#this went dark

[l0calcryptid-be3tle]

Grim: galaxy....your..arm

Galaxy: ........

Grim: Galaxy..

Galaxy: ........ 

Grim: plz let me help you

Galaxy: Don’t touch me!!!

Galaxy: I DON’T NEED YOUR HELP

Grim: galaxy but

Galaxy: LEAVE ME ALONE!!

[nomoneynobooks]

when snape became d.a.d.a teacher

harry: well, there's one good thing. snape will be gone by the end of the year.

ron: what do you mean?

harry: that job's jinxed. no one's lasted more that a year... quirrel actually died doing it... personally i'm going to keep my fingers crossed for another death...

hermione: harry!

[thefirstcourtesan]

Ok, this is likely to never happen in the actual book, but how would you picture Antony as a father if he and MC had a kid together?

Oooh… I doubt he would be super involved,  but he’d probably be the fun parent. Antony can be fun and I think he would enjoy spending time isth his child, perhaps with the hounds or outdoors. On a more complex level, Antony would use the child as a way to have control over the MC. As seen in Sabina’s scenes, in Rome, a child belonged solely to their father, the mother had no individual rights.

Antony is attracted to MC and in my fics, he falls for her, but it’s a love that is always rooted in possession, in that need to win. The first time they meet, he tells her he wants to conquer her and I don’t see that ever changing, her submission is his goal and a child would be his way of having power over her forever and I think he would welcome that. 

So, yeah, that went dark, but there’s a reason why in my Tragedyverse, Portia hides her pregnancy. She loves Antony, has committed to him, and yet she still is wary of what it would mean to bear his child. So I think he would be a fun, if distant father, but he would also use the child as a means of control over the MC, to tie her to him further. 

[xhidingintheshadowsx]

🔵 My muse begins nibbling your muse’s neck

She knows what it does to him. The way it makes his pulse jump and the way he can’t seem to think of anything else other then pressing her up against the nearest surface and making her regret ever teasing him. Tonight is no exception. He can practically feel the blood pulsing through her veins as she slides up behind him, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt to tug him even closer. A growl rumbles low in his throat and he tilts his head to give her more access, eyes falling shut as she traces a line up to the curve of his ear. But before he can turn in her arms and reestablish control, the sound of whimpering at their feet pulls him out of his trance. His eyes darken as they drift to the ground, watching as the girl they’d just been feeding on stares up at them with big tears in her eyes. She’s too weak to try and crawl away and as their eyes meet she begins to beg again. Beg for them to let her go or to make it quick, he’s not quite sure. Stefan has no intention of doing either. Instead he pulls Caroline’s hand to his lips, raising his brows at the young girl as he slowly begins to suck the blood from her fingers. “So, should we kill her before….or after?”

// @carolinesnotbrokenjustbent

[derieri]

sentence prompt. ; ' It’s hard to focus, eyes stuck watching as the blood stains her chest and pools at her feet ‘

Send me one; I’ll write five   -   completed prompts      c.w. for gore!

The tip of the blade is not its usual green but red, and it’s surreal to see a weapon she made protruding from her body. She wonders what it dislodged in its wake: something deep inside her lungs rattles as she draws halting breaths; a labored inhale, a stuttering exhale. 

His footsteps prompt her to look up—oh, she’s on the ground now—as he approaches and kneels behind her. The blade shifts inside her when his fingers coil on the pommel, and it’s fascinating to feel pressure but no pain. Instinct lifts a red flag of alarm at the action because Merlin knows how anatomy works and what happens when a penetrant is pulled from the wound, and Sissy isn’t here to do the healing she can’t.

“No…” she whispers, pleading to the vacant shadow of his eyes as Lostvayne slips from her skin.  

[daktasinsanity]

Looking back at year 2016

A year ago I got selected into uni in Jyväskylä. I was super excited. “I’m gonna make new friends!” and all that. I went in with super optimistic views. I made sure I talked to most of the people at least once. I sought out the people who sat alone and went to talk to them, hoping that one day when they see me alone they come to talk to me instead. That actually happened with a few individuals. 

Overall the Spring was nice time and I enjoyed myself even if there was a short time where I despaired cos I failed a class that should have been easy to pass and I failed it twice. Either way I passed it the third time around and got 3/5 as a grade so I guess that went pretty well.

But dear god when Fall came around. I was optimistic for a month. I was happy for maybe two weeks into school starting and then I started crumbling. I couldn’t focus at all. I kept failing at WoW which I had been playing for almost 10 years at that point. I still feel deeply ashamed that I failed so utterly at a game I loved. Now I don’t love it anymore. I feel horrible thinking about playing it again because I dunno how to.

Then this failure piled up with getting my heart broken. A stupid crush that should have never happened. And it isn’t as if I did anything like confess or show my feelings. I just got a very clear message that he ins’t interested in anyone else than his current girlfriend. I left that party crying my eyes out and I don’t recall much of the way home but I somehow made it with my bicycle drunk and crying.

Then I met a guy who helped me a little with my feelings and stuff. He was a guild mate in WoW and he was oddly nice. I think he developed a crush on me just days after start talking to me and well we hit it off quite well. I was recovering from my broken heart loss but I was optimistic that maybe this guy might turn it around. Maybe he’d like me enough cos I sure as hell could see myself liking him a lot. 

But that didn’t happen. I stopped playing WoW but kept talking to this guy but I noticed that he wasn’t as keen on talking to me anymore. Our relationship changed. We were supposed to meet but he cancelled because he didn’t have the money. Which is sort of odd cos he surely did have money to throw away into things he didn’t really need like Blizzcon ticket. He ended up watching so little of it that I wonder why he even bought it.

I came to realise that he had never been serious about coming over. I think all he said was just talk. He meant nothing by any of the things he said to me. I feel cheated. It even made me think things like what is the line between a flirt and a serious suggestion? Was he only flirting with me or was he being serious? I certainly cannot believe it was the latter. 

And so we get to the cursed month of December. I was again heart broken by a guy. Thinking that if someone like him doesn’t want me then who would? I wasn’t even good enough to be his friend cos we haven’t talked in a month and it isn’t like I didn’t try. Only conclusion I am certain about it that he was a fukboi. He didn’t need me cos I wasn’t putting it out for him. He clearly did not understand that I wasn’t interested in sex with someone I don’t even know.

And then of course the last nail to my coffin was when my best friend cancelled coming over to my home at the last minute. I was about to send her a message asking when I can pick her up but she beat me to it and told me she ain’t coming. I’m assuming she is ill/sick but that didn’t matter when I broke down in tears right after and have been crying ever since. That was 5 days ago. 

I feel so lonely and lost. I like to be alone but not lonely. I didn’t choose this and even made effort not to be lonely. This universe clearly hates me cos it keeps throwing these stupid things in my way and telling me that “You should be alone. No one wants to be around you.”

And I’m thinking that maybe I should just let go and stop believing in people. Stop assuming that they want anything to do with me and stop trusting them altogether. I would be alone but it would be my choice. Less expectations, less hurting because of others cos none of them matter.

[bella8876]

Are You Done?

30 Days of Sterek - Day 9

Prompt: "There are no winners in this life, just losers.  And me." 

*Warning - There are major character deaths in this, and Stiles goes dark, very very dark.

The smell of blood hit him halfway down.  There was a lot of it.  The stench coated the back of his throat and he could taste the copper when he swallowed.  His feet hit the concrete floor and he took in the scene.  He’d been on the force for over 15 years, seen things no one should ever have to see.  But this, this was too much.  

The Sheriff laid his hand in the middle of the door, the wood was smooth and cool under his fingers.  He closed his eyes, remembering the weeks he and Derek spent sanding and painting it before finally hanging it.  They’d saved it for last when they’d done the remodel.   Stiles had found them on the porch, he and Derek, shoulder to shoulder, just staring at their handy work. 

  “We have a door,” Stiles had said with a smile as Derek took the grocery bags from his hands.

  “Yeah,” Derek smiled back. “We do.”

  That was the moment when he realized he hadn’t just been helping Derek fix up his house.  He’d been helping Derek and Stiles fix up their house.

  The Sheriff pushed lightly and it swung open easily.  The hinges didn’t even creak.  He hesitated at the threshold.  He hadn’t been inside in over two years.  Not since—he closed his eyes.  He could hear the sirens now.  They were still about five minutes away.  He needed to get there first.  He owed Stiles that much.  He stepped inside. 

  The house was dark.  He didn’t bother with the light switch, the electricity was cut off years ago.  The whole place smelled damp, musty.  A fine layer of dust covered every surface, coating the furniture that no one bothered to take away. 

The Sheriff stopped in the doorway to the living room.  There was a book laying on the arm rest of the couch, a little more than half way read, never finished.  A leather jacket was tossed over the top of one chair and the Sheriff let his fingers brush it as he made his way into the kitchen.  There were dishes in the drying rack by the sink and he was willing to bet there were grounds in the coffee pot.  Derek had always done that at night so Stiles didn’t have to in the morning.

  He walked through the kitchen and opened the door to the basement.  He didn’t bother trying to be quiet.  Stiles had known the minute he’d stepped foot on the property line.  The Sheriff traced the small rune carved into the wood.  They were all over the house. 

  “It’s my early warning system,” Stiles explained as he carved it into the door frame.  “It glows when there’s stuff.” 

  The Sheriff wondered if they had glowed that day.  If Stiles had known what was coming. 

  He took the steps slowly, wanting to delay this moment as much as possible.  He’d been delaying it for two years now.  What was two more minutes?

  The smell of blood hit him halfway down.  There was a lot of it.  The stench coated the back of his throat and he could taste the copper when he swallowed.  His feet hit the concrete floor and he took in the scene.  He’d been on the force for over 15 years, seen things no one should ever have to see.  But this, this was too much. 

  Stiles was sitting on the floor, his back against the wall, legs pulled up to his chest.  His hands were resting on his knees, blood sliding down his fingers, his head ducked, chin touching his chest.  The Sheriff tore his gaze away from his son and across the room where Chris Argent’s body was hanging from a set of chains attached to the ceiling, swinging gently back and forth.  His eyes were open wide, glassy and lifeless, head lolled to the side. There was a bullet wound in his shoulder.  The bottom half of his body had been cut off, his legs sprawled in a pool of his own blood on the floor where they’d fallen, an honest to god broad sword lying forgotten next to them. 

  “Not as easy as it looks,”   Stiles said, not even bothering to lift his head.  “It took hours the first time.  The spinal chord’s the tricky bit. If the swords sharp enough you can do it one go.  I made sure it was dull.” 

  ::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

  Stiles had left Chris for last on purpose.  Maybe he thought it was poetic.  Maybe he just wanted Chris to know what it felt like.  To know there was someone out there, tracking each and every last member of his family down and killing them.  Wanted Chris to know what it felt like to be the last one left, to be utterly and completely alone. 

  He’d come to Stiles after the funerals, clapped a hand on his shoulder like they were friends, like he had the right to touch Stiles.  Like his family hadn’t just destroyed everything he had left in the world.  He stood there on Derek’s grave and apologized.  He might have even been sorry.  But it didn’t matter.  Nothing mattered anymore.

  They came to town in the middle of the night with no warning.  Allison said they were part of a council, the family elders.  They didn’t like the way Chris had been handling things in Beacon Hills, sitting back while Derek built a pack, letting them run around town unchecked, pretending to be human.

  They waited for the full moon.  Apparently hunting them as wolves was more sporting.  They got Isaac first, he didn’t even have time to howl for help.  Scott was next.  Stiles can still see the look on Scott’s face as the sword sliced through his abdomen when he tries to sleep.  Boyd lasted a bit longer, it took four of them to taken him down, fighting until his last breath. 

  A lot of that night is just a blur but Stiles remembers Derek dragging him back to the house.  He remembers the hunters crashing through the trees after him. He remembers Derek grabbing the back of his neck, his hands slippery with blood; Stiles can’t remember whose though.  He remembers Derek kissing him, remembers Derek shoving him up the porch steps. 

  “Go down to the basement.  Lock yourself in.”  Derek ordered him.

  “No!” Stiles screamed.  “I’m not going to leave you.” 

  He remembers the arrows, the pain in his shoulder.  He remembers Derek’s howls.  And then nothing.  Until he woke up on the floor of the basement in a pool of Derek’s blood.  The top half of Derek’s body hanging from the chains in the ceiling, the bottom half by Stiles’s feet.  He’s still not sure if it was a blessing or a curse that he didn’t have to watch Derek die. 

  They left the next day just like they’d come, in the middle of the night, with no warning.  They’d done what they came to do, wiped out the wolves.  But they’d left Stiles alive.  That was their second mistake. 

  As long as there were wolves, there would always be hunters.  Stiles knew that.  When he’d set out over two years ago, he’d never intended to get them all.  But the Argents, those he could find.  Those he could kill.  After all, everything came back to them.   

  He tracked them down, one by one.  Danny helped. Stiles didn’t want to get him involved but Danny insisted.  They worked out a system.  Danny would track them, Stiles would hunt them.  Then they’d move onto the next one and the next.  They hit pay dirt in Quebec.  Danny had assumed they’d have some sort of base camp and he’d been right.  All Stiles needed was to find his way in. 

  He took a page from Kate’s book.  It had been easier than he expected.  Find the right guy.  Give him a smile, buy him a drink.  It only took three weeks.  Just three weeks and he was ready to give Stiles anything he wanted.  He told Stiles all about the compound one night in bed, where it was, how to get in.  Even let it slip they were having a reunion of sorts in a few weeks; actually invited Stiles to be his plus one.  Stiles slit his throat and dumped him in the river.  He preferred to go to things like that stag. 

  Watching the Argent compound burn was a lot more cathartic then he thought it would be.  But his work wasn’t done yet.  He grabbed a computer from the compound before he burned it.  From that Danny managed to track down the last few stragglers.  Allison had been the only one he regretted.  She’d found him in Arizona, tried to stop him.  It didn’t end well. 

  He’d come home after that.  There was nowhere else to go.  No one else to find.  Chris hadn’t even tried to run.  Stiles found him at his house, at his kitchen table; a bottle of scotch and two glasses sitting in front of him.  Stiles wondered how long he’d been waiting. 

  “So I’m the last then?” Chris asked sliding one of the glasses in front of Stiles as he sat down.  “There’s no one else?”

  “You’re it,” Stiles said, setting his gun on the table and grabbing the drink. 

  Chris nodded and took a sip.  “I guess you win.” 

  Stiles snorted, “There are no winners in this life, only losers. And me.” Stiles shot back his whole glass in one go, then picked up his gun and shot Chris in the shoulder. 

  ::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

  The Sheriff crouched down in front of Stiles and picked his gun up off the floor.  The sirens were closer now, practically at the house.  “Are you done?”  The Sheriff asked quietly and Stiles turned him, his eyes just as dead and lifeless as Chris’s.

  “Yeah,” Stiles nodded.  “I’m done.”