his weapon clattering forgotten to the ground. He could hear some kind of distant yelp just above the ringing in his ears, and the quick scuff of boots followed by the slam of a door.

For those few seconds existing itself became unbearable. Bo felt like his very soul had just been ripped out of his chest. His heart pounded violently in his ribcage and for a moment it felt like it would actually seize up and kill him. His vision swam for what seemed like an eternity until he could finally make out the garage floor again.

What the fuck had she done to him?

“Shit!” He hissed, squeezing his eyes shut as he endured a throbbing headache. That must have been like some kind of - some kind of flashbang…

There was a rusty brooch by his feet that made him feel violently nauseous when he looked at it. He kicked it away hurriedly, feeling dizzy from vertigo as he tried to form a coherent thought. His nerves were completely fried; everything that touched his skin seemed to burn it. Hot sticky sweat had completely drenched him, but his blood ran icily cold.

A sense of urgency struck him, and he spit curses as he realised that freak had made her quick escape while he was distracted by that - that fucking thing she threw at him!

Gnashing his teeth, he snatched up his wrench again and barrelled out the door of his workshop…

…But she was nowhere to be seen. Only a vast stretch of the Ambrose road - sizzling with Summer heat - met his eyes, and empty sidewalks untraveled for years.

“Hey!” Bo hollered. His voice was hoarse and cracked.

It echoed right back at him. His head throbbed painfully again as he blocked the sun from his eyes.

She was gone.

“Damn it!” He swore loudly, seething. Frustration bubbled up in his aching brain, and he stormed angrily back into the workshop, chucking the wrench haphazardly onto the floor. He stomped into the back to retrieve his double-barrelled shotgun.

Fuck it, Vincent could just hide the damage with clothing; she sure wore plenty of black to hide the bloodstains with. He was too pissed off right now to care anyway. Whatever she’d just done to him was indescribable. It felt like it had come from inside his own mind rather than his body.

That, and he had to protect his family. He knew Vincent would probably be fine, and Percy he could generally trust to look after herself, but… He had a bad feeling that he was dealing with strange forces beyond his grasp, and that lack of control was enough to drive another spike of pure fury through his mind.

And there’s Ellie… She oughta be around here somewhere. The thought of another rogue would-be-victim hurting her like that enraged him.

He couldn’t let that happen again, not to his Ellie.

A terrible thought entered his mind then. What if he hadn’t been the first person she’d attacked? What if it had been Vincent? Or… Or…

Bo shook his head as he stubbornly cast it out. No. He’d blow her guts out before she could even try.

He loaded the double-barrel up and cocked it with a satisfying click. It looked like he’d be on the hunt himself today.

Unfortunately Bo’s search in the old movie theatre had turned up no clues as to where she went, and all of the abandoned houses were completely empty; bereft of all life. It didn’t help that that godforsaken woman could blend perfectly in the shadows, so he really had to keep his eyes peeled in this case. He hadn’t heard a peep yet, and nothing from Vincent or Percy or any of the others either. It was beginning to feel like he was really living in a ghost town now. At this point he was left to wander the junkyard out in the open, which didn’t reassure him. He felt too vulnerable now in the broad open air, even with plenty of cars to take cover behind.

Bo figured she might’ve felt the same, though. And he was the one with the gun.

The saving grace here was the fact that the victim’s car was still hidden in a more secretive area, and Bo had been diligent in quickly removing all driving capabilities from the other cars lying around the place. After the last incident, he thought it best that his quarry had nowhere to run if let loose on the premises. Without the advantage of a getaway vehicle, Bo would drag them back kicking and screaming if he had to.

But the thing is, she’d just up and vanished. God knows where she’d be in the maze of old buildings around Ambrose.

Or maybe she even had the nerve to go running out on foot; he’d had those before as well.

The clouds up above darkened now, and the low rumble of thunder reverberated in his bones. The skies churned and roiled, pregnant with malevolence. Tiny, sharp spits of rain dribbled out and splashed coldly on his flesh. If he was in his right mind he might’ve been liable to see this as a warning sign.

But the fact of the matter was that he was not; what had happened earlier had affected him greatly. A dull, persistent pulse on his brain still pained him. He felt sick and feverish; he was sweating so bad he felt like he’d just gone swimming in boiling hot water.

A sudden blinding flash maybe fifteen sixteen feet away made Bo flinch, and a deafening crack like a gunshot left his ears ringing. He heard the raucous bursting of a windscreen, and the acrid stench of something like burning wires reached his nostrils.

Was that actually…

Another vicious fork of green tinged lightning erupted from above and struck the back window of a car nearby, shattering it to tiny glass pieces.

“Jesus!” He swore. How could lightning have struck in one place so many times?! Bo forward from where he had taken cover behind another car, peering over carefully toward the car that had been hit. Glass spilled over the dented bonnet, smoking thick dark fumes of noxious gas from where it had been hit.

It was getting closer now!

… But what was most disturbing was his discovery of a black tarlike substance oozing out from the windshield and onto the ground, something like he’d never seen before. It smelled strongly of rotten eggs and sulphur. He wrinkled up his nose in disgust at the stench.

This ain’t normal…

Was God just angry at him today? He seriously considered it, feeling an uneasy feeling settle in his gut. He could think of many reasons why He probably would be… Well, everything seemed to be going fine until she showed up. He wanted to grumble at how difficult she was being. While he did enjoy the chase now and again, that was usually because they were on uneven footing; with him as the aggressor of course. He didn’t like how mysterious this situation was.

Bo’s eyes scanned his surroundings, a tad bit more wary now. He kept a firm grip on his gun, prepared to dodge any further fulminations. A chorus of soft cawings and wingflaps sounded behind him as a number of forebodingly black birds took flight. He felt an ominous sense of dread well up in his chest as silence replaced the noise from earlier. Something in the air shifted, almost imperceptible. He held his breath.

But… He thought he heard furtive whispering from nearby, chanting something unfathomable to him, like in another language…

Then, a swish of black fabric, there!

He fired, at this stage not caring much about the collateral damage. His gun was monstrously loud, spraying hot metal everywhere; if she was caught in his rather broad line of fire she would surely end up mangled, and he rather liked that notion.

The black shroud flitted in panic-stricken daze from car to car and he tenaciously pursued it, reloading and firing again and again, until he was led out of the junkyard and towards the greater town area. Now that he had seen the victim and established a proper chase, the scales of fortune seemed to tip ever so slightly in his favour!

Reentering inner Ambrose, Bo’s eyes scoured the empty streets as he listened carefully for hasty footsteps and laboured breathing. He drifted instinctively toward the winding path leading up to the House of Wax and it was there he noticed his little victim’s unfortunate error:

Forgot to close the door properly, huh?

Bo smirked slyly.

He leaned against it heavily with his shoulder. It creaked steadily open, revealing the ancient and stately old halls of the House of Wax.

It appeared empty from here, but Bo knew better. The only other person in this town who had a better sense of when this place was disturbed was Vincent. He could see where dust hadn’t settled right; almost like footprints in snow. Ellie didn’t understand why at first, but part of the reason why they never properly cleaned it was in order to better flush out runaway victims…

Like this one.

He licked his chops in anticipation, creeping around every dimly lit hallway. The sickly greenish tint of the peeling wallpaper only reminded him of how satisfying it would be to see her filthy blood sprayed all over it. A floorboard creaked precariously beneath him as he came to a halt by the stairs. He listened closely and, smiling to himself, could hear the telltale wheezes of an unathletic runner, far too tired to escape him now. coming ever closer. He’d cornered her this time.

Bo searched the environment for any signs of the fluttering black fabric again, cocking his gun in preparation.

“I know you’re in here…” He chuckled darkly, “Don’t bother tryna’ hide from me…”

He thought he caught another strange whisper echoing off the and felt the air pressure drop again, and couldn’t help but recall the agitation he felt back at the old junkyard. Whatever weird trick she had pulled earlier, she was going for it again!

All so she could pull out the rug from underneath him; but he needed to keep this upper hand.

“Hey!” He bellowed, mood souring once again.

But then, a glimpse of green eyes from across the long hall; there she was, looking right back at him!

It happened all at once: the dark little figure dashed to the left and tried to make a break for one of the inner exhibition rooms, but with superior instinct he aimed and, heart racing, he fired straight at her with a thunderous shotgun blast!

In the din, his ears strained to pick up a quiet gasp, strangled in an attempt to restrain itself. Silence followed, and the lack of footfalls almost made him believe his victory was already won. He prowled forward eagerly to survey what damage he’d done, and with a gleaming eye he looked down…

There, on the floor: a tiny splash of blood pooling on the floorboards, leaking into the basement below…

A triumphant smirk graced his lips.

Heh… Got her.

Abigail's breath hitched as she clamped down on her upper arm, dark crimson rivulets of blood escaping through her pale, trembling fingers.

Her corrupted brooch obviously wasn’t enough to slow that mad bastard down, though it did give her a opening at that crucial moment… Must’ve been a rather strong-willed one this time… Shit. Her mind was completely frayed with unanswered questions and adrenaline. She tried to gather herself together to develop some kind of… Some kind of plan, but she was exhausted and starving and in pain, and all her thoughts led to nowhere.

She had hidden in a cramped and unlit little wall passage, probably too small for her attacker to fit in at all. He was bigger and stronger than her - as all men generally were - and therein lay the problem. Abigail had no hope of taking him in a physical fight. Now that she realised he had a shotgun, and had already felt the painful sting of a bullet cluster, she knew it would be only a matter of time before he caught her with it and then it would all be over. Abigail licked her lips. She wasn’t quite ready to die just yet. Not again; not in here, at least. She really had to think of an escape plan, and fast.

She grimaced in frustration. There were many situations she could have predicted and prepared for, but a murder town? Now that was a new one… In her haste she’d so stupidly come waltzing in, practically defenceless, and fell right into his orchestrated little death trap. She wouldn’t be making that idiotic mistake again, assuming she survived all this.

Luckily she had been only grazed by that shot, but next time she might not be so fortunate. Another sharp, stabbing pain through her chest told her that she probably had a cracked rib from when he’d got her with that wrench too. It hurt her to breathe, but she was cautiously mindful of keeping her presence here concealed. She could still hear Bo’s heavy footsteps weighing on the floorboards outside…

Damn it. She chewed her lip anxiously. If only she had her grimoire, but it was still in her car… The car that had obviously been stolen and taken off to god knows where. It didn’t even seem to be in that old junkyard; and he’d chased her off rather too quickly to be thorough in her search anyway. Abigail doubted Elvis-lite knew that Black Book’s importance to her, but not having it still made protecting herself unnecessarily difficult.

The grandiose flair of piano keys, unfurling in a dramatic fashion, suddenly made her jump from where she was pressed closely together in the passageway.

Is that… Beethoven?

Abigail knit her brows together and leaned down to try and listen more clearly. It was Beethoven…

It was dark, but the walls stank heavily of half-melted wax and felt rubbery to the touch. They were narrow and winding, but apparently they led somewhere. She shimmied forward, feeling a tad claustrophobic. It almost seemed like it was meant more for a small child than an adult… Either way, she was eager to move farther away from the immediate threat of the gun-toting mechanic.

After sliding herself across the passage for a few seconds, she felt her wounded body hit a tiny door just like the one she’d used to get in moments ago. Wincing in pain at the impact, she felt around for a door handle and found one. The music was loud and clear now; it vibrated straight through the knob. She considered for a moment if this was a sensible idea or not, but going out the alternate way was basically just suicide at this point.

It squeaked open ever-so-slightly, and she peeked cautiously out to see into the basement. Perhaps it would’ve been more apt to describe it as an art studio; a number of scattered easels and paint littered the space, although organised in a manner that implied they were still in frequent use. On the walls hung various tools and equipment, some appearing strangely surgical. There was also an unfinished wax figure standing upright in the centre of the workshop, illuminated by a large number of flickering wax candles. It felt ritualistic, almost. It reminded her of her own black magick altars.

This must be that place… a sense of recognition came over her as she connected the dots.

All she had really garnered from Brian’s anguishing spirit was that he had been murdered by a man here; out of nowhere had his achilles tendon cut, dragged into this basement and encased in wax until he died a slow, painful death. He was rather too beside himself to tell her anything else.

To be frank, Abigail didn’t care too much about him, but what bothered her was the fact that she was clearly supposed to be Bo’s next victim to be presumably displayed in the museum. Now, he didn’t immediately strike her as the artistic type, but he was obviously hiding plenty behind that mask of his as it was.

Speaking of masks…

A collection of them decorated the walls. They appeared eerily like wax recreations of the Bo’s charming features, progressing from crude and almost malformed, to neater and more sophisticated castings. She knit her brows together thoughtfully. This came across to her as slightly odd. Why would he make so many based on his own image when he clearly had plenty of other material to work off of? Was he just a narcissist and wanted to admire his own face? Now he did strike her as someone who would do that.

A little amused at the thought despite her situation, she crawled out of the little space once she made sure there was definitely no one else around. Now Abigail realised the source of the music was an ancient gramophone perched on one of the workbenches. It was extremely hot in the basement, and a sort of dampness clung to the air, as humid as it was in the Louisiana Summer outside.

She felt damp sweat build up on her face and let out a puff of air. It seemed like she would be momentarily safe here, if slightly uncomfortable. Examining the room a little more closely, she noticed there were a few more obvious signs of the basement being regularly used: several articles of clothing hung up on a coat-hanger, mostly cable-knit sweaters and paint stained aprons, though some appeared speckled with what appeared to be blood. Some of them seemed to belong to a man, but others that were there were also smaller and brighter in colour… And they seemed to be older, as well.

Abigail roamed curiously around the studio, picking out choice pieces among the artworks. Some of them were finished, but had not been displayed for some reason, When she came closer, she realised they had also been signed ‘Vincent’ as the ones upstairs had been…

She saw an icy blue light appear from behind her in a nearby hand mirror. She was almost about to consider what electronic devices were being kept in this room - which seemed distinctly old and dated - when she suddenly recognised it as a human eye.

Abigail had barely any time to react as a sharp, ornate knife sliced at her uninjured arm, and she reeled around with a cry of pain. The eye belonged to a tall man with hair as long and black as her own; and she noticed he was wearing a mask just like the ones on the wall. It was an unnaturally smooth, familiar face that dipped him straight into the uncanny valley.

Shit. So there was another one!

A sting on her cheek and she flinched back. He had made a broad swipe to slash her neck but was too far away, striding forward with long, slender legs to close the distance. Abigail’s hands reached for anything she could possibly slow him down with, settling on upturning a nearby table and several art supplies. They clattered noisily to the floor as she dashed just out of his arms’ reach.

Heart thundering wildly in her chest, she scrambled up a path of waxen stairs and out of the basement into the foyer, then further into the deeper parts of the museum, past all the wax statues and ghostly beckoning calls. She even barrelled into an unsuspecting Bo and sent him swearing angrily to the floor along with his gun.

She didn’t have the time to worry about him. Her murderous pursuer gave chase behind her; a cold malicious spike pricked the back of her neck and she felt him try to grab at her hair. Abigail threw several objects at him and once or twice made obstacles from furniture and supernaturally locked doors. But she knew he would eventually gain on her with his powerful gait; furiously kicking through wood and sending splinters flying through the musty air.

Abigail shielded her body from the debris with her bare arms, earning herself numerous scratches as she did so. She could hear Bo shouting at his long-haired clone from down the hallway and was forced into another thickly cobwebbed corner of the house in order to evade a deadly shotgun blast that obliterated the dusty wallpaper. These two clearly knew this place far better than she did; and she was steadily running out of options. The maze of exhibit rooms was closing in and here she was scurrying about like a rat in a cage.

It was then that she rushed breathlessly into the display where she had last spoken to the deceased Brian. A rather brilliant idea came to her when she saw those lifeless brown eyes staring pleadingly at her once more, and she could feel herself grin wickedly in response.

We share a mutual enemy…

Staining her fingers against her cut cheek, she chanted an incantation and reached into his permanently open mouth to smear her vile blackened blood onto his tongue. With this, Abigail would allow him to carry out a little revenge on her behalf.

The blade meant for a killing blow to her gut instead met the waxy arms of her newly resurrected thrall. The killer’s single blue eye blew wide open in shock as it met those of his former victim, now reanimated. An impossible feat, surely…?!

But that once vacant, empty stare now glared back at him with burning hatred. A strong hand came to clamp viciously over his throat and he sliced it off instantly, but his wax creation stubbornly continued his fierce attacks. The undead monstrosity bit and scratched at him, eventually heaving its entire body weight on the masked man. It gave her just enough of a distraction to get away.

Abigail snatched up a beautifully painted floral vase and hurled it at a nearby window. The glass broke spectacularly, and she threw herself out onto the dry grass outside, whining in pain as she ripped her bare legs open. Scrambling to her feet, her pulse thudded hard in her ears as she broke into a full sprint through the nearby bush land. She almost cackled at how clean of a break that was; at his horrified reaction.

An angry shout that she knew came from Bo called out behind her. She didn’t bother to look over her shoulder to see if either of the two were following; her vision was obscured by green and brown as she charged forward. Her already injured thighs were scratched painfully by brambles and she grit her teeth achingly. She felt her ribs tighten even further into maddening pain.

Just a little more…

Night was falling now, and the dull orange hue of dusk became the evening’s only light. All she could hear was her own ragged breathing and bounding strides through the sticks. Abigail willed herself to push forward despite exhaustion trying to pull her into torpor, and her heart leaped as she suddenly escaped from the thorny thicket and saw before her another empty house. There were no lights on.

Perfect.

With the power of the only spell she could still manage, she forced open the door and slammed it shut behind her, breaking all the locks in the process.

She was submerged in complete blackness. A wave of calm washed over her as the immediate danger had passed; but she knew rightly it wasn’t over yet. She felt around for the lightswitch and a bulb hanging on the ceiling sparked to life. Her breathing levelled somewhat as she surveyed her surroundings. The house was still quite antiquated, but cleaner than any building she had been in thus far. It seemed to actually be lived in.

Perhaps it was a bad idea to break into the house of the very people who were trying to kill her, but she couldn’t do much about that now. At the very least this place looked defensible and she could feasibly hold down fort here if she was quick with her preparations. Walking briskly into the kitchen - which was again surprisingly clean and well maintained, and luckily had only way in and out - she immediately rushed over to a countertop and drew out a large, shiny kitchen knife and blocked the door with the mahogany dining table. Abigail shut the blinds without bothering to look outside. She already knew what was coming anyway.

Next she searched the cabinets for medical supplies, and quickly found them. Of course an operation like this one could prove dangerous to maintain; so they had no lack of bandages and disinfectant at least. Once she had properly cleaned her wounds up and bandaged them the best she could, she allowed herself to relax slightly. Her sore ribs still prevented her from getting entirely comfortable, though. She sighed painfully. Her body had now settled into one unending ache. She was covered in blood and dirt and sweat, and caught herself in a nearby mirror looking like a wild, feral little creature.

Right now Abigail wanted nothing more than to go full Home Alone and set up her worst curse sigils and runes for her would-be killers to run into so that she could gleefully torture them both, but… She didn’t have the time, energy or resources for all of that.

Another distant shout from Bo caused an alarm bell to ring in her head. They already knew where she was and were getting closer… She decided to stack up chairs on top of the table for extra reinforcement; it was the only door that connected to the landing, the other one led upstairs. If she really had to, she could retreat into the bedrooms and figure something out from there.

Then Abigail’s gut squirmed in a desperate plea for food, and she knew she couldn’t ignore it any longer. Her impulse led her to open the fridge door and pull out the first edible looking thing she saw: a hefty sandwich. She didn’t even care that she didn’t like onions; it tasted absolutely delicious at this moment in time. She wolfed it down eagerly, still gripping the blade in her right hand and keeping her eyes peeled. She needed to be ready.

What she didn’t notice was a white piece of paper that had floated down from where it had been dislodged. It was a small note that read:

“Property of Bo Sinclair.”

(Taglist: @rottent33th, @slaasherslut, @the-pinstriped-hood, @goldrose-star, @soupbabe, @bluecoolr, @flower-crowned-lady, @vincent-sinclair-deserved-better, @solmints-messyocdiary)

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#action! suspense! mystery! #or something #by far my longest fic thus far #I intended to have part of it as an extension of the first but it felt more cohesive together #Abigail Williams #Abigail #Abigail Williams oc #Bo #Bo Sinclair #Vincent #Vincent Sinclair #House of Wax #slasher oc #horror oc #my writing #my stuff

[holly-louisexox]

Ribcage X Andy Biersack- Part 2

*Masterlist*

"There's one thing you should know about me Delia Vincent, I don't date. Got no heart to break and emptiness is safe, keep it that way."

He was adamant in his choices...

...But then things changed.

Not my Gif

"Okay so I'm just going to run one final ear piece test, and it'll simply be a a small series of sounds, let me know if there's any issues in volume, balance or if it's all good to go." Delia explains whilst flicking through the IPad she held in her hands that contained a few master control links.

"I think we know how an ear piece works by now." Andy scoffs making sure his was in his ear and securely fitted.

"Okay, playing sounds in 3, 2, 1." Delia continues whilst ignoring Andy's rude comment. "Any issues with that?"

"Nope, spot on. Thanks Delia." CC comments which makes the others nod in agreement- besides Andy who was back to his death glare- well if he wasn't going to fully cooperate that wasn't down for Delia's error.

"Perfect. Well good luck guys. Any issues just let me know via speaking into your mics or sending some sort of signal my way and I'll look into sorting it for you." Delia smiles before walking towards where her sound desk for the venue was set up.

---------

it had reached the half way point of the performance for Black Veil Brides and thankfully there had not been any issues raised by any of the members on stage; this definitely brought some ease to the nerves Delia was feeling about the tour. From her end the balance sounded perfect with all the instruments blending in such a way that each could still be appreciated individually without one overpowering the others, even with the crowd screaming and singing along. The crowd volume was an anxiety Delia didn't even realise she had until the first song started if she was being totally honest. It was one thing to do a sound check with just the band playing, it was a whole other thing to be checking sound balance whilst also trying to make sure everything could be heard over screaming fans. This was a massive step up from doing smaller artist performances or even theatre production work that was for sure, regardless, Delia was feeling confident about her work right now and the fact that the band (excluding the dickhead that was Andy) had complete faith in her was also a helping boost.

"You look like a snack!" a fan suddenly screams as the song finished which instantly caught the attention of Andy.

"I look like a snack?" Andy asks only to be met by screams and laughter from the crowd "I assume that is a good thing?" More screams.

As much as Delia hated to admit it, this particular scene did cause a laugh from her. It just amazed her how this lead singer laughing and being confused when interacting with his fans was the same guy who had been nothing but rude to her for the whole first day that they had met.

"Believe it or not he's a decent guy deep down."

The voice of CC from earlier then echoed in Delia's head. Seeing him on stage was definitely a different side of him from what she had met earlier in the day, he clearly cared about the fans and the band.  The sudden guilt of wanting to know what had happened to him to make him such a way suddenly hit her. Surely it would be weird to go digging on the internet about him, after all, he was technically one of her employers in a way. Maybe one of the guys would spill something to her eventually? she highly doubted he would say anything about it to her, but then did she really want to know what happened?

"Uh oh, I think our new sound technician has fallen asleep on the job. Hey Delia, Jinxx's mic has stopped working, could you fix this for us please?" Andy's voice is then snapping her out of her thoughts causing her to scramble to her main controls to find the issue.

"Hey, there we go! Everyone give it up for Delia!" Jinxx then shouts into his mic causing the fans to scream- all the while Delia can see that Andy is staring at the sound booth slightly emotionless whilst passing a quick thumbs up. No doubt this will cause a massive reaction from him after the show, oh how Delia looked forward to that conversation later. So much for her first show with them running super smoothly.

-----------

"Right, okay. That is slightly inconvenient but it should be fine. Thank you so much for letting me know in advance, I know a few solutions to the issue so when we're there tomorrow I'll look into it to find the better option." Delia speaks into her phone.

The show had ended and despite the one microphone mishap that had happened to Jinxx, Delia was feeling beyond pleased with herself. About half an hour after the show had finished she had the venue for the next show contact her regarding a tech issue they had run into that night for the performer they had, which would result in some of the tech stuff she had planned not be able to run the way originally planned. It was times like this Delia was glad she had spent the extra 2 years at university to do a masters degree, if she did a Bachelor's degree alone she likely would be panicking by now. Despite this, it was still a weird concept to her of just how professional this new job of hers was. She remembers when she had to give all of the venues her number when she signed to the tour for the very reasons like this implication she was now faced with.

"Shit." Delia then mutters under her breath as she looks down at her phone after ending the call from the venue. Jinxx had explained what time they were all heading out for after show drinks and she was already running 5 minutes late. Well, a job as a sound technician sadly didn't end straight after a performance, surely they will understand her late coming.

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

"There she is! we were worried you were going to bail on us!" CC laughs as Delia walks onto the band's tour bus. At the mention of Delia's name, Andy's head instantly snaps to look at her; death glare in motion towards her.

"Here I am." Delia laughs back awkwardly, aware of Andy's disapproval. "Sorry, I had tomorrow night's  venue phone me just to brief over a slight issue they've had with their sound controls. But it'll be fine, I'll figure something out."

"Oh brilliant, another way for Delia to fuck up our set." Andy rolls his eyes before placing a kiss on the cheek of the girl who was sitting next to him silently with his arm around her shoulders. "Right, well I think it's time you leave, we'll have to start travelling soon. I'll walk you out." Andy then explains to this girl before the pair of them up and leave.

"So... what do you want to drink?" Jake breaks the tension after Andy leaves.

"What you guys got?"

#andy biersack #andy black #andy bvb #jinxx bvb #cc bvb #lonny eagleton #lonny bvb #jake pitts #jake bvb #black veil brides #bvb #black veil brides fanfic #bvb fanfic

[clairenatural]

i had a dream that sam and dean took cas to an art museum and showed him all these paintings of angels and it was like that scene in vincent and the doctor and cas said these paintings are beautiful because they depict the angels as human when a true angel could never be described as anything but monstrous and i woke up crying

anon i love this SO much. i love it so much i had to write it. this is 1.4k, destiel, human!cas

They’re making their way out of the city, monster killed and day saved, when Castiel sees a poster, pasted up on the side of the plywood wall of a construction site. It’s an angel—he doesn’t recognize the artist, but he’d guess late 19th century. Be Not Afraid: a History of Angels in Art, it proclaims, the logo of the city’s largest art gallery tucked into the corner.

Castiel stares at it. The angel on the poster stares back, wings spread and staff raised. Valiant. Something in his heart twitches, but it’s hard to place. He still has his blade, tucked safely into the trunk with the rest of their frequently used weapons, and he never had wings like that; even the shadows, the ones they showed to humans, were simply the closest representation to the real thing possible in this dimension (his back aches anyway, dimly, his human body reacting to the loss as if they were real severed appendages. He ignores it).

Dean notices, because of course he does. He stops, because of course he does, and flags Sam down before his long legs can carry him too far ahead. “Hey. You good?”

Castiel isn’t sure how long he’s been staring at the poster, but it’s long enough that Dean is obviously concerned. “Hm? Oh. Yes, I’m—I’m fine.”

Dean nods but doesn’t move. He considers the poster. “Art gallery, huh?” he asks, avoiding the obvious elephant. Castiel appreciates it. He nods back.

“I’ve never been to one,” he offers, as explanation. It seems odd—he can remember the painting of the Sistine Chapel, he remembers watching with fascination as humans began collecting the smaller paintings into collections and museums, but he’d never been inside one. It hadn’t seemed necessary. Humans collect art in large boxes to remember their history, but Castiel has seen it all.

Dean seems surprised by this. “Seriously?” Castiel nods, and there’s a pause, and he’s about to turn and keep heading towards the car, and Kansas, and home, when Dean claps him on the shoulder and turns to call over his own.

“Sammy! How do you feel about seeing some art?”

“You want to go to an art gallery?” Sam sounds incredulous, and is closer behind him than Cas expected. He hadn’t noticed him retreat the half-block he’d managed to gain on them.

“Yeah, why not? Come on. What happened to ‘a little culture wouldn’t hurt, Dean?’”

"What happened to ‘I’ve got plenty of culture, eat your damn burger?’”

“It’ll be fun, Sam,” Dean counters. Something in his tone has changed. Cas doesn’t think too hard about it.

There’s a long pause, and Cas knows there’s some sort of communication happening he can’t hear or see. “…Okay,” Sam concedes. “Okay, sure. Yeah. Let’s go.”

So they do.

Dean makes a comment about “haven’t been in one of these since I was a kid,” before they all fall into the hushed silence of the museum floor. It’s nice—nicer than Castiel had expected. Not in aesthetics; the building is sleek, and modern, and the art is obviously beautiful. But it’s nice to be there. It feels almost Holy—humans, funny creatures they are, with their habit of treating their own culture with the respect of something divine. Creating houses of worship out of museums and libraries and living rooms. 

He wanders through the various exhibits but doesn’t really pay attention until he ends up in the exhibit from the poster. He’d managed to lose the Winchesters halfway through the photography exhibit, when both the brothers had gotten distracted. Castiel had continued onward anyway, on a mission, and by the time he finds himself walking into the angel exhibit he’s on his own.

He comes to a stop in front of one of the largest paintings in the room. It’s not the same angel as the poster. It’s several, actually, looking over what appears to be Mary and a baby Jesus. The angels are beautiful—smooth, flawless skin. They have long hair that looks soft, even in paint. They’re wearing white robes, and their wings are white and dove-like. None of these angels have several heads, rotating bands of fire, or thousands of eyes. They’re beautiful, but they aren’t angels. The human who painted this didn’t know that, of course—none of them did. Humanity was faced with the concept of divinity and conceptualized it as a version of itself.

“The real things ain’t as cuddly, huh?”

Dean’s voice startles him, which he hates, both because he hates being startled and because he’s still adjusting to Dean being able to sneak up on him.

“I was just thinking,” he starts, pretending he’d known Dean was there the whole time, “you paint us like we’re human.” Not ‘us’ anymore, he reminds himself, but he brushes that thought off. Not now.

Beside him, Dean snorts. “Yeah, well. If you’d told any of those Renaissance guys that the real angels are dickhead balls of celestial intent, they’d’ve arrested you for heresy.”

Castiel shakes his head. “No.” he pauses. “Well, yes. But that’s—” he turns to face Dean for the first time. He notices Sam over Dean’s shoulder, focusing intently on a painting a few feet away and obviously pretending not to listen.

“My father—God—Chuck,” he cycles through, which will never not be weird, “created us first, but not in his image. We weren’t worthy of that. Only you were. Humans, his perfect creation, modeled after their creator. But then—” he turns back to the painting and gestures to it. “You created us in your image. You thought about divinity and you couldn’t conceive anything more Holy than yourselves.”

Dean shifts. He tries for a laugh, but it comes out short. “Well, damn, Cas. Way to make a guy feel self-centered.”

Castiel turns back to him. He blinks. He frowns. That’s not what he means. “Most of my siblings thought so,” he agrees. “But I always thought it was an honor. Look,” He turns again and reaches out for the painting, only remembering a few inches from its surface to not touch it.  “This one has a lyre. You always paint us playing music. But music, art….these are human things, Dean.” He lets his hand fall, but keeps his eyes forward.  “We’re soldiers. They don’t teach us to play the harp in Heaven, they train us to fight. But these angels are…soft. Kind. Angels you trust to protect. The kind of angels people pray to, build churches to.” He looks back at Dean, who is staring at him with a frown. He holds his gaze, steady, and takes a deep breath before finishing. “I wish I was—that any of us were—worthy of being depicted this way. I wish we were the angels you paint us as.”

There’s a long pause while Dean searches his face, obviously trying to decide on the right reaction. If they were at home, Cas thinks Dean might reach out and hug him. Instead, Dean reaches out to clap a hand on his shoulder—he lets it linger there, and Cas knows what it means, so that’s okay, too. “For what it’s worth,” he starts, and his voice is softer than the last time he spoke. “You’re the closest thing to those angels that I’ve ever seen.”

It’s a nice sentiment, but Cas smiles sadly as he turns back to the painting. “I’m not any kind of angel anymore,” he points out, and tries his hardest to keep his voice neutral.

Dean squeezes his shoulder and tilts his head, trying to recapture Castiel’s gaze. “Hey. Look at me.” Reluctantly, he looks back over. “Your wings weren’t what made you a good angel, alright?” he brings his other hand up to poke into Castiel’s chest. “That was all in here.”

He sounds like he’s quoting the Wizard of Oz, and Cas wants to make a joke about that, but he’s also never wanted to kiss Dean more. He doesn’t, because they’re in a museum, and they’re still working up to that, but he makes a note to do it later. Instead, he reaches up and pulls Dean’s hand away from his chest, links it in his own, and squeezes.

“Thank you,” he says, and it’s earnest, and it’s for everything.

Dean smiles. He understands. He squeezes back.

#i do hope it was ok to write this #i was hoarding this ask until i could #bc i couldnt stop thinking about it!!! #Anonymous #answered #my words #over 1k words #destiel #deancas #destiel fic #deancas fic #i am Not an art historian so i tried to keep all the descriptions vague enough to not cause problems but if there are issues im sorry

[slasherhaven]

All slashers reaction to their s/o being a stripper or pole dancer? That line of work is so stigmatized I feel they'd all be weirded out but when they see the fuckin CASH, the hundreds their s/o would make in ONE NIGHT damn

The Slashers Reactions to Their S/O being a Stripper:

Thomas Hewitt 

Thomas is...torn.

The Hewitts are a pretty conservative, stuck in the ways, kinda people. Thomas being the most open to difference out of all of them.

He loves you but all he knows about the job is the stigma behind it. 

But he’s not going to leave you because of it, please explain it to him.

With some explanation, debunking some stigmas and stereotypes, explaining that it is just your job, he comes around to it. 

Alright, you’re still you and you’re loyal to him. That’s all that matters. He’s sorry for judging you at first...

Luda May is unsure about it, worried that you’re not as dedicated to Tommy as you say you are. Just prove her wrong. You love that man and that has nothing to do with your job.

Hoyt has definitely made a comment or two about it, always receiving a warning glare from Thomas. Don’t worry, he’ll defend you!

Luda May starts to come around to it because it’s so obvious that you only have an interested in Thomas...plus the money doesn’t hurt. That’s more cash than they’ve seen in a long time...you could be an actual godsend.

Michael Myers

Does not care what you do for a living.

Is a little unsure about how he feels about other people getting to see you in a state of undress but comes around to the idea more when you explain that they aren’t allowed to touch you.

Good, because that’s just for him!

Michael doesn’t care all that much about money but he’s still impressed by how much you can make in one night alone.

Other than that? Pretty unbothered.

Does enjoy your private dances though, he cannot deny that.

And you know when he’ll want one because you’ll go into your bedroom and find his selected outfit laying on the bed for you.

Jason Voorhees 

You do...what for a living? 

Jason is definitely going to have some issues with it.

We all know how he feels about anything sexual. It’s something he’s uncomfortable with and views as inherently wrong.

But he does love you...

And you’re nothing like he would expect somebody in that line of work to be.

He probably has a lot of preconceived notions about your work that you need to work through.

Just be patient with him, help him see that there is nothing wrong with what you do or the people who do it.

He’ll get there eventually because he loves you, it’s just going to take a while.

Brahms Heelshire

Uh-huh...uh-huh...no, yeah he’s listening- do you have the attire at home or do you have to keep it at the establishment. No, no, he understands. Can he see what you wear while you work? He is taking this seriously, Y/n!

Admittedly Brahms is going to take an issue with it. 

Not with the job itself. Just his own jealousy.

You’re meant to be with him and he doesn’t like the idea of other people getting to see you like that.

But they can’t touch you? Well...that’s good...you mean they can look but can’t touch? Only he gets to touch you?

Okay, you’re winning him over.

Give him his own private dance and he’s sold.

Bo Sinclair

Will probably look down on the choice of job before you tell him what you do for  a living. Then he’ll be forced to reconsider his preconceived beliefs. 

Bo tends to look down on everyone for one reason or another, he supposes strippers were easy targets to do so.

But the more he thinks about it, the less it actually bothers him.

He really doesn’t mind if he gets his own private dances.

Plus that money is very convincing. It’s not like the brothers have any real income and it can be difficult to keep a good stock of supplies. With you around, that shouldn’t be a problem anymore.

Will pick out your outfit for that shift.

Sometimes it’s just because he wants to see you were a particular set, other times he just likes the idea of you dancing in the outfit he chose.

Kind of like a reminder to the two of you that you might be dancing for those people but you are his, and you come home to him at the end of the day.

Vincent Sinclair

Any negative thoughts Vincent has is more due to jealousy and insecurity rather than how he thinks of you.

He sees you as a person, not as your job. So he won’t judge. He really doesn’t think he has any right to judge considering his ‘work’.

He loves you and doesn’t care what you do. 

Sometimes he just wonders why you would want...him...

Just lots of reassurance, cuddles, and kisses should get him feeling better again!

Honestly just likes watching you dance. Not even in a sexual way (though he can’t help how his body reacts to your seductive movements) just in admiration and adoration.

You’re stunning and the way you move is hypnotising.

He can see why you get paid so well!

He doesn’t care about the money all that much. It’s Bo that takes advantage of that.

Will likely have various sketches of you wearing your different outfits that you wear for work. You like to ask for his opinion on them and he’s happy to give you an enthusiastic thumbs up and nod of the head.

Lester Sinclair 

Is honestly just happy that you’re with him.

You’re a stripper, you dance for people who would kill to be with you or even touch you, and yet you come home to him.

That’s fine by him!

Might get a little insecure about it but is super easy to cheer up.

Usually Lester just ignores Bo’s comment but if he says anything about your work (probably just to annoy either of you, he doesn’t really care) your man will defend you!

May actually be addicted to your private dances, the ones that he knows are just for him.

Bubba Sawyer

Bubba is never going to judge you for your work, even if it’s something he doesn’t completely understand or is stigmatised. He knows you’re a good, wonderful person who he loves dearly. And you love him back! That’s all that matters to him.

The only problem might be his own insecurities but you can tell when it’s bothering him and are quick to put things right. Showing him plenty of love to remind him that he is the only man for you.

Will sometimes pick out an outfit for you to wear for your next shift. He wasn’t to be supportive!

Loves when you buy new stuff and decide to put on a little bit of a show to show him them, asking for his opinion. He loves them all!

Is always a little flustered afterward so give that boy some love!

He doesn’t care about the money but the rest of the family (mostly Drayton) try to leech off of it. You’re family now, your money is their money. Sharing and all that!

Billy Lenz

Isn’t too sure how he feels about this news...

But put on the brand new set you got for work, give him his own little private dance, dedicate the night to him and he’ll be okay with it.

As long as you don’t give your customers the same treatment, you’re perfectly fine!

Will help you pick out your set for your next shift but don’t expect him to not get handsy. He can’t help himself!

Money isn’t something Billy cares about. It’s not like he goes shopping or anything. But at least you can buy quality things for him to borrow without asking sooooooo...

Asa Emory (The Collector)

Admittedly, Asa is not a fan.

It’s not that he’s judging you or looking down on you for what you do. Looking down on somebody for that alone is nonsensical, there are worse things you could do. He should know.

However, dating a stripper wasn’t something he had seen for himself.

He’s a possessive man so he doesn’t like the idea of somebody eying up his partner at all, especially if he isn’t there.

But one night he visits the club, sits right in front of the stage and you focus all your attention on him.

He admits that you’re mesmerising to watch, maybe he should look into getting you a new outfit. Perhaps a more lacy number?

He’s never going to be a fan of your career choice and will likely try to convince you to quit, telling you that you don’t even need to work. He can support you both.

But all those private dances definitely sweeten the deal for him.

Jesse Cromeans (Chromeskull)

Strippers don’t usually capture Jesse’s attention for too long and he wouldn’t purposely go to a club for the reason of seeing them but sometimes his work takes him to places like this.

You likely worked in a more high end establishment, more wealthy patrons.

Either way, something about you just got his attention. The way you moved or maybe it was the way you looked at him, the bat of your lashes or the smile on your lips. But you drew him in.

Sure daddy Chromeskull!!

Would likely pay for a private dance and when he finds himself even more enthralled with you, he would make you another offer. Paying you for more than just dances, come home with him, not even for sex (though that is very much on the table), just come to his home and look pretty, that’s all he’s paying you for if that’s all you want to do.

If you’re reluctant to accept the generous offer, he will win you over with generous tips and gifts. New lingerie, jewellery, fragrances. He’s determined and convincing, you have to give him that.

If you’re only stripping for the cash, you’re likely going to stop doing it all together. Jesse is paying you more than you ever earned at that place. Plus it’s a really nice house, you’re living in luxury. 

Otis Driftwood 

It’s likely how you met in the first place. He visited the club you were dancing in and you both just hit it off.

It doesn’t bother him at all.

Will kill anyone who speak bad about your work and will kill anyone who touches you when that is clearly against the rules.

He likes visiting you while you’re working. ‘Paying’ for a private dance that always turns into more.

He actually likes watching the other patrons watching you, knowing that they didn’t even have a chance. You only had eyes for him and he knew it, so their stares didn’t bother him.

Especially when he was there to take you home after your shift, getting to rub it in everyone’s faces as he pulls you into a kiss before escorting you out of the club.

He’s very proud to show you off at all times.

Baby Firefly

Probably met you in the club. Probably shamelessly flirted with you while you were on the job. And, well, you couldn’t help but give her a discount.

Doesn’t care about your work in the slightest.

But will happily help you spend that pay check!

You pole dance? Show her! Teach her! It’s a fun date idea!

She’s not great, too impatient to get any real technique, but she’s having fun and that’s the point!

Loves for you to do little fashion shows in your new work outfits. Even offers to do your hair and makeup for you before a shift!

Baby is super proud of what you do and the money you make. She has absolutely no problem with having other people know what you do for a job. And anyone has anything bad to say about it? Well, they’re just her next target!

Yautja (Predator)

He’s going to need an explanation.

Okay. So what he’s hearing is that you dance for money in various stages of undress?

Not a problem!

Yautja don’t have the same sense of prudishness or nudity that some humans seem too.

But he’s still a little possessive of his little mate. So as long as these customers aren’t touching you or think they have any right too, he’s okay with it.

You do it for good pay, to support yourself, there’s no shame in that at all.

Your explanation might need a little demonstration. Give your alien mate a private dance just for how accepting and understanding his is! It’s his reward!

Turns out, he’s a big fan of your dancing.

#thomas hewitt x reader #michael myers x reader #jason voorhees x reader #brahms heelsire x reader #bo sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair x reader #lester sinclair x reader #bubba sawyer x reader #billy lenz x reader #otis driftwood x reader #baby firefly x reader #yautja x reader #predator x reader #brahms x reader #slashers x reader #slashers #slasher #my writing #asa emory x reader #the collector x reader #jesse cromeans x reader #chromeskull x reader #slasher x reader

[slasherrabbitmadness]

Sinclair Brothers Au X Reader (F)

Highschool Au with the Sinclair Brothers. Fluff and Angst. Bo mentions sexual stuff but in a joking manner.

They have a crush on you while you're dating someone else.

SFW, Fluff, and Angst.

Bo Sinclair - Female Reader dating Lester

He hated this. His stinky, stupid little brother just had to bring his girlfriend over. You’re supposed to be his girlfriend. You just never got the memo.

Lester had the biggest smile on his face as you and him sat next to each other at the dinner table. Vincent wasn’t paying attention, too engrossed in his gumbo and comic book while Bo sat there shooting daggers at his brother. Thank god Bo is always in a pissy mood around his family, they thought nothing of his sneer.

Bo watched with fury whenever he caught Lester leaning in close to you. His brown eyes look at you with adoration. Could tell when Lester ran his hand up and down your thigh, thinking he was being slick. Amateur.

“Y’know, Y/N, ever since you’ve started dating Les, he’s been showering. See Trudy, told ya it’d take a girlfriend to get him to act human.” Lester went bright red and looked down in embarrassment.

“Victor! What you mean is it’s nice to see Lester so happy he’s just showing us all just how happy.” Trudy knew what Victor said was right, just it broke her heart to see Lester’s face fall at his words.

“Let’s hope it lasts,” Victor mumbled.

“It won’t,” replied Bo.

“Beauregard! Can you not?” Trudy fumed. Bo stood up from the table not wanting to be a part of the awkward tension that was dinner. He stole a glance at you as he walked away. He swore he saw it, that look. The look of “Please don’t leave.”

He lied in bed, not wanting to listen to your laughter downstairs, Lester singing your praises, how you both planned on going out Friday night for another date. Fuck.

That night it was Vincent who went to Check up on Bo. Your Twin will just know when something is off.

“She looked at me, y’know. I could read her eyes. She didn’t want me away from her.” Bo said with a smug knowing tone. Vincent shook his head and signed,

“She probably felt bad, felt awkward, it was her first time here.”

“Ya, well, let’s hope it’s her last.”

Vincent turned towards the door. He slumped his shoulders. Bo took in what Vincent was staring at. His stupid stinky little brother. Lester’s eyes, usually so vibrant, were downcast, a little glossy even.

“...Just because you hate her, Bo…” Lester couldn’t finish before he walked away from his older brothers, cursing himself for not sticking up for you.

Vincent gave Bo a knowing look and left.

Bo stewed on his bed, remembering when he first fell for you. Mrs. Power had partnered you up in science class. Bo wasn’t the best partner, he never did the work but he sure could make you laugh. When you first laughed at one of his jokes, be it from genuine humor or just being nice, Bo fell in love.

Then why didn’t he ask you out? Why did he have to date those other girls instead of you? Would be an ass to you in front of his friends but sweet on ya when it was just you and him. Why did Lester have to bug him at his lockers? Lester had immediately taken a shine to you right then and there. Why did you have to fall for his stupid stinky little brother, the one who used axe body spray like a shower? The weird one who collected roadkill and was friends with the employees at the dump.

How in the hell could his brother think he hated you. You. Warm, funny, kind you.

Bo doesn’t hate you. He wishes he did...

Lester Sinclair - Female Reader dating Metalhead Vincent

Lester made his way to Bo’s truck. Dodging past his peers and moving cars, Bo always parked the furthest away in the student parking lot. He wanted his car right at the exit so he could get the hell out of school asap.

“Hey, Bo!”

“Hey, Rat boy.”

“Don’t fuckin’ call me that.”

“What? You are our Rat boy.” Lester hated his brother. But he was Lester’s ride home so he never pushed a disagreement too far.

The two stood in awkward silence just waiting. Bo broke the silence with a huff. “The Freak is probably three deep in her right now.” Normally Lester would laugh at such a crude remark but it involved you. He didn’t want to treat you as some faceless girl the guys joked about being ‘loose’

“That freak better hurry up, he has a doctor’s app in an hour. And Dad likes it when a patient gets there early. Crotchety old man…”

Lester just stood there, remembering the last skin graft surgery and how the skin didn’t take to Vincent at all. Vincent tried his best to hide the pain, the physical and mental, but late one night he could hear his brother sobbing a room away.

“You know since he started dating, Y/N, he’s been less nervous about these appointments. Fine by me, I can’t stand when his ass gets all moppy.”

Lester knew what Bo meant. Bo got just as nervous as Vincent and vice versa. It was some weird twin thing they shared.

“There’s the fucker!” Bo pointed you and Vincent out. Lester had seen you and Vincent countless times together and every time he saw you both it felt like the first time all over again. That twist in his gut and pain in his throat. He remembers the first time he saw you with Vincent. You were acting all shy around Vincent’s metalhead buddies. They kept patting Vincent on the back,

“Good job, man!”

“Didn’t think you’d get a cute one.”

“Hey, Y/N, got any friends?”

Vincent wore his wax facial prosthetic covering most of his face but Lester knew that his brother was as red as a tomato.

Lester remembers meeting you in geography class. In the same group tasked to map out the local park. You and Lester buddied up, mapping the wooded trail. “Oh, Lester look, frog bones!” You quickly covered your mouth, embarrassed at pointing out something so weird but Lester fell in love. A girl into vulture culture? Perfect. You and Lester looked around for more bones, finding none. You handed him the frog skull. “Here, a memento of this weird day.” You smiled as you said it, Lester knowing you wanted to say more but fear of sounding sappy took over you.

Lester should have known it was the beginning of the end of the night you stopped by to drop off his assignments after he had been sick with mono. Instead of Lester at the door greeting you, it was his long hair, covered in judas priest-like stud bracelets and, Metallica shirt-wearing brother.

“Hi, Vincent! Huh, these are for Lester, do you mind giving these to him?” Lester wanted to scream out to you but with his groggy state wouldn’t allow it. He had no idea what Vincent was attempting to say to you, Vincent could speak but it was horse and quiet. Lester fell back asleep, your laughter from downstairs should have been soothing, should have made him feel better, but knowing it was because of Vincent…

You and Vincent were hand in hand making your way to Bo’s truck. Bo wore a straight face while Lester hid his disdain. “Hey, Lester!” You shouted with a smile! Damn it, Lester tried to hide his blush, he turned his head around to make sure you didn't catch it.

“Y/N, wanna ride home? If so, hurry up, Candle Head has an appointment.”

Vincent flipped Bo off and helped you into the truck. You snuggled together in the back seat of the car, Vincent nuzzling into your hair and murmuring sweet nothings.

Bo gave Lester a look, smirking at Lester’s scowling.

Vincent grumbled as Bo pulled up to your place. He tapped Bo on the shoulder and Bo nodded, understanding his brother without words.

Vincent walked you to your door, his large hand holding yours. You kept looking up to Vincent, smiling and giggling.

“Les, you can stop scowling.” Said Bo.

Lester grumbled.

“If it helps you, do it for now. Just learn to get over it. Vincent has never been happier. When Candle Head is happy, I feel it. When he’s sad, I feel it. So just let Vincent have this. Besides, you chickened out on asking her.”

Lester ignored his brother and watched you and Vincent. “Oh shit, haha, Hey Candle Head! Nice one!” Bo shouted out the window to his brother, making Lester’s ear ring in the process.

Lester watched as Vincent removed some of his wax prosthetic and gave you a deep kiss. His stomach churned, his heart stopped, his head felt full and his left ear was still ringing.

Bo was right. Lester had chickened out. He had so many opportunities to ask you out but his insecurities got the best of him. He couldn’t be too mad, Vincent was happy for the first time in years. He’d learn to be happy for his brother, but not happy at losing out on you.

Vincent Sinclair - Female Reader dating Bo.

“Hey, Vin, want some? Vin?” Vincent stared intently, eye not leaving you. Lester spoke up “Hey, Candle Head?” Vincent whipped his head at his little brother, he had his prosthetic on but Lester knew he was scowling. “Hey, got yer attention. Want some of this?” Lester shoved a funnel cake in his brother's face. Before Vincent could react “Well, too bad, you’ll have to get yer own.”

God, Vincent hated his brother sometimes. Speaking of brothers. Bo had you under his arm, shouting over your head to one of his friends “Ya, see you later, no, much later, I’ll be busy!” He leaned down to kiss your cheek “Busy with you, Dollface.” Vincent loved your laughter, just hated when it was Bo who made you laugh.

“Hey, Candle Head, gotta fiver?”

“Bo, don’t call him that, it's mean.”

“It’s a family thing, Candle Head don't mind, right?”

“Stop it, Bo!”

Bo scoffed at you and sneered at Vincent. “I’m gonna bum us some food.” He said to you as he kissed you on the forehead. Bo slammed his shoulder into his brother as he walked by. Vincent stood firm, his wider frame feeling nothing against his brother.

Walking up to Vinny you placed your hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry for him. I know he’s your twin but he still doesn’t have to be that mean.” Vincent shrugged his shoulders, hands deep in his pockets. He fought the strong urge to pull you into him, hold your head into his chest and never let you go. He hated himself for being so sappy over you but he really couldn’t help it.

Vincent remembered when he first met you, the school library after class time. He was looking for an art history book. He saw you in the same aisle, grabbing scanning for what he remembers was ‘a book about frogs’ It was for your science class. Vincent walked over to you, did his best to speak, and ask what you needed. You excitedly told him, which shocked him. Mostly because, even though he talks to girls, they are never happy to talk to him. You rambled on and on to him, how annoyed you were at your stupid science partner, Bo. Vincent laughed, explaining to you that was his stupid brother.

“I feel like an ass. Sorry.” You sighed and hid your face behind your hands. Vincent assured you that it was okay and Bo is an asshole. If Bo was an asshole, why did you have to start dating him?

He remembers when Bo snapped at you in the hallway, the embarrassment was all over your face. Remembers when Bo stood you up on a date. You came into school the next day cussing out Bo. He called you a bitch and from that moment on he found a new sense of hatred for his twin.

“Hey, Candle Head, get yer own girlfriend, Babe, get over here.” Vincent gave you a sad look as you returned one to him. You ran into Bo’s arms and he spun you around, careful not to drop the red snow cone in his hand. “See, Babe, Red, so we both can enjoy it.” You giggled sweetly at him, he held it up to you, pushing it into your nose.

“Bo!” You scolded but laughed as he kissed the red juice off the tip of your nose.

Vincent’s feet felt like lead. He wanted nothing more than to walk away and not look at the gut-wrenching scene, but seeing you bashful and just got to Vincent. He’d give anything to have that be you and him. Give anything to go back to the day he met you and ask you out himself.

“Come on, Candle Head, we need one more person for the strawberry twirly ride thing,” Bo called out, gesturing for Vincent to follow. You turned to Vincent and grinned at him.

“Come on, Vinny!” For you, Vincent would follow. No matter how much it hurts.

#Bo Sinclair #Vincent Sinclair #Lester Sinclair #Bo sinclair x reader #Vincent Sinclair x reader #Lester sinclair x reader #House of wax #Slasher x you #Au #Female reader #SFW

[libraryofsouls]

Can you do slashers with s/o that draws/takes Polaroid's of themselves naked? If not plez ignore

sure thing! here you go.

slashers with a s/o that takes polaroids of themselves naked.

Asa Emory / The Collector

UPSET. but not really.

he’ll be taking these, thank you very much.

confiscates your pictures but not your polaroid.

all your photos mysteriously disappear over time.

why are you asking him? aren’t you supposed to be careful? tsk, tsk. what if somebody else finds them? what’ll you do then, hmm?

scolds you for taking them but keeps them all for himself.

naughty. uses your presumably lost photos as an excuse to punish you.

Billy Lenz

also steals them but he won’t care if you find out.

has them taped at a particular nook of the attic where he sleeps.

why are you so surprised? ...are you seriously asking him why it’s there?

volunteers to take photos of you next time. he’s pretty bad at it though. his angles are weird and it’s usually out of focus.

can you blame him? he’s too focused in trying not to touch himself right then and there.

displays all his bad photography too.

Bo Sinclair

"aw, for me? you shouldn’t have.”

regardless if you told him or not, he’s going to take them from you.

bo will be a lot more lewd. he’s much more likely to whisper obscenities in your ear; how filthy you are, what he’s planning on doing to you - all down to the smallest detail.

gets creative with the nicknames ranging from sweetheart to cockslut. turns out your photos are very inspiring.

has a collection of your photos up at a designated wall of his “dungeon.”

would definitely take polaroids of you two having sex. (this will also go on the wall.)

Brahms Heelshire

same hat!! also steals them and doesn’t care if you find out.

oh these are definitely going up on his wall! riiiiiight next to his bed.

fuck yeah he jacks off to your photos. constantly. and what about it?

confront him and he’ll pull an uno reverse card on you.

so why is it that you have such lewd photos, hmm? tsk tsk. naughty. he just can’t help himself. maybe he should punish you too?

if you ask him he’ll definitely agree to be your photographer.

the photos turns out amazing. what else do you expect from a voyeur? he knows all your good angles.

Bubba Sawyer

!!!!!!! boner.

thinks it’s hot but has a million questions. who took these? you? what do you mean it’s for him???? OH YOU MEAN-

graciously accepts them and tries his very best to keep it between the two of you.

he’s not a fan of the idea because he hates the thought of anyone else seeing you like this. (especially the rest of the sawyers)

sees it as a romantic gesture and looks at the photos whenever he’s missing you. (which is pretty often.)

oh WHOOPS now he’s horny again. rushes over back to you.

this will be a common occurence. please help this poor man.

Jason Voorhees

!!!! o...oh my god ????!!

jason.exe has stopped working. you’ve done it, you’ve broken jason.

why do you have these and why are you naked? is completely rock hard at the moment and dying of embarrassment.

has a complete mental breakdown in front of you and it will only get worse if you offer the photos to him.

please help him regain his sanity again before anything else.

very against them but it’s pretty easy to convince him otherwise.

too paranoid to leave it elsewhere so he keeps it in his shirt pocket.

no more taking photos, okay? wags finger at you. please? for his health?

Jesse Cromeans / Chromeskull

ooh, naughty. loves what he sees and asks for them like a proper gentleman. (if you say no he’s still gonna take them though.)

big fan. very eager to help you in any way.

need a new camera? here’s the latest model. why not try his camcorder next? wink wink.

more into videos than photos but it’s still right up his alley nonetheless.

similar to bubba, he hates the idea of anyone else seeing you like this, so he’s very careful where he places all your photos.

definitely not on display. has it locked away somewhere and secured with a passcode.

Michael Myers

cool, thanks. oh were you just showing it to him? too bad, it’s his now.

practically snatches it from your hands. if you’re much smaller than he is, you’re going to have a bad time. this bastard will toy with you.

has a stash of a variety of your things (one of which may or may not be a pair of used underwear) buried somewhere. your photos will end up there as well.

now that he’s secured his collectibles, there’s now a new objective: screwing with you. both literally and figuratively.

mikey here would feign innocence at your missing polaroid, only to whip it out while he’s plowing you from behind.

takes more photos of you after he’s filled you up nicely. does it again the next time, and again, and again -- you’re never getting your polaroid back.

Thomas Hewitt

!!!!!!!!! just stares at the photos wide-eyed. instantly at full mast.

congrats, you’ve also broken thomas! he recovers faster than jason though and he’s not as shy to accept them.

tries to play it cool and just stuffs them in his apron. pretends like it’s a normal thing and just carries on with his tasks.

secretly he is freaking the fuck out !!! you just gave him your nudes! this might be the only time you see him mess up some of his chores.

makes sure he’s at a very secluded place before looking at them again. could he have imagined the whole thing? continues freaking out again as soon as he checks.

treasures the photos. kind of sappy? yeah his dick is hard but you know what else? his heart grew three sizes.

Vincent Sinclair

....... sharp inhale.

i... it’s for him? another sharp inhale. are you sure? proceeds to freak out internally.

thanks you. yes, you heard him right. vincent sinclair is the type of man to thank you for giving him your nudes.

super flustered and will only look at them once you leave.

another paranoid that has a super secret place to keep your photos. checks on them often to make sure they’re all there and lowkey repeats the process of freaking out over them again.

has probably already drawn you naked before but this time it’s different! now he has reference!

it won’t be noticeable since he’s too shy to approach you about it but his libido will spike.

#requests #slashers #general headcanons #my writing #asa emory #the collector #billy lenz #bo sinclair #brahms heelshire #bubba sawyer #jason voorhees #jesse cromeans #chromeskull #michael myers #thomas hewitt #vincent sinclair #this is a PSA please ride your slasher boyfriends #ok psa over thank you #slasher party #spicy #friendshaped10

[aggravatetheaxe]

BO SINCLAIR X TRANS MAN / MAN ALIGNED READER COMING OUT - Pt. 2 - Over the Moon

This title is NSFW. Pt. 1, Under Your Skin, is Safe For Work. If you're a minor, please read that one instead! This one has s*x in it!

It's been a year since you came out to Bo, and while there have been ups and downs and a lot of new things to get used to, you've both done your best to keep the relationship going. But has he learned how to treat you like a man?

CW: NSFW, descriptions of dysphoria, mentions of deadnaming/misgendering, mentions of murder and mortal peril, words that could be considered slurs and/or fetishizing/objectifying (I mean, come on, it's Bo. We're talking extremely raunchy BUT GENDER AFFIRMING sex.)

Soundtrack: x

Words: 3,431

Part One

Masterlist

***

The sun was just setting over Ambrose by the time Lester's truck pulled up to the washed-out road. With a smile, you shifted the big paper bag in your arms and slid out of the passenger side, calling, "Thanks, Les!" over your shoulder.

"You take care now!" he said back, patting Jonesy's behind as she jumped out after you. "Tell those good fer nothin' brothers of mine 'm sorry I couldn't make it to dinner."

You nodded, filling your lungs with fresh air. You loved the hell out of Lester, but you still weren't used to the smell of his truck. "I'll tell them. Drive safe. Thanks again."

Lester waved as he backed out, then pulled a sharp turn to head down the dirt road again, truck clattering the whole way.

You looked down at Jonesy, who had paused to pee in a nearby bush. "You ready, Jonesy?" When she looked up at you, panting, you said, "I know, it's hot. Come on, let's head home. Go home, Jonesy."

She knew the way, taking point and leading you across the small creek, around the bend and into Ambrose.

Your heart soared the moment you stepped into town. You could see pretty much the whole thing from where you stood: the church, the gas station, the house of wax ... and of course the Sinclair house.

You were eager to go find Bo, but you followed Jonesy to the house of wax first, opening one of the front doors to let her in. She'd find her way down to Vincent, and he'd know to come up to the house for dinner in about an hour—unless he didn't show up at all, which wasn't out of the ordinary.

Jonesy pranced into the dusty darkness of the museum, and you watched her retreating form for a few moments, zoning out.

It had been a year since you'd come out to Bo, Vincent, and Lester. A year now that you'd been living as your true self. It felt like much longer than that, and yet, when you thought about it, it somehow felt like only yesterday that you'd told your favorite mechanic.

After stewing over it and your talks, he'd come to terms with your new lifestyle ... gradually. Grudgingly, at times. But he was trying, and that meant something. These days, he only had to correct himself occasionally.

And that was the thing about Bo. He may be ignorant, and he might not get it, but once he had come to terms with something ... once he had decided that something was acceptable ... he was protective as hell. It might take some work, and he might still tease you about it, but if anyone else said something? God help them.

"Boo!"

You jumped, nearly dropping your paper bag as strong hands squeezed your waist. You turned quickly and were met with Bo's grinning face. "You douchebag!"

He snickered. "Scared you, darlin'?" He leaned to look into your bag. "Get anything good?"

"Get your nose out of there." With a grin of your own, you pushed him gently away by the chest. "It's a surprise."

"You know I hate surprises." Nonetheless, Bo relented, straightening and adjusting the brim of his hat. "I'll lock up the shop, meet you up at the house in ten?"

"Sounds good." You craned your neck to kiss his stubbly, sweaty cheek, then passed him. As you did, he smacked your ass. "Ugh! Come on, dude."

"You know ya like it, dude."

You could still hear him snickering to himself like an idiot as you parted ways, starting up the hill to the house while he returned to the garage. The door was unlocked as usual. You stopped in the kitchen to shove the groceries in the fridge before starting upstairs. It was hot as hell today, and you were in desperate need of a shower, slicked with more sweat than you cared to think about.

Once in the bedroom, you kicked your shoes under the end of the bed, then stripped off your shirt. You'd been wearing your binder for a few hours now, so you peeled it off, relishing the feeling of air hitting your hot skin. As you chucked the binder to the floor, you glanced into the full-length mirror near the dresser.

Your hormone therapy was going well. You were hairier, your face was slightly different, your fat had redistributed and made you squarer in a way that made you downright giddy. Your chest wasn't flat, but more and more every day, you found you didn't care—even enjoyed the look of it. Wearing a binder in public saved you from being misgendered, but around Ambrose, you didn't wear it all that much.

You ghosted your fingers over the hair on your arms and hands, thinking back. The road to the place you were at had been rocky, to say the least. For you and for Bo. When the HRT had started taking effect especially, he'd gotten weird and silent all over again, like it was finally really setting in for him. But he'd rarely voiced any criticisms aloud besides some offhanded asinine comments, so you'd just let him deal with whatever internal struggle he was dealing with.

Those days had been a struggle for you, too. But by now, he'd gotten over himself. He even dutifully helped with your shots, administering them like they were the most serious shit in the world.

It made you feel all warm and fuzzy inside, how far he had come. How far you'd both come. For a few long minutes, you were lost in your scrutiny, fingering stretch marks and admiring your hands.

You were so deep in thought that when the bedroom door creaked open, you jumped, instinctively covering your chest before you realized who it was. "You scared me."

"That's twice today." Bo smirked as he hung his hat on one of the bedposts. "You sure are jumpy."

"You're almost as quiet as Vincent when you wanna be." You bit your lip and glanced back at the mirror.

In the reflection, you noticed Bo looking you up and down slowly. After a beat, he approached from behind, wrapping his arms around your middle and meeting your gaze. As he did, he raised his hands to your chest, strong fingers rubbing your breast tissue in deep circles. Ever since you'd complained about how tender you got after being compressed for hours, he'd done this. You were pretty sure it was just an excuse to touch your boobs, but it felt nice at least.

You relaxed back into him with a sigh, letting him support you a bit. "How was your day?"

"A lot better now that you're home, handsome." He craned his head to kiss your neck and stayed like that, mouth buried in the crook. "Fuck, you smell good," he mumbled into your skin, fingers never stilling.

You couldn't help but squirm a little under his praise. You smelled like sweat, and worse, man sweat, but Bo always seemed fascinated with it, more than content to snuggle up to you and take your changing body in.

"I smell like a highschool gym locker," you mumbled, though you couldn't hide your goofy smile in the mirror.

He raised his eyes and brows to meet your gaze in the reflection again. "You sure? I used ta play football ... don't remember the other guys smellin' this hot."

You squeezed one of the arms around your waist, trying to ignore the heat of your face. The sight of him rubbing your breasts and the feeling of his rough fingers against your sensitive skin was already crazy-making enough. "I bet you found it a little hot."

A year ago, you wouldn't have dared make a joke like that. You didn't even wanna think about how offended he would've gotten. Now, though, his only reaction was a smile that crinkled his eyes and a little sparkle in his pupils.

"All those sweaty, strong guys bumping up against each other in steamy close quarters." Your smile turned into a grin. "Bet it kinda turned you on."

Bo snorted. "Wouldn't really know. I usually changed in the janitor's closet." A bit of vulnerability flashed in his eyes, but he quickly recovered by focusing the attention back on you. "Anyway, none a' them were like you. Where you goin', lookin' like that?"

As he spoke, his hands slid down your front, hugging your hips so your ass was pressed tight against him. You shivered hard. "Looking like what? This is just my body."

He grunted, and you watched in fascination as his gaze ate you up. He rubbed your flanks with his thumbs. "You're a real pretty boy, you know that? Not like other guys at all..."

Your heart skipped a beat, and you suppressed the urge to hide your face in your hands. Still, you averted your eyes from the mirror, too shy to look at yourself any longer. "I dunno about that, but thanks."

Bo shifted. He huffed in your ear, and you lifted your head enough to see him frowning down at you. After a few moments, his expression changed to something slightly more neutral, eyes alight. "Don't make me hafta teach you a lesson, sweetheart. I might enjoy it too much."

Those words sent a thrill up your spine, flipping your stomach. He looked like a predator about to strike its prey, and god, it took everything you had not to give in right away. You raised your chin in a challenge. "What lesson is that, hm?"

Bo's expression shifted again. He grinned, bottom lip caught between his teeth. One hand left your hip, wrapping around your throat just under your chin.

Then, he pivoted, and with one good yank, threw you onto the bed.

You loosed a soft breath as you bounced on the mattress, looking up at him. Defiance fluttered its wings in your chest. "Well? You never answered my question."

"Shh." His hand returned, this time over your mouth. "None a' that now. I'm not in the mood for dolin' out punishment. You just sit there nice 'n' lemme show you what ya do to me, understand?"

Even if you could say something with his hand over your mouth, all you wanted to do was stare at him—at those beautiful blue eyes that seemed to see right through you.

"Tch." His crooked grin made a brief appearance, though it was more of a snarl, showing off his gums. "What a good li'l soldier."

With that, Bo moved in on you, kissing you hard. Teeth and noses clashed painfully before he drew you closer and deeper, his tongue exploring you like he could drink you in. You returned the kiss with equal enthusiasm, grunting into his mouth, then giving a groan when you felt his large hand cup you between the legs.

A sharp inhale, and he pulled back slightly. His lips moved against yours as he whispered, "Whose is that? Who does this pussy belong to, dickbait?"

Your breath hitched. "You."

"Me. That's right." He squeezed and rubbed through your jeans. You could already feel how wet you were, folds sliding together. A second later, he'd undone your button and zipper and slipped his hand into your underwear. "Fuck, that's nice." His lips still brushed against yours, breath hot on your face and in your mouth. "Love that boy cunt. You're just as wet, aintcha?"

As he stroked you, his thumb found your swollen clit. You gasped when he put pressure on it.

"So wet for your man."

You shuddered and dared to quip back, "And it looks like you're pretty hard for yours."

Finally, he pulled back to meet your eyes, lust warring with challenge. He stared for a few moments before saying, his voice nearly a growl, "I'mmuna make you come, pussyboy. Yeah. Squirt all up my stomach 'n' chest ... we'll see if you still gimme an attitude once you're screamin' and shakin' under me."

You had no smart comeback for that. You simply melted onto his hand, grinding against him as he slid two fingers inside your hot, needy pussy. The feeling of him curling his fingers and stroking you deep already had you biting back incoherent dirty talk, every nerve electric.

"Pretty young buck like you, walkin' around lookin' like that ... you're just askin' for dick." He licked his lips and used his other hand to help you shimmy out of your jeans. Soon, you were bare, gushing all over his fingers as he loomed over you. "Am I right?"

"Y-Yeah," you pushed out, leaning back on your palms so he could get a better angle. "Fuck, Bo—"

"Y/N," he mumbled back, free hand gripping the back of your head. "Y/N."

You heard him say your name all the time, but the way he said it now, the way he was staring into your eyes ... you knew this meant something more. He wasn't just fucking you, he was fucking you. He was seeing you.

You couldn't take it anymore. Your head was spinning with every circle his thumb made around your clit, but you needed more. With a strangled gasp, you gripped his biceps. "Bo, baby, inside—fuck, please, I need you."

He smirked above you. "Not until you admit you're the handsomest goddamn man in Ambrose."

You groaned. "Come on!"

"Sorry, gorgeous, those're the rules. C'mon, lemme hear you say it."

Your cheeks burned, but he wouldn't stop playing with your pussy, and you didn't want to come without his cock inside you. "I-I can't," you muttered, only half joking. "What about you, big cat?"

"Besides me." He thrust his fingers in particularly firmly, drawing a shout from you. "Say, 'I'm the handsomest goddamn man in Ambrose.' I wanna see you say it while you're ridin' my hand, and you better convince me."

You panted for a few more moments before finally giving in, sputtering, "I'm the ... handsomest goddamn man in Ambrose," followed immediately by a groan, your eyes rolling back in your head.

"I'm not buyin' it."

"I'm the handsomest goddamn man in Ambrose!" He certainly made you feel like it.

"Good boy." After one last jerk, Bo drew his fingers from you, going to work his belt off. His cock sprung from his Dickies, already red and glistening with precum. He caught your calves in iron grips as he lined himself up with your hole. "I c'n smell you. Slut. So fuckin' messy for me."

As he slid in, your head lolled back. You dropped to your elbows, then gave up completely and laid flat, unable to hold yourself up for shaking.

Bo almost cooed, throbbing gently inside you. "Lookit my beautiful boyfriend ... already half way ta heaven. Haven't even started poundin' that sloppy boy pussy yet. Ya can't lose it on me already, ace."

Even the stupid nicknames got you hot somehow. You watched him through half-lidded eyes, panting. When he began to thrust, you yowled like a hurt animal, the drag of his dick sending flames spitting through your limbs.

His grip tightened as he rolled his hips into you, in and out, in and out, picking up pace. "You like that, loverboy? Shit, sure looks like ya do." He lifted his chin. "Stick your tongue out."

Obediently, you parted your lips with your tongue, trying not to drool too much.

Bo couldn't hide the way his eyes sparkled as he watched your mouth, or the way his dick swelled in you. His hips moved faster, your slickness enough for him to glide. It felt so nice, but that alone wouldn't make you come, and he knew that—he was savoring this.

Eventually, his shirt found its way to the floor, followed by his pants and boxer-briefs. The sight of him bare with you, glistening in the hot afternoon, made it hard to breathe.

With one of his hands, he propped your leg up so it was resting against his chest and slightly over his shoulder; with the other, he explored your torso, dragging his calloused hands up your hip, across your stomach, to your breasts. He still played with them often, sucking and squeezing, and you found you didn't mind. The way it made you feel and the way he was looking at you, how could you ever hate it? Plus, you weren't sure he'd take no for an answer regardless.

A growl ripped from your chest as he bent to suck one of your nipples, latching on for a few moments before flicking his tongue, then running it flat in circles. He whispered heatedly, lips brushing against you, accent slurring, "I love your tits ... you know I love ya tits, righ'? Fuck, ya so hot..."

You knew he'd miss them if you decided to get rid of them. Honestly, that was half the reason you were reconsidering that idea. You never wanted to forget the way he worshiped them: licking, sucking, slapping, squeezing his dick between them...

"Come on, romeo," Bo panted, his mouth still against your chest as he plowed into you. Wet clapping filled the room as his balls met your ass, again and again, almost unbearably warm. "Come on, fuck ya'self off tha'."

He loosened his grip on you, giving you more freedom to move. Now he was fucking firmer, his angle more deliberate, the hot head of his cock hitting your sweet spot with every thrust. You loosed another yowl and bucked your hips to meet his.

"Bo," you groaned. "Bo, Bo..."

"Tha's my man." He was losing control of himself, his voice choked and desperate. "Tha's my man. Tha's my fuckin' man."

"Yeah—! You— you like fucking other guys, angel? Huh?"

Bo exhaled harshly, twitching inside you. "Like makin' 'em scream, too. 'Specially this one. My— handsome li'l— pussyboy—"

You could feel the muscles of his sweat-slicked thighs and abs flexing as he tried to hold himself back, trying to keep himself from finishing. You knew one comment from you would push him over the edge ... so you waited until you were at your edge, too, to choke out: "Fill that slutty boy pussy up, cher. Show me who's the big man around here, who gets to come wherever he wants. Show me who's boss— fuck—!"

Bo lurched, sinking his teeth in the crook of your neck. Every inch of him tensed, cock jumping, and you saw white as your entire core became molten between your orgasm and his.

When you were next aware of your surroundings, he had collapsed into you, slumped a bit awkwardly over the edge of the bed. He was breathing hard, his hair damp with sweat. It dripped down his spine, too, and down the back of your thighs. You gripped him tightly, wrapping your arms and legs around him, and the two of you stayed like that for a minute or so.

Eventually, he pulled away, rolling onto his back beside you. One of his strong, square hands still gripped your wrist, though, thumb brushing the back of your hand lightly. He opened his pretty blue eyes, all long lashes as he blinked away the haze of his climax.

Then he looked over at you—and, of course, found you already staring at him. His lips quirked up in a smirk. "Angel?"

You could feel yourself flush. "Romeo?"

The smirk turned into a wolfish grin, and he propped himself up on one elbow, stealing a kiss. "You're cute," he declared after a moment, like he was giving his official opinion on the subject.

"You're one to talk. Can we at least agree that I'm the second handsomest man in Ambrose?"

Bo heaved a sigh. "A'right, a'right, fine. Guess numero uno is my cross ta bear."

"Always."

With a laugh, you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him close for a kiss. It started heated and rough, but as the seconds passed, it became more tender. He slipped a hand into your hair and held you in the kiss for an extended period before pulling away, an intense gaze searching your face.

"I love you," he breathed. "Ya know that, right?"

It wasn't often he said it unprompted; usually when he told you he loved you, it was because you'd said it first. At once, tears sprung to your eyes, and you leaned in for another quick kiss.

You did know—you did. And more importantly, he knew. He knew everything and he still said those three little words. He saw you and this and he still wanted all of it.

And fuck, you wanted it, too.

***

Masterlist

Tip Jar

#bo sinclair #bo sinclair fluff #bo sinclair x y/n #bo sinclair x you #bo sinclair x reader #bo sinclair x trans man reader #house of wax 2005 #lester sinclair #slasher x y/n #slasher x reader #slasher x you #slasher x trans man reader #slasher community #written

[veneli]

Songs I Associate with Redacted Characters (due to unhealthy attachment)

I have a weird obsession with songs that don’t have particularly special meanings to the characters but I’ve just associated them with several Redacted characters.

The attachment to the song PLUS the characters makes me inseparable from them and I will write this down to remind myself later.

feel free to also roast me about my music taste I won't get offended :)

CW// minor spoilers for the Inversion under the cut, no spoilers in tags, mention of RedactedASMR's Echo and Adam

You Are My Sunshine (Johnny Cash)

For either Elliott or Asher. they’re the freaking sun to me. A giant ball of energy, wouldn’t be alive without them, brings light to the world, warm, cozy, but can also have the power to absolutely obliterate you if you rub them the wrong way.

Fallin' All in You (Shawn Mendes)

For Gavin and Freelancer. Gavin thought he could never find someone who loved him as people only wanted him for his appearance and a good time. However, Freelancer was his turning point—his safety net that he could rely on while he explored this feeling they called “love” with them.

Electric Love (BØRNS)

For Vincent and Lovely. Self explanatory, right? Well... not really anymore since Lovely got turned, but the point still stands. I fully believe that Lovely’s magic will just be muted. It’s strong. It will be bottled, but still electrifying. They’re strong. Amazingly strong and wonderful and versatile. I believe in them. (Erik had better not inject any more angst into Dahlia atm they've suffered enough for a lifetime)

The Bro Duet (George Salazar and Jason Gotay)

For Milo x Asher, or Asher x David, or Ash x Milo x David. You canNOT convince me that those three, at some point in their teenage years, did not hang out at each other's houses and not kissed each other at least once out of curiosity. (in case you didn't know, I love the wolf pack polycule HC). David's probably saved Ash more than once from choking on his pizza and wings since that guy basically inhales it the moment he gets it from Guy.

Footloose (from the movie Footloose 1984)

I have no clue why, this song came onto my shuffle and it reminded me so much of Milo Greer I had to write it down. Maybe it's the accent, or the style of the movie itself. Fashionable and kinda vintage! And don't tell me Milo can't whip up some good footwork - i will not be taking criticism. I just imagine him dancing in the middle of his living room singing something/along to a TV jingle and that makes me so freaking happy

Play With Fire (Sam Tinnesz)

This one reminds me of Adam. I hate his guts but he's kind of hot so I'll let it slide sadistic, looking for trouble, would 101% watch his prey writhe under his hold before ending them with no mercy.

Paparazzi (Lady Gaga)

For Angel. When they were "stalking" David. that's all.

Hooked (Why Don't We)

the D.A.M.N. polycule. Lyrics are pretty self-explanatory, and I think even Gavin would like this song and feel like a rebel against norms. I think it fits them nicely, in a way. After all that they've been through in the Inversion and Season 1, I think they would put up with each other a lot more. Hooked to each other, afraid to lose the others and feeling constantly on a happy-high when they spend time together.

Woman Like Me (Little Mix ft. Nicki Minaj)

Ignore the "woman" in the title, but this is for Darlin'/Tank and Sam. Trouble follows Darlin' wherever they go, but despite that, Sammy still loves them. And I find that extremely endearing. "I'll take care of you" "it's rotten work" "not if it's you" kind of vibes.

Talk (Why Don't We)

Geordi and Cutie at the start of their storyline. Before they developed that understanding of mutual privacy, the lyrics is probably what happens.

Panic Room (Au/Ra)

Echo. That's it, just Echo. (what pronouns does Echo use? as much as I am terrified of Echo I still want to use the right pronouns) Echo is the incarnation of this song. Panic and fear, never know what to expect. Echo's videos are probably a few sources of anxiety for me and this song fits Echo so well. (Spotify audio here, Tumblr only allows 10 medias per post)

that's it for now. I will hopefully do more of these soon whenever I have a jam session on Spotify!

#redacted asmr #redacted freelancer #redacted babe #redacted vincent #redacted asher #redacted adam #redacted damien #redacted milo #redacted angel #redacted gavin #redacted davey #redacted david #redacted darlin #redacted sweetheart #redacted sam #redacted starlight #redacted echo #redacted elliott #redacted sunshine #redacted geordi #redacted cutie #redacted shaw pack #redacted solaire clan #redacted inversion #there are so many tags #they are dating your honour #polycule #redacted damn #my back hurts #Spotify

[emersonfreepress]

Breakfast with Jack & Vincent

What: Anything about Jack and Vi!

When: Summer before 12th grade

Word count: 858

commissioned by @cekorax

“You’re really not talking to me?”

Vincent doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t need to since he opts to walk around the kitchen island, taking the longer, less convenient route back to the stove and successfully avoiding even the briefest eye contact.

“I’m...” Jack stops himself with a light huff, then spoons cereal into his mouth to cover it. He wants to say sorry for getting Vince in trouble again, but he promised he wouldn’t anymore. Gavin asked him not to before him and Mom left for their brunch date.

So now they both get to suffer.

As if to revel in that suffering, the bane of their co-existence marches into the kitchen after a pause and a luxurious stretch. King, Vincent’s Bengal kitten, pads after his owner without a care in the world or so much as a glance at Jack.

“What are you making?” Jack can’t help but try again.

Vincent ignores him.

Several more minutes pass of Jack trying to find entertainment in the back of the French Toast Crunch box, but he quickly ends up surreptitiously watching Vincent prep his breakfast instead. The flour is out which had gained his immediate interest. Vince never messes with baking stuff. Oh, unless—

“Are you making pancakes?”

Ignored again. He finally decides he’s going to give up for real this time… until the unmistakable smell of burning batter reaches his nose. Accompanied by the familiar sound of Vincent’s quiet swearing. Oh, boy. Should he say something? Every time he opens his mouth, it just seems to make things worse. Hopefully, he hasn’t added extra baking powder again. Maybe he could just check things out…?

Sneaky. Jack is operating with such stealth right now. The sink is close enough to the stove that he’s able to sneak a peek at Vincent’s work. There’s a lot of batter. He watches him flip over the pancake with thinly veiled interest and immediately sees the issue.

“God—Damn it.”

“Oh… It’s pale.” And burnt around the edges and in the middle somehow.

Vincent’s head snaps to him with so much ferocity, it threatens to make Jack’s own neck hurt. He offers a nervous smile and takes half a step away.

“I don’t need you to tell me that,” Vincent remarks, every ounce of the annoyance on his face leaking into his tone. “I have eyes.”

“Right, sorry.” Vincent moves to throw this failed pancake out which lets Jack notice the open recipe book on the counter next to a plate of distinctly anemic, though not burned, rejects. King stands on his forelegs, propped up against the counter, his attention focused on this precarious pile of pancakes, tail swishing. Jack quietly nudges the plate a safer distance from the edge. That tiny thing has a reach. Hm… “Um, you might want to raise the fire a bit? Instead of leaving them in for longer.”

Vince sighs over the trash. Then, after a tortured pause, he drags his feet back over to the stove.

“I can’t do that,” Vince mumbles, staring at his yellow pancakes. “They always come out like that. No matter what I do.” He pores over the simple recipe again, probably for the third or fourth time. “They never brown if I up the heat; they just burn.”

“But if they aren’t browning, they’re probably undercooked,” Jack says, as gently as he can. Vincent doesn’t reply but Jack’s mind churns as he stares at the pancakes. They don’t look undercooked… Might as well try one.

“Hey.” Vincent admonishes Jack but the taller boy doesn’t register it.

“Wait a sec. Vince—”

“Vincent.”

“These are perfect!” Jack takes another bite. “Better than perfect, oh my God.”

Vincent sighs, irritated.

“Don’t give me that, Goodnight. They don’t even look like pancakes, they look like…”

“Sunshine.”

Vincent throws him a flat look.

“Like what?”

“Yeah! Because they’re light and fluffy but also crispy at the edge, like—man, these don’t even need butter! You can just go straight to syrup.”

Vincent stares at Jack for a prolonged moment, then looks away, rubbing his arm.

“That’s only because if I don’t use a lot of butter they burn on the outside before they cook inside…” He turns the stove off, an uncomfortable look on his face. “That’s probably why they come out looking weird.”

“But they don’t look weird! They’re cute.” Jack beams, holding up what’s left of the pancake he snatched. By now, Toast has trotted into the kitchen—which makes sense for the butter-loving retriever. “And they taste great, that’s the best part.”

Vincent crosses his arms for a second before quickly uncrossing them. He stands there awkwardly for another moment before opting to get another plate out.

“Well. If you like them, just have some.” He practically shoves the plate into Jack’s chest. “I’m fed up with getting it wrong over and over.”

“I can have some?” He’s not hungry anymore but he definitely has room for these.

“Yeah, just…” Vincent mumbles something to himself. Jack smiles.

“Thanks. You know, you could call them angelcakes instead.”

“Stop it.”

“Oh, or sunshinecakes?”

“I said stop it.”

“Shut. Up, Jack.”

Jack gasps. “Suncakes??”

#cie commissions #cie snippets #conspiracy in emerson #cekorax #j goodnight #v washington #chugging along w these but i'm on mandated quarantine the next few days so hopefully i'll get them all out! #these are how my pancakes come out btw 😅 #i have never cooked a brown pancake in my life it's literally impossible lmao

[shanastoryteller]

how different do you think the story would be if draco malfoy had been picked as the hogwarts champion?

draco doesn’t know how this happened, and he’s pissed off in between being terrified. he stands up, nose in the air, and walks to the front of the great hall, taking his place between fleur and viktor. 

he expects them to look thrilled. if he’s the hogwarts champion, they’re going to have an easy time of it, but instead the both of them just look concerned. he’s been talking with both of them, friendly with both of them, because he’s not an idiot, he knows what power looks like. 

he knows what it isn’t, and it’s him. he’s smart, and strong, but he’s a fourth year and even with all the spells he’s not supposed to know, he doesn’t have the easy, solid presence of viktor of fleur, people who are not only powerful but know how to wield their power, unlike potter who just stumbles around accidentally defeating monsters with that stupid confused look on his face. 

then, as if this whole situation isn’t bad enough all on it’s own, the goblet spits out one more name. 

harry potter. 

of course. draco doesn’t know what he expected, really. 

severus yells. his parents make an awful lot of scary threats that he knows they’re prepared to deliver on. his aunt floos over from the magical artifacts office to try and declare the goblet faulty, but it’s not use. 

his name came out of the goblet, so he has to compete. 

he can’t help but notice, however, that no one yells on behalf of potter, no one comes to his defense in the face of this ridiculous task they’re supposed to complete, not even dumbledore, even though potter’s supposed to be some sort of golden boy. it seems, maybe, that everyone’s forgotten along the way that he’s a kid too. 

that night his parents send him a package, and he rolls his eyes because he hasn’t worn something like this since he was a kid, but it’s not like he doesn’t understand the rational behind it. he slips the dainty silver ring on his middle finger, and makes a mental note to fidget with it. 

~

his housemates rally around him when he gets back, faces solemn, quiet as severus towers behind him. 

he sighs, rubbing his hand over his face. “well,” he says, “are we going to win this or not?” 

a slytherin is the hogwarts champion. he can’t get out of it, so he’s going to win it, he’s going to rub silver and green in the face of everyone who’s ever looked at him sideways because of his house. 

over a hundred eager smiles meet him. if he succeeds, all of slytherin succeeds, and so all of slytherin is going to help him. 

~

he finds out about the dragons from Flora, who’s cousin is an intern in the department of magical creatures. snape ropes his newts level slytherins into devising a sleeping potion powerful enough to take out a dragon, and cassius drills him in manipulating the bubblehead charm until he’s exhausted and his fingers ache and lungs hurt. pansy promises to carry the potion with her on the day of the first task so draco can cast a simple summoning charm to get it from her in the stands. 

the day of the first task, he summons the potion, casts a giant bubblehead charm around them, then a smaller one on himself, and smashes the potion in the center of the dragon’s forehead. it roars, and blue mist surrounds them, and then there’s a thunderous crash as the dragon falls to the ground, asleep. draco cautiously darts forward to collect the golden egg, darts away, and casts a dissipation spell before ending both bubblehead charms and running as far away from angry, sleep muddled dragon as he can get. 

he thinks it’s a pretty impressive display until potter flies around the horntail, outflying and out maneuvering her, and coming away victorious with the golden egg tucked under his arm. 

the second task seems to throw everyone for a loop. even severus looks perplexed by the screaming egg, and nearly his whole house writes their parents and uncles and cousins for advice. 

it all ends up being worthless.

everyone’s huddled around the egg in the common room, and there’s a pounding sound. draco closes the egg and they all look out the window, which of course leads out to the great lake.they are in the dudgeon after all. 

there’s a merperson, young based on the pattern of their scales, who’s pointing towards the egg, and them pointing towards themselves, then gives an approximation of a wink and swims away. 

marcus flint, of all people, is the one who figures it out. “water,” he says, “listen to it under water. it’s a mermaid singing.” 

his prefect takes him to the baths, and him and as many people as they can cram in there listen to the egg sing it’s pretty song. there’s some debate about what the merpeople will take, with vincent suggesting all his hair products and daphne offering up his broom, but it doesn’t actually matter what it is, because what they take doesn’t change what he has to do, which is get it back from them. 

severus offers gillyweed, adrien pucey says that draco might as well take advantage of the bubblehead charm he already knows, and theo, who is terrifying and brilliant, says it’s too bad he doesn’t have the durmstrang ship. 

they all go quiet, and severus stands up and says that he can’t hear this, then leaves, “hear what?” theo asks, blinking, and marla, who’s already been accepted to cairo’s curse breaking graduate program, leans forward, eyes bright, and starts coming up with a plan. 

then draco finds out they’re taking people, not things, and that’s just not on. 

they’ve taken his cousin. 

“luna lovegood?” potter asks, confused, because he’s an idiot, and draco ignores him. 

the stakes are suddenly much higher. he doesn’t think they’d actually let the hostages get seriously hurt for this contest, but intentions don’t mean much to him right now. 

the other three champions go bolting into the water. draco turns and goes the other direction. 

everyone’s in the stands, so the durmstrang ship is completely empty. people must be figuring out what he’s doing, because there’s some angry yelling, but stealing a ship isn’t against the rules, so. he does just as marla told him to, and he doesn’t know what and who she had to do to get this information, but he’s too grateful to question it. he steps to the captain’s helm, activates the underwater mode, and the boat sinks into the great lake.

steering is extremely difficult and requires more upper body strength than he’s thrilled with, but he’s surrounded by a pocket of air as the ship zooms past the other contestants, so he doesn’t care all that much. he throws up the shield to barrel through the line of merpeople acting as a barrier. he uses a severing spell to cut the ropes and summons luna into the ship. as soon as he crosses the barrier, into the air, she gasps awake, and he carefully sets her on her feet. 

“cousin!” she greets, smiling. “headmaster dumbledore said that i would be thing you most sorely miss. that means you like me, right?” 

“wrong,” he says gruffly, flicking her radish earring. “i love you, but i don’t like you, you’re weird and annoying.” 

she just keeps smiling at him, eyebrows raised, and uhg, this is the worst, she’ll never leave him alone now. “well,” she says, “we are related, after all.” 

“hey!” he says, but she only giggles. 

they should be leaving, he’s gotten here first and he can get back first, with his cousin in tow. 

but. 

what if something happens to the others after he leaves? viktor and fleur will be so upset if something happens to their girlfriend and little sister, and well, it’s not like harry will be any fun to poke fun at if he’s busy mourning his best friend. 

he can’t just say that though, and it’s not like he’s willing to come in last just to make sure everything gets back okay. 

“cousin?” luna asks, head tilted to the side. 

“shut up,” he says, and taps his wand on his hand. 

he transforms three wooden dummies with the hostages respective names carved into their chest, then right below it adds early bird captures all the prizes, xoxo draco and swaps them out, although he has to keep the ships shield’s activated while he does because the merpeople are pissed. 

gabrielle huddles into luna’s side, who speaks even less french than gabrielle does english, but draco’s too busy steering the ship to play translator. 

granger and weasley stand next to each other, staring at him like they’ve never seen him before, and he really wishes they’d stop looking at him. “what?” he snaps. “i just - i’m just trying to - to make them angry, is all.” 

“right,” weasley says, eyebrows pushed together. he and granger share a look. draco doesn’t know what it means, but he hates it. 

“oh, piss off,” he grumbles as the ship breaks the surface. 

the durmstrang students are clustered near the shore. their headmaster looks pissed, but all the students are laughing, so draco doesn’t feel too bad about the whole thing. 

viktor and potter bring back their wooden figures, and fleur stops crying and kisses him on both cheeks when she realizes draco’s gotten her sister. potter hugs granger and weasley, and the three of them keep looking at him. 

draco gets nines across the board, with each judge deducting a point for stealing, which he doesn’t think is fair. no one said stealing wasn’t allowed after all. 

~

the third task happens, and everything goes wrong. viktor attacks him, and later he finds fleur unconscious and sends up red sparks for her. he ends up fighting back to back with potter, which is hell, and the golden trophy is across from them. he and potter look at each other, for a moment completely still, and then they both go running. draco’s so close, he’s not going to let harry win this, even if the whole thing does seem a bit unfair what with viktor having lost his mind and attacking fleur, but draco’s not about to be a hufflepuff about this. 

because there’s no justice in this world, they grab it at the same time. 

draco’s used a portkey plenty of times, and it doesn’t disorient him. he lands on his feet with his wand out, and pointed right at a man with overly large front teeth. 

a crackly voice says, “kill the-”

draco doesn’t wait around for him to finish that sentence. “stupefy!” 

the stunning spell works, and the man falls to the ground with a loud crunch  that would be concerning if draco cared. “malfoy?” potter mutters, finally getting to his feet, looking too pale and green around the edges. his hand is pressed against his forehead. “i-i think something is wrong. we should leave.” 

“malfoy,” that same crackly voice says, and draco leans forward cautiously. “good, good. lucius’s boy. you’ll finish this, then.” 

cradled in the man’s stupified arms is a scaly creature about the size of a large toddler with beady red eyes. 

draco’s hit with overwhelming wave of revulsion, with wrongness, that he’s never felt before and can’t explain. “I-I,” he pauses, stepping back, and in front of potter, who still looks like he’s going to be sick at any moment. he keeps his wand out, but uses his other hand to twist the ring around his middle finger three times. 

“pick me up,” the thing commands, “we have work to do. i need your flesh.” 

oh, merlin above. 

there’s two pops, and then his parents are here, following the distress signal sent off by his ring. 

“mum, dad,” he says, taking another stumbling step back, finally able to breath when they step in front of him, wands raised, “that’s - i think,” he pauses, “that’s the - the dark lord.” then, because he wants them to make informed decisions, “he tried to kill me.” 

“did he,” his mother says, voice icy. his father sighs, like he already knows what’s coming, but makes no move to stop it. “avada kedavra.” 

there’s a flash of green light, and when draco peeks around his father’s shoulder, the scaly creature is unmoving. 

“dear,” lucius says mildly. 

narcissa turns, holding out her arm, and draco tucks himself against his mother’s side. “yes darling? surely you didn’t really want to get involved in this mess again. and,” her voice drops, “he tried to hurt our son.” 

“yes, of course,” he says, reaching out a hand to brush it through draco’s hair, “but keep in mind there are plenty of people who will want explanations of what just occurred. he’s not actually dead, you know.” 

his mother hums, “well, i suppose we’re changing sides.” 

lucius frowns, but it’s not like he’s going to argue with narcissa, so he says, “very well.” 

“um,” potter says, and the three of them turn to look at him, “what?” 

“that’s a portkey then?” lucius asks, looking to the trophy on the ground. daring, “i’ll handle things here, you go back with the boys. surely there’s someone who set this up waiting for whoever returns.” 

“uh,” potter says, “er, sorry, i just - can we take pettigrew too? he - i can use him to clear my godfather’s name, is all.” 

his parents both make a face like they’ve smelled something rotten, and his mother sighs. “i suppose dealing with sirius is one of the many prices we’ll pay for switching sides. very well. petrificus totalus! wingardium leviosa!” the mans stunned body rises, and voldemorts’ pathetic corpse falls with a dull thump. she looks expectantly towards them. “ready?” 

potter shoots him a desperate look, but if he’s looking for draco to explain his mother, he’ll be waiting for a long time. draco had given up on that by the time he turned five. he wonders if all this means that he and potter will actually manage to be friends. 

“come on, potter,” he holds out his hand, “mum’s probably going to kill at least one more person tonight, so best not to start questioning things now.” 

“at least two, if i get my hands on dumbledore,” she sniffs, grabbing draco’s other hand so she can travel with them by portkey. 

potter looks down at his outstretched hand, then back up, and only hesitates a moment more before taking it. “call me harry. isn’t ant of this, you know, weird for you?” 

draco shrugs. “we’re wizards, harry. weirdness is relative, don’t you think?” 

harry’s just grabbed the portkey, so his laughter gets cut off, and draco tries not to mourn the loss. 

hopefully, now he’ll get a chance to hear it again, after all. 

#harry potter #fandom ficcery #welp #this ended up being way longer than i planned #me: i'll do a quick thing to get me in the mood to write #me two hours later to myself: you absolute buffoon #anon #asks

[thiswasinevitableid]

54. I’m not sure what you think I said, but you start calling me an asshole and whip a ruler at me and somehow, we both end up in detention

Indruck, sfw, please?

Here you go! Content note: spiders appear at one point.

I based some of this AU--namely the concept of the Crucible and how magic is channeled--on the Carry On series by Rainbow Rowell. And Duck is trans in this, because any good wizarding school is inclusive.

After three years at Amnesty Academy, Duck is used to the objects being magically propelled through the air. But a ruler zipping through the air and smacking the back of his head is a new, unpleasant experience.

He tracks it to two chairs to his left, the new third year with the silver hair. He hasn’t even been here a day, what the fuck the is his problem?

“Hey, what the hell man?”

“You know very well what.”

“Uh, no I don’t, and I don’t appreciate bein hit with a fuckin ruler!”

“The maybe think before you insult someone next time!”

“I didn’t fuckin insult you! I don’t even know your name!”

“Ahem.” Ned, their Charms professor, looks down at them reproachfully, “gentlemen, while I know the review of Zone of Truth is rather dull, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t entertain yourselves with mindless conflict.”

“Sorry, Ned.” Duck mumbles, sending his pencil shooting below desk level to whack the other guy in the leg at the exact same moment he whips his pen at Duck’s hand.

“OW!”

Ned sighs, “I hate to do this, but-”

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

“Detention! Lovely, my first day here and I’m in trouble. Thank you so much, Duck Newton, for landing us here.”

“You started it!” He growls as they take their seats. God, he hopes this isn’t one of Woodbridge’s days.

“Huh, only two.” Mama wipes her boots on the mat, closes the door behind her, “Afternoon, Duck. And…”

“Indrid.” Says his nemesis, “It is nice to meet you Professor C-” he cocks his head, “you really prefer I call you ‘Mama?’”

“Yep. Never could get behind that more formal stuff. Let some of the first years call me ‘Ms. Mama’ if they really need to feel like they’re showin some deference.”

Mama is deputy Headmistress of Amnesty. The only reason she’s not fully in charge is that she’s not a witch and some families object to that. So The Quell technically runs the school while Mama does most of the actual day to day work. She also teaches a course of non-magic practical skills because, “some things you can’t magic your way out of. Like taxes.”

Duck loves her class and, while he doesn’t understand why someone would opt into this weirdness, he admires the guts it takes as a fifteen year old human to walk into a wizarding school and declare that there was plenty you could learn there even though you couldn’t so much as send a spark from your fingers.

As he and Indrid watch the clock tick down, Mama pulls a bag from her satchel. The contents are cookies, which she offers to each of them.

“Barclay tryin’ out new recipes?”

“Course he is. Kid is gonna be the best damn kitchen witch in the country by the time he graduates. Guess he’s plannin to spend the summer drivin around and learnin the food magic of different regions.” She smiles, “bet you’ll never guess who’s goin’ with him.”

“Joe?”

“Bingo. Apparently he wants to study niche cultural magic.”

Duck’s pretty sure there’s another motive; sharing a van bed with Barclay. It sounds fun, roving the country, discovering new places with someone handsome by your side.

All that’s by his side is a glower hiding behind red glasses.

“Mama? I, ah, would it be possible for me to leave five minutes early? I’m supposed to get my pairing from the Crucible tonight.”

The older woman looks between the two of them, “Better tell me how you landed here first. Ned just said it was an argument.”

“He threw a ruler at me outta nowhere.”

“It was not, you know what you said.”

“The last thing I said before you hit me was ‘“nah, man’ when Billy offered me a pizza roll from his lunch.”

Indrid goes still, “Oh. I, ah, I misheard you. I thought you said 'mothman.' I apologize. I ought to have given you the benefit of the doubt.”

He seems so suddenly downtrodden that Duck shrugs, “Yeah, you should have. But it ain’t the worst thing that’s happened to me here. Not by a long shot.”

“No kiddin” Mama leans back on the desk, “Two of you can go at five til.”

His evening turns uneventful after that; dinner, hanging out with Juno and Aubrey, half doing homework and half fucking around on his phone in his room (the agreement between the school and the government is that a long as the students don’t post vidoes of themselves doing sick stunts with magic, the government will ignore any explosions and/monsters in the vicinity of the school).

He’s never had a roommate; when the Crucible spat out his name in fire on his first day, there was no other name with it. Almost everyone else rooms in pairs or trios. So his belongings are strewn about the tiny cabin that makes up his home away from home. Which is why, when the door creaks open at ten p.m, he sits up and prepares to fire off a spell.

Indrid stands in the doorway, one bag over his shoulder and another in his hand. He looks tired.

“Hello, Duck. Ah, I guess that one is my bed, then.”

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

The class schedules for Amnesty are generated by the heart of the school itself. Indrid isn’t entirely sure what that means, but the heart must not be terribly creative. It stuck him in divination class. He’s been seeing the future since he was five, managing it with his drawings since he was eight. Even the professor has no idea what to do with him, since the images come in like a garbled T.V signal when he uses a crystal ball and the cup shattered when he tried to read tea leaves.

At least Barclay gave him a conciliatory caramel while they swept up the shards. It made him feel a bit better, though whether that’s due to enchantment or Barclay being exceedingly good at cooking is hard to say.

And now he has to go to “Magical Weaponry.” Magical Defense he understands; there are still lots of malicious forces out there, or even just everyday evils that it’s good to be able to ward against. Plus, Vincent is a good professor, enthusiastic and understanding.

Professor Minerva is just as enthusiastic but twice as loud. This is their first day in the actual gym, as opposed to at a blackboard, and his visions suggest it’s going to go poorly for him. As it should; he’s not a fighter, he’s a disaster.

At Amnesty, magic is channeled through objects. Most people use wands or their hands but some, like Aubrey, use jewelry (a necklace from her mother) or another accessory.

Duck Newton uses a sword. Or he’s trying to. The sword seems to be winning.

“Exert your will on him, Duck Newton, he answers to you!”

“I answeeer to only the capable.”

“Shut up, Beacon.” Duck adjusts his grasp, but nothing happens until he drops the sword and sends a spell through his fingers. The target explodes. Indrid suddenly feels a bit better about his own probable performance.

Duck notices him, indicates the practice area next to him is clear. While they started off poorly, his roommate is doing his best to demonstrate southern hospitality. He invites Indrid to eat with him, helps him when his visions offer no help in navigating the grounds, and even lent him a blue and green shirt (Amnesty's colors) for his first Spirit Day. Duck is the best thing to happen to him in his first month here.

By the time class is over, they have six broken targets, a shredded mat, and a knife that is now a very confused frog between them. They manage to laugh about it, even as Duck scoops up the amphibian and tucks him into his shirt pocket.

It’s then that Indrid realizes he has a crush.

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

“You comin to the game tonight?” Juno measures her sapling.

“Assumin nothin comes up and nobody’s tryin to kill me, you know I’ll be there.” He loves cheering Juno on during her soccer games (hey, not everything has to be magic based, even at a wizarding school).

“Drat.”

The hissed frustration draws his attention to the far end of the work table. Indrid is trying to coax his Venus Flytraps to perk up, but they remain brown and limp.

“Need some help?”

“Please, as you clearly know what you’re doing.” Indrid tilts his head towards the sapling pine tree Duck is working on. If he does his growing spells right, he’ll be able to take it home as a Christmas Tree during winter break.

“You tend to picture words or, uh,pictures when you do your spells?”

“Images work best. The trouble is that the futures sometimes make it difficult for me to picture a spell clearly.”

“What if I try describing how I’d see it and you picture what I say?”

“It’s worth a try.” Indrid closes his eyes.

“Okay. Think about the roots drawin water up from the soil, about the traps absorbin nutrients from prey. That brown is goin green as they do, they’re stems are growin stronger…” he grins as the plant turns bright green, it’s mouths open, “hey, ‘Drid, look”

“Oh!” Indrid flaps his hands, “it worked! Now I can keep them healthy and big andohno, nono not again.”

The table cracks and collapses as the plant turns gigantic, blocking out the light from the greenhouse roof.

“Holy fuck, that’s great!”

“Language, sport, but I agree.” Thacker, the head of the magical Horticulture classes, whistles as he looks the plant up and down, “this is mighty impressive Indrid. Wonder if we could use it on some pumpkins come fall…”

“I don’t recommend it, unless you want them to chase people.” Indrid points to one of the heads, which is swaying in the air and lowering closer to him. It snaps and he leaps back, falling to a pile of potting soil. Thacker raises his walking stick and the flytrap returns to its proper size.

Duck helps Indrid up, but his friend stays quiet through the end of class and on the walk back to their room.

“You know it ain’t anythin to be ashamed of, right?” Duck flips on the light, “we all fuck up spells now and then. Hell, Aubrey is on track to be the best spellcaster this school’s ever seen and she still has trouble.”

“But mine go haywire constantly” Indrid flops, dejected, onto his bed, “forget mastering my powers, I’ll be lucky if I graduate able to keep them in check. If I graduate at all.” His hand searches the bed blindly; Duck sets the weighted, plush bat into so Indrid can set it on his chest.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve never lasted more than a year at a magical school. Or a non-magical one. I started at Mt Vernon when I was fifteen. Tried Deep Hollow and Shasta the year after that. I’m powerful but I can’t seem to channel it well, and three different schools decided I was more trouble than I was worth.”

“Bullshit.” Duck rests a hand on Indrid’s knee, “you’re strugglin with somethin; that means you need more help, not less. And if anyone gets it into their heads to kick you outta Amnesty, I’ll raise a goddamn ruckus.”

Indrid chuckles, quiet and disbelieving.

“I’m serious. You know Aubrey and them would side with me, and Joe knows school policy well enough he could probably find a reason why them tryin to get rid of you was against the rule.”

“Thank you.” Indrid’s smile is a rare flower, fragile and stunning.

“You want one of those calm-down caramels Barclay made?”

“Please.”

Duck grabs the box from the cabinet of their little kitchenette, then snags a Coke and a pineapple soda from the fridge. Indrid is no longer horizontal, is instead sitting with his back to the wall so Duck has space to join him.

Under the fizz of fresh bubbles, his friend murmurs, ‘“Have people really tried to kill you?”

“Yep. Someone sent an assassin after me my first year, and there was a Dire wolf on the grounds last winter that was clearly locked on to my scent. Perk of bein a Chosen One.” He grumbles as he swigs his drink.

“...Who on earth sends an assassin after a fifteen year old?”

“Right?! Fuck if I know, they never got any information out of the guy. Fuckin prophecy I swear, I didn’t even want these powers, let alone to be some kind of hero.”

“I sympathize.” Indrid rests his head on Duck’s shoulder, “there are prophecies around my birth as well.”

Duck clunks their bottles together, “To bein’ fucked over by stuff we can’t control.”

Indrid drains his soda, then perks up, “Oh! Oh dear, you should go if you want to be there for Juno’s match.”

“Come with me?” Duck can’t get the image of the two of them sharing a giant pretzel while smushed thigh to thigh on the bleachers out of his head.

His friend grins, “Of course.”

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

Duck hoped, after his not-great time in middle school, that a magic academy would be asshole free. But no, there are assholes everywhere, and these ones have even more tools for tormenting their targets. He’s never been one, nor have any of his friends. The one time someone tried to bully Barclay, Dani sicked three spectral hummingbirds on them until they apologized.

Indrid, odd and new, is an easy target, though he seems to hold his own just fine (and his proximity to the most powerful witch in school does scare off many potential antagonists). But three guys in their Magical Defense class have zeroed in on him.

They’re standing in line to practice against an evil eye when Indrid’s glasses, the ones he doesn’t take off even when he sleeps, hit the floor by Duck’s feet. Duck scrambles to grab them before they get stepped on, wondering why everyone is making such a fuss. Then he turns and backs up in alarm.

An eight foot tall moth creature is where Indrid should be, red eyes wide and claws clicking together anxious.

“Who let that thing in here?” Someone yells from behind him.

Indrid’s antenna flatten.

“Fuck, wasn’t expecting him to be that big a freak” one of the bullies scoffs.

Black wings twitch.

“Newton, give him the glasses back so we don’t have to look at him!”

Indrid trills, upset, and leaps into the air at the same moment Aubrey yells, “that’s enough” and Vincent shouts a reminder about no flames in enclosed spaces and also detention for you three. Duck is to busy climbing out the window Indrid flew through to pick up the details.

One two-story fall later, he’s chasing a dark shape into the Monongahela forest. While the parts of the woods near his hometown of Kepler are non-enchanted, this chunk is magic down to the moss (he plans to write his final year project on how those halves of forest mesh on an ecological level). One of the worst aspects of the enchanted portions is their tendency to re-shape around travelers. His usual way around this is to have an unwavering sense of where he’s going and pretend the woods are giving him an unchanging path to get there. But that trick does fuck-all when he doesn’t know his destination.

After two hours of searching he’s no closer to finding Indrid, it’s getting dark, and he’s debating heading back to the school for help. He hasn’t been this deep in the woods since he fled the Dire Wolf, and he knows the deeper you go into the trees, the wilder the magic becomes. Bad news for him, even worse for his friend who's out there somewhere, upset and alone.

Eight gigantic eyes glitter at him from the dirt, and he quickly rearranges who has it worse right now.

Throwing a burst of light into the trapdoor spiders eyes buys him enough time to bolt to a tree and climb. As soon as it crawls free of its burrow he freezes; if he’s remembering right, they use vibrations to locate prey.

Fuck, that thing is the size of a VW Beatle. Why is that even a thing? No spider needs to be this big!

In spite of his stillness, it spies him and sets its forelimbs on the tree-trunk. There’s nothing else for it; he draws Beacon, pictures the spider shrinking, and casts his spell.

A soft crunch of leaves signals it hitting the ground, now an unremarkable size for an arachnid. Just as he steps down a branch, a second trap door opens and an enraged spider bursts out, looking for it’s friend. When it can’t find it, it turns and snaps its mandibles at Duck. This time, Beacon does nothing, no matter how Duck commands and curses as his eight-legged doom gets closer.

A crackle of electricity and then this spider disappears as well. On the other side of the trunk, red eyes regard him with worry, “are you hurt?”

“Nah, all in one piece thanks to you.” He holds out his hand, “you wanna head back?”

“Yes, please.” Indrid flaps to the ground, Duck following him on foot and then turning them towards campus, “you did not need to come look for me.”

“Course I did, not gonna let my friend get swallowed up by the forest. Oh, here” he holds out the red glasses, “you want these back?”

“Not just yet. That is, if this form is not too alarming to you.”

Duck takes in the glossy feathers, the charming ruff, the way the face is still obviously Indrid yet excitingly new, “I’m good.”

Light flickers from black claws, stars and flowers spinning out with ease, “It’s so much easier when I’m like this. I never foresaw my disguise charm being an issue, but the older I’ve gotten the more it seems to influence my ability to control my spells. But, well, you saw how people reacted. Even you were startled.”

“In my defense, I thought you’d been eaten by, well, you.” Duck casts the same spell, vines of light chasing the red flowers, “I’m still sorry, though. You ain’t horrible like this, ‘Drid; you’re fuckin stunnin. Never seen anyone as incredible as you.”

Indrid stops, looking down at him, “Do you truly mean that?”

Duck rises on his toes, pecking his cheek, “Yeah, I do.”

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

The Halloween Formal is the most elaborate event at Amnesty. Indrid feels that if there’s any day he’s within his rights to be in his true form, it’s when everyone else is dressed as monsters.

He doesn’t have a date. He thought Duck was in the same predicament. Then his friend left before he was half-done grooming his feathers, saying he needed to get flowers for his hot date.

Ah well. At least Indrid will get to see him there and spend some time with his friends.

He checks his reflection in the gleaming black walls, orange and purple lights glowing and jack’o lanterns floating above his head. He adjusts his robes, the nice red ones his father sent him, and prepares to enter the ballroom.

“Hold up.”

When he turns, Duck is standing there in his black dress shirt and green tie, looking for all the world like he’s alone.

“You got one more thing to put on” He holds out a bracelet of flowers, sized to slip perfectly over Indrid’s hand. There are matching flowers pinned to one side of Duck’s hair.

“Oh. Oh my. You really-”

Duck uses a small spell to bend Indrid into a kiss; it’s a bit messy, since their mouths aren’t meant to fit together, but Indrid would not trade it for all the magic in the world.

“Yeah, ‘Drid, I really do.” With that, Duck offers his elbow and they walk arm in arm into the great hall.

#indruck #indrid cold/ duck newton #meet ugly #wizard au

[tomthesoftie]

the right decision

❧ prompt: you and tom grew up together but always as enemies — nothing more, nothing less. as you grow older, you must realize it’s time to be mature. you either must throw tom out of your life or take him in as an ally. which will you choose?

❧ pairing: prince!tom holland x princess!reader

❧ genre: angst, e2l

❧ warnings: light swearing, hints of infidelity, hints of a toxic relationship

❧ a/n: this was half-assed because i didn’t have the will to write this lmao but i feel bad for not posting anything over my break, so... there’s gonna be a second part to this because, like i said, i had no will to write these past few days. happy new years, merry belated christmas/happy belated hanukkah 

chap. 2 →

masterlist                     prompt list

Stepping into the ballroom, you are met with hundreds of pairs of eyes staring at you.

You are clad in an elegant gown of ivory fabrics and sewn-on golden delicacies. Your feet are already stinging in pain from the uncomfortable stilettos you wore. Your hair is pulled back into a braided half-up styles, gentle waves accenting your beautiful face. 

The music abruptly begins, and everybody’s eyes have avert back to converse with the others in the room. Only does one pair of eyes not leave your figure as you glide down the grand staircase.

You can hear your heart pounding loudly in your chest, a bundle of nerves stir in your stomach.

Usually, you avoided attending these crowded occasions because whenever you did, you’d get weird stares from the other princesses.

As you curtsey politely to passing royals, a familiar figure catches your gaze. Closing your eyes into an elongated blink, you open your eyes once again to ensure that your eyes aren’t playing tricks on you. When the image stays the same, it’s all the confirmation you need.

Your longtime arch-nemesis was standing beside a large, marble pillar, smirking at you. 

For a moment, you feel a sudden rush of relief at the familiar face, but dread overtakes you, once again, as you realize that you have to spend the night with the infuriating man. 

From behind you, a hand rests on the small of your back, and a voice fills your ear, “Good evening, darling.”

You stiffen at the familiar voice. Forcing yourself to face the man beside you, you plaster a fake smile on your face. 

“Vincent,” you inwardly cringe at the taste of his name coming off your lips, “I didn’t know you’d be attending tonight.’

“I could say the same for you. You never were one to attend these events,” he eyes you strangely, “Unless you were lying to me?”

Your eyes widen at the accusation, and you scoff, “I don’t lie about foolish verity, unlike some.” Your voice comes out bitter, features mirroring your tone.

“I don’t understand what you're trying to imply, my darling,” a wicked grin grows on Vincent’s face.

You roll your eyes, fists clenching at your sides. You laugh spitefully, desperately trying to prevent yourself from knocking that grin off his face.

“You-” you are cut off by an accented voice.

“Excuse me, who are you?” The voice says.

“Vincent Callon, Prince of Averna,” Vincent bows before raising a suspicious brow at the man, “You are?”

“Tom. Tom Holland of,” the brunette pauses for a moment, “it doesn’t concern you.”

“How disrespectful,” Vincent snarls at Tom’s remark.

“I could say the same about you. What kind of man promises a woman all of his love and loyalty to crush it within less than 24 hours?” Tom snaps, slyly.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Vincent growls through clenched teeth.

“Do I? Or is it you?”

The tension was uncanny to any other being in the room. You, being the reason of which, decide to speak up and end their quarrel.

“Well, it was,” you gulp, “nice to see you again, Vincent, but we must be going. There is much to do, tonight, especially since I don’t often appear at such events.”

Not letting him reply, you grab Tom by the hand and drag him along with you, ignoring the burning sensation of his hand in your small, in comparison, hand. You pull him through the crowd of people, barely acknowledging the glares you received from envious princesses. 

When the pair of you are in an isolated space, you snarl, “What was that?”

“What was what?” He asks, blatantly.

“Don’t do this with me right now. I’m already as mad as it is,” you sigh, hand reaching to massage your temples.

“You seemed uncomfortable,” he shrugged, uselessly.

Scoffing, you reply, “As if you care.” Looking him right in the eyes, albeit making your fierceness falter, you ask him with entirely seriousness in your voice, “Why’d you help me? What do you think you’ll achieve from it?”

Furious, he snaps, “I don’t think I’ll achieve shit from helping you! Why are you assuming the worst of me? I don’t want to keep this petty relationship between us! I’ve known you since you were just a newborn. How long are you going to hate me?”

Shocked at his sudden outburst, you stutter, “T-Tom, I... I don’t know what to say,” he throws you an unimpressed look, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know my behavior offended you. I just thought-”

“Thought that I hated you?”

You shamefully nodded.

“Great to know you think highly of me,” he rolls his eyes, walking past you in fury, hurt, and humiliation.

“Tom,” you call out, turning to face the direction he walked away in.

You thought that if Tom ignored you and let you be, you would be happier and complete, but now that he’s walked out of your life, you can’t help but feel guilty and ashamed of yourself.

Did you make the right decision?

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