#( bonnie & gray au ; )
Note
👤+ Gray { for Bonnie, any verse }
Send me 👤+ a character name for my muse’s opinion on that character
"That’s my best friend. My ride or die. If I ever needed a kidney, she would be the first person in line to donate one. No hesitations. She’s loyal, a protector, and she’s tough as nails. I always know I can depend on her for anything because she’s always been there. There is literally no one else like Gray. You could scour this entire earth and you’d never find anyone else like her.”
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“I’m not sure I can find the right words to accurately describe how I feel about Gray but I’ll give my best shot.”
“Gray is an amazing woman. She’s so brave and so tough. Like me, she’s been through a lot and I really admire the way that she can power through the hard times and keep moving forward. She’s unapologetic too and I like that. She has no problem being honest or voicing an unpopular opinion. Sometimes people just need to hear things like that. Part of her charm is that she’s so real. She’s also just so protective and loyal and caring. I’ve never had a best friend that cares about me the way she does and you know what? I kind of get it now. I always thought the whole fall in love with your best friend thing was just a big cliché. It totally is but I get it. I do get it.”
#( special guest ; bonnie bennett )#ofstrengthisms#( bonnie & gray tag ; )#( bonnie & gray au ; )#muse opinion meme#answered#// you get a 2-for-1 lol#honestly a lot of the second response is also true to main timeline#just more heart eyes bc it's THAT au ;)
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merry christmas @luminousbeings-crudematter, here's the ghoap x reader purge au! (a week and a half after you posted about it... im so sorry)
5.7k, mind the tags <3
cw: ROUGH NONCONSENUAL SEX in all caps, pwp, under-prepared/painful anal sex, some pretty intense fear stuff, people covered in blood and referenced violence (it's a purge au lol)
Your hands tremble where they’re tucked close to your chest, blood sticky and thick between each finger. You feel coated in it, like someone has taken a brush and gone over every inch of your skin, painted you in red.
It’s in your mouth. You can feel the warmth of it on your tongue, the taste of iron sickening. You tell yourself that maybe you bit your tongue, that it’s not really your ex Phil’s blood coating your teeth.
Your thin pajamas are hardly any protection against the chill of the night air, less so with how soaked they are. The stench of piss is heavy in the air, a mixture of yours and his, but you don’t have time to go back inside and change.
You’re running on pure instinct, an animal urge deep in your mind insisting you run. You’d always thought you’d have more of a flight instinct than fight. Despite how you feel now, how your legs itch to carry you as far away as possible, the cooling corpse left behind tells you the truth.
You stumble into the wall, a wave of nausea knocking you off balance. There’s a trail of red left behind as you use one hand to balance yourself, the other held protectively over your heart.
Your security system - cheap, but usually enough to let you sleep through the Purge - is completely destroyed. There’s no chance of it protecting you, and the bust in windows will let anyone on the streets see your vulnerability. You’ll never feel safe there, and you can’t shake the need to run.
There’s no chance of any of your neighbors helping you. There’s some neighborly camaraderie between your floor-mates, but that all disappears on Purge night. It’s every man for himself, every year, without fail. You know that. You even think the same as them, pretend no one else exists when that siren goes off every year.
But now, shaking and terrified, you wish you could knock on a door and see it open. Hear the security system disengage and see a familiar face, beg for help and thank them on your knees.
It’s a nice fantasy. Reality is less kind, seeing you shake with a dawning chill as you manage to shoulder open the door to the stairwell, cringing when it slams behind you.
The cold cement is rough on your feet, and a distant part of yourself worries about slipping - your feet are slick with blood, and you can hear yourself leaving a trail of footsteps. You don’t try to slow down, holding tight to the metal railing and shuffling down the stairs.
You’re halfway down the first of four flights when the door on the next floor opens, a large figure stepping into the stairwell. Your stumble to a stop before you even register that you’re not alone anymore, and you’re backpedaling before you even fully realize.
He’s big, his face covered in a red skull mask. From your vantage point you can see his hair is shaved into a mohawk, and he’s shirtless with only a pair of gray sweatpants on.
He’s drenched in blood. Even more than you, and you feel like you’re drowning in it. If you’re painted in blood, someone took a bucket and dumped it on this man. You can hardly see any unmarked skin, and you wonder for a split-second if the skull was once white.
There’s an audible grin in his voice when he calls up to you. “Look’it you, bonnie thing. You tryin’ to run?” He steps to the side, leaving a wide open space for you to pass him to the next staircase. You’re frozen where you’re leant against the railing, hardly able to breathe. “C’mon, give it a shot.”
You listen, scrabbling further back and all but throwing yourself up the stairs on all fours. You’re only the need to get away, an innate fear that tells you to get as far from the blood-soaked man as quickly as possible. You swear you hear him laugh as you launch yourself up the next flight, panting already.
There’s no safety found in going up though, as hardly two flights later you’re tugged to a stop by your instincts alone.
Standing above you, hardly six feet away and blocking the door he must’ve just come from, is another giant. This one fully clothed and with a white skull mask, somehow bigger and more intimidating than the man you can hear coming up the stairs behind you. You can’t see even an inch of skin, black gloves on his hands and mean black combat boots reaching nearly his knees.
There’s a moment, before the chase ends, where you contemplate jumping over the railing. There’s no going up, there’s no going back, and you can’t even begin to imagine what these two men want with you. The only thing that keeps you from throwing yourself over is the fear that you wouldn’t die on impact, that you’d be left injured and even more vulnerable to these men.
You’re not sure you could’ve tried that plan had you even wanted to, because the moment it forms fully in your mind a pair of thick arms wraps around you, and a heavy weight forces you to the ground.
You cry out at the sudden shove, palms scraped raw against the cement. The man behind you covers your body completely - his knees bracket yours, his hands rest on either side of your head, and there’s no part of the back of you that isn’t cloaked in him.
He doesn’t say anything as he ruts against you, the blood from his chest soaking through your tank top and making you cringe further away. You can’t stop the quiet stream of whimpers as you try to shrink into the stairs, try to get away from the beast behind you. He doesn’t care, only drops more of his weight onto you and pantomines fucking you.
You can feel the outline of his cock through his pants, as thin as the clothes both of you are wearing are. If you weren’t wearing your shorts, if he tugged the waistband of his pants down, he’d be inside of you.
The thought makes you tear up, makes you want to slam your head back and try to knee him in the balls, makes you want to fight.
But all your fight is gone. It died with Phil and your security system, and you’re left only with a weight in your bones that makes you wish you could sink through the floor.
The hard plastic of the skull mask presses to the sensitive skin of your cheek, biting into the fat there. You can see the gleam of bright blue eyes in the sockets, the creases at the edges that tell you he’s smiling.
“You gonna fuck her here for the first time?” The white skull asks, voice deep enough that you hardly register the words. Your eyes are jerked to his form and it makes you shiver to see him sitting on the top of the staircase you’re pinned to, legs spread wide as he stares down at you with a cigarette between lips exposed by the tilted mask. You feel like a sacrifice, thrown to the stairs of a temple for a god.
“Can I?” The man over your shoulder pants, accent roughened from his own movements. You can’t tell if the wetness between your thighs is piss, blood, or an even worse option. You bite your tongue to hold back a whine, wince at the burst of iron in your mouth.
The man above you tilts his head, smoking blown into the air. “You fuck her here, you won’t get to go again on the roof. Don’t need you gettin’ spoiled.”
Your nails dig into the concrete, folding beneath the pressure as you shake beneath the red skulled man. He whines over you, like a petulant kid being told no for the first time, but goes still against you. That alone has you blinking open damp eyelashes, watching him from the corner of your eyes.
“Alright, I’ll wait,” he pants, chin resting on your soldier. “Give ye some time to get ready, huh lass? It’ll be easier for ye then. Just think about what we’ll do to ye, how good it’ll feel to get properly fucked, yeah?”
You sob when he grinds one final time against you, your hips pushed into the harsh edge of the stairs.
He’s dragging you up after that, hardly letting either of you stand fully before shoving you up the stairs. You can’t catch your balance and let out a small cry as you fall back to your knees, mouth twisting in pain at the unforgiving surface against your naked knees.
You flinch when a gloved hand grasps your chin, tugging up until you’re forced to look towards the white skull above you.
You’ve landed between his feet, a boot on either side of your body, and if you’d moved forward even another half foot, you’d have face planted into his lap.
Your heart skips a beat when you realize you’re making eye contact with him. The dark brown of his pupils blends almost seamlessly with what must be black paint smeared around his eye sockets, and the only reason you even realize you’re locked in a staring contest is the way the light reflects off the whites of his eyes.
You don’t have time to try and move away from him on your own (or, more accurately, to throw yourself backwards and pray you didn’t break something falling down the stairs) before a pair of bare hands are shoving you up from beneath the armpits, making you almost squeal as you jerk in the direction you’re forced.
“Up, c’mon,” red skull grunts, hands flitting from one part of your exposed skin to the next as he herds you upstairs. “Need to get inside ye, kitty, fuckin’ walk.”
You sob as you stumble up the stairs, the top of your foot scraping painfully against the concrete. You glance over your shoulder just in time to see White stand to follow you two, but you’re nearly sent sprawling again when Red only shoves you all the more harshly.
“Pl-please,” you manage to gasp, shoulder roughly bouncing off the wall. A glance up tells you you’re two full flights away from the rooftop. “Please, I don’t know what you want, b-but…” You can hardly talk around the sobs floating in your throat, choking you. “Please, please don’t hurt me.”
Red groans as he tugs you nearly off balance, the sound echoing off the walls and full of what you can only describe as hunger.
“Fuck, haven’t even gotten ye naked yet ‘n yer already beggin. Knew ye’d be perfect for us.”
You can hardly see through the tears in your eyes, the rest of the trip up to the roof all gray with streaks of red and black. You can’t focus enough to try and get away again, can’t get enough of your panic under control to fucking think.
The red skull catches you when you almost go careening over the rails, one broad hand catching you by the chest and gripping.
He groans, you flinch. “Fuck, cannae wait to get my mouth on these.” He pinches with his whole hand, your breast going sharp with pain on every fingertip. You whine, flinching further against his chest and trying to shrink away.
“Keep movin’, Soap.”
“Aye,” Red - Soap - pants, and you can practically hear the saliva gathered in his mouth when he swallows. “C’mon, kitty, only a little further.”
The blood on your hands has dried by the time White is shouldering open the door to the roof, your hands itching and the red flaking away every time your fingers twitch. The night air is a cold shock, just jarring enough to tug some reason back into your brain.
Soap doesn’t stop his herding until you’re far enough from the door for his partner to block it with an old metal chair, the back tucked under the door handle. You tuck your hands beneath your arms, shoulders curled in in an attempt to preserve warmth.
You wouldn’t have expected the night to be so cold. Half of the street is burning - flames painting the sky, giving you the exact opposite impression of the biting chill you feel. There are dozens of people in the streets, carrying guns and axes and chainsaws and all sorts of other weapons you can’t see. You feel bile rise in your throat when you realize the dark pools reflecting flames in the street are blood, not water.
“Fuckin’ finally,” Soap grumbles, and you don’t have any time to think before his mouth is pressed forcefully against yours, tongue shoving at your lips.
Your eyes are wide open, unlike his, and you make a shocked sound high in your throat at the sight of his maskless face. You can’t really see what he looks like with the way he’s pressed against you, but it’s a shock nonetheless.
You keep your lips pressed tightly together, no matter how much his tongue prods and tries to force its way into your mouth. You feel more than hear him laugh against you after a few long seconds, and one of his massive paws comes up to cradle your jaw pointer finger against your temple and thumb under your chin.
He stops trying to force himself between your lips after almost a minute, instead shifting to just… licking your lips. His tongue paints wide across your mouth, soaking you in his saliva. He’s almost scarily determined in the way he accosts you, his grip tight on your face as his other hand shifts to bruise your hip, covering what feels like the entire bottom-half of your face in his spit. You can’t help but grimace, trying to pull away from him, but he’s pressed too close.
“Can’t fuckin’ wait to be in ye,” he pants, breath warm and wet against your cheeks. “I know yer gonna squeeze me just right, bonnie, can tell already.”
“Please,” you say, voice weak. “Please, don’t, I don’t want you to-”
His groan is guttural. “Ye wanna know a secret, bonnie?” His voice is quiet between the two of you, bright blue eyes boring deep into yours when he pulls back. To your endless frustration, he’s handsome.
He leans close, whispering so low that you almost have to strain to hear hum. “That’s what makes you fun. Wouldnae be draggin’ you up here if ye wanted it, could get you any other night of the year for that. But it’s Purge night, lass… so you go ahead and fight as much as ye want, yeah? Just makes it more fun for me.”
You can’t help but sob at that, fat tears streaming down your face as he maneuvers you. You feel disconnected from your body as he forces you down to the ground, your soft belly left exposed when he pushes up your tank-top to cup one of your breasts, a whimper crawling out of your throat at the way the gravel presses into you.
You feel his breathing grow heavier as his hands move down to your shorts, shoving them off your hips and leaving them loose around your calves, completely disregarding your pitiful attempts at crawling away.
“Poor thing, been stuck in these the whole time? They fuckin’ reek, bonnie, no offense. That his piss or yours?”
You shake your head against the ground, face twisted up in acute humiliation. For some stupid reason you don’t want to even begin exploring, you find it necessary to whisper, “H-his.”
Soap hums, and you curse yourself inwardly when the humiliation is slightly alleviated.
“Get ‘em off her,” the white mask says, and you can’t help but jump at the sound of his voice. He’s sat on a large box only a few feet away, leaning back and relaxing, looking for all the world like he’s settled in for his favorite show. “Don’t want anythin’ of his touching her now.”
The sound Soap makes at that is animalistic, a snarl coming from deep in his chest that makes you flinch as he all but tears the shorts from your body. You wince at the wet splat of them landing several feet away.
You force your forehead into the gravel when your knees are forced wide, a rough hand and another pair of knees spreading you.
“No, no, no, no, no, no, no…” you can’t help but beg, voice trembling. “Please- god, please don’t-”
“Fuck,” he moans over your shoulder. “Yeah, keep goin’, lass.”
You sob at the feeling of warm skin against your bared behind, his thick length slotting itself smoothly between the slightly spread lips of your pussy. Your eyes squeeze shut and it takes all your willpower not to keep begging.
He slides himself back and forth against you for a few long breaths, using online the slight slickness from a mixture of piss and blood to get some friction. But to your immense horror, it only takes a few moments for the sensual movement against your clit to have your body preparing itself.
The slight wetness at your hole might be a betrayal, but it’s not nearly enough to ease the way when he pushes inside of you with no warning.
You nearly scream, a high sound of pure panic and pain when it feels like you’re being split in two. Somewhere off in the distance, you hear someone laugh. Right above you, Soap groans.
He’s buried himself to the hilt inside you before the pain has had any time at all to fade, and he’s fucking into you hardly a second after that.
Every thrust forces a grunt from your throat, the entire weight of him slammed into your back each time his balls smack against your clit. Your face is twisted up in a grimace, your whole body racked with pain that your assaulter couldn’t care less about.
“Fuck, kitty. Yer squeezin’ me so good, such a good girl, shit-! Knew you’d be ti-tight as a vice, fuck, but didn’t know you’d be squeezin’ me so tight I can hardly move.”
Your whine is plaintive, his moan is filled with pleasure.
“Yer gettin’ so wet for me, bonnie. Ye like this, huh? Bet you like it just as much as I do, gettin’ thrown around and takin’ advantage of. That it, kitty? Ye like being forced?”
You sob and shake your head against the ground, crying all the more when sharp pebbles dig into your cheeks.
“Naw, I think ye do. Why else’d you be- fuck, squeezin’ me like that?”
“Cause- because-” you try, but you can’t get the breath in to get more than a single word out.
“Huh? Cause- cause-?” Soap mocks, his voice pitching up to mimic you as he plants himself deep inside you, grinding his hips against the meat of your ass. “C’mon, kitty, tell me why. Go on.”
“Cause I want you to stop!” You cry, balled up fist slamming into the gravel. You can’t help but whine ow when the sharp rocks poke into your skin, and Soap’s laugh shakes your entire body.
“Good,” he whispers, breath hot against your ear. “Squirm all ye want, lass. I love it when you fight.”
You can do nothing but go limp beneath him as he begins fucking you again, his pace somehow faster and even more relentless. It’s a small mercy that there’s no fight left in you, that you can’t give him any more pleasure.
It certainly doesn’t stop him, though. Despite the fact that you’re doing your best impression of a dead fish, Soap pants and moans against your shoulder like you’re the single best thing he’s ever slept with. His cock is painfully hard inside of you, and his pace never once slows.
He’s loud when he finally comes, the sound of his orgasm clear enough that you know he’s thrown his head back to the sky. You can only whimper as he rolls his hips against you, working the last spurts of cum out of his cock and into your unwilling body.
“Fuck,” he sighs in your ear, sounding far more satisfied than he has any right to. “Good girl, kitty. You were perfect.”
You sniffle beneath him when he slowly pulls out, both of you groaning at the sensation. He gives you an almost perfunctory pat on the ass, and stands to walk away. You manage to open your eyes and focus just in time to see him slide to the ground in front of his partner, leaning against the wall.
“Yer turn,” he sighs. “Warmed her up good for you, Lt.”
Despite the hatred boiling in your gut, you can do nothing but lay limp on the ground and watch as his partner stands, cracking his neck and moving towards your prone form.
You want to run, you want to fight, but you can only watch the executioner come closer and wait for the metaphorical axe to fall.
He crouches by your head first, grasping your chin and pulling up until your torso tries to follow to alleviate the tension. He stares deep into your eyes for a long moment, and you find that it’s impossible to even tell where his pupils are with no real lighting. You feel like you’re truly looking into the empty eye sockets of a skull, no man and no mercy to be found.
“You’ll call me Ghost when I fuck you,” he rumbles, thumb stroking over the scrapes on your cheek. He doesn’t wait for a response, simply hauls you up by the shoulder and turns you onto your back.
He’s rough with your limbs as he shoves your legs together and up, his forearm banding across the backs of both of your knees and holding them to your chest. You whimper and wiggles as best you can, but the bruising blow against your thigh is enough to have you gasping and stilling.
“Don’t fight,” he warns, and you feel his gloved fingers running up the crack of you. “You’re hurtin’ enough as it is, and I’m not gonna help. You wanna make it worse too?”
You shake your head, unsure if he can even see you through your legs. He doesn’t respond, and hums when he swipes two fingers through the liquid gathered between your lips.
You whine when those fingers move further down, a fresh panic creeping in when he presses around your back hole.
“You should be glad Soap fucked you so good,” Ghost drawls. “He gave you all the lube you’re gonna get.”
You feel like an animal when you whine again, unsure of how to even begin trying to speak. You yelp when a thick finger slides into your hole, completely disregarding any resistance and forcing its way in until it’s buried to the knuckle. Your cries go ignored.
“Quit squirmin’,” Ghost scolds, pulling his finger out to smack your ass before shoving two back in. “You’re fine.”
You’re not, you’re terrified and hurting and upset, but none of those things matter when Ghost only coaxes more of your slick and Soap’s spend to your unused whole so there’s less resistance.
The only blessing you have is the fact that you can’t see more than the outline of Ghost’s figure with the way he’s got you positioned. You try your best to close your eyes and float into disassociation, and while you can’t fully manage it, the fact that you can’t see his face - his mask - helps you distance yourself from what’s happening.
The moment you realize this is of course the moment it stops being true.
He seems to decide you’re ready after scissoring three fingers inside of you, hefting himself up so that he looms more fully over you. You can only whine as you feel the movements of him unbuckling his belt, feel the weight of him slap against your slightly spread cheeks.
Fresh tears fall past your lashes as you stare up into the fathomless darkness that are Ghost’s eyes. There’s nothing there, just a cold empty skull prepared to ruin you.
You don’t even have the energy to beg.
The stretch of him inside your ass is five times worse than Soap was. There’s no natural lubrication, and nowhere near enough synthetic lube either. Your hole feels like it’s on fire, the stretch white hot as he gives you no mercy.
You’re not even fully sure what you’re babbling as he slowly sinks to the root, only aware of the pain and fear and panic sitting heavy in your heart. You fear you’ll choke on your tears, head jerking back and forth.
He sighs when he bottoms out, heavy barrel chest forcing your knees past your shoulders. Your hips strain, just another pain from the endless abuse.
“There,” he grunts, patting your thigh when you go limp from it all. “Stay nice and still now, just need a place to dump my cum.”
Upsettingly enough, that hurts. The idea that you could mean nothing to this man is somehow worse than the thought of him having some other twisted feelings for you, your hormone-addled mind deeply insulted.
His thrusts are long and slow, each one pulling nearly completely out before slamming back in. The sound of your skin slapping together is embarrassingly sexual, and a distant part of you is aware enough to pray that no one nearby had heard your screams and cries.
Ghost is near silent as he fucks you, the opposite of Soap. You can only hear the occasional grunt when you squeeze him because he’s inches away from your face - you can even feel the occasional gusts of breath when his hips start working a little faster.
There’s nothing you can do but lay limply beneath him and take it, just a vehicle for his pleasure. You almost manage to float away, to pretend none of this is happening or has ever happened, when his free hand moves from your thigh to the top of your cunt.
You nearly squeal when he rubs your clit, the smooth leath gliding over your slick bud. Your eyes fly wide open, back arching as much as you can with three hundred pounds of man holding you down. The loud laugh from several feet away only makes you writhe more.
“Make her squirt, Lt!” Soap shouts, his voice carefree.
“Shut it, Johnny,” Ghost grunts, voice roughened with pleasure. You don’t even have time to focus on the fact that he’s just told you Johnny’s name, far too preoccupied with the tidal wave of pleasure rushing towards you.
You have no idea why it happens. You’re never quick to come - almost every single partner of yours has complained about you taking so long to get off, it’s been an Issue in several relationships.
So it makes absolutely no sense that after hardly a minute of rough circles against your clit, you’re clenching down on the cock in your ass and moaning loudly as your orgasm overtakes you.
The natural clench of your body only makes the pain worse, a sharp spike of it running up your cunt and making your moan shift into more pained sounds. Ghost only moans in tandem above you, his thrusts becoming slightly less even as he lets your orgasm coax out his own.
You sob when you feel his cum paint your insides.
Unlike Johnny, Ghost doesn’t pull out after he comes. He lets your legs fall limp on either side of him, just barely managing to catch them for you before you slam your ankles to the ground. He leans his torso over yours, elbows resting on either side of your shoulders while you do nothing but wait beneath him.
He’s sweat off some of the makeup. This close, you can see hints of pale skin in the sockets of the mask. There’s nothing to read in his eyes, but that flash of skin tells you he’s still a man.
You swallow, trying to work moisture back into your dry mouth, and whisper, “Will… will you let me go now?”
You know it’s more likely he’ll kill you. It’s what you can only imagine happened to all those bodies in the streets, what you know happens to tens of thousands of women every year.
So it’s not a surprise when he doesn’t answer you verbally, instead covering your mouth with his palm and pinching your nose shut with his fingers.
Your eyes flutter shut after a moment, lungs tightening already, and all you can hope is that suffocation is a quick death.
———————————————————————
You wake, gasping, in a dark room.
You’re lurching forward before you’re even fully aware that you’re awake, coughing loudly and gasping when it feels like your throat is bleeding.
“Oh, poor thing,” you hear a familiar accented voice coo, and a moment later there’s a warm hand patting your back. “Yer alright, deep breaths.”
You jerk back from Soap - Johnny - as soon as your coughing is under control, scrambling back on your palms and staring at him with wide eyes. He only grins at you, looking for all the world like any other normal man in his sweater and sweatpants.
He got changed at some point - these pants are clean. He’s not wearing his mask either, and you’re struck dumb by how non threatening he manages to look.
He also changed your clothes - or Ghost did, maybe. You try to cover your chest with one hand, but there’s no hiding the fact that you’re completely naked.
Johnny only laughs at your attempted modesty. “Been starin’ at them for hours, lass. Ye’ve got nothin’ to hide.”
That’s… horrifying, and does absolutely nothing to calm you down.
It’s then that Ghost rises from a chair, stepping forward and making you aware of his presence. “Calm down, Johnny. We don’t want her panickin’ this early.”
Soap fully pouts, tilting his head at you before glancing up at his partner. “I haven’t even done anythin’, Ghost. Was just sayin’ hi, tha’s all.”
Ghost snorts, gripping Johnny’s mohawk and tugging back until the other man sprawls back on his ass. “You know how you are, pup. Give your kitty some space.”
Johnny listens, crossing one leg beneath him and bending the other close to his chest, looking casual as can be. Meanwhile your heartbeat only gets faster, and you wince when you happen to lean too far one direction and feel a throbbing reminder of what these men did to you.
Ghost steps forward again, crouching just out of arm's reach. You realize he’s not wearing the same skull mask as before, but a balaclava with a printed skull pattern instead. His eye sockets are unpainted, and you’re shocked by how such little things make him look so much more human.
“You can calm down. Long as you behave, nothin’ much worse’ll happen to you.”
You find yourself almost comically not-comforted by that, and can do nothing more than stare at him with wide eyes.
“Where…” Your voice cracks, so you swallow and start again. “Where am I?”
It’s Johnny who speaks up. “Our place. We finally brought ye home with us, kitty.”
The world feels like it’s slowed around you, and your eyes drag from one kidnapper to the other. You have to swallow again to work any moisture into your bone-dry mouth.
“Is the Purge over?”
The creases at the corner of Ghost’s eyes are painfully obvious with how pale his skin is, and you shudder at the thought of him smiling.
“Been over for… what, five hours now? Somethin’ like that.”
You can’t fight the tremble in your voice now. “Then… then you have to let me go.”
Ghost’s head tilts, the creases get deeper. “Do I?”
You nod with as much conviction as you can - which is almost none. “You can’t keep me here. You’re breaking the law.”
Ghost leans closer on the balls of feet and you lean further back, your spine pressing into the wall behind you. “Are we now? And who do you think will stop us, pet?”
“The- the police. Someone will report me missing, they’ll come looking.”
“Oh? And you think they’ll come here?”
You nod as best you can, and jump when Ghost laughs. It’s low and quiet, only a few beats, but it’s like gasoline thrown on the small fire of panic in your mind.
“You have no idea where you even are, and you think they’ll find you? I hate to break it to you doll, but you’ll be lucky if they look for you for a week. You have any idea how many people go missin’ after the Purge?”
Your breath is quickening. “So that’s it? You’re just going to… going to keep me here, forever? What are you even going to do?”
His laugh is sharper, meaner this time. “We’re gonna do a whole lot more of what we did last night, pet. Keep you as a little cocksleeve, a pretty thing tucked in the basement just for our entertainment. Ain’t that right, Johnny?”
You manage to tear your eyes away to look at Soap and see that he’s nearly salivating, having inched closer and closer and shifted so he’s knelt behind Ghost. There’s a feral spark in his eyes that has every hair on your body standing straight up.
“Yeah, tha’s right. Don’t worry, lass, we’ll make sure yer never lonely. Might even stay the night with you, cuddle up in the winter. Bet ye could keep our cocks nice and toasty in the cold, huh? Gonna let us use ye as a little heater?”
“A heater, a mattress, a fleshlight… your future’s lookin’ bright, sweetheart,” Ghost drawls, mockery dripping heavily from the cruel words.
Your eyes dart back and forth between the two men and their predatory stares, your heart racing against your ribcage.
It’s not a conscious choice for you to launch yourself towards them, reaching out and clawing your sharp nails down Soap’s face with a feral scream that tears your throat to shreds.
Even as Ghost throws you off and forces you to the ground, you vow to fight these men to the end. You’ll kill them both if you have to, leave them dead and wander however many miles it is back to your apartment.
Ghost only laughs when you shout this in his face, and you scream as you lunge forward, just managing to catch his masked chin between your teeth and bite.
With your fight instinct back in full force, you’re ready to make their lives hell.
#lumi im SORRY hand on the bible i could not tell you why this took me so long#it's pwp. it's pure smut. there is no justifiable reason for this taking a week#i literally have FOUR fucking docs of purge au's rn lmao like when i tell you i tried to write this SO MANY TIMES it was just not happening#ghoap x reader#bo writes#purge au#how do i tag this to get people to see it but not to get people complaining about dark fic to me#...i don't#oh well. special treat for you guys lol
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Peaky Blinders Masterlist
🌛🌼🌜Add Yourself to my Taglist Here🌛🌼🌜
Multi Chapter
🌛🌸🌜 Trouble 🌛🌸🌜
Shelby Sister! Modern balletcore au
Chapters
🌛🌸🌜trouble AU🌛🌸🌜
Snow On the Beach ft Heaven Lavey/Shelby
Love In A Haunted House Part ll
Headcannons
🌿 To date them
🌾 To tell them you’re pregnant
🐿️ To be shy around them
🐻 To be married to them
🍀 To be comforted by them when a pet dies
🌼 To be their nurse and cheerleader
🥀 To be an actress they fall in love with
🦦 To be cared for by them when you’re drunk
🦔 To be bold and answer them back
🦊 To be a mafia princess they fall in love with
🌸 To be protected by them when your ex returns
🍂 To be cared for by them when you’re wounded
☘️ To try to leave them (dark!) (yandere)
🐿️ To give/ receive head
🦊You’re the secret enemy and they find out you’ve been using them
🍀To be emotionally distant and have chip away at you
🐻 Modern AU / to beat them at monopoly
🌼 When their enemy threatens you
🕊️ To Make Them Broody At Christmas
☘️ You get Kidnapped
❤️ Dancing with the Peaky Boys
🔪 You thought they were going to die
🕊️ You give them an Ugly Sweater (Christmas!)
🔪 NSFW Their Usually Shy Lover Fucks Like a Porn Star
🍒 You have a fear of blood
🍂 Reader who mis-speaks/ gets the wrong vibe in conversations (how they support you)
🐻 Reader has abandonment issues
🐰 When you tease them all day they... (nsfw)
🦇 With Spooky/Gothic reader
🌙 When they get jealous
🕊️ Reader has a terminal illness
❤️ Coming out to them
🍎They take care of you when you're sick
💔 They comfort you after a break up (wattpad link for now as the post is lost in Tumblr void)
🔪 You die in their arms
🐀 Selective mute reader
🐻 Modern AU! Animal Crossing
🥃 How they respond when your drink is spiked
🦢 With a lover who sings
🦊 How they cuddle + you're on your period
🍒 NSFW (The Girls)
🍀 Arranged Marriage (they find out you have a child)
🌛 You leave your underwear in their office NSFW
🔪 You have a nightmare
🥀 You cry when people shout at you
🐻 What they're like as dads
🔪 dark! How they deal with your childhood best friend
🥧 you're a baker always bringing them treats
🌼 You're just really excited to see them
🐻 Christmas Eve
🥀 Christmas Day
Tommy Shelby
🌿 The Waves
You were a nurse in the war, now you’re a Shelby secretary (ptsd, dissociation, hurt/comfort)
🌿 NSFW Alphabet
🌿 Too Close Too Heaven
After watching John die you fled the family but now he's found you Tommy wants to help. (PTSD, grief, character death, hurt/comfort)
Alfie Solomons
🐻 NSFW Alphabet
🐻 Cuddle Fucking (plotless smut)
🐻 All Things Must Pass
Alfie comforts reader through a ptsd episode
🐻 Afraid of Everyone
You get attacked and Alfie comes to your rescue, cuddles you whilst you have a big cry
Arthur Shelby
🍂 Fear of Thunder
Neither of you like the storm outside (hurt/comfort)
🍂 NSFW Alphabet
🍂 A Walk With His Daughter
🍂 Snowman
John Shelby
🌼 (requests open)
Bonnie Gold
🍀 Center of Gravity, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3
Bonnie finds out you can’t swim.
🍀NSFW alphabet
🍀NSFW headcannons
🍀Sleep The Clock Around
Bonnie helps you get some desperately needed rest
🍀Cinnamon girl
Hurt/Comfort, you and Bonnie have been kissing in secret for too long.
🍀 Angels
Fluffy nsfw if that makes sense? Cosy bath after one of Bonnie's fights.
🍀 Stormy Weather
nsfw inspired by that one horny bonnie anon <3
Isaiah Jesus
🐀 (requests open)
Michael Gray
☘️ nsfw alphabet
Ada Shelby
🦔 Bout des doigts
Smut but cosy
Aberama Gold
🦦 Blackberries
Age gap! Angst?
Random Wee Bits
☘️ Who has a secret sub side
🦔 Who Factory Reset Fucks
☘️ aftercare talk Alfie, Bonnie idk?
#Peaky blinders imagines#Peaky Blinders x reader#Peaky Blinders headcannons#Pacifymebby peaky blinders
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Interstellar Molecular Cloud
It ends with Bonnie and Marceline clinging to each other as they fall towards their deaths. It begins with two lost girls, alone in the wasteland, finding hope in each other.
An exploration of Bonnie and Marcy's early relationship in the Alternate Universe presented in "The Star".
Relationship: Princess Bubblegum / Marceline
Tags: Vampworld!Au, Vampire Hunter PB, Angst, Friends to Enemies, Post-Apocalypse
Word Count: 5,930
A03 Mirror
Bonnibel Bubblegum is thirteen years old when she meets her for the first time. She is thirteen years old, and she has blood on her hands. This isn’t something that bothers her, really. Vampire blood isn’t like regular person blood. It’s a mark of honor, if anything, a badge she wears with great pride. She’s snuffed out more vamps than anyone she knows.
Not that she knows many people.
She’s picking her way through what used to be a convenience store. For the most part, it’s long since been picked clean, but Bonnie is resourceful— has to be, to make it out here. She sets a sensor at the main entrance, then two more near the broken windows, and then she gets to work. She breaks tables apart and whittles their legs into stakes. She takes apart broken down cash registers and pockets parts that have even the slight possibility of being useful.
One of her sensors goes off, and her blaster is out of her pocket before she even turns around, gripped confidently as her other hand falls to one of the stakes lining her belt. She falters when she registers what’s in front of her.
She’s a girl. Around Bonnie’s age, by the look of it. She has short cropped black hair, pointed ears, and slate-gray skin. She’s wearing a deep, dark purple dress with black lacy bits around the skirts, and if Bonnie were to allow herself to stop and really look for a second, she might note that it’s pretty on her. But what really stands out about her is the long, exposed length of her neck. Bonnie lets her blaster fall to her side and uses her free hand to tug her scarf up over her nose.
“Uh. Hey,” the other girl says, taking a step closer when Bonnie begins to rifle through her bag. She pulls out a spare scarf— a tattered old thing with more than a couple mysterious stains marring the ruddy surface. She shoves it towards the stranger.
“You should really cover up,” she says curtly.
The girl looks down at the offering, and for a moment, the only sound is the distant, familiar sound of oozers groaning a few blocks away. And then the girl’s lips quirk up into a smile, and to Bonnie’s outrage and horror, she laughs. Not just a little chuckle, either. This girl is full-on guffawing. She’s loud about it too, like she doesn’t know how dangerous it is to be heard. Bonnie moves faster than she can think, smacking her hand over the other girl’s mouth.
And she licks it.
“Uhg!” Bonnie pulls back, nose wrinkling in disgust, and the girl laughs even louder.
Bonnie’s hand clamps down on the handle of her blaster until it hurts. She takes a step back, glaring daggers in the girl’s direction. Once she manages to stop laughing for two seconds, pausing to wipe tears from her eyes, she has the gall to extend a hand towards Bonnie. Her smile is crooked and it’s not even a little bit charming. “Name’s Marceline,” she says, like Bonnie cares.
“Well, Marceline,” Bonnie forces as much contempt as she can muster into the name. She hates how it feels on her tongue, “a vamp’s gonna use you like a ding—danged juicebox if you don’t cover up your neck.”
“Uh, yeah,” Marceline rolls her eyes, which makes the fire in Bonnie’s chest burn and lap up her throat, “I wouldn’t worry about that, princess. Vamps won’t even think about touching me.” She says it with this maddening unearned confidence, and Bonnie thinks she’s never been so angry in her entire life. She shoves her blaster roughly back into its holster. She should just leave, let Marceline get what’s coming to her. She’s never paused for anyone else before.
But she’s watching Bonnie with these big brown eyes, and that stupid crooked grin hasn’t left her face. Her posture is relaxed, hands dug into pockets that look hastily patched onto her skirts. “Sooooo—” she says, tilting back on the balls of her feet, “where are y’off to now?”
None of your business, Bonnie thinks. “My tank,” she says out loud. She’s disarming her sensors and popping them back in her pockets. The sound of the oozers is closer now. She might need to move the tank for the night.
“Woah, back up— your tank?” Marceline echoes, suddenly right over Bonnie’s shoulder. “Nuh-uh. You can’t just say something like that and then not show me. C’mon, princess—”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Then tell me your name.”
She pauses, looking over Marceline. How has she survived like this? She seems so carefree, like she’s not even a little bit scared. She finds she can’t stay mad about it. There’s something entrancing there— something that Bonnie finds she can’t define. And she isn’t used to not knowing things. It makes her want to talk to Marceline more, to find out how she ticks. “Bonnie. Follow me, and keep up.”
Her tank— which is a bit of a misnomer, if she’s being honest— is parked nearby. It’s really more of a pick-up truck rigged with traps and reinforced windows. As she approaches she reaches into her left pocket and taps a code into a remote, deactivating her security system so that she and Marceline can clamber inside. Bonnie climbs into the passenger seat and watches through narrowed eyes as the other girl ooos and ahhs over her equipment.
“What’s this do?” she asks, picking up one of her more recent projects, which will hopefully sense vampiric presence within a three kilometer radius once finished.
“It’s a bomb,” Bonnie says flatly, then snorts when Marceline drops it in a hurry.
“Kidding. It’s a sensor I’ve been working on.”
Marceline blinks at her, then her face breaks into a smile again, and this time it makes Bonnie’s heart skip. Bizarre. “I didn’t know you joked.”
“You don’t know me at all.” No one does. She tries to keep it that way.
“Okay,” Marceline leans closer, propping herself up against the armrest, “then let’s get to know each other.”
Bonnie knows she should say no. Instead, she says, “Alright.”
☆
In one of the seats of her truck, under a section of peeled leather, Bonnie keeps a thin stack of papers and a collection of pencils. The paper is gray, thin, and worn from countless times being drawn on, then erased. When she’s alone in her truck at night— when Marceline goes home, or she finishes scavenging on her own, she’ll take out the paper and use moonlight to sketch little candy people. She imagines what they’d be like, what their hopes and aspirations would be.
She’s never breathed a word of it to anyone, much less shown them. To be fair, she hasn’t really had anyone to tell. But one day, when Marceline stays a little later than usual, Bonnie pulls out one of her drawings, and she tells her friend about a sentient Root Beer who’s an aspiring crime novelist, and Marceline listens.
☆
Bonnibel Bubblegum is fifteen years old when she figures out what a crush is. She’s fifteen years old, and she’s running for her stinkin’ life through a crumbling alleyway with Marceline’s hand clutched in hers. They’d been sitting in the back of her truck, like they did all the time, and clearly, Bonnie had let herself grow complicit, unobservant, because one minute she was listening to Marceline read out one of the kissy bits in an old romance novel they’d scavenged, and the next she was looking around and realizing there were about twenty vampires lurking around the corner.
She should’ve just gotten in the truck. If she’d given herself a moment to think, they’d both be safe in the vehicle and bookin’ it down the road, knocking vampire heads along the way.
But instead she’d panicked.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
And now Marceline’s in danger, too, and she’s giggling as Bonnie drags her along, like it’s some sort of game. Like there isn’t a gaggle of parasites looking to leech their fluids. Bonnie skids around a corner and throws both of them against a wall, arm slamming against Marceline’s chest. Her breaths come out heavy and ragged, and her free hand begins to pick at her belt.
Four stakes, a garlic bomb— she doesn’t even have her blaster.
“Bonnie?” Marceline looks worried— which is the response she should have been having from the start. For her part, Bonnie jerks her arm away from her chest and adjusts her scarf in hopes of covering the blush she knows is creeping up her neck. Marceline always teases her for how obvious it is when she gets flustered.
“They’re probably still on our tails. Dang nabit! I shoulda been paying more attention. You distracted me!” she points an accusing finger at Marceline, nearly poking her in the nose. But the other girl, unperturbed, bats her finger away.
“Look! We’re fine. I’m telling you, Bonbon, vamps never mess with me.”
She says that a lot. Whenever Bonnie brings up the subject of vampires, she hedges, changes the subject. She’s never pushed it, because she figures that she’s just putting on her little tough girl act or whatever, but right now Bonnie’s pumped on adrenaline and her body wants to feel a million intense emotions at once, so she settles on anger.
“Why?” she asks, crowding Marceline up against the crumbling brick. “Why don’t they mess with you, Marceline?”
Marceline blinks, her cheeks flushing dark, something that Bonnie doesn’t think she’s ever seen. “Uh— do you need to be so close for this conversation?”
“Answer me.” She is so done with this. She’s watched vampires drain hundreds of people. They don’t even hesitate, so what makes Marceline so damn special?
Marceline laughs nervously, eyes darting away, her blush deepening. She waves her hands in vague gestures and makes a couple aborted attempts to start a sentence— well, uh, you know— before eventually pushing out. “I mean, I haven’t died so far, right?”
She looks tense, and her voice wavers as she speaks. She seems almost scared. And that, at least, makes sense to Bonnie. That, at least, is familiar. She breathes out a long, heavy sigh and takes a step back, then another. Her back hits the opposite wall and she slides down until she hits the ground and her baggy cargo pants immediately soak through with what she’s going to assume, for her own sanity, is water. “I worry about you, you know.” She can’t meet Marceline’s eyes when she says it. Doesn’t need to. She can vividly imagine the wrinkle of her brow, the way her lips tug into a tiny frown and her deep brown eyes take on that almost pleading look. Bonnie crowds her knees to her chest and focuses on a random brick in the wall instead.
“Bon,” Marceline’s voice is soft, barely audible over the persistent noise of the dead city— the wind rattling dilapidated architecture, the skittering of mutated rats. Her hand falls on Bonnie’s shoulder, causing her to tense, “you don’t need to worry about me.”
Hot, fiery indignation rises in Bonnie— it burns through her chest and prickles uncomfortably up her spine. “Of course I worry about you, you- you nimrod!” she lets out a frustrated growl when Marceline has the nerve to snort at the insult, “you’re the only person I have in this place— you’re my only friend. If you die because you couldn’t be bothered to take care of yourself, then—” then she’d be back to the way she was before. The way she’d been for as long as she could remember. Alone. Surviving.
She doesn’t understand how she can be just fine on her own for thirteen years, and now, after knowing Marceline for two, she can’t even conceive of going back to that. She stands, and Marceline, for once, is stunned silent, mouth hanging slightly open. “If you’re not gonna take care of yourself, at least let me protect you.” She knows immediately that it’s a silly thing to say. Marceline is all she has, but she knows that she isn’t all Marceline has. She has a dad, somewhere. She’s never met him, because Marceline insists she wouldn’t get along with him. She doesn’t need protection from her, specifically.
It’s also silly because she knows good and well that Marceline can brawl with the best of them. She’s seen her smash a mutant rat skull under her steel-toed boots more than a few times.
The weight of just how much she doesn’t need Bonnibel sits like a rock in her stomach. Her shoulders sag, and the fire snuffs out in her. All at once, she feels exhausted.
And then Marceline’s arms are around her, and she’s being drawn into a hug, and an altogether different sort of flame lights up her chest. It makes it hard to breathe. Her hands hover awkwardly over Marceline’s back for a moment, before settling gently against the soft fabric of her tank top.
“You know, for a total braniac, you can be a real numbskull.”
Bonnie pulls back, intending to glare, but when she’s met with a signature Marceline grin, her heart skips a beat, and she knows the look she ends up shooting her is nowhere near intimidating. Marceline tilts her head and hums quietly. “Look, if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll let you play knight for me, alright?”
“That’s not—”
“And I’ll be more careful. If it pleases the lady.”
Bonnie's shoulders box up around her ears, and her fingernails dig into her palms, “It does.”
“Alright then,” Marceline reaches over and attempts to tousle her short-cropped hair, only to pull back. “I, uh, sometimes forget you’re like, actually made of candy.”
And then they both snort, and the tension evaporates. There’s a moment of silence, before Marceline pats her on the back and gestures with a wave of her hand. “C’mon, all that running around made me hungry. I think there’s an old soda machine nearby. Bet we could smash it up and get you some parts while we’re there, huh?”
She punctuates the sentence with another lopsided smile, and doesn’t wait for Bonnie to respond before sauntering off. Bonnie watches her go for a moment, her heart still thumping loud enough that she’s surprised Marceline doesn’t hear it. Or she would be, if she was less aware of how her own cardiovascular system worked.
She thinks back to the romance novel they’d been reading together. She has a stack of them in the glove compartment of her truck. A lot of them are missing parts, or are partially rotted. But she cherishes them anyway— she cherishes the flowery prose, and the silly, saccharine protagonists. But she doesn’t think she’s ever fully understood them until now.
The revelation takes all of ten seconds. And then, Bonnie straightens her back, adjusts her scarf, and follows behind Marceline.
☆
Marceline never brings her back to her house. She says that her dad likes to keep it a secret, that he’s real paranoid. Bonnie asks where she gets her attitude from, and Marceline tells her she’s a wild child. And the next day, she brings a red bass guitar in the shape of a labrys.
She tells Bonnie that she can’t bring her home, but she can bring Bonnie something of hers.
And then she sings, and it’s awkward, and fumbling. She keeps stopping to laugh and apologize, adjusting her instrument or clearing her throat before continuing on, or starting a new song altogether.
She sings about making it on your own, and busting up oozers, and day-old fries. She sings about sweet candy, and she looks into Bonnie’s eyes while she does it.
☆
Bonnibel Bubblegum is seventeen years old when everything changes. She’s seventeen years old, and she’s pretty sure she’s gonna die for real this time.
She’s in an old storm drain, up to her ankles in stagnant, tepid water. Marceline’s breathing heavily next to her, and for once in her life she actually looks properly scared. She doesn’t have time to be vindicated now, though, because at their back is a wall of rubble, and in front of them is an army of huge, mutated, six-legged squirrels. Their teeth are long and gnarled, their eyes bulging and blind. They can barely keep themselves upright as they lumber towards them, and if there weren’t so dang many of them, maybe there’d be a chance of fighting them off.
Bonnie feels cold, but she feels calm, too. She’s read, before, about people getting all calm before they die. Like— there’s nothing more you can do, so you might as well close your eyes and accept it. Like your brain is giving you one last moment of peace before you bite the big one.
She looks over at Marceline, awash in pale gray light filtering through tiny holes in the ceiling, and she doesn’t completely think through her words before she says, “Marceline,” she reaches up and presses her palm to Marceline’s cheek. Deep brown eyes, wild with fear, soften minutely when they meet hers. “Before we get all mashed up into squirrel chow—” uh “— can I kiss you?”
Marceline stares at her, slack-jawed, and it lasts for maybe five seconds, which is more than enough time for Bonnie’s mind to start panicking. She flips through apologies, she contemplates going out in a blaze of glory smashing squirrel skulls just to have something to distract her in her final seconds. Her hand jolts away from Marceline’s cheek, but the other girl grabs her wrist and holds it in place.
And then she says, “My dad’s the Vampire King.”
The squirrels are going to be on them in less than thirty seconds. There’s a huge pile of rocks behind them. Bonnie has never been more fucking angry in her entire life. A loud, guttural, “WHAT?” rips from her throat, and it doesn’t even sound like her. In that moment, Bonnie realizes that she has to get out of here alive, because there’s no way she’s going willingly to any dead world with this as her last memory. She whips her blaster out of its holster, tugs Marceline roughly behind her by the arm, and begins to blast the top of the rubble pile.
Bits of stone shoot like bullets, scraping against their skin, “Ow! Bonnie—” Marceline starts, but she’s interrupted by Bonnie hooking an arm under her legs and hoisting her up and through the narrow hole her blasts have managed to create. “Climb, you dink!” And, to her benefit, Marceline climbs, Bonnie hot on her heels.
The two of them fall in a heap on the other side, and Bonnie is ready to tear Marceline a new one right then and there, but one of those freaky squirrels is shoving its grubby mitts through the hole, dislodging more rocks. “Book it, Marceline— this conversation isn’t over,” Bonnie says, shoving Marceline along, which evokes a hiss from the other girl, but she doesn’t argue.
Water soaks into Bonnie’s cargo pants— it seeps into her boots and drenches her socks as they slosh through the tunnel, fighting towards the light at the end. Sunlight breaks upon them, and they don’t stop running. The grass is slippery under their feet, but they climb their way to the top of a hill, so they’re at a vantage point, in the shade of a solitary oak tree, alive against all odds. Kind of like them.
Bonnie’s hands are gripping her knees as she catches her breath, and her jaw is tensed so hard it’s starting to hurt. When she glares up at Marceline, the vampire hugger at least has the self-awareness to look ashamed, for a moment, before she looks away.
“Don’t—” Bonnie huffs, “—don’t look away from me. You have a whole world of explaining to do, like, yesterday.”
“Orrrrr we could go back to that bit about kissing?” Marceline hedges, but Bonnie is having absolutely none of that. The part of her who’d asked for that, minutes ago, is as good as staked through the heart. The look she’s giving Marceline must convey at least some of that, because she swallows, presses her back against the gnarled oak tree, and slides down. Once she hits the ground, she starts bonking her head gently against the tree. “Well, what do you want me to tell you?”
“Uh, how about you start by telling me how long you’ve been rubbin’ shoulders with bloodsuckers?” Bonnie snaps, sitting cross-legged and straight-backed across from Marceline. All business. Marceline looks at her with her biggest puppy-dog eyes, and Bonnie does a valiant job at pretending to be unaffected. “Talk.” She says through gritted teeth.
“I mean—” Marceline clenches her fists, looks at the ground, “I knew you were gonna be weird about this.”
“Uh, no doi? I’ve been staking those suckers since I was old enough to walk— they’re crashing the mammalian population of this continent into nothing, Marceline. It’s not sustainable, and it’s not right.”
Marceline’s shoulders tense, “Oh yeah, because it’s always Bonnibel Bubblegum who gets to decide what’s right.”
“Oh, can it, Marceline! It doesn’t take a masters’ in ethics to figure out that slurpin’ people’s juices up nasty style isn’t a cool thing to do.”
“And so what are we supposed to do—”
“Oh, so it’s we now?” Bonnie is aware that her voice is higher than she’d usually allow it to go. At this volume, they’re bound to draw attention, but she’s past caring about that.
“Yeah— we— because my dad is the Vampire King,” Marceline is standing now, forcing herself into Bonnie’s space. She responds by standing straight and tilting her chin up. She forces herself to look into Marceline’s eyes as she tears their relationship up from the inside. “We don’t have any other choice. We have to feed somehow.”
“Have you tried anything else?” Bonnie’s voice is ice cold. She knows the answer to the question, but she feels no vindication when Marceline averts her gaze. “Of course not.”
Silence hangs between them for a moment, and Bonnie hugs her arms around herself, busies herself by checking the perimeter. The squirrels must’ve found something else to focus on, or they couldn’t manage to get through the opening she made.
“What do you want me to do, Bonnie?” Marceline’s voice is defeated, and sadder than she’s ever heard it.
Bonnie’s grip tightens around herself. She bites down on her tongue and does not let her frustration bubble up into tears. She won’t give Marceline the satisfaction. “I want you to be better than them,” she says, “vampires can’t keep feeding like they have, or you’ll run out of food before the end of the decade, and then,” she shrugs. And then, it didn’t matter. The vampires would turn on themselves, or they’d starve. Either way, it ends in desolation, unless something changes.
She manages to look at Marceline again, and she knows immediately that it’s a mistake. She’s never been able to keep up her walls when those big brown eyes get watery. “You’re not a vampire yet,” she says, reaching out tentatively. Her hand hovers over Marceline’s shoulder, hesitant but inviting— practically begging for her to move into her space. To give her something, anything. Bonnibel Bubblegum has never been one to beg, but the words crowd now at the back of her throat. Please, she wants to say, I don’t have anyone else. Don’t turn your back on me.
Marceline stares at her hovering hand, then meets her gaze. She steps back, and Bonnie’s hand falls back to her side. “Not yet. He isn’t gonna turn me until my eighteenth birthday.”
She says it like an inevitability, like she’s already made her choice. In six months, unless something changes, Marceline is going to build a wall between them that can never be surmounted. Bonnie feels her airways tighten. She should have seen this coming, really, so maybe it’s her fault. It all seems so obvious in retrospect— the secrecy about her dad, the nonchalance about vampires. How did she never see it?
“I think being around you makes me stupid.”
Marceline flinches back, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Bonnie doesn’t respond. She turns away from the girl she thought she knew, and begins her walk home.
“Goodnight, Marceline,” she whispers, and she doesn’t look back.
☆
Bonnie spends the next six months dedicated to her work. Marceline comes by a few times, tries to start up a conversation, like nothing’s changed. She doesn’t bring up her dad, or anything they talked about. Bonnie ignores her until she leaves, and ignores the way doing so makes her chest ache and burn. She finishes building her tank, and she shows it off to no one.
☆
Bonnibel Bubblegum is eighteen years old the first time she tries to kill Marceline.
She’s been avoiding her. They’ve talked very briefly a couple of times since that day on the hill, but Bonnie isn’t willing to let her guard down again. She keeps thinking about all the sides of herself she’s shown Marceline over the years— about all her silly little passion projects she’s shown off. She let her read her corny romance novels— she wanted to kiss her. She doesn’t understand how she’d miscalculated so severely, but she knows she can’t let it happen again.
Marceline’s birthday grows closer. Usually, on the night of, after Marceline was done spending the day with her family (she thinks, now, about how she was never invited and why, and she bites down so hard on the inside of her cheek that she tastes thick, syrupy blood), the two of them would sit up on a rooftop and watch the sun dip behind the hazy horizon. Bonnie didn’t know when her birthday was when they met, had never thought it mattered. So back on the first birthday they spent together, Marceline declared they could share one.
They would sit, year after year, and exchange gifts, and talk until their eyelids were droopy and they were one good yawn away from passing out in the open.
It was all so miserably soft.
Tonight, she doesn’t bring a gift. She has eight stakes in her belts, and some flash bombs and a pocket knife in the deep pockets of her best cargo pants. In her back pocket— the one that zips up— is the keys to her tank. She’d come here to answer one question, and she’s prepared for whichever answer Marceline has to give her. At least, her mind is ready. Her heart will just have to tough it out.
She doesn’t even make it to the roof before she bumps into Marceline, in the dingy bottom floor of the abandoned house. Half the floorboards are missing, and the ceiling is partially collapsed onto what used to be a couch. Marceline is in a form-fitting knee-length red dress with long sleeves. She looks good. “You came,” she says, sounding breathless. She holds out a tiny box wrapped in newspaper. Bonnie doesn’t take it.
“You said that your dad would turn you when you were eighteen,” she glances at Marceline’s neck, exposed as always, and finds no marks.
Marceline swallows, and Bonnie has to look away again, “I asked him to wait,” she says, “I wanted to talk to you first.”
She knows that she shouldn’t let hope take root in her, but she can’t quite hide her yearning flinch at the words. They hang above her, ripe with possibility. But she won’t be reckless, like she had been before. “Talk to me about what, exactly?” and she makes herself meet Marceline’s eyes as she says it, even if doing so makes it feel like she’s being torn apart and left out in the sun for the vultures.
“Bonnie,” Marceline says carefully, like she thinks Bonnie might break. She steps forward, and Bonnie steps back. Marceline’s eyes are big and brown and beautiful, and so, so sad. “I want to be your friend. I miss you.”
I miss you too, she doesn’t say, because what she really misses is ignorance. But damn if her heart doesn’t twist and burn with desire. Damn if she doesn’t want to push herself into Marceline’s arms and take whatever she’ll give her. But it isn’t just about the two of them. It never has been.
“Marceline, I have one question,” she doesn’t move to grab a weapon yet, but she does adjust her feet for better motion, “do you still plan on becoming a vampire?”
Marceline’s breath hitches, and her eyes dart to the side. Her brows furrow, and again, that pesky little seed of hope threatens to take root. But then, she speaks, and she says, “Yes, Bonnie. I do.”
Bonnie stares at the person she once called friend, and it looks like she’s pleading, though for what, she can’t be sure. Their friendship, maybe. Or maybe just mercy. In either case, Bonnie can’t offer her what she wants.
“Okay, then,” Bonnie says, and she rips a stake out of her belt and bursts into motion.
Her body collides with Marceline’s, and surprise offers her an advantage. Marceline lets out a sharp yelp and crashes against the rotten wood underfoot. She bites out the first part of Bonnie’s name, but is cut short when Bonnie’s palm collides with her forehead and slams her head back.
Tears blur Bonnie’s vision. She wants to get this over with quickly. She’s spent days thinking about how it’ll play out, and days weeping pathetically in her tank when she considered the thought of Marceline’s blood under her fingernails. A necessary evil, she told herself over and over, hoping that in doing so she would solidify it as a truth.
I’m hurting you because I love you, bounces loudly in her skull, but all that erupts from her throat is a formless, pained caterwaul as she slips her pocket knife out and flips it open. She sounds like a trapped animal in its death throes.
“Fuck you, Bonnie!” Marceline cries, and then she jerks up and bites hard where Bonnie’s thumb joint meets her palm. Bonnie’s body reacts before her mind can catch up, and she stumbles backwards, giving Marceline the opportunity to clamber on top of her, legs bracketing her hips. She has a stake in a white-knuckle grip, and Bonnie isn’t sure how she got it, but she’s holding it over her head and shaking, and tears are running down her cheeks and falling onto Bonnie’s scarf.
Something she learned early on, before Marceline was a name in her head, is that hesitation is what gets you killed. Vampires can move lightning quick, and if you pause for even a second, that’s ample time for them to get their fangs in you. Marceline won’t ever be a vampire if she can help it, and right now she’s trembling and clenching her teeth, and her cheeks are flushed with frustration. Bonnie refuses to look in her eyes. She slams a fist against the other girl’s temple and doesn’t waste time watching her roll.
Her legs shake despite her best efforts as she hauls herself up. “I’m doing you a favor, you know,” she says, and she hates that she can hear a waver in her voice. She hates that tears are stinging at the backs of her eyes and her throat is tightening painfully.
“You tried to stab me.”
She isn’t going to get it, and there’s really no point in explaining herself. Marceline has proven she’s too far gone. Years under the Vampire King’s influence has poisoned her mind, and the only antidote is a swift and merciful death. Bonnie clenches tighter around the handle of her knife. “Vampires don’t make it past the first dead world,” is all she can manage to say, and then she has to move again.
Hesitation is what gets you killed. If she pauses, she might change her mind, and she can’t afford that.
She lunges again, but surprise isn’t on her side this time, and Marceline may not be a Vampire, but she was raised in the wasteland, same as her, and for all the worries of her youth, she’s always been a good fighter. She won’t go down without a fight. Good— Bonnie wouldn’t have it any other way.
She’s fast, always has been, and even if she’s rattled from being tossed around, she doesn’t show it. Bright blood trickles down a cut on her forearm as she walks a slow circle around Bonnie, eyes still wide and pleading. “Just let me go, Bon. I don’t wanna hurt you.”
Does she think that Bonnie wanted this? “I’ve been killing vampires my whole life,” she grits out. Marceline knows this. It’s never been a secret. How must it have felt, sneaking around with a vampire hunter, then going back to her den at night. Did she tell the others about her? Did they laugh together at her naivete? Has everything about them always been one big joke?
She’s been killing vampires her whole life, and it’s never hurt like this.
A familiar burn rages through her chest, laps up her throat, and emerges as a deafening roar as she charges, slamming her forearm against Marceline’s chest. Her teeth clack together painfully as the two of them crash into the wall, which creaks under their combined weight.
She presses the blade of her knife to Marceline’s throat, watches as bright red droplets run down steel. She’s stalling. She knows she’s stalling. She could slit her throat in one fluid motion and have it be done with.
The next part happens too quickly, and it’s over in an instant. The hand with the stake— she’d forgotten the stupid stake— flicks up, and then the sharpened end is piercing her eye with an awful pop, and Bonnie is collapsing on the floor, ears ringing and vision swimming. Her hands scramble desperately at her face, and distantly, she hears footsteps against the floor, the clattering of wood on wood. Her breath is coming quick and painful. It burns in her throat.
All at once, half her world is gone.
She looks down at her own trembling hands and finds them coated in her blood— a deep, dark purple. She gasps and flips onto her rear, wildly swinging her head to and fro to find where Marceline might be now.
But she’s nowhere.
She’s gone— fled into the night. Lost to Bonnie forever.
And so Bonnie sits in that old house for a long time, breathing, trying not to cry, trying even harder not to throw up. A parcel wrapped in newspaper lay on the floor, and despite her better judgment, Bonnie unwraps it. Inside is a mostly-intact photo frame, and enshrined within that is a photo of the two of them that Marceline took with an old camera nearly a year ago. In it, Marceline’s arm is slung over Bonnie’s shoulder, and they’re both laughing.
She’s never hated anything more.
She has to patch up her face, to get a good look at it and clean it out before infection sets in. But it’s hard to think logically when she feels like her entire life has been torn to shreds from the inside. She breathes, and she breathes, until the pattern of it is slow and regular and she’s only trembling slightly. And then she stands, wipes blood on her cargo pants, and begins her walk back home. She leaves the gift behind.
She’s eighteen years old, and she has to learn to be alone again.
#adventure time#atimers#fionna and cake#bubbline#marceline abadeer#marceline the vampire queen#princess bubblegum#writing tag#hiiiiiiiiiiiii
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in a my little pony au, william afton would have had the springlock bonnie head as his cutie mark, and everyone would think its sweet that his passion for robotics/engineering and children's entertainment would combine this way for his cutie mark - especially as an older colt who'd spent his life with a blank flank (often covered by one convenient outfit or another) - but what no one would realize is that his cutie mark only manifested after he first killed a child in the springlock suit. because that's his real special talent.
also, when he dies and becomes springtrap, the bonnie suit head on his cutie mark gets more beat up. a little bit portrait of dorian gray but it's probably a ghost thing
#also no one knew when his cutie mark appeared - tactful clothing to hide his Blank Flank - so no one can really connect it to#when the first murder happened#fool.txt#am i gonna maintag it#yes i am this is an opinion the world needs to know#fnaf#five nights at freddy's#fnaf movie#five nights at freddy's movie#william afton#springtrap#anyways. getting a cutie mark for Child Murder is an arguably funny concept
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AGA Goldie Community!!! Who wants to help?
I kind of forgot we were in Mermay now and I wanted to do my little contribution. This year, I have decided to write ''The Little Mermaid'' but in AGA Goldie version (don't know how nobody thought of that yet).
On top is some ideas of design for some characters. However, it is an enormous task, so anybody who wants to participate can contact me and we can work together.
Now, some facts on the present characters in this au:
King Freddy: Ruler of the seven seas, he is also the eldest between all his brothers. He is worrying way too much and refuses any kind of help with his job. He is also very protective of Golden.
Golden / Goldie: One of the sea prince, he is actually the second eldest of the bunch. He loves exploring (earth stuff mostly), pranking and giving the king gray hairs whom he often clashes with. He is madly in love with a terrestrial purple bunny he saved once.
Prince Bonnie: He is a prince who loves boats and exploring. He is also a mechanic who often travels at sea. One day, on a trip back home, a thunderstorm appeared, he got yeeted overboard. He was found some hours later on the coast by his butler, captain and friend, Foxy. The prince swears someone saved his lives, he would remembered this voice anywhere and anytime.
Foxy: One one hand, he is a butler working for the prince's family. On the other, he gained a friend in Bonnie whom he swore to protect. The accident left him shaken but all is good now since the prince is alive. He can't just fantom why his dear friend would thing someone sang to him after saving him and after all leave him...
Mary/Marionette/Puppet: She is king Freddy's advisor. They often gives advices to his majesty and is a peace maker between Freddy and Goldie. They misses when those two were kids, times were easier. Now, they are stuck on babysitting duty....nice promotion from the king.
Glam/Glamy (Glamrock Freddy): He is the youngest of the princes, caring, passionate, he wished for the King and Goldie to finally make peace. He gets along well with Toy (Toy Freddy (third in line) ) because they both have manners (only these two in this crazy family). He likes to sing and even has a band with three other mermaid.
Shadow/ Burntrap (Shadow Freddy): He wants the mic staff of King Freddy to become king himself. He will use Goldie's passions and relationship with his older brother to reach his goal. After gaining the golden bear's voice, he will transform into a beautiful golden rabbit of the name of Sprintrap.Will he succeed in separating the two lovebird appart? Will he become king? Will he break this family apart?
Ps: yes I will be colouring these drawings. Any help is welcomed. Have a good day/night.
#my au#art#traditional art#ask goldie anything#mermaid#mermay#mermay 2024#my art#the little mermaid#The little mermaid au#aga goldie#Aga goldie AU#Aga goldie mermaid AU#Mermaid Freddy#Mermaid Glamrock Freddy#Mermaid Golden Freddy#fnaf#Octopus shadow Freddy#Goldie x Bonnie#ask goldie anything au
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Hey CJ, you mentioned that you disagree with a lot of your old TWDG opinions, any that stand out you wanna share? Also i agree with what you said about wanting to play the series for the first time again with no prior knowledge - i would love to meet louis character for the first time again.
Yeah, some opinions have changed with time and moving on from being a hardcore, active fan in the fandom. I'm pretty sure I've talked about some of them more recently, like how I used to not like Jane but now I've become something of a "Jane apologist," if you will.
I was also super vocal about hating the Clementine comics when the 12-page comic dropped, and I'm pretty sure I was shitty about Tillie Walden... which I look back on now and feel embarrassed. In fact, I specifically remember calling attention to the fact that Skybound turned off comments on the first book trailer and on their instagram, twitter, etc. and being like, "look at these COWARDS! they know we hate the comic and that Tillie's a bad artist, they're trying to shut us up!" ........but then I heard they turned them off because Tillie was getting threats, and it caused me to dig around and see the vile shit fans were saying.... It gave me pause to think things through and I feel very differently about it all now.
I've also changed my mind on Minerva. Like Jane, there was a loooong period of time where I didn't like her, but now? I think she's great. A real tragedy.
In fact, real talk, I think my perspective on most of the female characters in TWDG has shifted dramatically. I've done a lot of thinking on this just in general; I'm much harder on female characters than male characters. I can pretend like noooooo I was always soooo fair... but no, not always. I'm sure it's from some deep-rooted, internalized misogyny I have that I'm working on, but I also think the games sometimes neglect those characters, too. Which makes it easier to brush them off as just "poorly-written" and "bad characters" if I don't like them when that's not always the case.
Or let's be real, we all know how this goes; the games give us a flawed male character and fans are like "he's my blorbo, here's a 50k essay about why he deserved better and a list of my headcanons and the twenty AUs I've written for them-" but then a female character's just as flawed and fans are like "lol she's poorly written, here's an essay on why-"
Don't look at me like that. I know I'm guilty of this. I know y'all remember Mitch. Back in the day, Mitch was my boy and I used to write about him all the time but like... god forbid I put that much effort into writing about Violet or Minerva, right?
Or even look at Kate, for example. Past CJ would've talked about how much she doesn't like Kate and she hates the forced romance with Javi, she's just there as a way to make David and Javi fight, etc. But you ask me about Kate now and I'm like, "Girl, ANF did you so dirty, you didn't deserve this."
Or how about Bonnie in S2? We all love to hate on Bonnie, but like... she's such an interesting character?? She's a recovering drug addict so desperate for a place, and you can see Carver's manipulation at play in the way she talks about him to Clementine. It takes seeing him physically beat Kenny within an inch of his life before she's like "Yeah no, fuck this, we're leaving tonight." And we give her shit about Luke's death and being mean to Clementine but frankly? Yeah, she's mean to Clementine and that's fine.
What, it's okay for Kenny to lash out and call her a stupid kid when Sarita dies because he's your poor meow meow and it makes his character soooo morally gray and complex? But Bonnie lashes out about Luke's death and suddenly she's just a massive piece of shit? No complexities or anything? There's no grey morality? No underlying motive or emotions behind the choice to abandon the group with Mike and Arvo?? She's just a bitch??
And do I even need to talk about Sarah? Hmm? We all know how Sarah was received and how fans still talk about her. Again, Sarah has a complete meltdown over losing her father and people get hurt, and fans wish death upon her... but Kenny has a meltdown and brutally beats up Arvo or threatens to smack Clementine or a number of things.... "that's fine, he's just really upset, he lost his family, y'know? everyone keeps trying to GASLIGHT me that he's bad but if you really think about it, Arvo totally deserved to be abused and it's actually Clementine's fault Kenny hit her because she tried to stop him-"
I just... the lengths we go to justify and defend this violent, toxic character but then act like Jane is the worst, I can't-
It's so funny to me whenever I see someone in the fandom complain about wanting more morally grey, flawed female characters because like... y'all couldn't even handle Jane. Or Lilly. Or Sarah. Or Bonnie. Rebecca. Eleanor. Christa. Minerva and Violet, in a lot of cases. So like... what do you actually want?
Note that I'm guilty of this, too, and I've asked myself that question... haven't fully worked out the answer yet.
That's the major thing that comes to mind about opinions I had that I've changed my mind about. I think a big factor in that is letting twdg go and getting invested in other fandoms, doing a lot more reading, getting back into writing, etc. Obviously I've really gotten into the Dragon Age fandom and that's what triggered this "journey of self-reflection~" when it comes to how I perceive female characters. Like, you want flawed, morally-grey ladies? That's your series... assuming you can actually handle it.
But I also recently finished a playthrough of Fallout New Vegas and remembered my love for Veronica Santangelo, like... I don't care that the game doesn't technically have romance, that's my girlfriend, I love her. Then the other night I finished my first playthrough of Life is Strange True Colors [I know, where the fuck have I been, right?] and I spent 40% of the time looking at flowers, 10% being sad about Gabe, and the other 50% trying to figure out who I liked more, Steph or Ryan.
I've also been reading a lot of wlw novels which is just..... THAT'S a whole mess I won't get into because this is already long enough and you didn't ask. Just know that's also another factor in this reflection.
And to answer the other part of your ask: I miss Louis. I would love to play TFS again for the first time again, that was a fun time.
#asks#twdg clementine#twdg jane#twdg bonnie#twdg kenny#twdg violet#twdg minerva#twdg louis#twdg kate#long answer#haven't posted in a while but i was browsing my inbox and this one caught my attention#this has been on my mind for a while and it's something i'm looking at differently y'know?#and i'm sure there are other things i'm just not thinking of that i've changed my mind about#lemme see..... oh i made that whole post about 400 days! i look at that way more positively than i used to#there ya go that's another one
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The Empress of all Maladies: about to Bonnie & Clyde this sh*t
Roughly inspired by Frankenstein/Jane Eyre/Bonnie & Clyde (the true inspiration was House of Cards’ power couple, but people keep referencing B&C).
Featuring: wartime AU, forced soul bonding, Death Eater Draco, Increasingly Morally gray Hermione, mad scientist Theo, unhinged spymaster Blaise, mysterious Pansy, general mystery, political intrigue - oh my!
Summary: Hermione Granger has been hidden in muggle America for five long years after the death of Harry Potter during the Battle of Hogwarts, constrained by an Unbreakable Vow to live separately from the magical world and renounce all magic. Until one day her handler appears to bring her back into the world she left behind. Draco Malfoy is the Dark Lord's ultimate weapon, the leader of an elite group of Death Eaters: The Maladies. But injuries and dark magic have started to take their toll and Theo & Blaise are desperate to preserve his standing and all their lives. Together Hermione and Draco will forge a bond powerful enough to tip the scales of war - but to what end?
Dual POV, but I wouldn’t trust Draco to tell you everything he knows.
AsIfYouCouldOutReadMe on AO3
Explicit
77,177 word WIP- posts weekly
#dramione#fanfiction#draco malfoy#draco x hermione#fanfic writer#hermione granger#ao3#dramioneasks#fiction writing#draco fanfiction#hermione fanfiction#hermione x draco#harry potter fanfiction#harry potter#theodore nott#blaise zabini#draco lucius malfoy
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SIGHS
I'm in my fnaf phase again and I'm fixating on miketrap
I'm sure people don't care or flat out hate the old theory. But I turned it into an au With A Twist
Long story short William still got springtrapped, AND Michael still went to the sister location place, BUT he died in that old springlock suit instead of getting scooped
Said springlock suit was actually an older prototype of spring bonnie, one that was much more dangerous and far less kid friendly. Basically he got shoved away and his death got covered up, later got picked up by the ppl who made fazbears fright, and gets stuck with William and Henry is the night guard. Michael's not happy.
Michael is completely blind as he lacks any eyes (his actual eyes decayed a LONG time ago and he has no animatronic eyes), his ears are intact, he has a purple vest and bowtie, and his jaw is deformed just enough so he looks like he's frowning. And his eyelids droop a lot to give him a 'sad' expression. He's bigger than William due to being in a prototype suit, and is... very unintentionally terrifying. After fazbears fright burns down, he's completely gray and covered in ash (like one of those realistic springtrap models I've seen on YouTube). Henry takes him in, of course.
Michael has issues and has awful anger issues and a deep burning hatred for William. :)
Edit: Michael's suit looks a bit like this model
youtube
#felix (host)#fnaf#michael afton#william afton#henry emily#springtrap#kinda#miketrap#bontrap/miketrap au#i literally just made this#and yes hes called bontrap#its because it references how the suit looks closer to bonnie#and a reference to bonfires#michael is a bit of a pyromaniac here lmao#and yes i know the springlock suit wasnt a spring bonnie suit in Canon#but it is here bc why not#Youtube
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With context for the blind springtrap au thanks to another's ask, I'm wondering if the common theory of the animatronic eyes bashing into Afton's may have been an inspiration too. I mean it could be a coincidence, I just felt the need to ask as that theory is everywhere it seems.
Well, let's take a look at Springtrap, shall we?
Ah, very nice, very powerful... How about a better look at those eyes?
You can definitely see part of SpringBonnie's lens covering William's own eyes (the clear gray ring covering his own pupils and iris). It's obviously not something human beings have naturally, and it's not sized properly to be anything that could have been William's anyways, so we have to assume it was Bonnie's, whatever it's purpose may be.
Whatever their function, that's GOT to be uncomfortable for Will
#link's asks#dave posting#William afton#springtrap#fnaf william afton#fnaf spring bonnie#fnaf springtrap
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I read some of your human au, and I was curious on how you picture human Freddy and his gang? I am genuinely interested.
As much as I desperately wish I could whip out my own detailed designs, I'm gonna be totally honest: either the design I have in my head is based off fanart I saw at some point or I have no mental image of what someone looks like. But I will do my best for you, anons!
For example, the specific design I have in mind for DJMM was from a tiktok and he had dark skin, very long dreads (some of which were colored pink, blue, and green, I think), and was super buff and at least gave me the impression that he was very tall too. So that's what I've been imagining for him.
But on the other hand, for Freddy or Bonnie? Head empty. Freddy's probably got slightly curly brown hair and tan-brown skin. Bonnie has scars that were inspired by the ruined fnaf 2 design, so on his upper left arm and a bit on his face.
They're all at some level of muscle-y, since they're used to moving heavy things and being on the go all day, and half of them use exercise for anger management or stress relief reasons. Roxy's definitely got thick, long gray hair (dyed) and she wears sleeveless shirts a lot because she's got Arms, y'know? Chica's the shortest of the adults and is more lean than buff, but she's strong too. Naturally blonde, I think, but it's so light it's nearly white. I completely managed to forget about Foxy in the most recent chapter oh my gosh Foxy's a redhead and has a real scar over one eye, he's not so muscle-y because he's a performer. He gets tan during the summer because he's outside every day and then in winter, they move him inside and he gets all pale again, lol.
There are tiktoks that 100% inspired Gregory, Evan, and Michael, but I wouldn't even know where to start with looking for them. I thought I had some screenshots for refs, but I can't figure out where I left them, lol. Michael and Evan probably have a vaguely neglected look about them, maybe being a bit too thin and their clothes not fitting quite right. Gregory and Vanessa are pretty standard, just the latter obviously doesn't look like an adult yet.
The twins are beanpoles and of average height. I described them a tiny bit in chapter one, so Sun's blond and Moon's got black hair. Sun's got freckles and a healthy tan, Moon probably looks like he's never spent even a minute in the sun.
William Afton is very sharp-edged. Thin, tall, and boney, has an angular face, looks almost gaunt. There is madness in his eyes, but he's gotten very good at hiding it. His smile is genuinely unnerving, so he doesn't do it outside of when he's killing people.
M&M is a chihuahua.
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Another piece and a bit of an excerpt from "The Festival of Serpents" a Lyra Heartstrings and Sweetie Drops cross-cultural jam, set in The Eternal Courtship AU.
Bonnie brushed through her wife's mane, listening intently as Lyra went on about her ancestral homeland…
"When I was just a little filly great, great grand-mam Flameberge used to tell us all stories about them, Selene and Marceline. She was something else."
Her smile was tinged with the nostalgic sadness of family lost. Bonnie paused in brushing through her wife's now bright orange mane to lovingly stroke her cheek. Lyra gave her hoof a nuzzle and continued.
"Great-great grandda Fortune Fair, now he was a crazy old coot. I used to think his mind was just gone. We ALL did. The way he would carry on about 'The Old Ways'. Still, he seemed so happy sometimes- like when he used to tell us about the time he actually saw Marceline."
"Met her? Isn't She one of your people's gods?"
Lyra nodded. "Yep. She gave all us Mares of the Isle our red manes and big floofy chests." Lyra puffed up the crest of her barrel- a trait normally only seen in pegasi and even then, hardly so prominent as Lyras.
Bonnie smirked and gave her wife an affectionate nuzzle. "Remind me to thank her sometime."
Lyra kissed her hoof with a proud ruffling of her fluff. "Heh. The legends differed on what She looked like. Some said She was stone gray with a mane as black as ink and huge, hooked wings with wounds on her neck like a vampire bite. Some of the old-timers said She WAS the first vampire, others said… well, She roamed the deepest parts of the woods, far from the edges of any of our villages or fields. WAY out where She could be alone, doing whatever gods do when she wasn't with Selene."
Lyra laughed heartily and began to pantomime exaggerated waves of her hooves, speaking with the raspy tones and exaggerated accent of an old stallion mariner of the Coltic Isle.
"Back in those days, before the coming of those Golden Coast heathens a unicorn knew their place. Children of the world were we, children of the isle, the soil- but our mares, they were the daughters of the wood and we KNEW our place weren't there. That was HER land and we knew well enough to respect Our Lady's sovereignty…"
Bonnie laughed as Lyra turned to her, squinting and jutting out her chin. She theatrically sipped from an unseen flagon and wiped at an invisible beard.
"BUT there were those of us who were daft enough to go wandering where we shouldn't. And I just happened to be a stallion of such dubious mettle." She cackled and slapped her flank with a huge grin. "I had just been blessed with the delightful learning that your dear grammie would soon be blessing our happy home. Being a proper stallion of the isle, the lads took me out to celebrate, perhaps a little too much, it turned out."
Her voice grew more ominous in tone. "Soon, I was full of the spirit and wandering about in the woods. Not just any woods, mind you. These were the dark places, where the light found no home. The beautiful moon herself never touched the soil and the tree bark was as black as the pitch beneath the icy depth of the seas. I felt about in the dark, terrified by my own stupidity. Even …eh… encumbered… as I was , I knew I was not in the safest of places. Birds didn't sing out there. Nor bees fly. They knew better, as I should have. The things which grew knew no hoof nor horn. Things which were not for pony-kind. Old things lived out here, dark things, dangerous things."
Lyra's eyes darted about excitedly with a panicked glare "It was soon I heard their laughter. whispering in my ears. Taunting me, teasing, just on the edge of hearing, like shadows in my mind. They hissed and giggled- cruel, mocking voices like needles dipped in honey and hate. EVIL voices cackling tiny shrill things, threatening me with madness. I ran as I never had, tears in me eyes. I knew it would be my last night on the sweet coast of my family. My last thoughts would be fearing for your grammie and how I'd not be there to greet her into this world.
But then, I saw…"
She lifted a hoof and pointed to the distance, suddenly very still, reverent.
"The voices stopped. EVERYTHING stopped. The world itself froze in dead silence, like winter had claimed it all. The only way I could tell you I yet lived, sweet lassie, was the pounding in my chest and the blood, rushing through my ears. The eyes. Two spheres of green flame, floating in the dark. They drew me in. It was like looking into the maw of the serpent herself at the end of all things."
"She came from the dark… like nothing I had ever lain eyes upon. The most …beautiful and terrifying mare a body had ever beheld. Her ivory coat seemed to sprout from the dark, glowing like a star- like I was watching creation unfold. A body as lithe and graceful as the music of the wind. She had fetlocks that seemed to flow in a breeze all their own and a mane as crimson-red as the blood of Equis' own soul, trailing down to the grass. She towered over me, looking down with those eyes. Impossible eyes. They were… like looking into time. I could see our village being built, stone by stone. I saw the faces of my own dear ma and da, falling in love at the sweet summer festival. Meeting my sweet beloved Flameberge in the flower of our youth. I saw the birth of our first foal, and felt the cold across my gut of four stallions carrying my mortal remains to the pyre. There was no doubt about it, I was in the presence of The Wood Herself, The Great Mare of Soil and Stone and I was an idiot in the very deepest of trouble."
#my art#mlp g4#mlp au#mlp au lore#the festival of serpents#lyrabon#lyra heartstrings#bon bon#sweetie drops#bonnie#love#lgbtq#lesbian#culture#cultural erasure#mlp oc#eternal courtship#ashleyfableblack
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dp/dc ship week 2023 ideas
so, with ship week coming up i'm sure a lot of us are stumped on what ships we want to write. i know for me, i wanted to use it as an excuse to write ships i haven't gotten around to yet, or that have taken me by the throat. as the Batpham Server's Patron Saint of w|w and poly ships, i bring to you some rare pairs and ideas for ship week. these can be platonic or romantic!!!
First/Last
Jazz Fenton/Dick Grayson (Nightbirds) - you could play off how they're the first sibling, and if you want to make it angsty, how they're the last ones in their family to die.
Arranged Marriage AU
Danny Fenton/Duke Thomas (Will-o-Whisps) - Duke reads off of an artifact he found in the unused part of the manor and accidentally gives himself in marriage to the ghost king. after they figure it out, Danny decides he's pretty cute and asks him to coffee.
Holding Hands/Kiss
Dani Phantom/Lian Harper (Trick Shot) - it's hard to hold your girlfriend's hand when she makes you so nervous you turn into goo.
Soulmate AU
Valerie Gray/Kara Zor-El (Valkyrie) - for so long, when Valerie would write on her arm, no one would respond. when she decides that soulmates are a scam and she had bigger things to worry about, like keeping a roof over their heads, she finally gets a message in an unknown language.
Family/Friends
Dan Phantom/Tim Drake (Bad Ending) - with all their friends and family dead, a young Dan and Tim find themselves drawn together. with Dan's power and Tim's brain, nothing can stand in the way of this Bonnie and Clyde retelling.
Coffee Shop AU
Dani Phantom/Tim Drake (Travel Photos) - Tim didn't expect to find a girl on top of his favorite coffee shop when he snuck up to take photos of Batman and Robin. he gets her to trust him enough to go downstairs for a late-night hot chocolate and muffin.
Promise/Conflict
Jazz Fenton/Cassandra Cain (Speech Therapy) - Jazz promised Danny she would keep living after his death but she doesn't know how. Cass promised herself she'd never kill again, but if she isn't a killer what else is she? broken and conflicted, they meet each other.
Wings AU
Paulina Sanchez/Kara Zor-El (Star Struck) - Dragon!Paulina (whether she just kept some of the powers or was given the necklace by Dorathea) is flying around the midwest when she's spotted by another flying girl. naturally, they hit it off.
Secret Identity/Danger
Danny Fenton/Sam Manson/Tucker Foley/Tim Drake (Everlasting Insomniacs) - Tim is visited by a time god and given a mission to stop the catalyst of the end of the world. it starts with tutoring.
Friends to Lovers AU
Dani Phantom/Irey West (Short Circuit) - it's not abnormal to see a speedster in the Zone, in fact, you could even call it a normal occurrence. Dani's favorite visits are from a cute, sassy, redhead.
Fight/Heal
Sam Manson/Zatanna Zatara (Black Rabbit) - Zatanna didn't mess with necromancy. there were just some things magic shouldn't meddle in, and she knew that, so when the Justice League called her to interrogate a known necromancer, she's weary. Sam is at the same time exactly what Zatanna expected, and nothing like she thought. (fills the prompt because necromancy is the opposite of healing, which insinuates necromancy can heal too.)
Enemies to Lovers AU
Tucker Foley/Tim Drake (Techno Geek) - Tim is constantly trying to stop Hacktavist TooFine from breaking into the Wayne servers. it becomes something of a game, and Tim finds himself enthralled in the puzzle.
Royalty/Servitude
Jazz Fenton/Jason Todd/Roy Harper (Street Smarts) - Jason and Roy find themselves getting sacrificed by a cult to the Ghost King as his eternal servants. they weren't expecting Queen Regent Jazz to decline their offer.
No Capes AU
Danny Fenton/Clark Kent (Last Suns) - Danny always believed in aliens. it was part of the reason he became an astronaut. he never expected to actually meet one. he also never expected them to be a farmer.
this post has been such fun to make, i love a good rare pair and these prompts are killer. i won't be doing any of these, i have mine planned out already, but let me know if you'd like a sneak peek ;) or if you'd like more variations on the prompts. happy creating!!!
#dpxdcshipweek2023#prompts#just some ideas#rare pairs mostly#Jazz Fenton/Dick Grayson#Nightbirds ship#Danny Fenton/Duke Thomas#Will-o-Whisp ship#Dani Phantom/Lian Harper#Trick Shot ship#Valerie Gray/Kara Zor-El#Valkryie ship#Dan Phantom/Tim Drake#Bad Ending ship#Dani Phantom/Tim Drake#Travel Photos ship#Jazz Fenton/Cass Cain#Speech Therapy ship#Paulina Sanchez/Kara Zor-El#Star Struck#Dani Phantom/Irey West#Short Circuit ship#Jazz Fenton/Jason Todd/Roy Harper#Street Smarts ship#Danny Fenton/Clark Kent#Last Suns ship#dp x dc#dp x batfam#dp x dc prompt#dpxdc
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── ✮ Heather. William Afton!
ー William Afton x Cloud
ー cw : CCxOC , highschool au , SONGFIC !!! clouds jealous of clara.. :( , kinda sad ??? angst..???
ー word count , 462
ー a/n : this might be a small series tbh , im thinking of writing 2 more parts with 2 other songs … maybe … idk !! anyway !!!!!! i will tag william afton x reader just bc id like for this to have more attention . ur also free to imagine my oc , Cloud , as urself ^_^ !
ー part 2 ,
Why would you ever kiss me ?
A few days before prom, Afton having yet to ask Clara out. Cloud had offered to help with a prom proposal, and Afton had accepted.
He wished he never offered to help.
He helped write something up, came up with ideas for how Afton should propose. It was just for prom, but it still had to be special.
Cloud had Afton rehearsing lines to him, a flower in hand, as if offering it to him. But it wasn’t for him.
It was for Clara, not him. Those words were for Clara too. It was all for her.
I’m not even half as pretty
It made sense for Afton to like Clara.
She was perfect.
She was so much more prettier than him, she had good grades, nice friends, doesn’t smoke or do anything bad. He could see why he picked her.
He was nothing like her. His grades weren’t as good, he didn’t have many friends, and he was a stoner with no life.
His own boyfriend never even cared for him either. He probably only dated him out of pity. That made sense.
He fell in love too quickly. Bonnie had started to talk to him for a few days and he was head over heels.
Bonnie didn’t have feelings for him at all.
He was used.
You gave her your sweater, it's just polyester
Bonnie wouldn’t ever do anything like this for him. Cloud had to be the one to ask him out, bring him chocolates and flowers, and make a move.
Bonnie never appreciated it. The chocolates melted and the flowers withered, their petals falling and dying.
He felt jealous of Clara. Jealous because Afton was trying to do this all for her, and Cloud got nothing.
She was an angel compared to him though. The sweetest person ever. How could anyone hate her? But, he couldn’t help just wish she were dead.
But you like her better
Afton would never date him. He couldn’t see it. The only interests they shared were smoking together.
Afton had his eyes on Clara for so long, if he hadn’t come to the back of the school that day, Cloud and him would’ve never met. And it was only because of that.
They shared classes together, passed each other down the halls, yet the only reason they talked was because they smoked.
He wished he never had dated Bonnie. Maybe things would’ve been different.
Maybe he wouldn’t have been who he was now, and maybe he could’ve talked to Afton earlier.
And just maybe, they could’ve dated instead.
But, he knew those were all some dreams he had. Afton loved Clara, not him. Never him. He was only just a friend.
I wish I were Heather.
#william afton#fnaf#springtrap#five nights at freddys#william afton x reader#fnaf william afton#william afton x you#springtrap x reader#five nights at freddy's#oc x character#cc x oc#william x cloud#them…:(#songfic#Spotify
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MOBILE MUSES- CANON
By Fandom
9-1-1:
Lucy Donato
The ARTFUL DODGER:
Belle Fox
BAD BOYS:
Kelly Lewis
BITTEN:
Elena Michaels
BRIDGERTON:
Daphne Bridgerton
Kate Sheffield/Sharma
Sophie Beckett
BUFFY/ANGEL:
Cordelia Chase
CRAZY RICH ASIANS:
Astrid Leong
DCEU
Harley Quinn (Selective)
Dawn Granger
DIVERGENT
Christina
FANTASTIC BEASTS
Lally Hicks
FEAR STREET
Cindy Berman
GAME OF THRONES:
Margaery Tyrell
HANSEL AND GRETEL:WITCH HUNTERS:
Gretel (With AU verses)
HARRY POTTER:
Astoria Greengrass
Demelza Robbins
Ginny Weasley
Hermione Granger
Padma Patil
Parvati Patil
Pansy Parkinson
Victoire Weasley
Lily Evans/Potter
Rowena Ravenclaw
HEMLOCK GROVE:
Letha Godfrey
The HOST:
Melanie Stryder
HUNGER GAMES:
Madge Undersee
JAMES BOND:
Paloma
Jurrasic World:
Claire Dearing
KINGSMAN:
Roxy Morton
LAST KINGDOM:
Eadith of Mercia
LITTLE WOMEN:
Amy March
LOCKWOOD AND CO:
Lucy Carlyle
MCU:
Maria Hill
Michelle ‘MJ’ Jones
Natasha Romanoff
Sharon Carter
Yelena Belova
The MUMMY:
Evelyn Carnaham
MUSKETEERS:
Anne of Austria
Constance Bonacieux
MYTH/LEGEND/LORE:
Amphitrite (Greek)
Artemis/Autumn (Greek)
Hera/Helena (Greek)
Persephone (Greek)
Athena (Greek)
Aphrodite (Greek)
Mina Harker (Dracula)
Guinevere (Arthurian)
NARNIA:
Susan Pevensie
OUTER BANKS:
Kiara Carrera
REACHER:
Karla Dixon
REIGN:
Mary Stuart
Lola Narcisse
ROBIN HOOD (BBC):
Marian of Knighton
The ROOKIE:
Bailey Nune
Grace Sawyer
Lucy Chen
SECRET CIRCLE:
Diana Meade (Book based)
SHADOWHUNTERS:
Sophie Collins (Infernal Devices)
Tessa Gray (Infernal Devices)
Izzy Lightwood (Show based)
SHAMELESS:
Fiona Gallagher
The SOCIETY
Helena Wu
Kelly Aldrich
STRANGER THINGS:
Chrissy Cunningham
Nancy Wheeler
SUPERNATURAL:
Bela Talbot
Claire Novak
Lisa Braeden
Jo Harvelle
Donna Hanscum
Sarah Blake
TEEN WOLF:
Braeden
Lydia Martin
Hayden Romero
Cora Hale
Laura Hale
THE SUMMER I TURNED PRETTY:
Belly Conklin
Taylor Jewel
TRUE BLOOD:
Jessica Hamby
Nora Gainesborough
Sookie Stackhouse
VAMPIRE ACADEMY:
Jill Mastrano - Dragomir
Lissa Dragomir
Rose Hathaway
Sydney Sage
VAMPIRE DIARIES:
Bonnie Bennett
Caroline Forbes
Katherine Pierce
Rebekah Mikaelson
VIKINGS:
Amma
Katia
Lagertha
WEDNESDAY:
Wednesday Addams
The WITCHER:
Yennefer of Vengerberg
+++++++
SINGLE SHIPS:
Rose Larkin
Clarice Fong
Emma Brunner
Connie Matthews
Ariel
Megara
Alice Chambers
Zoey Miller
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FNAF SB Human Au! x F!Reader who is Bi
General Headcanons:
Let's start by saying that everyone is not an actual human being. This is more Detroit: Become Human-esque. (Extremely life-like and sentient)
Glamrocks still have some animal features (Freddy's ears, Monty's Tail, Roxanne's ears and tail). They're still children's entertainment so it makes sense. Speaking of children's entertainment, THESE GUYS DON'T HAVE GENTALIA, PLEASE DON'T ASK ABOUT FUCKING THESE GUYS!
Descriptions:
Freddy: 7ft; Curly mid-length brown hair (a little longer than the shoulders), olive skin (i guess), a little bit of beard hair (just a little), nice blue eyes.
Chica: 5'9ft *smallest one*, white hair in...not a bob but it looks like one (her hair is straight and up to her shoulders that's why), she also has that alfalfa bit tied with the scrunchie, lilac eyes and light skin.
Monty: 7ft, red hair in a mullet, orange eyes, darker skin tone, keeps his glasses sometimes, sharp teeth, little scruff
Roxanne: 6ft, gray, wavy hair with the green streak, yellow eyes, not a dark skin tone but not too light, a good mix if you will, keeps the makeup she wears peforming and not peforming.
Sun: 8ft, Curly, short blonde hair, like the messy but cute kind, bright blue eyes, like a clear skies blue (so pretty), Vitillgo covering the respected half of face, ADORABLE TOOTH GAP (insert Michael Strahan tooth gap), clean shaven
Moon: 8ft, longer hair (about mid back), left half navy blue, right half white, currently white eyes with red iris, when he gets angry, its black with red silts, Vitillgo covering the respected half of face, just really pale on the lighter half, sharp teeth, clean shaven
*BONUS*:
DJMM: 12ft, dark skin, six muscular arms with glow-in-the-dark wristbands on each, brown dreads with headphones, black shades (and the shades don't come off!), some beard.
Bonnie: 7ft, light skin, disgustin-i mean weird bangs comeing out of top, auburn eyes, overbite and buck teeth, clean shaven
Foxy: 7ft, tan? skin, longest hair of the bunch, this nice shade of light red, yellow-orange eye, some scruff on the chin.
Everyone has the same clothes while working but we'll get to the casual clothes later. Ethnicitiy!
Freddy: Hispanic, Mixed
Chica: White, Japanese
Monty: Black (prolly Nigerian), Hispanic
Roxanne: Black (prolly Haitien or just American)
Sun: White (just vitiligo goes hard)
Moon: White (just vitiligo goes hard)
*Bonus*
DJMM: Black, Jamaican, Japanese
Bonnie: White
Foxy: Black-Cuban (or Mexican)
Background: You worked as a mechanic for the Pizzaplex. You've worked with all the animatronics before and everyone likes you. (some even developed some feelings) It wasn't until they confessed how much they wanted to explore the outside world, not to mention the amount of incidents that occurs in the plex and bad reps the animatronics get. So you decided to sneak everyone out of the plex at night and stuff them into your house. Now you live with them while trying not to get caught by the cops and Fazbear Entertainment. (Remember, this is all before Security Breach, meaning Gregory wasn't here for any of this, however the Vanny Virus is in Moon so yeah...)
#fnaf#fnaf security breach#fnaf sb#fnaf headcanons#security breach#five nights at freddy's security breach#security breach headcanons#five nights at freddys
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