#this nightmare spider was a pain to draw | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cat-mentality · 5 months

Text

It's funny really, how much the children have taken from their adoptive parents.

How looking at them is something akin to looking in a mirror.

Richarlyson who has a little bit of every one of his parents. Pac's warm eyes, Felp's curly hair, Mike's smile. Richarlyson who loves building, who is curious and adventurous, who always has a witty remark in the tip of his tongue, who is so protective of those he loves, who has so much love to give.

Pomme with Pierre's smile and Baghera's eyes. Pomme who is fierce and clever, who loves deeply and selflessly, who will take charge of any situation and bows to no one, who stands strong even in the face of the worst adversary.

Empanada whose hair is a mixture of Bagi's and Mouse's, whose eyes are just like Tina's, who laughs and smiles like Niki, the same sharp teeth. Empanada who is kind and gentle and loving, who likes soft things and to take care of her animals, who loves her siblings and would do anything for them.

Sunny with Tubbo's smile, who doesn't recognize the features of her other parents in her face, she has Pol's warm brown eyes, Lenay's cherry red lips and round cheekbones, Slime's light brown hair. Sunny who clung to the person who loved her dearly, who is witty and hardworking, who looks at things and is never satisfied with how they are, who always wants them to be better, who never settles for scraps.

Pepito with Carre's bright green eyes, Quackity's dimpled smile, who doesn't recognize his hair color as matching with Rivers', who doesn't even know he and Mariana match with their glasses. Pepito with his love for movies and spiders, with his drawings and his bright smile, who likes Amarantos and helping people, who laughs and laughs at every little thing, a bundle of joy.

It's tragic really, how much the children have taken from their adoptive parents.

How looking at them is something akin to looking in a mirror.

Richarlyson who has never had a birthday with all his family together and unharmed by the world, Richarlyson who despite the best effort of his fathers has known tragedy as much as he has known joy.

Richarlyson who puts a smile on his face, like his pai Forever, who hides his pain because he can’t think about burdening them with his feelings when he knows how much they have suffered, how much they keep on suffering, Richarlyson who knows they hide things from him to protect him and wants to return the favor, wants to give as much as they have given him. Richas who tries to be a beacon of light, who just wants to protect people, who wants them to be happy and safe even if that means putting himself in harm’s way.

Richas who smiles so brightly, who jokes even in the darkest moments, and that makes people forget he is only a child. Who is treated as older than he truly is, as stronger than he truly is, as if people don’t realize how fragile, how young he is. Richas like his pai Pac, trying to turn every dark moment into a joke in the futile hope that it will make things hurt less, that downplays every nightmare that comes his way because if he can joke about it, it couldn’t be that bad right? He is fine! Look at him, smiling and joking, and breaking down when no one can see him.

Richarlyson, who likes his pai Cellbit has a part of himself that he is terrified of. A darkness that spreads around his chest, that comes to light in bursts that leave him shaken and scared in their wake, Richarlyson who is scared of himself, who doesn’t understand where he come from, why those things happen to him, Richarlyson who is so much like the little boy Cellbit doesn’t remember being, the little boy Bagi has searched her whole life for. Richas who, just like his pai, tries to push that part away, as deep as he can, because he is terrified that it will cause harm to the people he loves, who will every single time choose to be the one harmed over them without thinking twice.

Pomme who was born with a target on her back and a weapon in her hands. Pomme who has had to fight for her right to exist just as much as she had to fight for the love of her parents, Pomme shaped by the eternal guilt of those moments where others had to risk their lives for her sake, marked by the initial rejection.

Pomme who thinks she must protect her sibling and her parents even if that means hurting herself, Pomme who would gladly, easily, set herself on fire for the sake of others. Pomme wh, like her dads Pierre and Antoine, hides her problems deep inside because she would never want to share her burdens and her pains with others, who wants to fix things herself without having to involve others.

Like her mother Baghera, who wants to protect everyone, who will spread herself thin trying to do the right thing, trying to keep her loved ones safe and happy. Pomme who loves without expecting the same level of devotion back, who loves even when she doesn't believe she will receive anything in return. A warrior out of need, made a survivor by the world around her.

Like her father Etoiles who finds comfort in holding a weapon, in fighting a battle. Pomme like Etoiles who looks at her loved ones and puts herself as their protector, who bases her worth on her ability to keep them safe. If she can't protect them, if she can't help them when they need, then what is her worth? Why would they love her if she failed in her only duty? Pomme like Etoiles who takes the burden on her shoulders because she cannot imagine she will be worthy of their love otherwise, because she believes it's what she needs to do even if no one would ever tell her so.

Empanada who doesn't fit.

Like Bagi, a stranger in a strange land, someone to whom people still look at with distrust sometimes, wrapped in the knowledge that at the end of the day everyone else has other priorities, others they will seek first, others they will always love more and at peace with it no matter how much it hurts. Empanada, like her mamãe, used to chase after ghosts of affection, clinging to scraps because for the most part of her life that is all she had.

Like Tina, hiding parts of herself in a desperate attempt to be loved. Chopping away the ugly bits, the things she believes no one wants to see, that no one would ever love, the hard parts, pushing it all away because she is terrified of what they will think of her if they see it. Empanada like her Eomma, who doesn't believe people will love her if they see the darkness inside of her heart, if they knew what she lived through before the Island.

Like Niki, still struggling to find her place, to feel like she is part of everything, feeling that she is always at the fringes of everything, never a part of whatever is happening.

Like Jaiden, the mother she never met. Haunted by the past, alone in her grief and her sadness because she cannot burden her siblings, who all have the same trauma, because they all need to heal even if she stays shattered because it is her job to protect them and she has failed too much already, because she doesn't believe others will offer her support since she is still a stranger to them, Empanada who doesn't know the woman who she shares so much with, who is still unsure if she will ever be accepted by her.

Sunny who clung to Tubbo with desperation because he was there, who tries so hard to be loved, to be accepted, to be trusted, who bases her worth in that. Sunny like her father, feeling like a stranger, feeling left out, desperately trying to carve a place for herself into the hearts of others because she is starving for love but cannot put those feelings into words, cannot bear the vulnerability of truly asking for it.

Little child who like her father never feels like she is enough. Sunny, who smiles brightly, who is happy and energetic, who acts as if she is the best because deep inside she believes she is the opposite. Sunny who takes rejection as a proof of her own failure to be loved, who puts on herself the burden because if they can love everyone else, if they can accept all the children but her, surely she is the problem right?

Sunny like Tubbo who shoves her insecurities as deep as she can, who pretends they don't exist unless she is with those she trusts the most because she wants to be strong, she wants to be good, she wants to be loved.

Pepito who is not as much of a mirror to their parents as they are a glimpse into the past, as to whom they used to be before the world crushed their spirits and mind. Pepito who is loved by people who hate themselves so deeply that they cannot help but hate them as well.

Pepito who just like Roier smiles no matter what is happening around them, who hides everything behind said smile, who doesn't want to let sadness cloud their vision, to damper their optimism, who clings to the good parts, not yet tainted by the betrayals and loss that changed the apa they never saw smile. Pepito like Mariana, like the man they have never meet, the father that is barely spoken of, who pushes pain and grief away, who laughs and ignores the bad bits because it would shatter them, like it shattered this ghost of a father.

Pepito who loves freely, carelessly, who opens their heart to everyone, Pepito who sees goodness even when there is nothing good, who trusts people, who wants to be exactly like this apa Quackity with his sad eyes, who believes they can fix people, that they can make them happy, that has hope that better things are to come. Pepito who will always put everyone else's happiness before their own.

Pepito, who is cursed with the love of people who know loss like an old friend, a constant companion, Pepito who is a ghost of siblings they will never know, forever in the shadows of their loss. Pepito who is loved by people who are just waiting for the moment the world will break Pepito's spirit, for the moment they, cursed as they believe themselves to be, will somehow destroy this child because their hands have proven time and time again that they are not made for softness, for protection. Pepito whose joy is a curse, an offense for people whose hearts cannot stand to be hurt more, who don't believe that goodness and purity can last.

The children are the mirrors of their parents, for better or worse.

296 notes · View notes

busines-as-unusual · 7 days

Text

˖ ࣪ ⭑⟡Chapter 8 - The Goal I’m Dreaming Of ⟡⭑ ࣪ ˖

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

The ringing in your ears was piercing, threatening to shred your mind. Seconds felt like hours. A chill raked your flesh. You willed your legs to move. Dread rooted your feet to the floor. Were you breathing? Your heartbeat was too strong, too fast. And Alastor…

He saw.

He heard.

He knew.

No no no no no no n

“Why are you here?” Your voice was distant, stripped of its usual bite.

Alastor slinked down the stairs, his footfalls deafening. You were a fly trapped in a web, watching the spider draw closer, ready to devour you with no remorse.

“I hadn’t the faintest idea you had such a violent streak,” he said. “So much rage in one woman. I'm almost mad that you've been hiding it from me.”

“Stop talking. Just— stop!”

He came to a halt at the bottom of the steps, less than ten feet away. Far too close.

“… you need to go.” You cringed at the sound of your voice, hoarse from crying. Shit! Your mascara streaked down your face from tears. Your hair a mess, your body filthy with drying blood and gore; you looked like a rabid animal.

It’s your fucking nightmare.

Alastor cocked his head, neck bent unnaturally. “I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me! Get out!”

You grabbed the quarterstaff and hurled it at Alastor. He dissipated into shadows before it could hit him and reappeared right in front of you. You cried out and stumbled back, catching yourself before you could fall into the cadaver’s lap.

Turning from Alastor, you rubbed your arms; a futile attempt to self-soothe. “You shouldn’t be here. You can’t be here. Get out of my fucking house!”

You couldn’t do this. Not tonight. Not like this. Not at all. Not ever. Not with Alastor. You’d rather he bisect you alive and remove your beating heart. It'd be less painful.

Alastor swept around to your field of vision and pulled your arms apart. “You’re hurting yourself.” He was right. Angry raised lines formed over your skin, blood threatening to break the surface.

“Let go of me!” You wrenched away from his grasp, nearly toppling again. You ran fingers through your messy hair, stray strands pulling free. “Why are you in my face every goddamn second?!”

He replied with a widening smile. His stupid fucking goddamn smile! Didn’t his face ever cramp? He looked downright giddy, like a child at a carnival. He was a wolf ready to devour a rabbit, playing with it before it died.

Rage bubbled from your chest to your throat in a snarl. “I’m not here to entertain you! This wasn’t a ‘performance’. I’m not putting on a show. None of this—” you waved wildly at the corpse, “was for you! You think just because I—”

You shut your mouth fast enough to make your teeth clack. Alastor’s eyes widened in… excitement? Like he anticipated something he’d been dying for. You felt like his performing monkey.

Your whole body flushed with heat; anger and humiliation writhing inside you. “I’m really glad this is a biiiiig joke to you!”

Smile narrowing, his brow wrinkled with displeasure. “You’re putting words in my mouth. I never implied I found this humorous. I don’t.”

Your jaw worked as you chewed on your rebuttal. For some reason, you believed him. Despite how he enjoyed watching you fall apart, he didn’t find joy in learning why you did so. Despite him being a sociopathic sadist who loved witnessing the dysfunction of others, he had some standards.

(A low standard to be sure, but you were in Hell, after all. The bar was so low it wasn’t even considered a tripping hazard.)

Tears burned in your eyes. You blinked them away. Deep breath. You swallowed hard. “…I am not some helpless, pitiful fucking victim, okay?” You spat the word out in disgust like one might a slur.

“My dear—”

“I’m not broken, or-or damaged, or sad, so don’t—”

“Temerity.”

Alastor’s voice dropped an octave as his tone turned serious. Your hammering heart stopped on a dime, and you were shocked you didn't keel over into a second death right there.

He towered over you, but not in his usual intimidating way. Instead, it felt almost… sheltering? “The last thing I see now is a pitiful victim.” He turned your chin so you looked him dead in his crimson eyes. “Congratulations, my dear, on a job well done.”

You moved to take your chin from his grasp, but he grabbed the side of your face and, with a gentleness you never dreamed he’d possessed, guided you to recapture you in his gaze.

“Let go…” you muttered but made no attempt to move. Instead, you chased the warmth of his palm with your cheek. “Alastor, you—! Goddamn you…”

Tears flowed freely from your eyes, spilling into the space where his skin met yours. You heaved a heavy sigh that rattled your ribcage. Eyes shut, you silently cried. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at Alastor as he ‘held’ you like this. Whatever you found in his eyes, be it rapture or ruth, you wouldn’t be able to handle it. Still, you drank in the small amount of comfort he afforded you. This would be the closest you’d get to a hug from him.

Alastor brushed a tear away with a swipe of his thumb, smearing blood and makeup across your cheek. “Now then! No more tears. You still have unfinished business to attend to.”

Oh right. Him.

You lingered in the moment for a second. Two. Finally, you opened your eyes to look at the body and then, with effort, back to Alastor. “Help me bury the bastard?”

He fixed you with a sharp toothed grin and bowed his head to you. “Why, it would be my pleasure.”

To no one’s surprise, disposing of a corpse was easier with help. Alastor offered to use his powers to speed up your work, but you insisted on doing it the old-fashioned way. It was part of the healing process, and he was inclined to indulge you.

Soft jazz from his cane filled in the silence between you two as you dug the hole; the musky scent of hellish earth filling your nose. The distant sounds of a gunslinging turf fight turned to white noise. Occasionally, Alastor would chime in with a comment or joke, and you’d laugh or respond before lapsing back into the silence.

By the time you shoveled the final scoop of dirt over him, you were covered by a thin layer of sweat. As predicted, Alastor looked pristine as always. Again, unfair.

You tossed the shovel aside, and Alastor’s disappeared in a poof of green magic. Already, grass and yellow flowers from the other four plots spread and grew along the edges. Soon the whole yard would be uniform, leaving no physical reminders of the bodies underneath. Like they never existed.

Alastor dusted himself off and readjusted his bowtie. “Should we perhaps say a few words?”

The glint in his eyes told you he meant it in jest. You laughed dryly.

“What an honor it was to be a part of this. I can’t think of a better man for this to happen to.”

Alastor laughed. He reached out toward you before you could flinch. His clawed fingers threaded through your hair and he pulled away a pink lump of something; a small bit of brain. He popped it in his mouth like a piece of chocolate.

You swear, this man and his sexy cannibalism…

You looked away and stretched. “I need a drink! Feel free to do what you please, you always do anyway.”

Alastor followed you inside. Thankfully, he couldn’t see your smile.

You led him to your claret-colored parlor, a room you were quite proud of for its sundry uses. Whether you hosted supper club parties or smaller get togethers, it was a wonderful room for conversing, mingling, and even performing. The mini bar and piano near the corner were an excellent addition. Conversely, it was also the perfect room to read in or listen to music while lounging on the plush chaise.

You gestured for Alastor to make himself comfortable. He did so, sitting down in one of your cozy parlor chairs and resting his microphone against the side.

“Usually after a night like this,” you said, making your way to the bar, “I go swimming in alcohol with Mimzy, maybe go on the hunt for a good shag, buuuuut!” You twisted the cork off a bottle of gin with a pop! “Considering a certain unwanted guest, I’ll make a slight change to my plans. What’s your poison?”

You knew the answer before he said, “Rye if you have it. Two fingers.”

You hummed in assent, chuckling under your breath immaturely at his use of words. You fixed his drink along with yours— a gin rickey— and handed it to him before sitting opposite him.

The gin rickey went down easy and you relaxed as you enjoyed the tart drink. Refreshing. Eventually, when the silence was broken, you were the one to do it. “Do I want to know why exactly you're spying on me, Alastor?”

“Well, my dear, you left in such a rush today, anyone would be curious.” He coolly sipped his rye.

“So it’s not just Vox I have to worry about, huh?”

You shrugged, ignoring his bitter look he gave you over his glass. He could be pissy all he wanted, no one asked him to be here.

Even if you’re glad he was.

“Well, I hope you enjoyed the show.” You took a final gulp of healing alcohol. “That was my swan song of vengeance.”

“How disappointing.”

“For you.”

Drink now empty, you stood to grab another. You stopped by your record player, dropping the needle somewhere in the middle of a jazzy instrumental.

You placed the empty glass at the bar when Alastor's hand came down on the counter beside you. You froze. He wasn’t directly behind you, he wasn’t even touching you, but did you ever feel him. His mere presence weighed heavy behind you, pushing you closer to the bar. You were sure Alastor could see you biting your lip in the reflection of the waxed wooden counter.

“Now now, dear.” He slid his empty glass onto the counter with his other hand, momentarily caging you in. “Before you get too inebriated, I do want to inquire about these other revenge tours of yours, as it were. Now, will you tell me the truth or do I have to take advantage of our deal?”

Your brain worked at half speed. First things first, you needed to create space between the two of you.

You propped your elbows on the counter and rested your chin on laced fingers. Alastor subtly shifted back to accommodate your new position. Good.

“I’m never one to be taken advantage of, well unless I let a gentleman do the taking.”

With a disgruntled noise, he backed away. You grinned and twirled behind the bar, taking pleasure in his tight smile and grimaced brow.

You took a big swig of gin from the bottle. It was the strong stuff— Hell knows you needed it— and shuddered at the taste . “Screw it, I’ll tell you the truth. You know the worst of it already.” You busied yourself with washing Alastor’s glass, preferring to be partially distracted.

“Honestly, there’s not much to tell,” you said, eyes fixed on your moving hands. “Tonight was a repeat of the other four bastards I took care of.

“With the first two… I got lucky. They died together in some car accident and I found out through the grapevine.” The grapevine, in this instance, were the informants who worked for you scattered around the city. “Seducing them was… disgustingly easy. They didn’t recognize me, of course.”

Another big gulp of gin. You weren't going to have any left at this rate. Good.

“By the time I was ready for the third, I.M.P was up and running. Getting him down here was easy, but killing him was another matter. Long story short: He escaped. I chased him down. I got him with the angelic steel garrote I use as underwire in my brassieres."

All at once Alastor managed to look both impressed and uncomfortable. The disjointed reaction had you howling with laughter.

“Don’t look so disgusted! A lady needs support… and easy access to multiple melee weapons.”

“And the fourth one?” Alastor rushed out, eager to move on from the discussion of your undergarments. “As I recall, those little imps implied he went to heaven?”

“That was the idea at first. He went and became a man of the cloth. Can you believe that?”

“I do, unfortunately.”

You shook your head and muttered, “Load of bollocks, is what that is.” You grimaced, your old accent slipping through as it did when you drank too much. “Fortunately, in my case, the feathered schmucks upstairs didn’t buy it either.”

You took a final sip from the bottle as the record came to a soft end. Your head buzzed pleasantly; you floated an inch of the ground, lighter than air. Alastor continued to watch you and you did the same. Cheek in palm, elbow on the counter, you drank him in as greedily as you did the gin. “Sastified?”

Alastor chuckled, low under his breath. “For now.”

An exaggerated huff, you made a show of rolling your eyes. You pointed a finger at him. “You’re such a nosey Nelly, you know that? Who gave you the right?”

“I’m a radio host, dear. Staying in the know is a part of my profession.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.”

You baltered over to the piano and sat at the wide bench. Fingers pattered along the keys. A horrible idea popped into your head and you didn’t fight against it. “Tell me if you recognize this.”

Your fingers drifted along the keys, playing a song for Alastor you'd only have the courage to do when zozzled out of your gourd. The piece was golden candy for the ears, the soundtrack to a pair walking through Central Park on a beautiful day.

You came to the end and faced Alastor, who'd crept to stand behind you while your back was turned.

“I didn’t know you were one to tickle the ivories,” he said, a note of intrigue in his voice.

Pride swelled in your chest. You grinned like a dummy. “Well, I don’t have it here as a paper weight.”

He sat beside you, elbow grazing yours, and walked his slender fingers across the keys. “George Gershwin, ‘I've Got a Crush on You.’ I'm quite familiar.”

“Hopefully not from the musical. I saw it on opening day and found it dreadfully whelming. But that Gershwin? Oh!” You placed a hand on your heart. “I bet you he’s in heaven.”

“You think so?”

“If he’s down here I would’ve nabbed him by now, along with Cole Porter and— Oh!” You clapped. “Here’s a song I know you don’t know!”

Unlike the gentleness of the first song, your fingers flew across the keys with vigor. A sly smirk spread across your face when Alastor leaned back slightly in surprise. ‘Mess Around’ by Ray Charles was decades after both of your times, but you made it your mission to stay up to date with music, even if you preferred the classics of your time.

To your shock, Alastor seemed to be the same way. Without warning, the song suddenly became a duet as he took half the song to play himself. You faltered, but only for half a second. His cocky grin fueled you, spurring you on to play better.

The two of you played together, the moment of synchronicity filling you with elation. It drew to the end when Alastor stole the song, making a show of sliding down the keys with a final touch of a note.

Wild giggles bubbled from the bottom of your lungs. You wiped away a tear. “Alastor! You’ve been holding out on me. If you did that every time you invited yourself over, I wouldn’t mind as much.”

“Doll, I was under the impression you quite liked my company.”

“Oh, I love your company, but you need to learn how to knock. Otherwise, I might take Vox up on that offer for discounted security.”

Immediately, the mood soured. Alastor turned slowly to stare you down, the static effect in his voice stronger when he asked, “And why, pray tell, did he offer you that?”

A dismissive wave of your hand. “Oh, you know. That’s how they all go down. People like Vox use gifts as a tactic to make you more agreeable down the line. I took the phone because he kept insisting.”

Alastor gave you a questioning look. You threw your hands up.

“He wore me down! The man’s persistent. At least you come by it honestly. Well, sometimes. Only an absolute fool would trust you absolutely.”

“Are you implying you don’t trust me?”

A complicated answer you had no hope of answering late at night and drunk. Instead, you riffed on the keys and chuckled under your breath.

He pivoted the conversation back. “What else went on with you and Vox?”

“I had to agree to be his dumb date to some dumb fashion show. Actually, it’s not that dumb. It’s actually pretty lavish, I’ve seen it on TV before and I’ve heard that—”

“Do you not see how foolish this is?” he asked rhetorically, as if he were addressing a child. “Vox is not someone you want to be indebted to.”

“Oh, and you are?”

The lights flickered above you. Alastor brow tweaked in annoyance. “You quite readily accepted my deal for someone who doesn’t trust me.”

“Who’s putting words in whose mouth, now?”

The words were out before you realized. Alastor gave no outward indication that you’d admitted to trusting him. You were no absolute fool, but you were a fool nonetheless. You knew Alastor wouldn’t use information on you to hurt you physically or humiliate you in a public way. Not that he wasn’t cruel, but doing so wouldn’t serve him practically. But he had the power to destroy you <i>emotionally</i>. You knew, he knew, and you handed that power to him on a silver platter. Like a fool.

You might as well have served him your heart for the feasting.

“A-anyway, don't you worry about me. I’m a big girl. I can handle Vox.”

A laugh. “Quite easily, I’m sure.”

Alastor stayed with you longer than you’d expected he would. You talked and laughed and drank, often goading the other to guess the name of the tune you’d play on the piano.

This was leagues ahead of how you normally spent your time after a night like this. You always enjoyed time with Alastor, but you never had such casual fun with him.

At one point he convinced you to sing the lyrics if you could recognize the song. You did, singing along to the melody before you quit, laughing off the embarrassment.

“The poor dear,” Alastor said. “If only she could sing as well as she danced.”

“Oh, stuff it!” But you laughed.

The alcohol was a problem. With enough liquid courage in you, you leaned into the Radio Demon, head against his shoulder. Everything in you told you to pull away, but you were too content. He felt too good.

Alastor noticeably tensed but made no move to remove you or push you away. Slowly, he relaxed, silently accepting your touch. Another victory.

“Alastor?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re an ass.”

He hummed in mild annoyance, returning his attention to the piano. Soft melody, light and comforting. “Enjoy that one, my dear, because I won’t let you get away with that again.”

To say that Alastor was in awe of you would be an understatement.

Of all the sides he’d gotten to see of you— your charm, your wit, your hilarious indignation— this might be his favorite.

More than your anger, it was your zeal. You carried fervor with you in everything you did. It was rather endearing.

However, Alastor was more than pleased to confirm he was right about your rage; your impassioned display of righteous violence was positively decadent. He practically salivated as he watched you work, the entire scene unfolded before him like the petals of a rose; bright red and beautiful. Currents of excitement shot up his spine like electricity, a feeling that was both familiar and unfamiliar to him.

Then to watch you unravel again once he announced his presence? He could hardly contain his excitement. You were vulnerable. Vulnerable, unhinged, and at his mercy. Emotionally helpless. Alastor finally had you right where he wanted you. You could no longer save face. He saw you, raw and unfiltered, your mask shattered beyond repair.

Alastor took no pleasure seeing you relive your trauma— he was a great many things, but he wasn’t that kind of monster! However, seeing you panic like caught prey when you saw him, post revenge? That he cherished.

How you snapped and screamed at him? How you cried? How his mere presence left you in hysterics? Positively entertaining.

How you were adamant that he shouldn’t see you in a lesser light? That he recalled with distaste, but not for you. It was almost laughable, the idea that faceless, degenerate scum could ever sully his vision of you.

And were you ever a vision.

Splattered in blood, flecked with organs and bones, you glowed in the light of heaven. You were radiant, a spirit of retribution avenging yourself sevenfold.

Alcohol made you ever more transparent in your affections. The song you played for him was practically a nonverbal confession. Still you held your tongue, refusing to outright admit to anything. You had slipped up once, and oh! Was he eager to see the look on your face when you did and…

If you confessed your attraction to Alastor, he’d assuredly turned you down. Of course he would. Not out of cruelty, but simply a lack of interest in such affairs. Unfortunately in his experience, rejecting one’s advances was the death of a relationship.

Alastor hoped you had better control of your attraction to him than… others he dealt with. He wasn’t quite ready to end things with you. If he were truthful with himself, he’d say he’d never be inclined to end things with you. You’d grown on him too thoroughly to cut you off and remain unharmed. Good company was rather hard for him to find in Hell. To cast it away would be foolish.

Besides, he had an unfinished deal with you, and he had zero intentions of letting it go to waste.

A/N: If you can name all the references, we’re best friends for life <3

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

♥︎Taglist♥︎

@forbidding-souda

@mo-0-o

@joumi13

@the--rebel--fae

@babesway22

@maychay

#alastor x oc #alastor x reader #alastor x female reader #alastor x you #hazbin x oc #hazbin x reader #hazbin x you #reader #reader fic #reader insert #alastor fanfiction #alastor x y/n #alastor

31 notes · View notes

space-writes · 3 months

Text

hello (again) writeblr! i decided to make a new intro that has all my current wips on it, since i have way more than when i first started out on here.

about me

I go by Space, my pronouns are they/he, and I’m in my third decade of existence, which is absolutely wild. I’ve been writing for most of it, so I like to think I’m pretty decent

I write mostly fantasy and erotica (sometimes at the same time), both original and fanfiction, and all of it's queer

You can find my work on my AO3 here, crossposted to my neocities here, and under my snippets tag

I’m open to tag and ask games, and my inbox is currently open to anything as well. I don’t always reply the fastest, but I’ll get to it eventually! (I don’t take part in chain asks, so please don’t send me them)

I use obsidian.md for all my writing, and it’s my favourite notes app ever, so I also talk about that occasionally. The tag for it is here, and I’m hoping to write some more showcases/tutorials this year!

my main goal is to actually finish some damn books and also to inflict my OC brainrot upon people. so far the second one is the only thing that’s actually happened, but i live in hope

My current wips are Chronicles of Valloroth (Renegade Prince being book one), Obedience, Obsession, and claws—summaries and links for all four are under the cut!

this is my writing sideblog, you can find my main @thespacelizard, and i follow/like from there

tag directory is here

current wips

Chronicles of Valloroth

⚔ Genre: Fantasy Adventure

⚔ Features: Queer cast, found family, A Whole Entire Dragon, magical mishaps, The Mere Concept of Doing The Right Thing, a grumpy assassin, a sparkly mercenary, knock-off tieflings, a handsome prince (he’s gay), more banter than your average dungeons and dragons campaign

⚔ Status: Book One: First draft completed, re-drafting in-progress || Books Two & Three: outlined

⚔ One Sentence Summary (Book One): A runaway prince seeks freedom in a new world and must find a way to convince a rag-tag group to defeat an ancient dragon, all whilst he is being hunted by a band of mercenaries and an infamous assassin.

⚔ Series Tag: valloroth blogging

claws

🩸 Genre: Queer Horror

🩸 Features: teacher/student relationship (university edition), toxic romance, gender fuckery, broken identity, demonology, murder, self-harm, obsession, stalking, infidelity, a lot of blood, pact-based magic system, corruption, jealousy, eldritch entities, love is a wound, body horror, attempted suicide, and a little bit of arachnophilia

🩸 Status: First draft complete!

🩸 One Sentence Summary: A young student’s obsession with his demonology teacher sparks a twisted romance that draws him to the limits of his humanity—and into the web of an eldritch horror.

🩸 Series Tag: wip: claws

Obedience

💜 Genre: Erotic Romance, D&D fanfiction (original characters, Forgotten Realms setting & loose 5E ruleset)

💜 Features: a variety of BDSM scenarios, one closed off wizard dom, one enthusiastic nerdy sub, weird uses for dnd spells, a painful amount of pining, somehow; worldbuilding, emotional slow burn, as much self indulgence as I can possibly fit in a fanfic series

💜 Status: Arcs 1-3 are complete (read on AO3 here, or my neocities here). The first book of Arc 4, The Perils of Wanting is currently in edits. The second book of Arc 4, as yet untitled, is on its second draft.

💜 One Sentence Summary: A D/s M/M series featuring two wizard boys, the kinky magic they get up to, and the feelings they definitely don’t have for each other.

💜 Series Tag: obedience fic blogging (it began on my main, so the tag there has more snippets)

Obsession

🕷 Genre: War of the Spider Queen/Forgotten Realms fanfiction, also Erotica, Horror and a smidge of Dark Romance

🕷 Features: OC/canon, a nightmare transmasc wizard boy, obsession, stalking, jealousy, violent impulses, dubious consent, possessiveness, evil gender dysphoria, incest, gore, the inherent horror of Having a Body, and occasionally actual school things happening at Sorcere

🕷 Status: Ongoing serial, which you can read on AO3 here, or my neocities here

🕷 One Sentence Summary: Pharaun Mizzrym is everything to Vizaeth Thaezyr. He’ll do anything for him—even if Pharaun doesn’t know it yet.

🕷 Series Tag: obsession fic blogging (it also began on my main, so check the tag there for additional content!)

#writeblr #writeblr intro #writeblr introduction #writeblr reintro #writing community #writing #writers on tumblr #writers #i did it i remade the intro!#everyone cheer and clap for me #anyway hello to all the people who've joined me here since i started!#thanks for listening to me incessantly post about my blorbos

40 notes · View notes

safety-writes-noms · 9 months

Note

Major Miguel enthusiast here - love your ATSV headcanons/predcanons!

Since you requested spidervores asks - thoughts on Miguel using his enhanced senses to track down and nom a tiny anomaly?

YES OFC

THIS IS NOT NSFW AT ALL!!! KINK BLOGS AND NSFW BLOGS DNI

vore underneath cut!!!

He can’t help himself when he comes in contact with anomalies on the smaller side. It’s like a simmering under his skin, an urge to hunt and he gladly indulges with only a vague sense of shame. After all, this is an anomaly and tiny ones are usually very difficult to catch. So surely no one will bat an eye if he has to use unorthodox methods to contain them, right?

He has no problems searching for the anomaly in the dark, even if it’s pitch black. He has very light sensitive eyes that were made to be able to see in even the darkest conditions. Enhanced eyesight is really convenient for when he needs it — just not for the person he’s hunting down.

The thrill of the hunt itself sets his subconscious alight. It’s not that he’s not usually determined to catch anomalies, he’s anything but unmotivated to do so, but something about tiny ones just make his instincts rise up from the back of his head like wildfire. He blames being 50% spider and the innate desire to catch small creatures.

He’s like a well oiled machine when he’s in sync with his instincts although the trade off is that he doesn’t think as logically as he would normally.

He’s also abnormally good at scent tracking. Even though he thinks it’s a little animalistic he admits that it’s a useful skill and that it gets the job done. Miguel is a whole lot more likely to swallow an anomaly with a more sugary taste/scent, and especially so if they’re tiny.

The longer the chase is, the more his frustration and determination grows. As well as the desire to nom the anomaly out of vague spite and instinct. If they’re particularly troublesome it’s practically guaranteed he’ll swallow them as soon as he manages to catch them. He sees it like a tiny reward for his efforts. Especially if they’re feisty. He doesnt mind having them tire themselves out on the plush lining of his stomach.

Miguel will not be gentle. Especially if catching the anomaly took longer than he wanted. He might even draw it out if he’s that pissed. He won’t bother to tell them that they’re safe either just to feel them squirm and fight since it feels nice for him. Like a massage, but on the inside. He’ll scoop them up and with no warning, stuff them in his mouth. Drench them in saliva so that they’ll go down easier and swallow, sending them down to their temporary warm and slimy prison.

— (bonus bc I'm bored rn)

“There you are,” the words are quiet, but spoken with a hint of a snarl. It makes your blood run cold and you freeze, finding yourself tucked into a dead end.

Fuck.

You had tried your best to escape. Seriously. Using what weapons you had on you to your advantage, ducking behind obstacles and darting through tiny openings. In your humble opinion you had at least given this gigantic man a run for his money. This gigantic terrifying man.

You hadn't even known what was happening, getting sucked out of your dimension and so rudely dumped out in this random place. You think it’s an abandoned warehouse…except so much larger in size. Courtesy of the tear in the multiverse that spat you out here like a discarded piece of gum. Or something equally gross.

Not to mention the very disturbing glitching your body was going underway every few moments. If it wasnt for the excruciating pain that burned through your body in tandem to the glitches, you would have assumed it to be a nightmare. You’re vaguely sure you saw your lungs outside of your body for a fraction of a second while you glitched.

Those aren’t even your most pressing problems at the moment. You hear a quiet thump as the — man-creature-spider (?) drops down from the ceiling gracefully. You’re not even sure how something so large could be so quiet.

Your neck aches as you have to crane your head just to get a good look at him as he stalks closer. Eerily reminiscent of a predator. He looks a bit like Spider-Man in your home dimension, if Spider-Man wore a mainly blue suit and looked like a monster out of the deepest depths of the abyss.

Maybe that wasn’t fair. You hadn’t seen his face after all. Honestly, you’re not even sure you want to anymore.

Although you had trouble seeing in the dim light here you had still manage to stretch out the hunt for longer than he had been anticipating and at least piss him off. Hiding among the gigantic shelves, tossing everything and anything you could find at his head. You had found out very quickly that this guy, as much as he looked like Spider-Man, did not have that insane sixth sense.

What he did have, however, were apparent talons and a determination that burned above all else to catch you. And kill you. Or eat you. You’re still not sure what he wants.

You spin around, your back pressing forebodingly against the cold walls. There’s no escape route now. Terror and adrenaline rush through your veins like fire, your breaths coming in unsteady puffs.

Maybe you can try and dart around him. Go under and try to find the exit to this place.

He lunges before you can even act on your plan. Or blink. A tight fist big enough to completely curl around your entire body closes in on you. It feels like your stomach’s dropped as he brings you up to his face with a low growl. Still though, just because you’ve been caught doesn’t mean you’ll make this any easier. You squirm and his grip only tightens warningly.

“You are so annoying,” He hisses. “I’m trying to shocking help you and you’re — “ Doesn’t feel like helping you think to yourself dryly and double down on your efforts. You almost manage to slip out of his hand, but are promptly caught with another one. The Spider-Man monster dude is not happy with you in the slightest.

He mumbles something in Spanish, probably a curse judging by the hissing undertones and glare he sends your way.

“Just — stop moving,” He says agitatedly as you continue trying to escape. You can practically feel his blood pressure rising. Talons prick at your back and you squirm away from them.

He scrutinizes you silently, narrowed lenses of his mask boring into you. You seriously don't like that look.

“Fine,” he snaps. “If you want difficult, I’ll show you difficult,”

Before you can even wonder what he means by that, his mask dissipates with a gleam of some sort of technology that you wont bother to try to figure out.

The first thing you note are burning red irises, fixated on you hungrily. The second are the bared fangs, long and dangerous. His maw opens, revealing a large plush tongue and a dark cavern leading down to what you assume to be a rather painful death.

No way. No way this dude is actually going to eat me, you think to yourself, horror surging up inside of you. No fucking way.

Apparently yes fucking way, as you’re stuffed into his mouth rather unceremoniously. It’s hot and wet and everything keeps moving, keeping you disoriented above all else. The light filtering in behind you disappears as he shuts his mouth with a quiet click of finality.

Saliva soaks into your clothes and his tongue curls around you lightly, leaving a thick sheen of spit over your body as well. Pearly white teeth surround your body, glinting in the low light.

the spider-monster-man person hums pleasedly -- is he enjoying this??

Renewed vigor surges through you and you grimly slot the bottom of you feet at the roof of his mouth and pushing. He grunts muffledly and to your elated success, you manage to open his maw slightly.

Fuck him and his stupid fangs. And his stupid "help".

He hisses quietly and the "ground" underneath you shifts, causing you to yelp panickedly. It's stupidly slippery here and you kick against his teeth angrily. He pays you no mind and nudges you toward the back of his pulsating throat.

Maybe if you just try a bit harder... you lunge forward, trying desperately to grab at anything before you're swallowed. you just barely manage to snatch... nothing. It slips from your grip.

fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK --

You feel your legs get dragged into that yawning abyss of warmth. it's like fighting against the river current -- utterly impossible. a loud swallow tugs you down to your hips, firmly rendering you stuck.

frantically you scrabble at anything before you're tugged down fully with another gulp. it's uncomfortably tight here, not to mention warm and slimy. well fuck him. if you're going to die you might as well choke him as well.

he makes a quiet sound of annoyance as you cling onto the back of his tongue for dear life. a foreign pressure makes you lose your grip, pushing you down further. he must have used his finger from the outside, that cheater.

you slide down his crushing gullet, aided by the slick slide of saliva soaked into your clothes. after what seems like forever you finally pool into a more spacious area.

it's oddly soft and warm here and you push against the cushy walls experimentally. the walls tighten around you, smothering you in warmth.

Miguel heaves a satisfied sigh, resting a hand over his stomach. He can feel frustrated squirming and he smirks. He'd been aggravated to no end since it had been so hard to catch the anomaly in the first place. he pats his gut, feeling a burst of movement.

managing to finally grab them was almost like a relief. he opens the portal back to HQ and reserves to keep them inside for while longer. he can explain that they're fine once he's in his office. for now though, he'll just let them tire themselves out against the lining of his stomach.

#sfw vore #extreme cuddling #s: spidervores #spidervores #nonsexual vore

69 notes · View notes

jaozendry · 1 year

Text

"Maybe he is interesting after all": PART 1

Pairing: Xavier Thorpe x Addams!Reader

Warnings: weapons, slight mentions of murder, manipulation

Summary: After you wake up from a nightmare (your version of fun, being a member of the Addams family), Xavier tries to cheer you up with his hidden abilities. You remain as stubborn and nonchalant as ever, however you are curious. You decide to question him about his mysterious and vague powers.

______________________________________________________________

"Hey, you okay Y/N?" a voice asks behind the door. "Can I get in?" it asks. You ponder a little. You take knife and approach the door. As you open it, you see Xavier, the boy who saved your life earlier this morning. You immediately drop the knife, much to his surprise. He asks again. "Can I get it?" he says with a smile. You stare at him blankly, wondering if you should skin him alive for interrupting your moment of peace. Considering he saved your life, you let go of that thought and decide to let him in. "Sure." you sigh.

"I heard you screaming, are you okay?" he asks, sitting on your bed. "Was it a nightmare?" You turn to him blankly. "Yes, it was what you consider to be a nightmare." He tilts his head. "And I was having fun." you add, sitting down at your desk. And awkward silence occurs for a few moments. "Why are you still here?" you ask while tapping on the keys of your typewriter with annoyance. "I just wanted to see how you were doing. I mean, I did save your life, didn't I?" he explains, smirking. "I suppose you did." you tell him after standing up. "But you should know better than to expect anything in return." He chuckles a little. "I wouldn't expect anything less, Addams."

You notice he seems to be holding a book. "What is that." you ask, pretending to be uninterested. "Oh, this? It's my drawing book." You look at him. "Give it to me." He hands it to you and you flip through the pages. "Wanna see a trick?" You glare at him, hiding your interest. He puts his hand over the drawing of a spider and focuses. Suddenly, a real-looking spider appears and falls off the book, crawling all over your room. You stare at it in interest and kill it when it approaches you, turning it into dust. You turn back to Xavier. "I stand unimpressed, Thorpe." you declare, earning a little grin from him. "Really? I thought it would freak you out." he replies. "That was a pathetic attempt. But I do suppose your abilities could make for a good diversion." He smiles in confidence. "Finally, you think something of me." he says. "Only for the moment. When you walk out of this room, you are useless to me." He laughs slightly, shaking his head and standing up.

"Hold on a moment." you order him. He stops immediately and turns to you. "When exactly did you learn how to do this." you ask him in an accusing tone, crossing your arms. He looks surprised. "Wow, that trick really caught your interest, didn't it? I guess I'll keep it a secret for now." You roll your eyes in annoyance. "I would kill you, but then I wouldn't be able to know the information I need." He puts his hands in his pockets and chuckles. "Guess I'm a lucky man." You approach him. "Only for now." you add. He tilts his head. "Can I have my book back?" he asks, pointing at it with one hand. "No. I will keep it for my own personal research." you reply. He can clearly see there's no use fighting you over it. He opens the door to leave. "Goodnight, Y/N." You reply to his comment. "Night, yes. Good, never." He turns back to you. "Yeah, yeah whatever, Addams." he chuckles while closing the door.

You sit down at your desk, opening Xavier's book. You begin your hour of writing. You decided that this small interaction you had with the man was worth at least 5 minutes of your writing time.

"As much as it pains me to admit, I suppose Xavier's abilities caught my interest. However, he is clearly not smart enough to make the best use of his powers. I'll have to guide him, make him discover what he can do, as good or bad as it may be. I had a plan to escape this school, but a new one came to mind. A better one, one more effective. All I need is Xavier to follow my every command, and I know exactly how to make him do so."

266 notes · View notes

yoinkschief · 11 months

Text

You have no idea how long this has needed to be done, he's been brewing in my head with no ability to do anything about it

Anyway time to explain some shit

The boy on the left is regular Tom and the one on the right is him halfway transformed Teefers too big for him mouth and I'm just now realizing I forgot to draw Tom's snake bites and other earrings fuck me oml Oh and he gets fuzzier cause in order to transform to and fro his demon form his body speeds up the growth process to help with the pain (something that developed, it was not instantaneously there and it's not perfect, the process is still INCREDIBLY painful he does not enjoy it)

Anyway, I wanted to say that usually a demon's horns (in my headcanon anyway) usually represent age, but there are certain sins that don't follow this rule such as Wrath and Lust, instead their horns represent power and status more than anything (the larger the horns, the more powerful you're considered and better treated you are in society) but even then not every demon will have horns, like Envy or Sloth

To explain my demon hierarchy and world building would take several posts and multiple AO3 books for everyone to properly understand it the way I see it but just know that there are 7 sins, the seven deadly sins, that each demon falls under (more or less, anyway), there are the original sins, the children they created asexually like starfish do and then their children mingling together and creating different races of demons and complex hybrids,,, pretty much every demon you see will be a mutt save for very high class demons (such as the OG sins and the demons that have the most "pure" blood of their predecessors)

Tom's demon, is really fucking weird in that regard because yes, his Demon is a full Rage Demon or in other words, a perfect demon of Wrath but it's like... Artificially made. And no one knows how

wink

But yeah it's super freaky and he's like one of the few things that could give demons themselves the sense of uncanny valley

Very hard to close mouth You know how snakes can open their jaws super wide to eat prey?... Yeah

Tom is based off of two things, besides demons n dragons ofc: Snakes and Spiders. I fucking hate spiders you have no idea how much looking this shit up sucked

Anyway his venom is stored in his teeth like how spiders are, but he's got a very snake-ish mouth. And can open his jaw super fucking wide like a snake or certain species of spiders can. To the best is a very simplified side profile example of that,,,, maybe I should make some body horror art of him with his fully extended jaw like some freak ass spider. That'd give me nightmares. Which I guess is the point.

I put too much time and effort into that mouth, please appreciate it

Also yeah closing his jaw is super hard cause of his lil snake-ish spider-ish teeth that protrude out of his mouth

Demons of Wrath tend to have bigger builds

BIG BOYYYY I LOVE HIM

This mother fucker is genuinely the reason it took me so long to create this damn sheet,, I could never figure how I wanted him to look, but in the end I stuck to something close to canon with my own stylized shit. Like his horns and jutting out teeth

Diving a bit deeper into my demon world building lore that's been brewing in my head for nearly a decade now (yikes that hurts to think about) demons have different builds, Pride and Lust tend to be very similar to society's standards of beauty (ever changing as humans adapt, so do demons... hmmm) versus Gluttony and Wrath tending to be more nightmarish and your run of the mil cryptid you'd see in the woods when you were fucking around where you shouldn't be

Symbol of Wrath

Every House or Sin has their own symbol, usually reserved for the original sins, but Tom is a special case because,,, reasons I'm not disclosing at the moment cause I think it's silly and shit or whatever I dunno I guess I'm embarrassed to explain it? For some reason? Anyway back to this

Nothing more to explain about it really, just that Tom has this marking on his monster form's chest and that's the black mark on the previous picture,,, except it's not actually fully black like that, it was just too tiny to get the details right so I decided to do the next best thing lol

It's a lion with horns that can be interpreted as Scorpion Tails, because the sin of Wrath is usually associated with Lions, Bears, Dragons and I think Scorpions fit, too, makes me think of the scorpion and the frog

Anyway that's my rant about headcanons I put too much thought, time and effort into that three people will read lol

#eddsworld #ew #art #fanart #ew tom #ew monster tom #jay draws #headcanons #ramble #rant #reference sheet #monster tom reference sheet #adding that for my own convenience lmao #i dunno if I should put any content warning for snakes or spiders #I mean there's no pictures of them but they're heavily referenced #meh. we're big kids if they don't like it they can block me and scroll away

133 notes · View notes

see-arcane · 2 years

Text

Lucy, Mina, and Jonathan: The Childhood Friend Trio We Don’t Get to See

Because I saw your tag @marghen (and because I need little to no prompting on this)—yes, everyone should absolutely keep in mind that Lucy, Mina, and Jonathan have been friends since childhood. I can’t be bothered to harvest all the scraps of text, but it’s mentioned more than once that Lucy and Mina have been close since they were little girls, and Mr. Hawkins will later mention the fact that he’s known Jonathan and Mina since they were small. They were all wee little kids together, all each others’ closest social circle up through adolescence and young adulthood. And, if the manner of their writing is any indication, they’re still each others’ closest friends.

Things to picture for maximum sweetness (and hindsight pain):

- Mina was the bridging friend between Jonathan and Lucy. As canon has established, both Jonathan and Lucy have the sweetheart gene, and likely took to each other like two golden retrievers meeting for the first time.

- Mina, while still being the mini mom friend, is also the scary friend. She’s the one who goes out of her way to read/stay up late to overhear the ghost stories too menacing for little children’s ears. She absolutely recites them to Jonathan and Lucy. They are both too smitten with her to mention they will have nightmares afterwards.

- Sometime around age 6, Lucy announces that she has already made plans for their home someday. Also their wedding—they will need an especially wide chapel to fit everybody across the aisle, she’s decided. She draws out the situation on a big piece of butcher paper, illustrating little crayon Lucy holding Mina’s hand who is holding Jon’s hand. Lucy is also holding the hand of a stick figure with a question mark for a head. There are several such figures squashed in with the three of them, as placeholders for future people.

Lucy: “In case we need to get more married,” she explains. “We’ll need a very big house.”

- Jonathan causes more than one heart attack when he reveals himself as being part spider monkey. He once climbed a tree that was three floors tall to retrieve Mina’s hat that had blown up into the branches. Another time he climbed the outside of a house to get a stuck cat off the roof. He was 8.

- All three have individually fought for the others’ honor on separate occasions as they grew up. Insults and rumors varied, but generally had themes of implying unmanly weakness on Jonathan’s part, salacious man-stealing on Lucy’s part, and blindness to how foolish it is to let her man be friends with other women on Mina’s part. Rebuttals were always swift, venomous, and often required the insulted party frantically holding back their companions, lest the defensive duo commit something newsworthy against the mudslingers.

- Mina, hiding her left hand: “Lucy. You know that trip to Bournemouth Jonathan and I went on last week?”

Lucy, has been conspiring with Jonathan for the perfect setup for weeks, has been slowly dying with the effort Not to Blab: “Mmhmm?”

Mina: “He proposed to me there. In a graveyard.”

Lucy: “Oh, my!” :o

Mina, glowing: “It was at Mary Shelley’s grave.”

Lucy, turning mental cartwheels: “You don’t say!” :O

Mina, revealing a wedding band with gemstones set like a skull: “And just look at the ring!”

Lucy, straining with every fiber of her being not to break decorum by jumping on the café table and cheering at the sky: “It’s gorgeous, congratulations!” :D

Later, out of Mina’s earshot, everyone in a post celebration-wine buzz:

Jonathan, beaming: …

Lucy, shit-eating grin: …

Jonathan, for the 100th time: …She said y-

Lucy, also for the 100th time: Fuck yeah, she said yes!

(They have been doing this for half an hour. At the full hour mark Lucy is giving a thorough monologue about why she should be both Maid of Honor and Best (Wo)man, it’s only fair, really, she’s known them both longest/best than any of his law school fellows…)

((Jonathan is still nodding at her when he falls asleep and off the chair.))

(((Mina herds them both to bed, silently promising herself never to mention she’d caught on to their plans from day one)))

I don’t know, I just really think it’s vital to recall that these characters are all just barely grazing young adulthood as of the novel’s time, and their entire lives have been spent growing up with each other. Even if the romantic context weren’t there, this is a certified found family trio—we just don’t get the chance to see and appreciate it within the novel due to certain vampiric prick circumstances.

Which is yet another strike against the bloodsucking bastard man. If it weren’t for Dracula, Jonathan would have gotten home on time and we’d have gotten a whole beach episode in Whitby with the three of them. Sigh.

#yes I do love hurting myself with headcanons why do you ask?#really though if a good adaptation ever happens #I'd love it if they examined the closeness of these characters before Dracula smashes everything with a big gothic hammer #it adds an extra layer of Something Precious Lost to the whole ordeal #not just personal danger #but the threat to this specific group of people who have known and loved each other since they were children #anyway #lucy westenra #mina murray #mina harker #jonathan harker #dracula #dracula daily

360 notes · View notes

teejaystumbles · 2 years

Text

it’s still Halloween so have some more gory dreamling :P

For 24 long hours, when John Dee held Dream’s ruby, the world sank into madness, sleeplessness and nightmares.

Listen.

Hob Gadling dreams. He is in a dark stone basement. Moonlight through a skylight far above illuminates a broken glass sphere, large enough to hold a man.

There is a creature inside it, crouching between shards of glass. Hob steps closer, fascinated. The creature looks like a man, yet is not. Its limbs are impossibly long, its skin is white as marble and stretched tightly over visible bones. Its face is a face Hob has beheld only a handful of times but would know how to draw with his eyes closed, if he had any talent for such things. It looks like his stranger but its body is so strangely-shaped that he struggles to believe they could be one and the same. Its eyes are pools of black tar with red embers glowing in their depths. Hair that shimmers like raven’s feathers and black spider’s silk sits on its head like a crown, unruly and wild. Hob has fantasized about the feel of that hair. Despite himself he takes another step, still unsure. Can this really be…?

It watches him as he steps closer. Then it opens its mouth and releases a low and trembling moan that shakes the basement’s foundation and makes the hair on Hob’s arms stand on end. Needle-sharp teeth glint in a beam of moonlight and in a second the creature is upon him.

Hob falls to the floor on his back with a grunt, long white bony claws clutch at his chest and tear at his shirt. He stares up into the bottomless eyes and pleads:

“It is you, isn’t it? Let me help. I can help, I can…”

The creature snarls and rips straight through his shirt and tears bloody gashes into his chest. Hob hisses in pain and grapples with the creature’s – his stranger’s, he’s sure, it has to be – claws and shoulders to hold him off.

“Please, wait, what can I do-”

Needle-sharp teeth bury in his shoulder and he howls. Claws are ripping him open, digging deeper inside his chest and Hob sucks in desperate breath after breath, gasping in pain. The teeth release him and his stranger’s handsome face stares down at him with blood dripping from his lips and chin.

Give me Give me more so cold cold COLD

It shivers against him and Hob fights against the pain and lifts his arms to embrace the skeletal monstrous form of his stranger, draws painful breath to say:

“I’ve got you, I’ll hold you, I’ll warm you, please, I’m here-”

Stay stay STAY get me OUT of here give me more I NEED MORE hungry hungry cold cold HUNGRY

Sharp clawed fingers pull his ribs apart and soft lips and nose bury in his neck and pant against him as he screams. Hob is dimly aware that this must be a dream, it has to be. He has never held consciousness for so long under such physical strain and having his rib-cage opened is a first but he’s pretty sure he would have blacked out a while ago. His stranger is pushing at him as if he’s trying to crawl inside him and Hob can only shake and gasp for breath and pull him closer.

Closer Please closer more deeper deeper you you you HOB please

“Anything...anything, for you…” he whispers into unbelievably soft black hair, chokes on his own blood and coughs, pushes trembling fingers into bony shoulders to hold his stranger as he shakes and buries his face in Hob’s open chest to feast, to wear him like a mantle-

Hob HOB HOB

“Yes…”

“Hob…”

The stranger’s voice is suddenly different, no longer a rush of sound into his brain but a voice his ears register. Hob fights through the pain to open his eyes. His stranger looks at him, his face full of Hob’s blood, but his eyes are wide and glinting with now white stars in their midst and there is sanity and recognition in them.

“Ah… hello old stranger...” Hob wheezes and smiles. With a glance at them both the stranger releases Hob, a frown marring his beautiful features. He waves his right hand and suddenly the pain is gone. Hob looks down at himself and sees no blood, no torn open chest. His stranger stares down at him, now clad in a black shirt and trousers. He still has Hob’s blood on his face and Hob shivers.

He lifts his hand and brushes it over his stranger’s chin.

“You still got…”

His hand comes away bloody and his stranger’s eyes widen, he sucks in a breath and then the blood is gone.

“I am sorry, Hob. I did not wish for you to experience any of this.” he says in a voice full of sadness. “A madman held control over the dreaming for several hours. This was...a very personal nightmare that latched onto you. I apologize.”

Hob tries to think. “Oh...so this was your nightmare?”

His stranger cocks his head and then lowers his eyes. “Yes.”

“Why...why would it latch...onto me then?” Hob asks and waits with baited breath. Part of him is thrilled. His stranger is here, and even if it’s a dream, he knows it is real.

Lips like rose petals part and tremble for a second before giving him an answer.

“Because this is my nightmare. You, here...and me, like that.”

His stranger sighs softly and steps back.

“I was...imprisoned. For a very long time. When I escaped I left this part of me here… I could not control it. And you stumbled upon it. Of all the nightmares that exist, you had to find this one.”

He shakes his head angrily and turns to leave.

“There will be no more bad dreams tonight, Hob Gadling, I promise. Sleep well.”

“Wait!”

Hob desperately reaches for him, grabs at his shoulder and pulls him back. His stranger frowns at him but waits. Hob releases a nervous breath.

“It wasn’t a nightmare. Not to me. I would…” he swallows heavily. “I would give you all you need. Anytime. Anything. I mean it.”

The stranger stares at him, lips parted, looking taken aback, if Hob where to guess. Hob feels himself blushing, feels his heart tripping and beating loudly and gives a helpless smile. He releases the other’s shoulder and looks at his feet.

“Sorry. I, I just wanted to tell you. I...hope to see you again. Soon?”

He lifts his eyes to his stranger’s face again with so much hope it’s choking him. Twin stars glitter in eyes like black tidal pools and a tiny smile plays at the edges of the stranger’s lips. A voice like dark velvet is the last thing Hob registers before he is sinking into soft dreamless depths.

“Very soon, Hob.”

#I needed to know what happened to Hob in 24 hours and so I wrote my own take on it #haven't seen any fic like that around please rec me if you know any #also Dream leaving a monstrous part of himself that existed while in the cage rings very true to me #anyway I hope you enjoy my weird gory love language #own writing #dreamling #tw: gore #it's a dream so #not that bad I hope #dream of the endless #hob gadling

188 notes · View notes

justsomeclintasha · 1 year

Text

Clint drops his head onto Natasha’s shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut tightly. He could read Steve’s lips, but he’s tired, and it seems to require more energy than he can muster. Instead, he leans into the warmth of her side. She breathes slowly. In. Out. It helps to calm him down.

The EMP blast near the end of the battle fried his hearing aids. The last thing he heard was a high pitched screeching before he ripped them out and yelled into the comm that he was compromised.

He had taken out the doom bots in front of him, then ducked into a corner of a warehouse. It was dark. Even without sound, he was sure his breathing was too loud. A red spider icon lit up on his arm guard, alerting him that she was nearby. He touched it, knowing a purple arrow would light up on hers. It was their only form of a back up plan.

He felt her presence before he saw her, kicking a small stone to get her attention. She cocked her head in question. Are you okay? He nodded, following her from the building, knowing she had his back.

Now, he feels the plane starts to dip. They’re almost at the tower. He opens his eyes. Steve is pretending he wasn’t watching him. He ignores it. A muscle stretches in his back as he straightens. Maybe he should talk to Tony about cushioning under his quiver. Falling on it does tend to leave a nasty bruise.

Natasha ducks off to her room when they return. He decides to take a shower while he waits for her, moving slower than usual. He barely finds the energy to pull on a pair of boxers and collapse onto his bed.

The overhead light flashes once before going dark. She’s here. The mattress dips as she snuggles in behind him. Her arm slips around his waist, and the scent of strawberry shampoo on her damp hair seems stronger than usual. He sighs.

“Thanks for having my back,” he murmurs, knowing she won’t reply. She lightly touches his earlobe. “They’re okay. No pain or anything.” He’s quiet for a few minutes and he can’t tell if she’s fallen asleep. “I just don’t.. I don’t want to have nightmares tonight,” he admits.

It’s easier to say it in the dark, in the silence, where he can’t be judged. It’s the fear of seeing his father again in his dreams. Of the beatings. Of losing his hearing. He draws in a shaky breath, finding it suddenly difficult.

Natasha kisses the back of his shoulder, then his hair. One of her hands rubs a soothing circle on his chest. Finally, when his breathing evens, and his eyes start to drift closed, she laces their fingers together and squeezes twice.

I got you, the gesture says, wordlessly. I’m here. You’re safe.

#clintasha #clint barton x natasha romanoff #clintasha fanfic

125 notes · View notes

letsunity · 10 months

Text

With Thunder Comes Lightning

Summery: Peter and MJ tried again, but the spark wasn't there; they stay as friends to raise their soon-to-be daughter. Everything was going great until evil goop and a spooky vampire guy fall out of an orange portal. Little does Peter know that the biggest pain in his ass and future mutant best friend has landed right at his feet.

Chapter 1 - Shockwave

Is it necessary for shopping to be so dull and miserable?

Seriously, there had to be a more fun way to get groceries than meandering around looking like a blind dog. What's the difference between an orange and clementine, anyway? They're both orange balls that taste nasty after you've brushed your teeth.

Peter understood why MJ couldn't go. She's heavily pregnant, after all. She couldn't waddle around like a mentally handicapped goose with a missing foot.

The issue was that MJ was so specific that he couldn't understand sometimes. How could he tell the difference between a regular banana and a foreign one grown on some random farm in nowhere-ville? No matter where it's grown, it's just an ugly phallus-shaped berry.

Also, why are pregnant cravings so weird? The idea of pickles makes Peter want to vomit, but combined with ice cream, the tears of god? Horrific!

As soon as the baby's born, they can return to - wait, what would they do? Neither was inclined to move out anywhere.

It took longer than preferred to realise the spark wasn't there. That fizzled out a while ago, maybe even before their divorce. That didn't mean they didn't care about each other, though. She's still important in his life but felt more like a close friend than his wife.

The feeling is, thankfully, mutual.

They would've broken up, moved out and stayed friends, but then MJ's pregnancy test returned positive. Even with both jobs, plus Peter's major unpaid one, it was hard to keep that house, let alone find a new one. The economy was in the toilet. Again.

A snail would be lucky to afford a shell at this rate. Even Peter's old place, as small and pathetic as it was, had been swooped up. There's nowhere affordable or available, so they agreed to live together and raise the baby as friendly roommates.

A tiny selfish part of him is sad about sex being off the table, but it's drowned out by the excitement and terror at being a father. He realised four months in that Miles was a teenager and this would be an infant - two separate things.

Can Peter do it? Raise a baby? Not only as a mentor but helping them walk, talk and wipe their baby booty. Every decision Peter made would impact that little life.

They didn't know what the gender was, so they drew straws - MJ picked the boy's name, and Peter got the girl's name. He chose May after his aunt, the closest mother figure he ever had. The birth giver didn't count.

He wasn't sure what he wanted, partly because he didn't have a choice but more because he didn't know what to expect. He saw videos of gender reveals, and aside from the ones that caused devastating wildfires, people tended to react badly. Some guys would break stuff in a rage over getting a girl.

Peter could be a girl's dad. He could sit down, paint nails, brush hair and play princess - Peter would be the best Princess! Snow White would be blushing with envy.

He's naturally witty and creative; he would keep up with their little games regardless of what they are. All he wants, honestly, is for them to be healthy and happy. Having Peter and MJ will be good, though he's sad they'll never meet May. She would've loved the tyke.

What will they look like? Will they be wonky and crooked like Peter or smooth and graceful like MJ? It's the luck of the draw with genetics. It's not like Peter could test for that thanks to his spider DNA - that would be more of a nightmare than sleepless nights.

Peter might be reaching his forties, but that's too soon to reveal he's Spiderman. It'll happen eventually; it's impossible to avoid. He'll choose, however. When his baby is grown and safe, he'll tell the world.

On his deathbed.

Surprise, this old dying bastard is Spiderman!

Oh, will the baby inherit any of his spider powers? That's something he never considered.

If there's any luck, which Peter severely lacked, then the baby won't do an exorcist and turn their head around while hanging on the ceiling.

Tingle tingly. Something spooky is afoot.

The older man glanced over his shoulder, trying to spot what triggered his Spidey sense. So far, it looked as mundane as usual. Nameless faces wandering around seeking produce and other artificially created crap, nothing suspicious.

The tingles never lie.

Peter heard someone scream from outside the store. Whatever the tingle was about, it probably originated from there.

After the situation in Miles' world, Peter started wearing his suit under regular clothes in case of this stuff. It shouldn't be easy to change, but with the people inside drawn to the screaming outside like moths to a flame, he threw off his dull clothes, ready to face whatever was happening.

Is it Goblin again? Rhino? Doctor Octopus? Maybe it's a new loser with nothing better to do. He hadn't seen Sauron, the dino scientist, in a while. He could get lucky and have somebody else's trash.

He liked Magneto. The guy was much easier to talk to than Scorpion. Most of the X-Men's villains are more open to communication. It could be one of the loonies like Taskmaster.

God forbid Deadpool or Moon Knight was running around New York again. He liked Wade in small doses, and it's hard to predict a person if they have three identities - you never know if it's Marc, Steven or Jake. Out of that trio, he liked Steven the most.

Spin the wheel of luck and villainy, great god of this confusing and scary universe!

Placing his shopping basket and list somewhere safe, Peter hopped over the aisles and through the doors. It's chaos outside, people yelling and running for their lives.

There's a freaky tear in the sky as if some cosmic cat had torn at the sofa lining of reality itself. It's glitching and leaking something, almost like it's bleeding. He got sucked through a portal once, but it didn't look so... septic. It's diseased and necrotic, and the air around it turned grey.

A bird flew close to it, freezing and falling instantly. Stay away from the spooky sky rip.

Freaky.

The hole shivered and widened almost like an eye, and two shapes fell out. The rift closed behind them, but Peter could still see a faint scar in the sky. Did Kingpin build another collider? Did the one in his universe do that? No, that was more like a Stark thing to do.

Maybe it's Doctor Strange. He's always messing with stuff that he shouldn't.

Peter swung towards the shapes, spotting them quickly.

One was so black that it absorbed all light, a writhing mass akin to a Symbiote but huge. It had red veins, almost like lightning, all over its body and a pair of viciously glowing vermillion eyes. It had a tail that twitched weakly on the melting road. Everything it touched started to decay.

The other was a Spiderman variant, already beginning to stand. He was a dark blue with red markings, ripped and tall. That guy is something new.

His spider-sense demanded he keep his distance, terrified of the black shape. Within a blink, the mass changed, spreading like a violent sea. It was roaring, crying in pain and anger and glee. Those red eyes were pulsating, swallowing the blue guy. However, Peter was unable to move.

Every cell in his body told him to flee, to get as far as possible from the Symbiote-like monster. It looked like Venom on roids!

A bulge grew within the living mound of angry flesh, soon bursting and revealing an outstretched hand covered in red and blue. There was something cylindrical and beeping.

Bomb.

The black mass seemed to realise as well, starting to disperse. However, the blue Spiderman threw something, causing a force field to form around them. It screeched, and then there was nothing, not a sound.

Peter jumped to the edge, waiting for a sign of something. His senses still told him to run, but someone needed help.

He looked for what created the barrier, quickly finding it. It's futuristic tech, but he figured it out. It took longer than he wanted to, but he's getting old; he's getting an elderly brain.

What's the age for dementia? Eh, it's not imperative.

The field disintegrated, vanishing into nothingness. There's black ooze and a cracked silver ball on the melting road. It looked dead, but he was still afraid of that stuff, whatever it was. He was worried the other guy had turned to ash before a hand tore through a charred car.

A Spiderman with talons? That's new.

The stranger pulled himself out of the car, looking intimidating and something out of Day of the Dead. He didn't get to take a step before collapsing off the roof, not moving.

Peter jumped to the guy's side, pulling him onto his back.

He could smell blood but couldn't see it. What is with the guy's suit?

"Neck," he heard; it was raspy and tired. "Nape."

Peter reached around the back of the guy's neck, feeling something that shouldn't be there. He pressed on it, and the suit vanished like a light was switched off.

How in the fuck was the man even alive? He had a gouge so deep in his abdomen that Peter could see past the fat and onto his bare intestines. Blood pooled under him, and burns covered what wasn't open or bruised.

"Burn it," the stranger spat, red trickling down his mouth. "Quémalo todo. Por favor, date prisa."

It would be great to know Spanish right now. What did he want to be burned? The guy's already flambéd.

His eyes are a beautiful red mixed with brown, the opposite of that monster's shade. He's pale from blood loss and is losing consciousness.

He can't let this guy die here.

It's not safe to take him to a hospital. He's not from their dimension; Nick Fury would pop his other eyeball out of his skull!

The only place that Peter could take him was the house where he could heal. He could already see it at work, and it was faster than Peter's healing factor; he's never seen it like that before.

"Burn it," the guy said before finally passing out.

"Come on, big guy. Let's fix you up."

Peter carefully lifted the man, well aware of their size difference. He heard a little whine of pain, which was an understatement for how fucked up he was.

What's with the funky watch?

It was hard to explain why he didn't return with groceries but brought a full-grown WWE candidate.

They used all the bandages in their first aid kids, even having to rip some of Peter's shirts to cover him up.

The regular healing was exhausting for Peter, so he couldn't imagine how much energy it'd take to recover from injuries that severe.

"So, he just fell out of a portal, like you did?" MJ questioned, rightfully confused and worried.

What's going to be the baby's future bedroom was occupied by their surprise guest. He's unconscious still, and he's a hunk of a man. What little skin that wasn't burnt, bleeding, or bruising was beautifully olive-toned and surprisingly smooth.

Those eyes lingered in Peter's mind. He hadn't seen eyes like that before, so fresh but burdened. The eyes of a Spiderman, but there's something different about that guy.

"Yeah. Unlike how I was, he's not glitching all over the place, which is a small mercy. Don't know how to get him home, though, wherever that is."

Having two spiders in New York would be helpful, but the new guy belongs in his dimension. He had a home somewhere else and probably a family as well.

"Maybe he could tell us who the other one was. The one he wanted to burn."

"I don't get it. It's all he'd say. "Burn it". It's so weird, MJ - whatever went near the sludge just died, but he was swallowed by it and came out... well, not fine, but alive."

"Must be a Spider thing. Or because it's from his dimension."

"Yeah, probably. I just have a bad feeling about that stuff. It was dead, but damn, it made my senses go wild. If I tingled anymore, I'd be vibrating."

"Peter, I hate it when you call it a "tingle". It makes me cringe."

"I like calling it a tingle! It's tingling. Like a good version of pins and needles."

"There are no good pins and needles."

"Eh, bad example."

The tingles are good! They keep Peter alive, and he can help people with them.

Oddly, they don't go off regarding the new guy. With the others, he connected to them; maybe with this guy, it cancels each other out? That would be freaky.

It would mean Peter couldn't know if their unexpected guest needed help since he clearly couldn't ask for it. It's about time he checked on the blue spider, whoever he is.

Gwen and Miles were proof that not all Spidermen had the name of Parker. It was weird to see Gwen, honestly. She and her father already died in his dimension; he cradled both their bodies.

Peter Porker made eating sausages and bacon incredibly awkward now. He also couldn't see a Rubik's Cube and not imagine Noir getting confused by it.

He missed them, honestly. It was nice to feel like Peter wasn't alone; there were more like him.

And speaking of honesty, Peter was tempted to stay in Miles' universe. Even though his molecules would've broken apart eventually, it felt like a second chance at life. He could've even retired and tried living a peaceful life.

It was a selfish desire, born partly out of fear and depression. He's glad he didn't, even though he missed that kid; Miles was what finally got Peter to face his fear of fatherhood.

Though it's hard to say when Peter will be ready, he looks forward to meeting this new life. He hoped to raise them to be like Miles; that kid was an excellent role model.

Intelligent, spunky, had the Spider attitude, curious and courageous. He learned to control his camouflage and shock powers pretty quickly.

Peter crept to the spare room; before they discovered MJ's pregnancy, it was where Peter kept his spider stuff.

In a roundabout way, it's storing spider stuff again.

Super tall and buff spider stuff with pretty reddish-brown eyes.

Huh. He'd never thought so much about a guy's eyes like that before.

Shaking that off, Peter opened the door.

The sound alerted the new guy, and red eyes snapped to Peter's location, pupils pinpricked and locking onto him. He could almost see the redness grow in vibrancy. Does he have mood stone eyes?

There was a brief grumble of annoyance and probably pain; the man's stomach was bare to the world barely half an hour ago. Even so, the individual pushed himself to sit up, though not by much. He growled, holding his abdomen.

"Maravilloso," the stranger growled, his voice strained and exhausted. He rubbed his forehead, likely stuck with a concussion. "¿Dónde estoy?"

A curious thing was how he avoided the sunlight peaking through the curtains. It must be the concussion.

"Sorry, big man, I don't speak any Spanish."

Peter got a towel from the bathroom and hung it over the curtain railing, shielding away most of the light. It instantly put the new guy at ease, his eyes dilating to regular size.

"Where are we?" the stranger reiterated, sounding tired.

He couldn't blame him. The guy survived a close contact bomb and whatever that corrosive goop was.

"Me and MJ's place," Peter answered, wondering why his spidery sense wasn't active around the newbie. "You're looking better than before; that's not saying much since I saw your guts. You got banged up pretty badly out there." Super understatement. "I'm Peter, by the way."

"I know."

How?

Maybe Peter left some of his stuff here, or there was a Peter Parker in that guy's universe. It's entirely possible.

"Great. What's your name?"

"Classified."

Oh, so they're playing that game?

"Well, Mister Classified, you need to eat something. It always helped boost my factor. What's your fancy?"

Mister Classified tried to get up, only to fail. He hissed, gripping his side, scowling at the offending location.

Peter tended to be stubborn when hurt as well. He always tried to put on a brave face and keep going, but that did him no favours. He's close to his forties, and the years weren't kind on his ageing bones. What Mister Classified needed was rest, water, morphine and food.

Running around wasn't going to help.

"Where is it?" Mister Classified grunted, loosening his grip a little. He had a good poker face; Peter would sob like a newborn. "His ash."

"Whose?" Peter inquired, confused.

"Klyntarus. The Symbiote. I told you to burn him."

Klyntar was the planet where the Symbiotes came from. It's super pretentious to name yourself after your home planet.

No human is running around named Earthus! Though there are a few called Gaia.

Peter's lack of an answer was all Mister Classified needed. There were many emotions - anger, hate, fear, regret, grief, back to anger and more fear.

Ignoring Peter, he touched the back of his neck, that suit returning and covering his entirety. He used the wall to stand, his fingers digging through the drywall. When it looked like he was going to collapse again, Peter tried to help, but he swiped Peter's hands away.

"Estúpido bastardo inútil," Mister Classified seethed, scowling through his mask. "It took me ten years to get him cornered!" He shouted, expressing his anger. "Thanks to you, he's still alive!"

A whole decade? Damn, that's some commitment.

Peter's always been good at guessing people's age. It's a sixth, or seventh, sense of his. While the man looked Peter's age, his gut told him the guy was twenty-seven, a full eleven years younger than Peter.

From the numbers, he's been fighting that nemesis slime since he was seventeen or eighteen, perhaps even longer.

He never intended to survive that bomb, did he? Mister Classified, whoever he was, was willing to die if it meant defeating Klyntarus.

And Peter let it go.

Ten years down the drain.

"Symbiotes need a host to function. He didn't have one. How did he, well, operate?"

"The sphere stabilises him. It needs lifeforce to power it. He's out there, consuming people and endangering your entire universe... He's shocking cancer."

He let that go.

"We'll take care of it; two's better than one, after all," Peter smiled, wanting to make up for his mistake. "That ball thing was pretty damaged, so he's still weak. We can get him."

Since his tingles won't go off, Peter was vigilant. He could see Mister Classified was shaking, his legs wanting to give out.

Peter could be stubborn too.

He ignored the light shove from the stranger, using his spider strength to push him back onto the mattress.

"You can't get him if you can't even stand, Mister Classified. I'll ask again, what do you want to eat? It'll make you heal faster."

Even though his healing is already faster than Peter's.

He pressed the metal bud on the guy's spine, the suit disappearing. A layer of sweat made his olive skin glisten, almost glowing. He'll need a good sleep after eating something.

"Miguel."

"Pardon?"

"My name," Miguel said, something sharp poking over his bottom lip. "Miguel O'Hara."

"Much better than Mister Classified. How about a coffee?"

It felt weird to suggest that.

"Allergic."

"No way, seriously?"

"Have a lot of them."

Who can survive without the grace of god that was coffee? It kept Peter from falling into a coma.

"Is McDonald's on the list?"

Miguel was pondering, listing things mentally.

"No."

"McDonald's it is!"

They're getting somewhere. Brilliant.

It's gross and greasy, but something about it was horrifically addictive and satisfying. When in doubt, go to the Donald.

MJ always loved her chicken nuggets. She was like a hamster with their babies with her nugs. It was always hilarious to him.

It was impressive how MJ could down twenty nuggets in mere minutes.

"How're you feeling?" she asked, wiping away some ketchup.

"Not great," Peter admitted, glancing across the hall. "Wished I listened. Never been great at that."

"He would've died if you didn't, darling. You did what you do best; you saved someone."

She always knew what to say, even though it didn't fit here.

He knows what that thing will do if Peter doesn't catch it. It's a threat to everything Peter holds dear.

MJ was right, though - Miguel would've bled out if Peter didn't grab him.

Have there been villains that Peter was willing to die to defeat? He wasn't sure.

"We don't have any shirts that fit him," MJ sighed, popping another nugget in her mouth. "I doubt even your slacks would fit him, too."

"Maybe it's an allergy thing? He mentioned having a bunch of allergies; the guy can't even drink coffee."

"Poor bastard."

"I know! I wouldn't be alive without those brown steamed bean water tears of god."

"Always a poet when it comes to food, Peter."

"It's why you love me."

"For sure."

He's an excellent foodie.

He'll need Miguel's size to get him something that wasn't a spooky Halloween hologram. That would draw too much attention. They needed to go covert to scout out possible locations.

Sounds like a shopping trip. He can pick up those groceries he planned on getting before meeting his new buddy.

"Well, we have been needing to get some baby stuff. How about it, MJ? Wanna go shopping for an interdimensional vagabond?"

"I'll need measurements. Also, I want a Starbucks."

"Whatever you and the little munchkin need. It'll be funny explaining stuff - like in Miles' universe, right? They didn't even have FedEx! It was called RedEx. And Coca-Cola is Cola Soda!"

"You're easily impressed."

Peter nearly jumped out of his skin. He didn't hear or feel anything, but there Miguel was, using the doorway as support.

God damn, is that man tall.

MJ was thinking something similar, looking him up and down.

Like before, he was covering himself with his holographic suit. He still looked like crap, but not as bad as some hours ago.

"I told you eating would make you feel better," Peter grinned, happy that he looked better. Still, he should be resting, not moving around. "Miguel, this is MJ. She's the boss of the house."

"Damn straight."

"Obviamente," he grumbled. Peter suspected that he was being insulted somehow. "Parker, how many heroes are active in your universe?"

"Not sure. I mean, there's the Avengers, X-Men -"

"That's plenty. He'll be busy feeding off them for now. That gives us time before he's strong enough for us."

Though Peter didn't get on with all heroes, he was friends with many of them. Despite being kicked out of Wolverine's poker night, he still hung out with the short savage. Though cold, Black Widow was nice, too.

Peter didn't want all of them to die.

"Could we at least warn them about him?" Peter tried, worried for them.

"You'll only speed up the process. He's killed you enough times to think you aren't a threat. That's our best chance for now."

So, that's how he knew about Peter. He's seen Peter die before.

Miguel knew Klyntarus the best; he understood how he would operate and who he'd attack first.

It's strategic - remove any potential ally to your nemesis. Consuming those with abilities must give him a boost, too.

As Miguel said, he's cancer.

"How many times has he killed Peter?" MJ asked, worried.

"From what I know, twenty-three times within the past eight months. Not all universes have a Peter Parker, though, as he's seen."

More than twenty-three Spider-people. That's so many. And, most likely, their universes were gone like them.

An unfathomable amount of people are dead due to a single creature.

He let that go.

MJ used her foot to push open a chair, encouraging their surprise guest to sit with them. He stared at the invitation, perplexed, awkwardly standing there.

"Come sit with us," MJ suggested, visibly curious. Was that not an obvious thing in his universe? Then again, Noir never understood what a TV was. "You're staying with us until we figure out how to get you home."

"This can take me back," Miguel said, showing the damaged watch. "After I've repaired it, of course. Fortunately, the damage wasn't enough to disrupt the stabilising process - it'll stop me from "glitching"."

"Did you make that?" Peter asked, now very interested in the device. "Could've used that in Miles' universe. Glitching is not fun, I assure you."

"It only started working eight months ago. It'll make a secure portal to any universe logged on it. It'll be a coño to fix; the technology in your universe is... older than mine."

"Eh, we can borrow some of Stark's crap. He doesn't use half of it."

"Stark. That's the rich narcissist with a superiority complex. Right?" Miguel inquired, lucky to lack an Iron Man.

"Basically, yeah. How are you with stealth?"

It's hard to imagine him being stealthy, but Peter hasn't seen him in action.

It is creepy to almost watch the bruise over Miguel's eye heal. It was eerily fast, and it made him uncomfortable.

"You didn't hear me when I came to the kitchen. That should be your answer."

That's fair.

Hopefully, while they're out getting this guy an actual shirt, they'll hear about the evil sludge.

"By the way, we're going to go shopping to get you clothes that aren't giving villain vibes," Peter stated.

It was a little funny seeing that statement process in Miguel's deep, oddly coloured eyes. He was squinting a little, so the concussion must still irritate him. He can borrow Peter's sunglasses.

It'll be a shame not to see those eyes, though. Something about the colour was magnetising. Not many people had red eyes, and he had claws; he was even more unique than Porker!

"I don't need it."

"And that suit isn't going to draw unwanted attention?" MJ countered. "Nobody will understand why there are two Spidermen, much less one that looks like another Venom."

That weirdly seemed to hurt their new comrade. Something about that comment wounded him personally. Did he have a previous interaction with a Venom variant?

Maybe it's because Klyntarus is a Symbiote; he didn't want to be compared to that.

"Fine."

"We should go before everything closes. That'll be a pain, huh?" Peter huffed, getting out of the chair. "Come on, big guy. Time to measure you."

"Not necessary. I'll get it myself."

"With what money?" MJ inquired, raising a red brow.

"From an unattended ATM," he answered coldly.

He said it as though it was the obvious answer. Why wouldn't your first thought go to theft?

"Miguel, you're not stealing money from people," Peter stated, though that didn't change Miguel's mind. "We'll get you a shirt, some pants and shoes."

"I'm not stealing from people; I'm stealing from the bank. Es completamente diferente."

"Take Stark's money. It's not like he'll miss a few grand," MJ suggested, which wasn't helping. "I'm compromising," she shrugged.

"Can you even get into Stark's accounts?" Peter asked, admittedly curious.

"Easily. It's not the first time I've done it. Won't be the last."

Although Peter is tech-savvy, he wasn't able to get that far. Although Stark was a hero, he was a bit up his ass. It might be good to be knocked down a peg or two.

He'd be more hurt that his security failed than losing a grand or two.

It barely took Miguel five minutes to get through Tony's security. Honestly, Peter was impressed.

Although Peter didn't like the idea of stealing, they didn't have much money. It would be hard to feed three mouths, one mostly needing milk. They never had any plans for a giant man to join them.

Peter was at eye level with Miguel's chest; the man was almost a foot taller than him.

He has an impressive chest, too.

"So, do you have a new york as well?" MJ asked, trying to keep the mood up. He was still hurt, but at least he could walk without Peter's support.

"Nueva York," Miguel answered gruffly, and Peter could almost feel his eyes glaring behind those sunglasses. "It's... going through some changes."

"Yeah, we're finally getting some potholes fixed," Peter shrugged, unsure what Miguel could mean. "What villains do you have?"

"Dead ones."

Oh.

From how Miguel said it, it implied he killed his villains. It's possible not all Spider-people had a no-kill rule. That might be a problem that Peter will need to discuss.

Hopefully, none of Peter's regulars decided to test that implication.

"Miguel, can I ask how you know this guy?" MJ asked, wincing when she saw the taller man cringe. She put a hand over her abdomen, soothing herself. "It's a long story, isn't it?"

"Very," he answered, sounding less annoyed and more burdened by it. "He's why I'm a Spiderman, I guess. Él me creó."

Peter needs to get a translator or something and stat.

Finally, they reached the store where they knew they had big enough sizes for their unexpected guest. So far, it hasn't been all that bad, though Peter was worried about Klyntarus. As Miguel said, he's out there, consuming people to get stronger.

It felt stupid that they were getting clothes, but it drew less attention than the suit. Besides, he could summon it to cover his clothes; he wouldn't be naked.

Peter saw more of the man than he wanted to, but Miguel didn't seem to care. It's possible nudity doesn't mean anything in Nueva York.

It'll be cool to see him in action, though. He's been a spider for ten-odd years; he must've picked up some things.

How did he get the claws in his suit?

Peter wanted those!

"Parker."

"What is it, big man?"

"To the left."

As advised, Peter looked left. Behind the counter was a TV, which was usually for CCTV.

However, it showed a news anchor looking quite sullum and sad, a slight redness to his eyes.

"Uh, hey, can you turn that up?" asked another customer.

The look on Miguel's face told Peter enough. Whatever happened was Klyntarus' doing.

"- We lost five great heroes in their effort to protect us, the people. They will forever be remembered for their sacrifices and tremendous bravery, even in the face of such evil. We say our sorrowful goodbyes to She-Hulk, Luke Cage, Jessica Jones, Iron Fist and Daredevil. Out of respect for their selfless endeavour to keep us safe, we won't reveal their identities. To their families, we, the people, are both grateful and sorry for your loss."

No. No, they couldn't be dead.

Peter would hang out with Matt and Carl all the time. Although Jessica and Danny weren't friendly, he got along with them great!

Regretfully, he didn't see Jennifer much, but her cousin, Bruce, was a great guy. He must be devastated to have lost her like that.

Carl and Jess' poor daughter...

"Five hours, five heroes. He's more wounded than I anticipated," Miguel said coldly, either unphased or excellent at hiding his emotions.

Miguel expected this, however. He knew that heroes were going to die.

This was Peter's fault.

"Peter," MJ whispered, holding his arm. She knew how close he was to Daredevil and Cage. They were good guys, better than him. They would've listened. "I'm sorry."

"So am I," he said, feeling numb and angry. "Let's just get this over with so we can catch him. We're going out tonight."

"He can't hide his scars. It'll be easier to spot him at night," Miguel concurred, but it didn't alleviate the growing pit in Peter's stomach.

What the hell has he left rampant in his world?

Special thanks to spider-the-bat for the borders!

#ao3 might be fucked #ao3 refugee #ao3 #ao3fic #across the spider verse #miguel o'hara #peter b parker x miguel o'hara #peter b parker #marvel #mj watson #mayday isn't born yet #spiderman atsv #spiderdads #bestie goals mj #oscar isaac is miguel o'hara #with thunder comes lightning #plague of the spiderverse series

39 notes · View notes

yazthebansheek · 2 months

Text

About me!

You can call me Yasmine, Yaz, Yazzy, Omni, OmniElle, Elle or Bansheek!

my tag for MY ART: #OmniElle

I’m a minor.

you can ask me, my creepypasta au, My Mandela catalogue au, and my SCP au anything!

I love creepypastas, SCPs, Granny, Mandela Catalogue, Little nightmares, Marble Hornets, BATIM, John Doe/house hunted, Eddsworld, FNAF, sally face, FPE, Slashers/horror movies, Japanese urban legends, Death note, TBHK, Trevor Henderson creatures, Cryptids, monster high, and more!

Yaz Creepypasta art April! (tag Yaz April Challenge!)

my wife is Slendrina 💅🩷 (Slendrina x OmniElle 😏😩)

I’m sapphic, She/They! (I think I’m Asexual)🖤🩶🤍💜❓

I love Entomology/Bugs!💚

I do digital art and Traditional art.

I was born on March 8, Making me a Pisces. ♓️

i love swimming, being outside, and swinging on swings.

Fuck with my friends (online or irl) I’m fuckin’ you….In the as-😇😁

my deviant art: https://www.deviantart.com/yazthebanshee

my Favorite colors are Teal and Light purple

Im an apatheist!

I have ADHD, Anxiety, SPD, and depression.

I can make a really realistic goose noise🪿

I am learning German. I learned a bit of Spanish as a kid, Hola mi amor.

I don’t really like heights, tube slides, rashes, wasps, or spiders being on me.

I have a really horrible fear of tampons from trauma lmao.

My favorite food is pretzels!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I am known as a banshee cause I can shriek hella loud

I love being outside in the cold!❄️

I loveeeeee flowers, especially Nerium Oleanders and Jasmine flowers.

I have seen a bunch of ghosts and I Believe my backyard is haunted no joke💀

I have a ghost named Elizabeth and she’s nice!

I have a doll that kind of looks like me named Nerium and I sleep with her every night.

I love music

I have sensory overloads from too much noise, too little noise, stress, and other things.

I’m allergic to a certain type of tree, and pain medicine. > I had gone into anaphylaxis recently and now I have a Epipen.<3

Melanie Martinez, CG5, and Skillet🩷🩷🩷

I know a lot about insects, dinosaurs, natural disasters, and creepypastas!

I like writing, drawing, and creating characters.

I have some creepypasta oc’s that need to be published desperately 💀😔

Perfect gal to vent to✅ (message me if you need 2 boo)

Mother/sister figure to a bunch of people whether online or irl.

Also known as D¡3, which was my old social media names.

I use procreate, ibisPaint x, and CapCut.

I have a YouTube channel which is OmniElle

I’m a shy person but when I feel comfortable around people I don’t stfu lmao.

Words to describe me: Shy, talkative, creative, protective, sweet, caring, odd, weird, hyper, annoying, funny, embarrassing, quiet, artistic, anxious.

I TAKE REQUESTS FOR ART!!! (I mostly do creepypasta art however)

My ocs: (that I use frequently)

Cynthia Ezelle

Darla the Spider / Mother Widow

Turbulence

Dead Mally

OmniElle (me)

Marley

Kannibal Katelyn

Raven Konnel

Mariah The Proxy (Mariah Katelyn)

BØB the demon

Egon the angel

Ellias the Eyeless Angel (Ellias Eyeless)

Marie M.

Melody Milestone (The Music Box of Melody Milestone)

Mr. X

Mr. Mantis

Sarah the Slasher

Annabelle Shar

Sophie Annalya

My Social medias: (Coming soon)

Roblox: Sad_wolf10Yaz

Youtube: OmniElle (YazTheBanshee)

DeviantArt: YazTheBanshee

Fandom.Com: Yxsm1neTheBanshe3

Picnic: N/A (Quit)

TikTok: N/A

Wattpad: YazTheBansheek

Ibispaint X: N/A

#about myself #creepypasta #artists on tumblr #lgbtq community #lgbt pride #lgbtq #lgbtqia #get to know me #stuff about me #digital artist #traditional artist #artist #sapphic #asexual #questioning #small artist #small youtuber #personal

10 notes · View notes

knowledgecandriveyoumad · 2 months

Text

I just. Realized something about my past self and I don't have anyone to share it with, so I guess I'll share it here? This won't be.. Anywhere close to formal style, apologies.

I can't really share my name through any means, it always comes out just a little wrong and when I hear it said by other people it doesn't fit right, like I'm trying to put on the skin of a mummified corpse and every time I try it tears just a little bit more. I don't think that me died when the Eye took me, no, back then the name fit me like snow that gradually covered me, enveloping me completely and fitted exactly to my shape. But when I ran to the Spiral, by choice, against fear and how horrendously unfitting I was for it-

The little me was afraid of the dark. I mean, what child wasn't? She was afraid of heights, especially falling, but also just heights by themselves, she was afraid of pain and violence and being hurt, of her body, or something else's body, being Wrong, unnaturally so, had nightmares of it, and she was afraid of wild bears and deep water. She was irrationality afraid of being buried alive and her house burning down and losing any of her personal belongings and when she first realised the inevitability of death in her bed at six years old, she cried of fear, for so, so long, and nothing could comfort her. She fell asleep still afraid.

She was afraid of the world ending and her loved ones dying and her friends not actually wanting to spend time with her. Time proved she was right on that one. Lonely stuck with us for our entire lives, even if she stopped being afraid of it after she turned ten. I never was afraid of it, I think.

Oranges rotted in her room and so did uneaten bits of food that fell under the table, whole plates of it forgotten and buried under the chaos of her things.

She was never afraid of spiders, but people telling her things in a way that made her think she came up with them on her own, twisting lies into a wed of her mind to envelop her own self in it...

She was afraid of old porcelain dolls and also of her toys being alive, because she tore off her dolls' heads and couldn't put them back on; the stranger danger lectures in her school stuck with her particularly well. She couldn't even imagine all the things other people could do to her. She didn't want to know.

People always said she was weird, except for adults, but she learnt not to trust them very quickly. If her peers thought she was weird: she was weird.

She embraced it. Spent years living inside a made-up world she shared with a handful of friends, even named it exactly that, "our world", and when they eventually grew out of it she found herself questioning what even was real. The world they made wasn't real, but weren't the drawings they made, dedicated to it, real? Weren't their memories real, their emotions, their experiences shared?

She grew to be so, so afraid of being unable to trust her perception of what's real. She was always so afraid of getting lost.

I guess it seems kinda obvious yet counter-intuitive that It Knows You took her. You're supposed to be afraid of your Patron. The Eye was the only thing she wasn't afraid of.

It fit so well, like a second skin, that for the longest time she didn't even notice, like she didn't notice the Crawling Rot spreading through her for years since childhood until she accidentally tore it out with skin and muscle when she realised how horrible she was to the people around her, to the people who loved her, how terrible it felt to always have her hair oily and dirty, how badly she itched.

When people act shocked when I tell them I Became at fifteen it's always funny to me, because I was so close to being an Avatar since, well, basically my birth, although, when we all look back at our lives through the lense of newfound awareness of the Fears, don't we see that to some degree we all have been destined to serve them? Sometimes I regret the young me unknowingly rejected the Corruption. It is beautiful.

The young me thought of the world as a dark, scary, dirty place. She was fascinated by everything ugly, but when she saw something meant to instill fear she was only ever afraid.

The Spiral was what changed me, I think. Or, the way I came to it, despite being oh so afraid. It was beautiful, so beautiful it made my head hurt and my lungs turn inside out, my tongue tasted like bricks and I never had dreams about losing teeth, but the moment I first witnessed It Lies I knew exactly what it felt like.

Since then, when I saw something frightening, I was mesmerised. When I saw something disgusting, I felt tender awe. And when I saw something ugly, I still admired it.

The world is ugly and dark and scary and oh so beautiful.

Sorry. I'm not sure what this was all about.

7 notes · View notes

zuffer-weird-girl · 2 years

Text

"There are so many capable men... and all they can think to do is rob a convenience store? Kinda weird... you'd think a group this big might just, y'know... have bigger goals than that... You're all sick. And you need a cure."

Fics

Birdhaul

Can’t walk *hints of NSFW*

Puppy

Contortionist

No need for using sunblock..?

Drunk yet loyal

His mother...

Genuine actions (kid Kai)

Her brother / Revenge for her brother

The overhaul is NOT a toy!

Is not what it look like...

Evermore (Yandere Overhaul)

One or three bottles of saque

Lies to impress (Kid Kai)

End,,?

Bean boozled challenge

The bet

Obvilious (Kid Kai)

Arguments and three days of suffering

Sharing the bed

Baby fever? Is he sick?

Suffering due to the silence

Fighting bullies (Kid Kai)

Pretty vacuum

Running for nothing (Overhaul)

Touch starved

Nightsky and tears from his angel’s eyes

Kiss on the cheek (Kid Kai)

Jealous of Chrono

Hangover on angel’s arms

Trying to be romantic

Morning after

Corona time (stay safe everyone!)

Fallen angel...

The triplets

Someone who can trust and perhaps... more? (Kid Kai)

Kitty cat Overhaul

Memory lost

He is going to be taller (Kid Kai)

Period at the night

A tear from the devil’s eyes, could bring an angel back to life

Is that all you can do?

I see you now...

Accidental hit

Waxing legs

Fieldtrip buddies (Kid Kai)

Bedclouds of an angel

THE TALK (kid Kai)

Kitty kitty

Sweet sleepy mumblings (kid Kai)

Inviting you to prom (Teen Kai)

Another jealous Kai

Can he get her back?

Struggling on how to propose

Deaging quirk

Period pains

save or not save Mimic and rappa? That is the question

Rough day

Late night confessions

Harsh attitude

Not stopping me

Lost brother

All infatued with his angel

Stay with me until I fall asleep....

Elbowed on the face

Accidental first kiss

Not so pointless day

Baby Kai

Kiss by accident (Kid Kai)

Angel “BROKE UP” with him (kid Kai)

Sick day

Comfort

Airport confessions (kid Kai)

Hidden child

Cold hands, warm heart

Dabi as his angel’s best friend

A broken arm (Kid Kai)

Cat onesie (Kid Kai)

Only by a miracle

Accident

Jealous of Nemoto

Baby angel

Pro baseball player S/o

Animal crossing fun

Sweets (Kid Kai)

SFW Alphabet Overhaul

Never let go

Damn spider...

Send to the future (Kid Kai)

I may be cruel but I loved someone...

Car accident

“Who is this~?”

Was just a dream... (follow up to “cherish it or hate it?”)

The perfect maid...

Rest on the fort

Friendly vaccum (follow up to “pretty vacuum”)

Sixtuplets

Visits...

Take the mask off

Cupcake (Kid Kai)

Not her...

A father figurine

Never meant to be... (kinda Chrono x reader as well)

Unexpected

Hospital’s visits

Defending him (Chubby Overhaul)

The price...

Feeding

I object!

One life for the other

Drabble 1; Drabble 2; Drabble 3; Drabble 4

Replaced..? (Kid Kai)

Run run lost boy (kid Kai)

Reunion (some kid Kai on the start)

Hcs

Him overhearing his angel breaking down in front of Chrono

His angel is a secret assasin

Anemic S/o

Hard working S/o

Overhaul’s twin brother crushing on his angel

s/o that has Myasthenia Gravis

S/o that plays the piano and the guitar

S/o with super strenght quirk

Angel with poor memory

Fillipino S/o

S/o that scratches her neck like Shigaraki

The yakusa towards Overhaul and his wife

Mute S/o

Mexican S/o

Belly dancer S/o

Pointing out the tan lines

Angel with sensitive teeth

Makeup artist S/o

Black S/o

His angel having their kness on a bad condition

Ginger with blue eyes S/o

German s/o

Reacting when you take your bathrope off

Painter S/o

Hardworking S/o

Helping you calm down while your sister is in labor

S/o having a kitten sneeze

How they like to dance with their S/o

His angel having nightmares

S/o with a god complex

hm losing on Shogi by his angel

Bad mental health S/o

Kai with a pool

Old fashioned S/o

Telling that your pregnant by message.. by mistake

S/o scared of intimacy

Having to take care of his kid

S/o that draws clothes and has victorian style

S/o who is a famous sniper

S/o who is fragile

S/o who is distracted easily and dissapears

Random drunk headcanons

No one knows S/o is quirkless

Constantly tired S/o

Sensitive to the sun S/o

Gamer S/o introducing him to yakusa games

Chubby S/o

S/o who likes Hello kitty (Exception I do readers only fem and gender neutral)

Bored S/o

S/o insecure about using glasses

Not a bit insecure S/o

Taking care of wounded S/o with their child

Nurse S/o

Toothless like quirk S/o

Sensitive S/o

S/o that goes “ara ara~”

S/o that likes to gamble

Dealing with your bullshit 😂

When he forgets your anniversary

Quirkless S/o that ceme from the woods

Meme queen S/o

His reaction when you get bullied (Kid Kai)

Shiggy”s sister

Drabbles

Au's

Not again...:

‘The worst’ prologue / part 1 / “Who..?” part 2 / Not happening part 3 / Only over by my cold and dead body part 4 / The end..?

Arrangements:

part 1 part 2 part 3 Part 4

His protege:

part 1 ; final

No quirks, Chisaki as a nurse

part 1; part 2

Lost

part 1/ final

95 notes · View notes

laughableillusions · 4 months

Note

this is your opportunity to tell me about akira and the entity (if u want). . . they sound cool as hell

OOUOIUOGIGUGH I DO WANT TO ANON!!!

Some drawings and a little mood/aesthetic board I made for him

(This gets pretty long I apologize I went overboard😭😭)

Akira Kutsuki is my primary Dead By Daylight Survivor OC! He’s shipped with my favorite killer The Oni (Kazan Yamaoka), I mostly use him in online roleplay with my friend bc they play a very good Oni. But I think he’s so developed at this point that he could easily slot into the game itself.

Physical description: a thin, 35 year old, 5’7 Japanese man with shaggy overgrown hair, stubble. Usually wearing a rumbled white dress shirt and tie with a sweater vest and slacks. He wears glasses with rectangle frames, he has scars on his wrists from an attempted suicide attempted (more on that later.)

Personality: he’s an ADHD Autism mess, but somehow does exceedingly well under pressure. Very passionate about things and is incredibly talkative. Has no rizz, negative rizz, no bitches. Makes the best of his situation to try and learn everything he can about the fog. Workaholic. He has cool English teacher vibes

Lore: he is the descendant of the landlord that The Oni held a grunge with, his family always went into politics or some kind of leadership positions but he broke the mold and went into archeology. After he graduated college he decided to do some genealogy on his family, and found the story of Kazan Yamaoka (as well as poetry about him and his story.)

Most of the landlords back in those days were corrupt, and Samauri were basically like cops, and they were crooked and did awful things (basically Kazan’s purge had some merit to it, not that he was in the right in any way.) Akira learns that his so called “grand ancestor” wasn’t actually so grand. He also uncovers all the shady things that his family has done over the years, he confronts them about it and they tell him to keep his mouth shut about it. Enraged that history will simply repeat himself, and that his family hasn’t answered for crimes committed even back in the days of “The Oni.” He desecrates the family temple, graffitiing the walls and destroying everything he can.

He gets arrested, and his family disowns him. Disgraced, and with nothing left for him- he goes to America.

There he goes back to school and becomes a professor. Though he keeps his interest in the Yamaoka line, in the village where Kazan was “killed” he can find no body or no artifacts. The people there say that he became an ogre since the body seemed to vanish. The lack of a body drives Akira up the wall, the only thing he finds is a section of rope that has traces of some sort of…ash that is impossible to place.

Akira then looks into other historical disappearances, finding that when archeologists dug up the scene- they too found traces of this strange ash-like mineral scattered around. He becomes interested in this, all these disappearances around the world- seemingly random…all of them having this same trace material. All of these scenes having to do with great pain or violence.

He begins to connect them, learning the names and history of these “killers.” He finds newspaper reports that talk about this strange “black fog” or “ash” that surrounded the area of the missing body or scene. A colleague of his finds the notes of a Scotsman by the name of Talbot Grimes.

Then, Rin Yamaoka is murdered. Akira hears about it from a friend in Japan, and he mentions that there was a cloud of ash surrounding the apartment. Akira books the first flight to Japan and actually breaks into the crime scene to get a sample. While he’s there he realizes that these people aren’t just vanishing…they’ve all been taken somewhere.

Things begin to spiral out of control when he gets back, he begins having nightmares about being caught in a giant spider web. He reads more of Grime’s notes, confirming his theory. Akira then realizes that Grimes himself had gone insane, and fell off the face of the earth. Akira realizes that he was taken as well.

The nightmares get worse, so he stops sleeping. He begins to hallucinate spindly arms reaching down to grab him. He hears voice telling him that he knows too much. He locks himself into his apartment and doesn’t open the windows. He destroys all his notes and research in the hope that it will stop whatever is happening to him.

The entity comes for him anyway, and he locks himself into the bathroom and slits his wrists in the bathtub, hoping that death will claim him before the entity does. It doesn’t of course, and he wakes up in the fog.

Wow that was incredibly long sndjsixjsncjsj whoops. Anyway that’s Akira. He meets the Oni and is both terrified but also nerding the fuck out the whole time. Kazan finds him adorable and kind of pathetic and they hook up sncjsixjbsbc

#dbd oc #dbd survivor #tw sui attempt #tw sui implied #dead by daylight #oc #original character #oc: akira kutsuki #my oc #ask #anon

5 notes · View notes

rphelperblog · 2 years

Text

An Ember in the Ashes Quote Rp Meme

feel free to change pronouns or wording for rp purposes. A book series written by Sabaa Tahir

“Fear is only your enemy if you allow it to be.”

“As long as there is life, there is hope.”

“Don’t you see? So long as you fight the darkness, you stand in the light.”

“Don't make vows when you don't know the cost.”

“You are an ember in the ashes. You will spark and burn, ravage and destroy. You cannot change it. You cannot stop it.”

“All the beauty of the stars means nothing when life here on earth is so ugly.”

“This is no band of thieves. It’s the Resistance.”

“Life isn't scary enough for you, girl?”

“We never had much, but whatever we did have was made with love, which I now know transforms simple fare into a feast.”

“Once, I'd have wanted that. I'd have wanted someone to tell me what to do, to fix everything. Once, I'd have wanted to be saved.”

“Your fear is good. It makes your story real.”

“Just because he's a good leader doesn't mean he's a good person.”

“I'd rather die than live with no mercy, no honor, no soul.”

“You are full. Full of life and dark and strength and spirit. You are in our dreams. You will burn, for you are an ember in the ashes.”

“I don't need to believe in the supernatural, not when there's worse that roams the night.”

“Life is hard enough without having to avoid entire rooms in my own head.”

“Duty first, unto death.”

"They took our souls a long time ago,”

“Also, he’s shorter than me. Considerably shorter. Half a foot, at least.”

“Slavers catch lies the way spiders catch flies.”

“I recognize the smell—his smell—spice and rain.”

“The thought appears in my head, but I hardly know what I means.”

“You will be chained to the darkness within yourself as surely as if chained to the walls of a prison cell.”

“So my choices are to stay and be evil or to run and be evil. Wonderful.”

“Seeing the enemy as human. A general's ultimate nightmare.”

“Safety is an illusion never to trust.”

“Come on, I want to add. But doing so would be like tattooing “I am up to no good” on my forehead.”

“I swear it to the skies, to the stars. You’ll pay.”

“But he never seemed to focus on what could turn out wrong. He only ever thought about how things could turn out right.”

“Draw a line in your mind. Never cross it again. You have a soul. It's damaged, but it's there. Don't let them take it from you”

“The field of battle is my temple. The swordpoint is my priest. The dance of death is my prayer. The killing blow is my release.”

“Nan always said that as long as there is life, there is hope.”

“In the night, your loneliness crushes you, as if the sky itself has swooped down to smother you in its cold arms.”

“You’ll never forget them, not even after years. But one day, you’ll go a whole minute without feeling the pain. Then an hour. A day. That’s all you can ask for, really.”

“Your kind doesn’t need to read.”

“I realize in that moment that I cannot be afraid of something if there’s no chance it could ever occur.”

“But I’m not strong. I’m weak, and I’m sick of pretending I’m not.”

“All evil here. Monsters. Little monsters and then big ones.”

“So many bleeding, stupid questions. Do girls think like this all the time? No wonder they’re so confusing.”

“You really should run, You’re just going to die.”

“It will get better. You'll never forget them, not even after years. But one day, you'll go a whole minute without feeling the pain. Then an hour. A day. That's all you can ask for, really.”

“The best lies come from the truth.”

“I'm too hot to care.”

“Life is made of so many moments that mean nothing. Then one day, a single moment comes along to define every second that comes after.”

“Life is made of so many moments that mean nothing. Then one day, a single moment comes along to define every second that comes after. Such moments are tests of courage, of strength.”

“You—you were like me. You were a child. A normal child. And that was taken from you.”

“Look at me, do not make me face this alone.”

“I don't need to believe in the supernatural. Not when there's worse that roams that night”

“Beauty's a curse when one lives among men”

“Rage colors her every movement. Rage that has nothing to do with her so-called bodyguards and everything to do with me and her and the confusion rolling around inside the both of us.

This should be interesting”

“Exhaustion is temporary. Pain is temporary. But her dying because I didn't find a way to get her back on time—that's permanent.”

“I do not doubt, I do not hesitate. I am the Lioness's daughter, and I have the Lioness's strength.”

“I realize that some naiive sliver of me hoped that he was better than this. Not good, necessarily. Just not evil.”

“She's still clinging to the side of her mountain, just like I'm still wandering lost in my battlefield.”

“My brother is still fighting, and his screams slice right through me. I know then that I will hear them over and over again, echoing in every hour of every day until I am dead or I make it right. I know it.”

“She has no idea how pretty she is—or what kind of problems her beauty will cause for her at a place like Blackcliff. The wind pulls at her hair again, and I catch her scent—like fruit and sugar.”

“Shadows will bloom in your heart, and you will become everything you hate.”

“I throw her over my shoulder”

“When the fear takes over, use the only thing more powerful, more indestructible, to fight it: your spirit. Your heart.”

The swordpoint is my priest. The dance of death is my prayer. The killing blow is my release.”

“She feels out the melody the way a blind man feels his way forward in an unfamiliar room.”

“You killed my mother, who had a lion’s heart, and my sister, who laughed like the rain, and my father, who captured truth with a few strokes of a pen.

“There will be so much more in between. So much uncertainty. I don't know if we'll survive the catacombs, let alone the rest of it. But it doesn't matter. For now, these steps are enough. These first few precious steps into darkness. Into the unknown. Into freedom.”

“I look up at the stars hanging low in a sky that makes me think I'm seeing the infinite. But beneath their cold gaze, I feel small. All the beauty of the stars means nothing when life here on earth is so ugly.”

“There are two kinds of guilt. The kind that's a burden and the kind that gives you purpose. Let your guilt be your fuel. Let it remind you of who you want to be. Draw a line in your mind. Never cross it again. You have a soul. It's damaged but it's there. Don't let them take it from you.”

Well, it certainly makes you harder to hate.”

58 notes · View notes