splattered wall

angel-of-love2210  asked:

15 with Crowley plzz ❤

15. “You can’t protect me.”

Blood splattered up the wall as your stolen angel blade thudded into the chest of a demon. Wrenching it free, you pivoted and ducked, avoiding the grabbing hands of another demon and shoving the blade into her stomach. A break in the flow of the attackers gave you a chance to find your victim, hidden behind a maze of doors. Oddly enough, he was unguarded. At least, it seemed like that.

“Y/n? What’re you doing here?” Crowley’s accent was peppered with a tone of surprise.

You barked a short laugh, motioning to his prone, tied up form, “Saving your ass, apparently.”

A door slamming and approaching footsteps alerted you to the next wave of demons. More fleshy thuds, and they joined the other bodies on the floor.

“You? Ha, you can’t protect me.” The sneer in his voice sent a jolt of anger all the way to your toes. A few steps and the angel blade was at his throat.

“Maybe not, but I sure could kill you.”

Spluttered apologies rang out, and you moved to saw away at the bindings. A small smile graced your face as you heard a whispered, “Thank you.”

- Kayla

Send me a prompt number and a character or actor!

Don't be so stupid

Could you do a rough kinky Jerome smut?


I straighten the covers and place the money in my safe box under the bed. Another night of work. I laugh at my own statement. Ha! Work! All you do is take rejected men’s money for a wild time.

I haven’t been doing this long. Only a couple months, but I’ve made more money than you can believe!

I know how people look at me. I see the stares of shame. How some women cross the street trying to get as far away from me as possible like they might catch something.

They wouldn’t. I don’t let any man go there. Only one man has ever taken me there. Only one man I will ever let go beyond the methods I use on other men. No one has touched me since the day he was murdered.

As I scrub the filth away from my body I think back to how Jerome took me. He had different ways of making me feel head over heels. Some nights he would take me hard and rough where the bed would get close to breaking, than other nights when he was feeling love sick he would worship me. He would thrust passionately kissing my body and telling me how beautiful I am.

I step out of the shower leaving the painful memories behind. I wrap a towel around my body and go down to the kitchen to make a drink. I get out the ingredients for a rock hard drink but then a knock on the door interrupts me.

I sigh and open it to see a man with cash in hand. He raises his brow and pushes past me. Is this really my life? He throws the money at me and sits on the sofa.

I walk over to him and set the cash on the hood in his trousers. “It’s late.” I say and make my way to the door to open it for him. He laughs and throws the cash at me with force. “Suck it whore.” This man was clearly drunk and out of his mind to think he can talk to me like that.

Though financial worries enter my brain. I need the money. I need it to get away from here. I sigh and rest on my knees giving the man what he paid for.

Once done I stand up quickly and feel like I should rinse my mouth out with bleach. Just then another knock rings out. A loud one. One of demand.

I move to open the door. “I can see why you’re so popular dollface.” I grasp the handle hard and turn to him with a displeased expression. “Don’t-” “CALL HER THAT!” A screaming voice beats me to it. I know that voice.

I open the door thinking I’m crazy. I’m hearing voices again. I swing open the door to see him. “J-Jer-” he places his finger against my lips and strides into the room seeing the man. He turns to me with fire in his eyes. “Did he touch you?” I shake my head gripping my towel closer to my body scared.

Jerome comes closer and I take in his appearance. Staples? I have to say it’s not his worst look.

The man on the couch scoffs. “No. She never lets anyone get in there. To stubborn. I’ve got to say she makes up for it man. Come here and sit. She does magic.” Jerome laughs. “Oh I know. She’ll ride me like a good girl any day.” The man once again scoffs. “Ha sure! She’s not gonna let some random person in there!” The man laughs.

Jerome turns to him with a smirk. “Oh I’m not a stranger. I was her first isn’t that right darling?” He asks lifting my chin up. “Well go on baby girl. Tell him how I’m the only one who’s ever touched your pussy.” Jerome moves me in front of the man and grips my hips. “He’s the only man to ever touch my pussy.” I say feeling Jerome move his hand beyond the towel and run his fingers over the skin of my hip. I shiver under his touch missing him exceedingly.

The man on the couch slaps his knee with a jealous expression. “Oh man! Lucky you! You’re okay with her doing this though? That’s what I call a working relationship!” Jerome’s hand goes further and slips between my wet folds. He circles my clit with pressure making my body lean into his. Jerome laughs and removes his hand. Instead he lifts up the back of the towel and grips my ass. “Actually no. You see I’ve been gone for a while. This is news to me. I find this…humiliating, and revolting.” Jerome then fiddled with his own trousers and releases himself. I feel him from behind as he starts to rub his head across my wet folds. The man on the couch just stares as if he’s in heaven.

Jerome laughs. “My my my doll. You really haven’t let anyone touch you. So tight I can even thrust into you, but as for you…enjoying the snow?” Jerome thrusts hard entering me. Filling me up like he use to. I arch back into him wanting more. Needing more. The man on the couch looks at me and nods his head.

Jerome laughs and pulls out a gun. He places the barrel to my head as he continues to thrust into me pulling my hair back. “Should I shoot you? Hm? Do you deserve to live knowing the things you’ve done? You dirty whore. Who do you belong to?” “You. You Jerome!” I moan out enjoying the blissful pleasure he’s bestowing upon me. “That’s right doll! I want you to do so for me okay?” Jerome whispers in my ear. “Shoot him.” Jerome says placing the gun in my hand.

I aim the barrel at him and pull the trigger with a rush enveloping me. The mans blood splatters on the wall and he falls completely limp. Jerome growls and rips the towel away turning me around. “You’re in so much trouble.” He says and pushes me against the wall hiking me up and thrusting into me hard and fast. I place my arms around him moaning his name over and over again. “Say it again doll. Scream it.” He says and moves his hand to rub my clit. I toss my head back against the wall in pure pleasure. “Jerome!” I moan out.

He moves to sit on the couch next to the dead man still spilling blood. “What do you say princess? You wanna ride me?” I nod eagerly and place myself above him cock and sliding down on him. Jerome grips my hips as I bouch on his cock making us both feel pleasures we haven’t had for a year.

Jerome rubs his fingers against the blood on the man’s wound and covers his hand in the thick red liquid. He proceeds to trail his hand down my body making a line from my breast, to my stomach, and right above my crotch. “Ah you’re such a good girl. You’re going to cum aren’t you? Go on doll. Cum for me.” I do as he says and release on him and seconds he fills me up with his own cum.

Jerome moves my hair out of the way and kisses me. “You’re mine. Don’t be so stupid to think otherwise. No other man looks at you. Ever! Understood?” He caresses my cheek with a smile. “Yes J.” He laughs and picks me up. “Then why don’t we make up for lost time? Sound good?” I smile and kiss his nose. “Sounds perfect.”

Originally posted by bonelotus

Only Way To Live - Stiles Stilinski

Author: @mf-despair-queen

Characters: Stiles Stilinski/Reader

Word Count: 4818

Warnings: Kinky Filth, NSFW, 18+, Oral (Female Receiving)

Notes: Honestly, I’m kinda mixed about this entire thing? I don’t think it’s as good as some of the other stuff I’ve written. The idea was so good for this too! I got the idea from an episode of Attack of Titan while I was in my slump. So, please, any feedback ya’ll have would be appreciated.

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anonymous asked:

Hcs for the blackwatch boys + Jack and Reinhardt taking their s/o's virginity? ❤️

(๑✧∀✧๑) 4 birds 1 stone (very long post!!)

Part 2 | Part 2 v. 2


How to open read-mores on mobile.

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anonymous asked:

86 and andreil??

86: “Perhaps you’ll take me out one day — or do I have to make an appointment?” (I combined this with a prompt from foxpaws10 from ages ago based on this post, and I kind of warped both of your prompts i hope this is still okaaay basically it’s doctor andrew and that’s all u need to know)

His morning is a string of disasters that begins with covering the ER in the Sunday rush of hypochondriac elderly and fussy children. It’s one long stretch of kicked over paint buckets, a mess you can’t ignore, splattering the walls and getting on his shoes.

Andrew chose surgery almost entirely for the distance of it, the sterility of a room with a slab of meat, a tray of knives, and a sickness he can actually cut out.

He’s a doctor because he can be, and patients sometimes like that he doesn’t speak a word to them, like silence equals genius.

He likes that there are some patients that come into the ER unconscious and leave the OR unconscious, and all he has is a problem and a ticking clock. He always solves the problem. He thinks maybe it’s because he is one.

The sinking ship of his Sunday in the emergency room goes from slippery to debilitating with one patient.

Two showy ER doctors with their lab coats off and their sleeves rolled up go into the private room they’ve cordoned off, and they both come out looking pinched in the face with their stethoscopes clenched in their fists.

“He’s a fucking disaster,” one of them says, leaning up against the information desk with his eyes still pulling back to the closed door of the room.

“I know. I thought, I dunno. That the news was exaggerating.”

Andrew tilts his head and listens without making any move to leave his post, filling out inane charts as illegibly as he can.

One of the residents chances a look at him and Andrew makes a point of catching him. The guy startles, then juts his chin.

“Maybe you’ll get along with him, Minyard. He’s as crazy as you.”

“You’ve mistaken the hospital for a playground,” Andrew says mildly. “Give me his chart.”


“His chart.”

He looks at his friend, mouth slack, and then the one holding the chart holds it out like a dirty rag.

“He’s Boston’s starting striker,” he stage whispers. Andrew takes the clipboard and ignores him, scanning the details. “We’re not supposed to let any patients know.”

“That Neil Josten is causing a scene ten feet away from them?” he says, and the men titter uncomfortably. “Why should he get the luxury of privacy?”

“How did you—“

“The news is available to everyone, Bryant, you fuck.” He rounds the desk and makes for the closed and shuttered room, dropping the chart in the receptacle outside.

“He shouldn’t be allowed to practice,” someone says behind him, and then someone else, softer, scornful: “surgeons”.

Andrew wrings the door knob and finds himself abruptly face to face with the singular most swollen person he’s ever seen. He’s obviously bolting for it, his gown gaping at the neck and someone’s stolen shoes jammed on. Andrew scans the defiant face, the shock of red hair, the near invisible trail of blood from an incorrectly removed IV.

“Sit down.”


Andrew watches Neil Josten— and it is him, one of the handful of strikers on Boston’s team and certainly the most newsworthy — size him up. His eyes run the same circuit Andrew’s would if he were looking to fight his way out: door, threat, surreptitiously behind him for a weapon, back again.

“I’ll drug you,” Andrew says simply. Neil’s good eye, the one that isn’t purpling, goes narrow.

“Are you allowed to say that?”

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I think I might leave,” he whispered.
She almost tripped. “Leave?”
He wouldn’t look at her. “I’m going down to Eyllwe - to Banjali, to be precise.”
“For a mission?” It was common for Arobynn to send them all over the continent, but the way Sam was speaking felt … different.
“Forever,” he said.
“Why?” Her voice sounded a little shrill in her ears.
He faced her. “What do I have to tie me here? Arobynn already mentioned that it might be useful to firmly establish ourselves in the south, too.”
“Arobynn -” she seethed, fighting to keep her voice to a whisper. “You talked to Arobynn about this?”
Sam gave her a half shrug. “Casually. It’s not official.”
“But - but Banjali is a thousand miles away.”
“Yes, but Rifthold belongs to you and Arobynn. I’ll always be … an alternative.”
“I’d rather be an alternative in Rifthold than ruler of the assassins in Banjali.” She hated that she had to keep her voice so soft. She was going to splatter someone against a wall. She was going to rip down the sewer with her bare hands.
“I’m leaving at the end of the month,” he said, still calm.
“That’s two weeks away!”
“Do I have any reason why I should stay here?”
“Yes!” she exclaimed as loudly as she could while still maintaining a hushed tone. “Yes, you do.” He didn’t reply. “You can’t go.”
“Give me a reason why I shouldn’t.”
“Because I’ll miss you, damn it!” she hissed, splaying her arms. “Because what was the point in anything if you just disappear forever?”
“The point in what, Celaena?” How could he be so calm when she was so frantic?
“The point in Skull’s Bay, and the point in getting me that music, and the point in … the point in telling Arobynn that you’d forgive him if he never hurt me again.”
“You said you didn’t care what I thought. Or what I did. Or if I died, if I’m not mistaken.”
“I lied! And you know I lied, you stupid bastard!”
He laughed quietly. “You want to know how I spent this summer?” She went still. He ran a hand through his brown hair. “I spent every single day fighting the urge to slit Arobynn’s throat. And he knew I wanted to kill him.”
I’ll kill you! Sam had screamed at Arobynn.
“The moment I woke up after he beat me, I realized I had to leave. Because I was going to kill him if I didn’t. But I couldn’t.” He studied her face. “Not until you came back. Not until I knew you were all right - until I saw that you were safe.”
Breathing became very, very hard.
“He knew that, too,” Sam went on. “So he decided to exploit it. He didn’t recommend me for missions. Instead, he made me help Lysandra and Clarisse. He made me escort them around the city on picnics and to parties. It became a game between the two of us - how much of his horseshit I could take before I snapped. But we both knew he’d always have the winning hand. He’d always have you. Still, I spent every day this summer hoping you’d come back in one piece. More than that - I hoped you’d come back and take revenge for what he’d done to you.”
But she hadn’t. She’d come back and let Arobynn shower her with gifts.
“And now that you’re fine, Celaena, now that you’ve paid off your debt, I can’t stay in Rifthold. Not after all the things he’s done to us.”
She knew it was selfish, and horrible, but she whispered, “Please don’t go.”
He let out an uneven breath. “You’ll be fine without me. You always have been.”
Maybe once, but not now. “How can I convince you to stay?”
“You can’t.”
She threw down the torch. “Do you want me to beg, is that it?”
“No - never.”
“Then tell me -”
“What more can I say?” he exploded, his whisper rough and harsh. “I’ve already told you everything - I’ve already told you that if I stay here, if I have to live with Arobynn, I’ll snap his damned neck.”
“But why? Why can’t you let it go?”
He grabbed her shoulders and shook her. “Because I love you!”
Her mouth fell open.
“I love you,” he repeated, shaking her again. “I have for years. And he hurt you and made me watch because he’s always known how I felt, too. But if I asked you to pick, you’d choose Arobynn, and I. Can’t. Take. It.”
The only sounds were their breathing, an uneven beat against the rushing of the sewer river.
“You’re a damned idiot,” she breathed, grabbing the front of his tunic. “You’re a moron and an ass and a damned idiot.” He looked like she had hit him. But she went on, and grasped both sides of his face, “Because I’d pick you.”
And then she kissed him.
—  The Assassin and the Underworld (The Assassin’s Blade #4) by Sarah J. Maas
A 2D Bendy Fanfiction

An AU of 2D Bendy, inspired by @squigglydigglydoo and @shinyzango. Written and illustrated by myself, accompanied by chocolate. Enjoy!

“Dear Henry,

It seems like a lifetime since we last worked on cartoons together. 30 years really slips away, doesn’t it?

If you’re back in town, come visit the old workshop.

There’s something I need to show you.

Your best pal,

Joey Drew”


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Aries –
ripping off the band-aid, walking through a forest, being center stage, police sirens, fingernails tapping against a desk, boiling water, a sunflower field.

Taurus –
chocolate melting, the ticking sound of a clock, blanket forts, sliding across a wooden floor in your socks, using sticks as swords, sunsets from the hood of a car.

Gemini –
the scent that follows after you blow out a candle, how handwriting is like a voice, your first visit to a haunted house, a rigid spine, the sound of crunching leaves, church bells.

Cancer –
holding hands in a hospital, lemonade on the hottest day of the year, a psychic’s parlor, sage & lavender & vanilla, hot air balloon ride over the city, windmills.

Leo –
city life at night, an acid trip, paint splattered at the wall, bubblegum, a one-way ticket, broken mirrors.

Virgo –
fireflies in the summer, back of the class, pacing & the click clack of high heels, bleach, waves crashing, sun kissed skin.

Libra –
when the couple says “i do”, lucky charms, bonfires, finger painting, blowing kisses, ballet shows, sugar on the tip of your tongue, outstretched palms in the wrong direction.

Scorpio –
being stuck at the top of a ferris wheel, wind in your hair during a midnight car ride at 90 mph, skin on skin, magnets on the refrigerator, a ceiling fan in the dead of night, sticky notes, foxes in the bushes.

Sagittarius –
jet lag, a wolf howling, bad puns, five star restaurants, burning your tongue, chipped nail polish, walking barefoot through the mud, tree houses.

Capricorn –
a loaded gun, the first snow fall of the year when everything is still and silent, the first breath after a panic attack, sun showers, the dreamy state when you’re running on no sleep, candy land, breaking through the surface.

Aquarius –
cracking open a fortune cookie, city lights in the rain, scissors & wrapping paper, bats in caves, sneaking out for the first time, watching the sunrise with your best friends, a wildflower breaking through the cracks of a sidewalk.

Pisces –
a canoe on the lake at dawn, wind chimes, spring, hundred year old trees, jazz music & feather boas, dream journals, glitter eye-shadow, art museums.
—  Feeling Association with the Signs, Angelea Lowes
things I associate with the types
  • ESTP: the earth beneath your fingernails after a long day, waking up feeling full of light and ready to get up, summer evenings, the press of a friend’s hand into yours, tan lines that pop on your skin, the chill of rainwater as it slides through your hair, feet sticking out of car windows, running around backyards as the sunlight fades
  • ESTJ: the jarring echo of a microphone when bumped, mowed grass, a newly immaculate room with everything accessible, the fresh smell of rental cars, neat calendars pinned above desks, new school supplies stacked up in your room, monopoly games, sliding into a perfectly made bed at the end of a long day, unpacking in a hotel room, taking yourself out for dinner
  • ESFP: throwing your arm around a friend, gaudy beaded bracelets put together by your little cousin, the quick pant of an excited dog, the smell of campfires, paint stuck in the crevices of your hand, taking neat notes for the kid who’s absent, an instagram full of pictures of you and your friends, screaming the lyrics to songs as you ride down the highway
  • ESFJ: staying after school to help a teacher clean up, biting your tongue to try to stop laughing during class, a sticky kiss from a child, kindergarten art rooms, listening patiently to stories you’ve heard before, staggering around in your mom’s high heels as a kid, walking around town with ice cream and friends, squeezing lemon juice into your hair
  • ENTP: having to do a group project by yourself, walking back and forth to calm your excitement, desks cluttered with papers, the sound of quick typing, the rush of relief after walking out of uncomfortable situations, lying to get a reaction out of someone, the sting of tears brought on by anger, the perfect comeback, mascara smeared down your face
  • ENTJ: protest signs, pinning magazine cut outs to your wall, walking to the front of a room to give a presentation, the click of high heels, tilting your chair back and crossing your arms to show your disapproval, the smell of paint, friendly debates with loud words and wide gestures, losing track of time and blinking tiredly at the clock, perfectly tailored suits left wrinkled on bedroom floors
  • ENFP: bulletin boards with inspiring quotes, humming along off-key beneath your breath, bare feet on hot sand, pinterest projects, curling ribbon with scissors, sewing your own clothes, improvised road trips, bubblegum pink lipstick, convincing a friend to buy themself that new outfit, silly nicknames, candy wrappers littered on the floor, compliments from strangers in public restrooms, good morning texts
  • ENFJ: cute notes left in people’s lockers, talking a friend through their self confidence issues, cleaning your room at two in the morning, dark thoughts that only slip into your mind late at night, the press of a kiss to your forehead, picking out your clothes the night before, convincing a friend to come dance with you, the hand on your shoulder
  • ISTP: taking apart pens and examining the individual parts, spilling out emotions that you’ve kept tightly wound inside, the smell of rubber tires on pavement, writing down your thoughts to better understand them, clenched fists, research papers laid out across a table, jumping off a rock wall and letting the cord catch you, polaroid cameras
  • ISTJ: setting yourself deadlines, slipping candy to a worried friend, puns, stretching after a long day, downing too much coffee so you can stay up to work, drawing tablets, buying Christmas gifts a month in advance, the smell of grass after a rain, sitting in comfortable silence with a good friend, before and after pictures, old family trinkets
  • ISFP: petitions passed around classrooms, a friend’s artwork hanging on your wall, the weight of a child on your hip, getting up early to see the sunrise, interior design, vinyl albums, sitting on rooftops with friends, detailed journals from years back stacked in your closet, the warmth of a cat curled up on your lap, sleepy kisses goodnight, the walk up on stage to collect an award
  • ISFJ: buying friends gifts for no occasion, old photo albums lining bookshelves, waking up knowing that today is not yesterday, holding a bun up with just a pencil, splattered paint on brick walls, doing homework on the way to school, bitten lips rather than angry words, tentative hugs, the smell of vanilla, hair falling in front of your face when you duck your head
  • INTP: dead languages, long winded speeches that change topics multiple times, sweater vests, chalk boards covered with writing, lost glasses that are on top of your head, botanical gardens, finals week, bouncing up and down on the balls on your feet as you rant, unbrushed hair, library fines, the glow of a laptop late at night
  • INTJ: packing for college, perfectly winged eyeliner, beakers overflowing with bubbles, schedule overloads, chess games that last until late into the night, the feeling of silk on bare skin, locking your door while working, texting while walking, leaning forwards into discussions with your elbows on the table, rapid-fire conversations, makeup lined up along the sink
  • INFP: community gardens, braiding flowers into a friend’s hair, giggles, playing guitar to an empty room, yellow daisies, sudden anger, reading by candlelight, unexpected hugs, empty forest paths, make believe, whispers that you know no one can hear, understanding nods during rants, lifting someone up and spinning them around, the smell of new paper, forgotten tea that’s turned cool
  • INFJ: hanging lightbulbs, thick books where the spine curls inwards, shoulders shaking forwards when you won’t let yourself cry, absent kisses laid on top of heads, lying beside a friend in bed and talking to the ceiling, dessert left at a friend’s door, watching the people below from city windows, little notes from friends kept for years, the key to your childhood diary

anonymous asked:

drarry prompt !! draco starts pranking harry and it starts a prank war between them. lots of angst . harry falls in love with draco

I made it a little Halloween-y for ya

“Potter!” He heard the familiar voice of Draco Malfoy call out. Harry whipped his head around to see him storming down the hall, soaked from head to toe is water. He was fuming and shivering. Harry burst out laughing as he handed him the towel he had on hand for this occasion. “I cannot believe you pushed me into the lake! The lake! So immature! So unoriginal!”

Harry tried to stop laughing enough to speak, but failed. Draco groaned and stomped off towards his dorm. Harry smiled amusedly after the blonde boy. Ever since eighth year started, Harry and Draco’s rivalry had been more lighthearted than their previous years at Hogwarts. They had started with some light teasing, but they quickly got bored of that and so one day, Harry decided to switch the sugar with salt so that Draco would ruin his tea.

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anonymous asked:

prompt where Izuku got AfO instead of OfA, but instead uses it for heroics / doesn't use it at all / uses it as a vigilante / uses it to mess with villains? (basically any non villain AfO!Izuku as all of them are evil WHY MY GREEN SON WHY)

A.N - I see Dadzawa and Dad Might in this AU’s future. Copious amounts of it.


“I think,” Nezu says as the teachers wind down their meeting concerning the construction of UA Heights dorm facility. “That it would be best to include ‘him’ in this roster of students.”

Immediately, a good portion of the teachers straighten in their seats. The rest look confused by the suddenly serious mood in the room.

“Nezu sir, who is ‘him’?” Midnight asks politely.

Nezu smiles. “You’ve never met. His existence only came onto our radar about three years ago, and since then its been on a strictly need-to-know basis. Especially with our little mole friend still running amuck. However–” He looks to All Might, and then to Aizawa. “I think it best to at least give you an outline of him. Not the whole picture, but an outline. Perhaps you two would do the honors?”

All Might nods. “I’ll explain. Three years ago, during my fight with All For One, I encountered the boy he’d chosen as his heir.”

Shocked breaths spattered the room. “Did you capture him?” Cementoss asks.

All Might surprises them all by smiling. “There was no need. The boy had been forcibly taken from his home - he was Quirkless, you see - and made to inherit Sensei’s Quirk. However, as far as the boy was concerned, he simply wanted to go home. He had no interest in the lessons Sensei and his cohorts attempted to drill into him, or in battling me or any of the other heroes. So I took him home.”

“You did what?!” Calls of outrage fill the air, but Nezu shushes them, and gestures to Aizawa.

Shota sighs. “He’s been under our surveillance for the last three years. Not once has he been in contact with any source of villain life - in fact, several of these last month’s missions have been because of his intel. He doesn’t use All For One unless it’s by our request, and even then he’s extremely belligerent in which Quirk from the roster he uses. He’s a brat that mutters and strategizes, and yet hopelessly throws himself into battle if it’s for the good of someone else. He’s as far from villain material as you could possibly hope to get, so don’t go thinking you’re going to get some kind of evil creepy twirling his mustache.”

“He’s also something of a hermit, sad to say,” All Might continues. “A lot of people hear ‘All For One’ and immediately assume the worst. Shota and I are pretty much the only ones besides Nezu-sensei here he trusts. I know it’s a lot to take in, but just wait. You’ll see for yourselves he’s absolutely no threat to us or the children, or the community at large.”

“And if you can’t look past his Quirk,” Aizawa picks up, and this time there’s an undercurrent of steel in his voice, the same steel he shows when fixing to launch himself into battle, or when he’s about to smack someone down for saying something stupid about his students. “Then say so now, so I can remove your presence from his line of sight. He scares easily, and I won’t have you spooking him back into his shell when we’ve worked so hard to coax him out even this much. You want to make him a villain in your head? Fine, but leave the rest of us out of it.”

There’s a long silence at that. Its rare for Shota to be so openly protective of anyone - but the fact that All Might is looking much the same paints a portrait everyone’s learned to recognize. This student, whoever they are, is respected and protected by both men.

“I wouldn’t mind meeting him,” Midnight breaks the silence after a minute. “So long as he doesn’t slack off in class or try to cheat, I’m fine with him being here.”

“As am I,” Cementoss agrees. “If he wishes to learn, he is more than welcome here.”

Several others murmur their agreement as well. 

“I’ll hold my judgement until after I meet him,” Blood King says, not unkindly. “While I will agree not to look at him as a potential villain, even you must agree that knowing we have a student with the same Quirk as that man is going to take some time to get used to. But I will do my best to treat him the same as any of the others.”

Snipe and Hound Dog both agree with Blood King. It’s not the ideal situation, but it’s clear everyone in the room is at least willing to give the boy a chance. It’s the best they can hope for.

“Well then,” Nezu says, warmth filling his voice. “Eraserhead, would you do the honors?”

“Don’t I always?” The man asks, pushing up and heading for the door.

“Where’s he going?” Mic asks.

“To retrieve our new student.” Nezu claps his paws together. “Eraserhead is the only one who can truly unroot our boy. All Might comes close, but he still has a long way to go before he can get there.”

All Might smiles. “Aizawa and he share much in the way of personality. I’m afraid I’m too much of an extrovert for him and I to really click the way he and Aizawa do.”

“Ah,” several teachers say.

“Introvert,” Mic mutters, a grin on his face. “That’s what they’re calling it now?”


The walk to Izuku’s apartment is short. The boy had agreed, during one of their first tense meetings together, to live close to U.A High in case Nezu or All Might needed his assistance with something. It makes it easier for Shota to reach him, but it also makes it harder at the same time, because the boy seems to fight that much harder to be left alone when he’s living so close. Plus, he’s complained more than once that the noise levels just drive him mad. 

Well, if he doesn’t like noise levels now, he’s really going to hate them in UA Heights. 

When he reaches the apartment, he doesn’t bother knocking. He reaches into his belt for a hidden compartment where he keeps a key Izuku had pressed into his hand a month after that first meeting, muttering something about trusting his judgement before shoving him out the door. To say Aizawa was shocked by the show of trust, especially given what he’d learned about the boy personality-wise was… a pale word, to tell the truth of it. 

He unlocks the door, and opens in. He frowns when he sees the electricity isn’t gone. Flipping the switch does nothing. The room next door has light, which makes him frown even harder. The electricity bill should have been paid - UA was the one paying for it, after all. 

“Izu?” he calls. He hears something shuffling in the dark. It sounds like a familiar sleeping bag. He crouches down - it goes a long way to make Izuku feel better without someone looming over him. “Come on little hermit, Nezu wants to see you. Where are you at?”

A groan penetrates the darkness. “Close the door,” a voice orders. “S’too bright.”

Aizawa huffs at that, but obediently steps inside and closes the door. A second later, there’s a weak clap, and light comes on. And that’s when Aizawa’s eyebrows shoot up.

The apartment is a mess. There’s no food cartons or anything like that, but blankets are strewn about, the lamp’s been knocked over, the TV’s overturned (and fried, by the look of things) and there’s paint splatters all over the wall. Or at least those had better be paint splatters - they look like blood at a closer glance.

And sitting in the middle of the room is Izuku, looking like he hasn’t gotten any proper sleep in days. “What in the name of All Might happened here?” Aizawa asks.

“A shorter question would be what hasn’t happened. And the answer to that is murder. Murder hasn’t happened.” Izuku, inchworm like, wiggles along in his sleeping bag, green eyes hopeful as they land on him. “Did you bring any coffee?”

Ah, he knew he was forgetting something. The bribes. Getting Izuku to go out and deal with people is the hardest part of this whole thing. Because the boy just doesn’t do people. Aizawa can’t really blame him, but still. “I was more concerned for your well-being. We can go get some if you want. It’s still early.”

A gusty sigh. “I suppose,” he mutters. “Okay, so what do you need this time?”

Aizawa’s words are interrupted when Izuku’s stomach growls loudly. Izuku grimaces, and the movement in the bag suggests he’s pressing a hand to his stomach. Aizawa’s intuition pings.

“When was the last time you ate?” he demands.

Izuku’s eyes slide over to the far wall. “…a while ago.”

“Izuku Midoriya, look at me. When was the last time you ate?”

Izuku, rather than answer, attempts a retreat in the form of wrapping back up in his sleeping bag and inchworming his way towards the next room. Aizawa, recognizing a delay tactic when he sees one, snaps Izuku up with his scarves and then charges for the kitchen.

The fridge is empty. The cabinets are empty. There’s no cookware, no food, no non-perishables, no nothing.

He rounds on Izuku again, so furious he could spit. “Why didn’t you call?!”

He knows Izuku has difficulty going out. So they’d agreed on at least a call once a month for a grocery run if he needed it. Izuku certainly had the funds - just not the bravery. 

Izuku wiggles in his hold, and mutters something beneath the cowl of the bag. Fed up, Aizawa crouches down and flings the cowl off, snatching his chin between his fingers and jerking his head up. “Eyes up here, Izuku, and speak clearly. Why didn’t you call me?”

Izuku whines softly, but Aizawa doesn’t let up. “…didn’t want to bother you…” he finally mutters softly, a pink tint to his face. “…saw the news…you were busy…”

“Not too busy to come drop off food and make sure you were alright. Damn it Izuku, I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be!” God save him from frustrating brats that don’t know how to think of themselves. He stands, grabbing the back of Izuku’s hoody and peeling him out of the bag. “Get your shoes, and grab your clothes. We’re going to get you something to eat, get you your coffee, and then you’re coming with me. We’re going to swing by Recovery Girl on our way in.”

“But Nezu–”

“Nezu won’t mind, trust me on this.” His smile is thin, more of a threat than anything. “If anything, he’ll insist. Now go get your things. You’re going to be staying with us for a while.”

“How long is ‘a while’?” Izuku mutters as he trudges up the stairs. 

The rest of your goddamned life, if I have any say in the matter, Aizawa thinks, sighing explosively once the boy’s up in his room. “God save me from self-sacrificing idiots.”


They reach the campus twenty minutes after Shota left, which considering the walking distance there and back, is a long time. So it’s no surprise to find All Might and Nezu standing by the gates, watching the crowds. When they spot Aizawa and his errant fledgling, Yagi waves them over. He’s clearly fixing to ask what took them so long, until he sees the coffee Izuku’s clinging to, and the bag of food items Shota’s holding in the hand not holding Izuku’s. “Ah,” he says, clearly recognizing what’s happened. 

Nezu puts on his ‘sad principal face’. “Izuku, you should have called.”

Izuku flinches like he’s been bodily struck. “I-I know, I just… didn’twanttobotheranyone…” he trails off muttering about Aizawa’s time and his importance and the current villains and–

“Calm down,” Aizawa says, and Izuku’s jaw snaps shut. “We’ve already gotten the guilt trip out of the way, Nezu. I’ve told him what’s going on. We’re going to drop his stuff off, and then I’m taking him to see Chiyo. Any updates I need to be aware of?”

“Nope!” Nezu chirps, clearly happy that Aizawa is looking after another ‘trouble child’. “I’ll introduce the teachers to him later, when he has time to settle in. Go on ahead - second floor, last door on your right.”

Aizawa knows that door very well. He’s not surprised Nezu’s putting him there. “Alright. Come along little hermit, let’s get you settled.”

Izuku presses closer to him the further into campus they get. It nets him some strange looks, and Shota can tell by the tightness of the hand wrapping around his own that the boy really wants to bolt. He gently squeezes back. “Breathe,” he orders quietly. “Nobody’s going to hurt you. They’re all students, same as you. Relax, little hermit.”

Izuku glances over at him, and then around, and after a few second sucks in a quiet breath. Some of the panic ebbs back, but its still lurking.

“Good,” Aizawa praises. “You’re safe here. Remember that.”

Izuku gives an aborted little nod, but the small distance he puts between them speaks volumes.

They reach the room without much fanfare. Aizawa prepares himself for a reaction when he opens the door - he gets it too. Izuku sees the furniture, sees the particular decorations of the room that speak of personal touch, and says quietly, “I think we’ve got the wrong room.”

“No we don’t,” Aizawa gently urges him in. “This is my room. You’ll be staying here with me.”

“B-b-but–work…busy…don’t want to bother…”

“Izuku, chances are if we leave you alone, you’ll do the same thing you were doing. You won’t call on us if you need anything. This way, we can keep an eye on you, and help you if need be. And if it makes you feel any better, there’s two bedrooms in here, and I rarely ever sleep or do anything besides work. You’ll be fine.” He reaches out and gently ruffles the green curls. “Now come on, we should get you to Chiyo.”

Two of our party members - a halfling Invesitgator/Cleric (me) and a dwarf trapper - have found their way to a carnival on an island, which is, unsurprisingly, haunted. We’re currently making our way through a building, checking rooms as we go.

GM: You enter the room, and see a family slaughtered, their blood splattered on the walls. The blood spells out “Have fun!”

Me: So, I take it I can’t Cure Light Wounds on these people?

Sweaty Palms

Summary: “DESPERATE NEED: BASSIST. NO SHIT TASTE IN MUSIC. PLUS: BE HOT.” That was all the flyer had said along with a location. Eddie would usually never go to some random club to try out for a band full of people he didn’t know, but his therapist DID tell him to take some more risks. 

Words: 1,548

Hey guys, back at it again with the shit. 


Eddie had pulled the flyer off a telephone post close to his apartment and now he stood outside some sketchy looking club. He didn’t normally do this kind of stuff, but his therapist told him to try out new things every once in a while. This might have been a little too far, he didn’t know these people, they could be murderers for all he knows.

He looked over the flyer again, this was definitely the address it had listed. He reached out his hand to open the door before changing his mind.

“Nope, nope. This was a bad idea. Bad idea.” He turned around to leave, but nearly tripped over his own feet trying to avoid an oncoming collision with whoever had been standing behind him.

“O-Oh god I’m so sorry!” He squeaked out.

“No problem.” There was a pause in the gentle voice. “Oh my god, did you see our flyer?!”

Eddie locked eyes with one of the most beautiful girls he had ever seen. She pushed fiery red hair from her vision, absolutely beaming at the shorter boy. Before he could answer she took his hand, shaking it.

“I’m Beverly!” She motioned to the guy who was standing next to her. “And this is our manager, Ben.”

He smiled and shook his hand as well. “I mostly sell CD’s and T-shirts..don’t let her fool you.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, babe! We would never get gigs if it wasn’t for you!”

Eddie pulled his hand away, wiping it on his pants instinctively. His face going red as the two stared at him.

“S-sorry…it’s uh..a germ thing I’m getting past..” Great. He just met these people and he was already embarrassing himself, or worse, insulting them.

They both just laughed before Ben pat him on the back. “It’s alright dude..”

The two led Eddie into the club which opened with a tight hallway, posters and writing splattering the walls. This was the kind of place Eddie’s mom had told him to stay away from. If she had seen him now she might have had an aneurysm.

“So I know the flyer was a little off-putting, Richie is like that.” Beverly continued on like he knew what she was talking about. “We have a show coming up and our bassist just up and ditched, can you believe that?!”

Eddie nodded as he tried to pay attention to what she was saying, trying to shake the claustrophobic feeling that was creeping up his neck. He couldn’t stop hearing his mother’s voice.

What a filthy place! Get out of here Eddie-bear! Gross! Infested! Terrible!”

Eddie pushes the thoughts from his head as they make it into the main room. There was a bar set up to the right, and a seating area to the left. The space opened up in the middle, leading to the stage. The air was filled with tuning instruments and mic checks.

“Hey losers!” Beverly screamed so they could hear her. “We got somebody-!” She motioned like she was playing a bass and everyone’s faces lit up.

Soon Eddie was crowded by a group of people who had made their ways down the stage stairs, except for the dark-curly haired guy who had jumped with a large amount of enthusiasm.

Beverly started making a few mental notes. “Alright so you’ve met Ben..” She trailed off before deciding the order and continuing.  “This is Stan, he plays the drums. Mike here plays keyboard and does some backup vocals. Bill here is our tech guy, he’s amazing. You’ve met me..and uh-“ She’s cut off by the last boy as he wraps an arm around Bev’s shoulders.

“Is this kid even old enough to be in here?” Richie looked him up and down, a smirk on his lips. “They serve alcohol at most of our shows you know.” Eddie wanted to punch the stupid look off his face.

“I’m sorry but can you fuck off? I don’t need some guy, who looks like he just fell out of a Hot Topic, condescending me…and yes, I am old enough to drink.” There was a pause and Eddie almost regretted the words that came out of his mouth, until everyone burst out into laughter. Including Richie.

“Alight alright, what’s your name again?” Richie moved to wrap his arms around Eddie’s shoulders instead, leading him towards the stage.


“Great. Eddie, you seem great. But let’s see you play, huh?” The taller boy leapt up onto the stage. Damn that boy’s long legs. Eddie made his way up the stairs as Richie grabbed a guitar and readied his mic, the others getting into position.

“Just listen to us play a bit and see where your heart takes you, yeah?” Richie gave Eddie a wink and he hated how that made his chest tighten up a bit.

“So did you uh…bring your bass?” Mike rested his arms against his keyboard, lifting an eyebrow to the visibly nervous Eddie.

Eddie paused, then realization hit, he had been so nervous about even showing up that the thought of bringing his bass along hadn’t even occur to him.

“Holy shit are you serious?” Richie couldn’t hold back his laughter as Eddie buried his face in his hands, trying his best to hide his beet red face. He was so embarrassed.

“La-Lay off Rich, the guy’s n-nervous..” Bill had come on stage like some sort of angel, holding out a red and white bass to Eddie. “H-Here. You can u-use this o-one.”

Eddie carefully took it unable to hide the look of sheer thankfulness he was showing Bill.

“Thank you so much…I kinda feel like crawling into a hole.” Bill chuckled before ruffling Eddie’s hair.

“You’ll b-b-be fine.” He gave Eddie two thumbs-up off before leaving the stage and sitting with Ben to watch.

“Alright, let’s get this bitch rollin’!” Richie yelled out before him and the others started to play.

Eddie was floored. He was expecting them to be good, but now he was much more nervous. Beverly’s voice was amazing, not that he was surprised, but he was shocked by one thing. That thing was Richie Tozier. He was so full of passion, his voice booming over all the instruments. Eddie couldn’t pay attention, he could only watch the sweat from Richie’s forehead drip down his face, hair bouncing as he jumped around. He couldn’t take his eyes off of him, he was beautiful. He shook his head when he realized that he was supposed to actually be playing something, oh god this was a terrible idea, he didn’t know what to play.

Just play something, anything! Don’t embarrass yourself…you should have stayed home

Eddie could feel hot tears starting to build in his eyes. So caught up in this own thoughts, he hadn’t noticed the lack of Richie’s voice, until he felt hands on his cheeks. Eddie’s vision cleared and he was face to face with the taller boy.

“You alright?!” Richie yelled over the band that was still playing.

“I..I don’t..” Eddie could feel the tears again.

“Don’t think too much, Ed’s! Just play what’s in here!” He gave a goofy grin and placed one of his hands over Eddie’s heart. “You got this!” He was gone again, taking his place back at the mic and starting to sing again. Eddie tried to shake the blush from his cheeks. Richie’s hands had been so warm that he had completely forgotten about the sweat. He sucked in a deep breath, taking in the growling voice that was booming through the speakers.

He started to play. It was shaky at first but he found his footing after a bit, starting to sway to the music. Eddie had played for most of his life, but only for his teachers and his mom. This was new and electrifying. When Bev started to sing solo Richie made his way over to Eddie, still playing. He nodded his head, that huge grin still wide on his face.

Once the song was over, Eddie was nearly out of breath. He wiped sweat from his forehead and rubbed it into his pants.

“Ed’s my boy! That was actually way fucking better then I expected!” Richie slung himself over Eddie’s back, he could feel the other man’s sweaty shirt sticking to his back. Why wasn’t he more grossed out by this situation? Why did he feel so tingly all over?

“Don’t call me that..and uh..thanks for..the help.” There was another blush creeping up his neck.

“Eddie!” The others rushed over and Bill carefully took the bass out of Beverly’s path as she tackled the boy into a hug. “That was awesome! You are so one of the Losers now!”

Eddie looked around at everyone. The tightness was back in his stomach, but it wasn’t anxiety. It was something he hadn’t really felt before. He nodded and everyone cheered, Richie and Mike lifting Eddie into the air as best they could, Stan trying his best to spot incase they dropped the poor guy who was protesting this very loudly.

Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea


Nyrandrea here! So…I wrote a thing for @shinyzango’s Batim 2D AU. If you like the game and like cute, fluffy, inky stuff then please check it out!





The wooden hallway was dimly lit, the flickering lights weren’t helping at all. The walls were splattered with black ink. Why the Hell did he come to this place again?


Oh yeah, because his ‘pal’ Joey had decided to write to him after what, thirty years? It was completely out of the blue and the guy wasn’t even here, that should have been his first warning sign to leave, but something just…made him go in. Was it curiosity? Stubbornness? He honestly couldn’t even tell anymore.


“Huh?” Henry blinked and looked down to the piece of paper he was holding.

“Ugh” The small animated cartoon crossed his arms and tapped his foot in an annoyed manner. “Were you even listening to me?”

The man smiled nervously. “Sorry Bendy…What were you saying?”
Bendy sighed and shook his head. “It’s fine. Never mind.” He gave the grizzled man a worried frown. “Are ya alright? You seem pretty…distracted.”

As he continued to walk down the seemingly endless hallway, he glances up to check for any danger, his grip tightening on the axe in his other hand while doing so, before looking back down to Bendy again. 

“I’m fine. Just…tired is all.”

The small cartoon looked even more worried now. “Well you oughta rest then! There’s an office nearby that should be pretty safe-“

“No. We have to press on.” He interrupted as he turned a corner, walking into a large room. “Those ink…monsters are probably still around, we need to keep moving” 

Bendy didn’t seem pleased with Henry’s response. “Hey, you may be all macho tough but even you’ve got yer limits. You gotta rest, Henry.”

Henry sighed. He was normally a patient man but right now he was on edge, every shadow and ink splatter looked as though it was about to pounce on him and he was not in the mood to bicker.

“I said I’m fine.”


“Just drop it already!” He scowled down at the small demon, his hand gripping the paper slightly.

Bendy’s expression quickly went from worried, to shock and then to hurt. He looked down slightly.

“A-alright…” He said in a small voice.

The older man instantly regretted what he had done.

'Christ, Bendy’s only concerned for my welfare and I respond by being a complete dick.’ Henry thought to himself.

It was true, ever since he ‘met’ the small 2D drawing on the wall, the only thing he was concerned with was getting Henry through the workshop in the safest way that he could. Granted, it wasn’t entirely possible with the Searchers, the musician turned madman, Sammy and the other, more monstrous version Bendy in their way, but even then the demon protected him by absorbing the ink around him and emerging from the page as…well… as another monster, and it had scared the ever living crap out of Henry when he first saw the transformation, but now he was grateful for it.

Henry looked back down to Bendy, who was now sitting on the line that the man had drawn for him with his knees against his chest, looking a little sullen.
He sighed, he should apologize.

“Bendy, I-“

His eyes widened as he suddenly heard an unearthly screech, he quickly turned to look for the source when something wet slapped against his ankle and gripped hard. 


He went to swing his axe at whatever was on his ankle when it yanked forward, causing him to lose his balance and slam hard onto his back. 


The back of Henry’s head hit the wooden floor with a sickening thud, making his vision go blurry. There was also a constant ringing in his ears, he couldn’t make sense of anything for a few seconds.

That was all the Searchers needed.

They were instantly on him like a pack of wolves, their bodies slithering around him as they started to form a large puddle around him. The strong stench of the ink was unbearable.

He weakly raised his axe to strike back at them, but a dripping black hand reached out from the puddle, wrapped itself around the handle and wrenched it away from him, sending it flying down the corridor.

This was it then. This was how he was going to die. 

Henry breathed heavily as the ink formed around his body, he could still faintly make out their gaping mouths and hands forming out of the puddle, like some sort of horrific black abomination.

Wait. Bendy. Where was he? Was he alright? The piece of paper must have slipped out of his hand when he fell. Henry turned his head as best as he could despite the weight that was forming around his body, but he couldn’t see it. Maybe the paper had floated to a safer distance.

God, he hoped so.

Black was forming around his field of vision. The pressure of the ink mass was making it harder for him to breathe. 

'End of the line.’ The man thought to himself, smirking slightly to himself. ‘What a way to go.’

He closed his eyes as the Searchers fully consumed his body.

The moving had stopped.

‘Am…Am I dead?’ Henry internally questioned to himself.

No, that was far too quick. Did something happen? What made them stop?

Henry got his answer as he felt something large wrap around him and pull him upwards.

His eyes widen as he gasps for air, his vision was still blurry, especially now since ink was dripping down his face, but he could still hear the Searchers screeching and a very low, deep growl.

He felt himself being lowered to the floor gently before hearing an onslaught of loud thuds, agonized cries and screeches, and lastly, a sickening splatter. 

As much as he wanted to get up and see what was going on, he was simply too weak. His head was throbbing, his lungs ached and as much as he didn’t want to admit it, his age wasn’t speeding up his recovery as much as he would have wanted, so he simply laid there as the noise died down.

For a few moments there was silence, the only sounds that filled the room was his deep breathing and the slithering of something coming towards him.
He felt a large hand prod at him and a low whine.

Henry lifts his head slightly and opens his eyes a crack, smiling weakly when he sees the hulking head and single eye of Bendy.

“Heh…you saved me again, buddy.”

The eye lights up and the monster’s large grin widens as he makes a noise of what seems to be a mix of happiness and relief. 

Henry smirks and tries to pick himself up, only for his arms to buckle under the weight, his smirk quickly changing into a grimace.

“Damn it…!” 

He grunted as he felt two large inky hands carefully wrap around him and set him up against a wall. Looking up into the concerned face of Bendy, he feels even more shitty about the way he spoke to the demon before the attack.

“Hey, don’t worry about me…I’ve survived worse.”

His voice had a hint of doubt but this seemed to satisfy Bendy nevertheless, as the hulking ink mass turned his back to him to watch the room.

Henry narrowed his eyes in confusion at first but it soon dawned on him, Bendy was guarding him.

He frowned. He was grateful for the concern but he knew that this form that Bendy took had it’s limits, he couldn’t stay like this for long without consequences.

“Bendy…” Henry started. “You should go back onto your page.”

The only response he got was a grunt. The demon wasn’t budging.


“…I’m…I’m sorry about earlier…I shouldn’t have raised my voice at you…”

It was only slight, but Bendy tilted his head slightly towards him.

Taking a breath and looking down, Henry continued. “You’ve been… so damn dedicated to my safety and always put yourself at risk to save my sorry ass…and…you’re the only friend I’ve got down here. Yet I was still a complete jerk to you…and for that, I’m sorry. I…I really am.”

Bendy seemed to ponder this for a moment before fully turning to face the man, lowering his head to Henry’s level.

He blinked in a surprised manner when he felt a gentle, wet, inky bump on his forehead.

Did…did Bendy just nuzzle him?

The hulking demon raised himself back up to his full height, leaving a large black splotch on top of Henry’s face, and nodded.

All was forgiven.

Henry didn’t’ know what to say, so he simply nodded back in silent understanding. 

His aching body was starting to feel a tad bit better, but he was still too weak to stand, and Bendy knew this, so he resumed his guarding position, making Henry frown once more.

“Bendy…” He sighed. “Fine, if it makes you feel better. But only for five minutes, alright? Then you need to get back on the page.”

He didn’t get a response but he knew Bendy had heard him.

Sighing, Henry closed his eyes slightly and relaxed slightly for the first time in what seemed like days.

At least he knew he had a friend he could fully rely upon.


Was that angsty enough for ya? Maybe I could turn this into a series of one-shots? Let me know what y'all think!

My Lovely Assistant - Chapter 1 (Junkenstein Meihem)

“Be careful with that, you oaf! FRAGILE! Can’t you read?!…Oh wait, guess y’can’t. Still, be careful with it!” Dr. Junkenstein scrambled after the hulking form of his Monster, who was carrying an enormous crate in both bulky arms. The crate had arrived on a ragged looking delivery wagon late that night, and Junkenstein had become so excited that he had dragged the thing up two sets of stairs all by himself, before realizing his more muscular creation could carry it up the other nineteen.

Still babbling to himself, he swerved ahead of the hulking Monster and thrust a booted foot forward to kick open the door. The crate was finally delivered into its proper place in his upper spire labs, and was already drawing attention. Monster had stepped back and was eying it rather distrustfully, the zomnic prototypes scattered around the room all turned their heads, and even Scarecrow- one of his earliest and most useless tests at false life- had appeared to peek in another door, its glowing lenses whirring softly.

Junkenstein turned to face the massive crate proudly, hands on his hips. “Can’t believe it’s finally here! This here’s a game-changer, boys! Turns out it’s not just the Witch who’s taken a stroll on the other side and come back, ooooh no. There’s others out there who have defeated death itself. This one…This one is going to be invaluable to my studies. Not like you lot, or you…or especially YOU!” He pointed in a very accusatory way at Scarecrow, who covered its face with its spindly straw hands and started uttering weepy noises. Junkenstein summarily ignored it, waving a hand at Monster, who had reappeared next to his side with a crowbar. “Well, what are you waiting for?! Get it open! Get it open right now!”

The crowbar was jammed into the crate’s wood, pulling nails and sending splinters flying as the top was wrenched away. It clattered onto the ground nearby, and Junkenstein nearly dove into it, reaching his top half into the container as he began pulling away clumps of straw and cloth and soft cushions. With a shrieking “Ah-haaa!” he finally emerged a moment later, helping to prop up the form of…a woman? Though it was not a sort of woman that had ever been seen in a place like Eichenwalde before. She was a tiny thing, dressed in a strange purple foreign costume, her skin deathly pale save for the circles of rouge on her cheeks to give the illusion of lifelike rosiness. A domed hat with a feather lay perched atop her elaborate hair, and a scroll with strange markings lay across her face, almost obscuring her glasses. A pair of tiny fangs jutted over her pale lower lip. And she seemed to be quite…dead.

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