Death Mention - Tumblr Posts

"I just want to clarify that I’m well informed on the situation that is going on but Byler has only one chance of happening. Meanwhile Palestinians are dying anyway. They have been for years and will continue to die. Since when do y’all care about them and their lives? You started talking about it only when it became trendy.

Fake activists, move on and continue eating expensive food in your comfy house and not giving a fuck about people far away from you dying. That shit happens everyday and if you get involved your psyche will be hurt. Let the politicians deal with this instead of bullying a random actor that didn’t do anything harmful"

browsing through the noah schnapp tag to see what he did now and seeing these words was a literal slap in the face how can someone post this and think theyre a good person???

(When I first read this, I thought you were saying that shit in my inbox and was ready to throw hands, so I was very relieved to see you were just sharing the bullshit from someone else's blog.)

I just searched in the tag and saw this exact post. How fucking horrifying. Instant block. I doubt anyone could reason with this person.

"Palestinians are dying anyway. They have been for years and will continue to die." Can't believe anyone typed this genuinely and without pause. Just say you don't care about Palestinian lives and stop there, you'll get your point across better.

"Since when do y’all care about them and their lives? You started talking about it only when it became trendy." Many people are only just now beginning to really educate themselves on the history of Israel and Palestine. I'm among them - I used to be one of the folks who thought it was too complicated and nuanced to take a stance on. Then I read Palestine: A Socialist Introduction, started reading from news sources and independent journalists outside of mainstream western media, started listening to Palestinian and anti-zionist Jewish voices, and realized how false that was. I take responsibility for not educating myself sooner. But it's actually weird to frame people educating themselves and having empathy for people dying as jumping on a trend.

"Let the politicians deal with this..." Ah, yes, let's leave it to the politicians, who notoriously have our best interests in mind and would never do anything to cause harm. (/sarcasm) "... instead of bullying a random actor that didn’t do anything harmful." If you think sharing violent zionist rhetoric such as "you stand with Israel or you stand with terrorism" or trivializing the deaths of eleven thousand Palestinians with stupid stickers calling zionism sexy, in front of your audience of millions as a celebrity, is "not harmful" then we clearly are not going to agree on anything.

Splintered Crimson Paths ramble #2, but this time its more coherant

The A Major Chord system all exists in that universe as different things

Francis is the Henry Emily equivalent, and ends up getting killed by Afton (Which is who Jack is in the au) and haunts the animatronic that they specifically designed

Alto Clefbear is the Freddy Fazbear equivalent (duh). Lead singer of the band as usual, but can also play ukulele and usually does so at birthday parties

Protocol: Ukulele is the security program that becomes active at night. Think a combo of the fnaf movie and Security Breach.

Clefbear and Protocol werent originally sentient, but when Emily got killed and stuffed into it, their soul kind of fucked around and made the two more like AIs that definitely did not exist in the 80s lmao

Jack is the William Afton equivalent

Adam and Loki (his sons) were Micheal and Evan/Cc

Francis and Jack were married in the au, and Meri was Elizabeth

So the whole bite thing happened and Jack got angry and pissed off and he went after Francis because it was the bear that bit Loki, it was the bear that malfunctioned. The bear was Francis' creation, and the bunny was Jacks. So he went after Francis and killed him, hiding the body in the newer fnaf 1 equivalent animatronics, which is what Clefbear is. The springlock version of Clefbear had very badic rudimentary programming, didnt have the hair, and was a slightly diff shape. Alto Clefbear and the other fnaf 1 gen animatronics were basically ready to go to the new restaurant.

The endoskeletons were slightly diff than classic fnaf lore, they had a second outer layer made of a material that kept the fur and hair from getting caught in the motors cause it was also what the suit and fur was mounted on, so the body itself could be closed in and there was no smell. There was blood stains that had to be cleaned out, but that was really the only concern.

Iceberg became Bonnie

Gears became Foxy

Trebuchet because Chica

Rights became Golden Freddy

Light filled the role of the Puppet

Kain was Trebuchets dog and Became Mangle

This story does have some of the “wake up, you’re in a dream” type plot, but it isn’t directed at the reader. Just wanted to give a warning because I know how damaging it can be.

“Beware the Ides,” someone whispered. James snapped his head around, but in the bustling market, he couldn’t locate who.

That was the seventh one today.

He cursed, and then hurried for his flat, letting the door bang open against the wall.

He locked it behind him, leaning against the door to catch his breath.

It didn’t mean anything. Just scared people who were more willing to fret about an upcoming day then actually take responsibilities for their problems.

That was all.

Somehow, James didn’t quite believe it.

From just outside his apartment door, someone viciously whispered “Beware the ides.”

When he opened it, the empty hallway stared back at him, as if mocking him.

He closed the door, and locked it.

“Hey, James,” Dahlia said, soothing a piece of his hair back. His respirator clicked in response. She swallowed.

“Your parents were supposed to be here but they—well. They couldn’t.”

His heart monitor beeped.

James whirled, but he couldn’t find the voice. Dahlia, it sounded like Dahlia, but she was dead. Years ago, in an accident.

A chair clattered over against his knees.

Dahlia felt a sob rising in her chest, and tamped it down.

“Celia wants to go to college,” she murmured, as if soothing a fussing child. “The doctors say they don’t think you’ll wake up.”

“Beware the ides,” the voice whispered, and this time, James screamed.

“Who are you?”

His flat didn’t answer him. His voice echoed off the walls.

Dahlia sucked in a breath, chest tight.

“They don’t have the money for you and Celia,” she explained. A nurse clattered by with a cart. “They didn’t want to choose, but Celia. They can still talk to her. But even after all these years, when they talk to you, you can’t respond.”

James grabbed a kitchen knife. The handle was cool to his palm, and it almost slipped with how much he shook. Something rustled in his apartment, and he bolted, slamming out his door and into the hall.

A doctor came in, and she motioned for him to continue. He nodded once, solemnly, and began to disconnect the machines.

She kissed his sleeping forehead once.

“I love you.”

A stranger slammed into him so hard, he almost didn’t feel the knife slide between his ribs.

“Beware the ides,” they hissed in his ear, and then they were gone, leaving him to slide gasping to the floor.

The heart monitor beeped one final time.

And flatlined.

Beware the ides.

“I’ve never used a gun before,” the hero swallowed, mouth dry. They had never needed to, but now—

The villain’s head lolled over to look at them. A lazy grin spread across their face.

“Don’t worry,” they held the hero’s gaze, unflinching. “I have.”

The gun went off. Across the room, one of their enemies dropped, blood splattering against the wall.

Still, the villain didn’t break eye contact, content to shoot without looking. They hit their target every time, but still—

“Can you please look where you’re pointing that thing?”

“Why,” the villain tipped their head, and that shit eating grin was back, “Am I making you nervous, hero?”

The hero grimaced as the villain sent another target sprawling onto the floor. Surely they had to run out of ammo eventually?

When the hero didn’t respond, the villain laughed.

“Oh, I am. Well, that’s adorable, frankly.”

The hero flinched at the next gunshot, and the villain nodded their head towards the hero’s gun. “If you were to—and bear with me this is a crazy idea—help me, this would be over with way faster.”

The hero looked down to their gun, shifting it side to side in their hands. It didn’t look all that hard. Point, aim, shoot. They could do that, right?

They lifted their gun, aiming at the nearest combatant—

The villain slid to a stop next to them, tsking, and their hand settled onto the hero’s gun too quickly for them to see. “Not-no not quite like that,” they hummed in the hero’s ear, and though they couldn’t see their face, the hero knew they were amused. 

The hero’s jaw clenched with irritation.

“First,” the villain murmured, far too close, “Safety needs to be off.” They clicked something on the hero’s gun, repositioning the hero’s hands as they did. “Second,” they continued, and the hero shivered. “Don’t aim at me, love. You like me too much to kill me.”

“You’re awfully sure about that.”

The villain half rested their chin on the hero’s shoulder, batting their eyes. Their free arm jerked up, firing a shot behind them at someone who had evidently gotten too close to the two of them.

“I am,” they grinned. Their hand rested over the hero’s once more. “Now, aim,” they guided the hero’s hand towards the nearest enemy. Their finger slipped over the hero’s on the trigger. “And shoot.” They pulled down on the trigger, trapping the hero’s finger underneath theirs, so when the gun fired, they fired it together. The hero winced.

It was louder than the hero had thought it would be.

Across the room, the body dropped.

“Good,” the villain praised, voice low, and something stirred in the hero’s chest. “Again, love.”

They guided the hero through the motions once more.

By the time there was no one left to fight, the villain was staring at them with a look they couldn’t decipher. It was all encompassing. Hungry. Wild.

The hero cleared their throat, and the villain smirked like they knew what the hero was doing.

They eyed the hero, still with that look on their face.

“God, you’re pretty with a gun in your hand,” the villain cursed. They stepped closer. The hero didn’t move, holding their breath as the villain wiped a splattering of blood off their face. “Pretty covered in blood, too, but that might be a bit too insane for you, hm?”

The hero’s face went hot. It wasn’t, they thought. They wanted to kiss the villain so badly they worried it might be a sickness, twisting their mind, something terminal. But still, that smile—

The villain stepped away. They scanned the hero’s blushing face, and grinned harder at whatever they saw.

Gently, they took the gun from the hero’s hands, vanishing it behind their back.

“The next time you need someone to show you how to shoot, give me a call,” they nodded towards the hero’s hands. “I wouldn’t want someone else touching my hero, now would I?”

The hero couldn’t stop the smile that spread across their face.

The villain winked, stepped back, and was gone.

My hero.

Oh, the hero was well and truly fucked.

How about a hero who accidentally kills a cat and feels bad about it so they bury it but villain finds them? Love your writing!

The hero was thoroughly, miserably, soaked and shivering on the ground. Dirt coated their palms, under their fingernails and on their knees.

They dragged a hand down their face. Fought off a wretched sob.

Their fingers shook as they set the flower down on the tiny mound.

Behind them, the sirens on an ambulance cut off, plunging them into silence. If they thought about it, they could feel the blood seeping from their side. They could hear the sound of rubble shattering to the ground echo in their ears.

And the screaming.

They could hear that, too.

They didn’t think about it.

A sob worked it’s way out of their chest, painful in their throat as they tried to swallow it.

“I’m sorry,” they choked. Their voice cracked. “It was—an accident, and I know that doesn’t…”

They had to bite their lip to stop another sob.

“Praying?” the villain questioned from behind, voice gentle.

The hero shrugged one bruised shoulder.

“No.”

The villain stepped around, facing them. Their eyes dropped to the flower, the fresh dug dirt on the hero’s hands. The grave.

Their expression softened.

“Ah.”

“You can leave now.”

“Praying for forgiveness, or praying for salvation.”

“I said you can leave now,” the hero snapped. They swiped away an angry tear, dirt smearing on their cheek.

The villain didn’t move.

“Why are you still here?” They bared their teeth in something they hoped was enough of a message to get the villain to leave. They had a feeling it was something pathetic, instead.

“You were crying,” the villain said it like it was an answer.

If the hero thought about it too hard, it was.

They didn’t think about it.

“Burst water line,” they gestured haphazardly to the demolition behind them, the half-flooded street. “No tears, no praying, and certainly no need for you—”

The villain’s expression shifted. “I told you that you needed to microdose your power.”

The hero froze.

“Shut up,” they hissed. “Shut up—“

“You wanted to quit, and I respected that. You have enough scars for a lifetime, we both do. But I warned you. I told you that if you didn’t use your power, it would use you, and it would be an ugly, violent thing.”

The hero shook their head mutely, words stuck under their tongue.

“And you thought you knew better,” the villain continued like it wasn’t breaking the hero’s heart. “You thought you could go through life and keep it bottled inside you and ignore the pressure.”

Their gaze flicked to the wreckage the hero knew lay behind them.

“Did you know better, hero?” Their voice was soft and dangerous. “Did you?”

“I said I was sorry!” It clawed its way out of the hero, and it wasn’t a scream, but it was close. “Okay? I know I messed up. You don’t need to taunt me with it, I already—“

The hero’s gaze settled onto the grave once more.

“I already regret it,” they whispered. “You can’t make me any more sorry than I already am.”

“I’m not trying to make you feel bad.”

“Then you’re failing spectacularly,” the hero snorted derisively.

The villain’s jaw ground.

“I’m trying to make you understand that this would have happened regardless of what you did. And that it’s not your fault.”

The hero blinked.

“You just said that I—“

“I said you thought you could fight your power and win. And you were,” the villain conceded. “You might have made it another month. Maybe two.”

The hero had never seen the villain so angry. “But then someone shot you, off duty and in civilian clothes,” they seethed. “The fallout is on them, not you.”

“I killed a cat,” the hero managed roughly. They blinked back tears.

The villain shook their head.

“You were off-duty. A civilian.”

“I could never be just a civilian, you know that.”

“Just because you were the bullet does not mean you were the one who pulled the trigger.”

“You aren’t making any sense.”

“I am,” the villain corrected. “But you’re grieving, and bleeding, and suffering from a massive energy drop, so you can’t see it yet.”

The hero let the villain pull them to their feet, dirt smearing between their two hands.

“You want forgiveness?” The villain ducked their head to meet the hero’s eyes. “I forgive you.”

The hero forgot how to breathe.

“You can’t just do that.”

“I can do whatever I want. And what I want is for you to stop crying.”

The hero snorted again, but it was lighter this time.

“You’re an ass.”

“And you’re a civilian.”

The hero shook their legs out. When they went to turn back to the grave, the villain caught their chin, turning them away with soft fingers.

“I forgive you,” they said solemnly, as if they had never said anything so important. “They do, too.” They inclined their head just slightly towards the grave.

For once, as their chest collapsed in on itself, the hero believed them

Hello! i love your cat villian one so much maybe do more??????

but ignore if not (AMAZING BLOG EVER)

The protagonist was dying. They were sure of it, they could feel it, this all consuming terror and in the way they couldn’t draw a full breath into their lungs, like it was funneled through a straw and it was killing them–

Their vision went blurry and they crumpled against the wall, curling into a half-hearted ball over their knees against the baseboard. There was blood splattered over their hands. They just–if they could just–a tiny bit of air–

A hand, warm and gentle, appeared at the nap of their neck, tipping their head up to look at their face.

The protagonist blinked, and the villain was there, and they were watching them die, and oh god they were going to get fired–

“Breathe,” the villain said, and it sounded like they were under water. A million miles away. Point Nemo. Their sister had told them about that once, in the middle of the night as they sat on the roof.

It must be so lonely, she had said, head tipped to the stars. To be so far from everyone else.

The protagonist had wanted to say, I don’t need to be far from everyone else to feel lonely. I’m Point Nemo, can’t you see? But they hadn’t, had just hummed something in agreement, and the villain was telling them to “breathe,” again.

I’m trying, the protagonist wanted to sob. I’m trying, I’m trying, I’m trying.

“Protagonist,” the villain cupped their face in their hands, and through the blurring of the protagonist’s vision, they looked absolutely terrified.

Which didn’t make sense, because the villain always knew exactly what to do in every situation. It was comforting to be in the shadow of someone who knew exactly how they fit into the world.

The villain said something, and the protagonist blinked.

“What?” they managed. The villain snapped their head to look up at them.

“I said, I’m calling your mom.”

Abruptly, terror was flooding their veins again, and they slammed the phone out of the villain’s hand and onto the concrete.

The villain just watched them, concern stark on their face.

“Protagonist–”

“You can’t call her,” they gasped out, chest tight. “She’ll worry and–I can’t do that to her, not after my sister, she can’t do that again.”

Point Nemo. One million miles away.

Really, though, just six feet down.

It felt the same.

“Okay,” the villain said, low and soothing, like they were a scared child. They were. “Okay, I won’t call her, but I need you to breathe,” they emphasized.

“I’m trying,” the protagonist bit out, sucking in air that didn’t seem to be doing anything. How could it not be doing anything? This was one of the worst things that could be happening to them, let alone in front of their boss. They were supposed to be stronger than this, they were stronger than this, so why were they shaking against the baseboard in the hallway of their base. Idly, they looked down at the blood coating their arms, and couldn’t remember whose it was.

“I don’t know how to help you,” the villain admitted, voice breaking.

The protagonist couldn’t get their hands to stop shaking.

If they could just draw a breath–

Blood is harder to get off than you would expect. It clings and clings and clings–

The villain followed their gaze down, and a moment later, they had a wet wipe in their hand, wiping down the protagonist’s hands with an efficiency they could never hope to imitate.

They flinched away from the cold of it a second too late, and the villain frowned.

“You’re okay,” the villain promised, and the protagonist wanted to believe them.

They still choked on the next breath they tried to take, and it hurt and was miserable and the protagonist just wanted it to stop.

The villain said something that sounded like their name again, and they wanted to respond but felt the words get caught in their ribs, and the villain vanished and–

They were holding a cat.

Their shoulders untensed immediately, hands curling softly into the fur, as softly as they could manage while shaking, and they bit their lip to keep from crying at how useless they felt. How could they not figure out how to use their own hands? They bit back a sob, because nothing was working and they couldn’t bear to hurt a cat.

The cat curled itself further against the protagonist’s chest, tucked into their arms in the hollow between their knees and their abdomen.

The villain was–oh.

Oh, the protagonist was so stupid.

The villain was kind, kinder than they deserved, probably, turning into a cat just to make the protagonist stop having a meltdown in their hallway.

The protagonist just needed to get their legs to stop being numb, and then they could stand up and go hide in the bathroom until their body remembered how to do its job, and stop bothering the villain with their stupid problems and panic.

And then, abruptly, the villain began to purr, rumbling into the protagonist's chest.

Some knot deep inside of them that they hadn’t realized existed uncoiled, and they sucked in a breath so deep they thought it would never end. They choked on it on the way out, but the villain simply kept purring, so they tried again, and again, until their vision unblurred and the ache in their lungs had vanished.

“Okay,” the protagonist murmured to themself. Sometimes, they could trick themself by talking in the tone they used on frightened children when out on patrol. “You’re okay, I’m okay, everything is fine.”

They moved to set the villain down, but the villain dug their claws into the protagonist’s arm, nudging their face into their bicep.

Are you really okay? They seemed to ask, and the protagonist didn’t have an answer to that. They could breathe, and feel their toes, and they could remember–oh.

They could remember.

Blood on their hands.

The villain started purring again, and the protagonist burst into tears, burying their face into the villain’s fur. The villain let them, nudging the side of the face every so often in a reminder to breathe.

They stayed like that, until the protagonist’s tears had dried, and their heart only panged a little bit when the villain jumped down out of their arms and onto the floor in front of them.

A blink, and the villain was in front of them again, eyes filled with concern as they grabbed onto the protagonist’s elbows.

“You’re okay,” the villain breathed, and then the protagonist was pulled into a hug so warm they never wanted to leave. “You’re okay.”

“I’m okay,” the protagonist agreed, face tucked into the villain’s chest.

The villain simply hugged them tighter.

Point Nemo had never felt further away.

[Images description: A ten part Twitter thread by Suhail Matar. The tweets read as follows:

1) Because I mostly user twitter academically, let me share my experience as a Palestinian in Israeli academia. A thread.

2) I attended the Technion (In Haifa, my city) between 2004 and 2011. This coincided with Israel’s 2006 war on Lebanon, 2008/9 war on Gaza, and 2010 attack on the flotilla headed for Gaza.

3) This meant many protests at the university’s gates. We were usually some 150 students, chanting support for Gaza, say and condemnations of Israeli aggression.

4) Across the street, without fail, was always a 10x bigger protest: huge Israeli flags, enraged Zionists jumping up and down yellow “DEATH TO ARABS! DEATH TO ARABS!” Our chants were 100% drowned The blind hatred in their eyes could have probably powered the campus.

5) These weren’t just random people. These were my Physical Chemistry professor, for example. He used to show up to lectures in full settler regalia. Imagine a US professor showing up to class in Proud Boys or KKK regalia.

6) It was that shy, tall, bespectacled student from year 2 who’d asked me for tips (having recently finished the bachelor’s program) only a few weeks prior. He was also there chanting “DEATH TO ARABS!” Oh, yes, he knew I was Palestinian.

7) We then had to go back to the lecture halls and literally sit with people who chanted for our death. Disciplinary action, you suggest? Hahahaha

8) Not to mention that, a few weeks later, those Israeli students who were recruited for the reserve army for whatever was it was would come back to university. We were sitting next to snipers and pilots who killed people, our people, in Gaza and Lebanon.

9) In the Technion we were “lucky” it didn’t go further. Other campuses are much more politically active, and Palestinian students are routinely harassed, attacked, arrested, expelled for simply raising a flag, or expressing their Palestinianness.

10) This is what your fancy collab with an Israeli university looks like, under the surface. This is the grim reality of Israeli academia. Yes, it has top-notch education and great researchers. But it is severly lacking in basic humanity towards even its own Palestinians.]

[sits up suddenly in a cold sweat] what if my corpse doesn't rot

25 years ago an unknown Chinese protester stood in front of a tank in defiance of the government. No one knows the identity of the man but he was given the nick name “Tank Man”. This is one of the most iconic photographs of the century.

Echo's Extensive List of Greek Mythology Headcanons

Hermes and Iris race for fun in their free time (Hermes beats Iris but only because she lets him keep his magical shoes on)

Ares goes into full on protective older brother mode when someone makes fun of Hephaestos except when it's Aphrodite

Aphrodite and Eros scheme together over who should be the next OTP

Hera is a really sweet stepmom to her godly stepchildren after she gets over her initial grudge (that ones not 100% untrue, she's mostly pretty nice to them after she's gotten through her murdering phase, given the child survives that phase)

Ariadne got the ability to create powerful illusions and confusions in people heads after she married Dionysus (being the wife of the god of madness i think might give you that quirk also it fits the labyrinth)

Nyx scares the underworld out of everyone except her children and Selene who comes over for a drink every now and then (also not entirely unbased at some point she scares zeus away when he's after her kid Hypnos (mother of the year) Selene literally never interacts with her but i can imagine them gossiping like 40 y/o wine mums for some reason)

Thanatos is really touched by the people he has to take to the afterlife, when its a child he carries it in his arms or takes them by the hand the entire way into the underworld

Charon hums while he crosses Styx to cheer up the souls (it comes of as horribly creepy but he's trying his best you guys)

Whenever Persephone is in the underworld the place is full of colourful flowers cuz she thinks asphodels are too bland by themselves

Demeter keeps a collection of all the plants that used to be people until they were cursed/transformed to passive-agressivly assert dominance

Athena takes her owl everywhere she goes, unfortunately it's not very fond of mortals, Odysseus is freaking terrified of that bird

The nine muses have to approve and critique every piece of music Apollo writes, there usually isn't anything to critique but he still really values their opinion

Artemis constantly makes fun of her brother for being love sick but she keeps a box full of sweet dates under her place at the banquet table in case she needs to cheer him up

Artemis takes in girls that are survivors of abuse or assault and helps them get revenge on the pderson that wronged them even if they aren't virgins anymore

Apollo and Artemis constantly annoyed Helios and Selene when they were little like: Uncle Helios can i ride in the chariot with you? Dad said you have to let me come with you! Please, just for a little bit, I'm not gonna set anything on fire again, I promise!

Hestia is extremely gentle and soft spoken yet nobody dares to talk back to her or interrupt her (once again kinda plausible since she's the oldest, also both Apollo and Poseidon proposed marriage to her which she politely declined, there's zero consequences for that which is odd seeing how Apollo and Poseidon usually react to rejection)

Feel free to add your own lol

I know these are mostly completely unbased but I've been reading Greek mythology since I was like 4 and this is just what I imagined these characters would be like

Also! There's some lesser known gods on here so to clear up some confusion

Iris: Goddess of rainbows and messenger of the gods together with Hermes

Eros: God of love, Aphrodite's son

Ariadne: Dionysus' wife, helped Theseus beat the minotaur by helping him out of the labyrinth

Nyx: Goddess of the night

Thanatos: God of death (not the dead, that's Hades), son of Nyx

Charon: The ferryman that carries the dead on his ship over the underworld river styx

Hypnos: God of sleep, son of Nyx

Selene: Goddess of the moon, until later mythology where she was often merged with Artemis

Helios: God of the sun, until later mythology were he was often merged with Apollo

Have a great day💕

just saw the new sims pack trailer. can't wait for sims 4 funeral stuff

Mat woke me up today with "The dogs are starting to think you're dead"

Slept way too long. But I never sleep so that was a nice change.

Gomez and Morticia vibes

You know who you are.

there’s a couple pieces I’ve been meaning to post and this is one of them (sorry for the infrequency I’ve been super busy ;~;)

Can you perhaps do a part 3 to your vox machina x child reader series something about a reveal of the readers race or something or perhaps a continuation of the story if that’s ok with you I just love your vox machina shots

Being a child member of Vox Machina and… | Vox Machina x child reader Pt. 3

Summary | Kid’s got some issues and so does Vox.

A/N | Sorry this took so long been getting into campaign 2 trying to decide if I want to do a child reader for that.

Genre | platonic, angst, fluff, mystery?

Warnings | death, descriptions of blood and violence, panic attack

Initially, you hadn’t been bitter. You didn’t fit the image one was expected to present for such a dignified social event. Not even considering your age, you were small, gangly, freckled and with hair that couldn’t keep its place. You didn’t/wouldn’t belong in a high-profile party.

Still, the joint excitement of Vox Machina had somewhat infected you. Now you found yourself wanting to attend the high-profile event. To combat your pouty face, Keyleth did your hair. Grog offered you ale, which Pike immediately shut down, and Vax tried peek-a-boo with his cloak. Ultimately, it was Percy’s promise to recount everything you’d be missing so long as you were brave and good that placated you.

Vex, you didn’t understand, was a nervous wreck. Leaving you in the keep, with no one to watch after you. Though, you would have Trinket. 

It took multiple assurances from Vax and Percy before they were able to take their leave. You had the keep to yourself.

You crept with Trinket into Grog’s room. Tied only with Vex’s room, you considered his to be one of the most comfortable. With the stash of fur pelts, warm temperature and large bed, it was the perfect place to settle down until Vox returned.

After some time you heard the door, the entry to the keep open, sitting on Trinket’s back you rode to the entry. Your excitement fled upon seeing the seven in shackles, escorted by a small march of guards. In a blink, you paint yourself as a hapless child who’d only just woken. Jarrett, sympathetic to your guise, apologized for the late intrusion, explaining the terms of Vox’s arrest.

House arrest, it could be worse. Allura had essentially grounded the lot of you. Well, not you. According to Jarett, she had clarified that you were allowed to roam freely with proper adult accompaniment and so long as you returned home at a proper time.

The keep was swept clean and all the team’s weapons confiscated, including Scanlan’s instrument. Fortunately, your room was left in peace. Still, you were upset greatly watching the guards tether Trinket to a tree.

Ordered by the Sovereign to remain confined in the keep, there was nothing to do but wait. After assuring you everything would be alright, Vex passed you off to Keyleth silently mouthing an instruction to shield your ears. A thick ornate crown of lush flowers decorated your hair. 

You had caught bits of what had gone down at the feast. Vax feared himself turning into a vampire. Scanlan had a book to translate. Pike was quiet. According to Grog, the food was decent.

You weren’t the type with a keen sense of smell. It was your ears that performed unnaturally well. If a tree fell in the forest and no one was around to hear it, you would. Even with Keyleth’s floral muffler, you were able to discern the biting conversation between Percival and Vex’ahlia. 

Something or other about people killing Percy’s family. To be honest, you were more intrigued by the book left open on the table. 

There were whispers, multiple voices at once, emanating from the dark pages. Their voices sounded distant, their words imperceptible, and yet at the same time crystal clear. Their raspy hissing voices, infecting your mind.

Stress flares up in your head. There is a moment you feel it; the fog beginning to clear. Memories starting to take shape, though still blurred like an old painting. In this moment, as certain figures began to take shape, you could feel a deep sadness traveling through every cell.

“Y/n, Magpie, are you alright?”

Vax’s voice disrupted the whispers. He had, at some point, moved. Now he knelt, crouched beside Keyleth, attention focused on you. His eyes carried a gentle concern.

Keyleth brushes a thumb across your cheeks. It’s then you realize you’re crying. Cold, silvery tears came as a frigid flood, uncontrolled and unwanted. It hadn’t been until the tender hand wiped away some of the tears that you even realized you were crying. You had no reason to, right? So you didn’t understand why you were.

Glancing to the side, over Vax’s shoulders, you notice the other members of Vox standing around the door. Percy’s peering out around the door, canvassing the corridor on the other side.

“Let’s get out of here, shall we?” Vax offered gently, extending his arms for you to jump into.

A decision had been reached between the members of Vox. You’d be breaking out. They were forced to escape under the darkness of shadow from their own keep. 

Vox concluded your silent tears were the consequence of claustrophobia. A fear they understandably assumed you had, as you had been held in captivity for who knows long prior to meeting them.

This, unfortunately, was not the case.

All the while, as they twisted through the secret tunnels below the keep, you held on to Vax, trying to sort through the deluge of memories still just out of focus. The harder you tried, the more your lips trembled, tears pooling from your eyes.

Jarrett stood with a group of his men at the exit of the passage. Once again, the members of Vox found themselves under the escort of the guard. This time, though, you were all split. Vax, Vex and Scanlan had been pushed into the kitchen; Percy and Keyleth into the Percy’s workshop; Grog and Pike into the chapel. 

Jarrett decided you would stay in the common area, as he believed there was little chance any of the members of Vox would try escaping without you. If only you believed that.

Fortunately, this was the room where they stored the colored chalk. 

You needed to calm yourself. You stopped trying to restore the diluted memories. It made your head pound and heart sting. Instead, you settled on the stone floor and began to draw.

You could hear the whispers of a conversation between the two guards. One was complimenting your rudimentary artistic skills while also making little suggestions on how you could improve. The other was telling their partner to shut it. When the two fell silent, you looked over at them. You then extended your hand, a blue piece of chalk held between your fingers. An invitation.

Your ears twitched. You left your spot and moved to the window. As you went, you could hear an argument between the two guards over their cross hatching techniques. They did not choose the right career path.

Outside, you could hear the nervous whines of Trinket. Something was out there. Whispered hisses, not unlike those you heard emanating from the book, circled the keep. And there were screams. The kind of screams that had a raw intensity that warned of threat, and cried out of desperate need.

Moreover, there was this creeping feeling as if a dark presence was looming in your periphery, breathing icy clouds on the back of your neck. It was giving you goosebumps and a feeling of gut wrenching wrongness.

You sped to the door, only to discover the larger wooden doors were locked, and you didn’t have the key. “Slow down there, kiddo. We’re on strict orders not to let you leave this room until further notice.” One of the two guards spoke. 

Your eyes narrowed, spotting the set of brass keys looped on their hip.

Your small hands pound on the door of the workshop, your little voice calling out to Percy and Keyleth, who you knew were inside. Not a moment later, the doors to the chapel busted out. They slammed against the opposite wall, splintering into pieces.

“Tiny, what’s going on!?”

You explained to Grog, as well as a child your age could you, the unsettling presence you felt closing in. Though your explanation was muddied by some fright filled babbling, both Pike and Grog appeared to take your discomfort seriously.

They rallied the others, gathering the team in the large entry of the keep. Freeing the others from their respective holding rooms, you noted, was suspiciously easy. Surely you hadn’t been the only one left under watch.

There was a discourse. Everyone was confused and on high alert. “Where is everybody?” You spoke aloud, your soft voice managing to capture Vox’s attention despite their loud conversation.

Soon after you posed the question, Jarret and three of his soldiers retreated into the building, hurriedly locking the door behind them. Immediately, they placed the blame on Vox, which you guessed was fair. But this time all in the party were, in fact, blameless.

The true assailants hid in the shadows above. Wraiths, beings who take pleasure in watching the life drain from their victims, were perched in the rafters watching the lot of you. Like predators stalking their prey. There was barely time to take arms before they took initiative and lunged for the group.

Nevermind the two guards brutally kill, it was their targeted attack on Scanlan from which Vox realized they were after the book. Eyes rolled back black inky ichor pooling from his mouth, ears, and eyelids. Vex moving quickly, grabbed the fallen spell book and passed it to Keyleth just as a wraith bled into her body.

You would be having nightmares about this.

Gathering the injured members, Vox and the last guard to remain, Jarret retreated into the war room. You were trapped. As Vex pointed out, they needed a way to fight it. You could hear the rasping, cold, hollow screams of the wraiths, even as they grew quieter, on the other side of the door.

Jarret passed Vex and Vax weapons, though even you knew such arms would be useless. Vax had tried in vain to cut through them with his dagger when they had wrenched through Scanlan. Unfortunately, their bodies were amorphous dark fluid shadows harmlessly cut through.

You had faced many threats in your time with Vox Machina. Mere days ago they’d defeated a dragon. Something about these assailants, perhaps their connection with the book, made you want to jump right out of your skin. It was paralysing. There was this foreign yet all too familiar feeling of being insignificant. Shaking, terrified, you straighten your posture awaiting the blow, you for an inexplicable reason expected to come.

You felt a hand grip your shoulder. Your defensive instincts kicked in. You went straight for the wrist, biting into what you registered as a threat. Both fortunately and unfortunately, it was only Vax. Luckily, your bite had only been a warning, no fangs.

He recoiled, his brain stuttering for a moment. He wasn’t sure what threw him more, the two puncture marks on his wrist beginning to ooze crimson or the pure look of unmatched terror in your eyes.

You had been crying earlier over what he still wasn’t sure. He’d wiped your tears and held you close. Vox had heard your pained screams and witnessed fear take over you, sending you running to hide behind one of them for safety. This terror, this raw intense dread that crippled you completely, was new.

There is a scream. Keyleth is dragged up the wall, ichor streaming from her eyes and mouth. Then the candles blow out. In one swift movement, Vax pushes you beneath the table, then ready’s himself for the inevitable battle. He'd bring up your bite later.

The sounds of Vox’s violent acts are flooded out by the noise of your heart beating in your chest. It’s the sound of war drums on the horizon, each beat taking up pace growing louder. Buh-Bum. Buh-Bum. Buh-Bum.

Silence. After a cacophony of vicious screams, the keep goes still. You feel the chill in your blood, the coldness that brought the synapses of your brain to a stand still, begin to subside. Still, your thoughts were so scattered that functioning was challenging.

“(Y/n), darling?” Vex calls out, kneeling down to see you below the table. Noting your state, she slackened her composure, her battle hardened face softened. “(Y/n), dear, I believe you’re having a panic attack. We don’t have to stay here, darling. Would you like to leave?” She offered, carefully extending a hand. You nodded and allowed her to lead you out.

The fresh air was nice and the cool breeze tickled your exposed skin. Vex stayed by your side while the others quickly gathered what was needed. Jarret had decided to release Vox against the orders of the king and allow them to handle whatever manner of being had realised such terrifying assailants.

Leaned in against Vex’s side, you were soothed by her gentle heartbeat. Trinket laid close on your other side enough so that you could stroke his fur. You had barely lifted an arm in battle. Your only true action being disarming the guards that’d watched over you, an act you’d later learned, saved their lives. Still, you were exhausted.

As things were being put into order, Vax approached, scratching at the two marks you’d left in his wrist. “(Y/n), is everything alright? Are you okay?” He asks, crouching to match your height. He was concerned you could read it on his face.

“Those things, those wraiths. You wouldn’t let them take me too, would you?”

“I believe they were only after the—" Vax begins to remind, however, he stops himself when he notices the desperate look on your face. It happens sometimes. Vox forgets you’re just a child. He flashes you one of those charming-gentle-Vax’ildan smiles. “You know we’d rip any monsters apart before we’d let them hurt you.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, standing on your tiptoes to give him a hug. “I apologise for biting you. I won’t do it again.” You whisper, relaxing into his embrace so fully it’s as if you’d melted together.

“Eh, it’s okay, Magpie. I’ve suffered worse.” Vax shrugs, peeling away from the hug. 

"Now you ready to go kill some vampires?”

new character idea! This is Evy the ghost! She died suddenly, and now she’s on a mission to let her friend know she’s ok. Like Harry Houdini and his wife Bess, Evy and her friend devised a secret code so that they’ll know for sure if they’re speaking to their friend on the other side. Now all Evy has to do is learn how to contact the living...

I like these OCs I’m working on.

The top one is the ghost when they were alive, basically they died on accident (kind of) and haunted their own home, but eventually attached themself to someone who was visiting (the blonde dude in the green shirt).

The ghost isn’t violent at all, just REALLY clingy.

They’re generally shy, anxious, and kind of sad, and always clings to and often wraps their body around whoever they’re attached to at the time.

The guy can’t really see them, but thinks he’s haunted because of the fact that he can always feel someone touch his hair, and shoulders and the fact that he’s always got the chills.

I think the ghost is going to either be aromantic or quoiromantic, and Non-binary.

The dude is probably an AMAB non-binary boy, I’m thinking he’s maybe Asexual and Aromantic.

Still working on them, and haven’t named em yet.

Another ghost OC I’m working on, they don’t have a name yet, but they’re Agender.

They lived in their car 1-3 years before death, and died near or in their car and now they haunt their smashed up car which resides at the Wreckers.

The employees have learned not to mess with the car which will set off car alarms (even though they checked, and it doesn’t even HAVE car alarms), open and slam shut doors, blast music, beep, and even drive a few feet if people attempt to damage or remove any part of it.

The ghost itself is usually pretty friendly and content if no one is attempting to destroy their home, and will sometimes turn the radio on to greet employees they like.

Most of the employees have taken to hanging out at the abandoned car on their breaks either to smoke, or just to hang out, and it’s an initiation for any new employees to light them a cigarette and leave it in an ashtray on the seat near the busted window.

So yeah.

I had this idea about a person who died and their “soul” split in half.

Now their skeleton and their ghost are friends.

The ghost inherited the more sentimental and emotional parts, the skeleton got the will to survive, the determination, and the cunning.

Basically: Ghost = Right brain, Skeleton = Left brain.