#fear street as vines

[sereneabyyss]

Ouija Board At Bat Gas (Dead On Main)

Bat Gas was an unfortunate little, dingy, abandoned gas station situated just outside of Crime Alley in an area where it couldn't be said to be part of The Alley, but was close enough that anyone not from there would never dare to fill up their tanks there in fear of getting mugged and none of the residents of Crime Alley ever bothered filling their tanks, if the car they were using ran out, most just simply jumped at the opportunity to steal another. Safe to say, the gas station hadn't lasted long in the business world.

Thus, it sat there, vines overgrowing the concrete flooring and winding up the empty fuel pumps. Like all abandoned things in Gotham, stories of ghosts haunting and wails of grief filled any conversation about Bat Gas. Many of the street kids liked to make dares out of venturing into the den and going so far as to touch one of the pumps. Risks of rubber bound vipers striking out, possessed by a vengeful spirit, only seemed to fill them with determination to complete the dares of their friends.

Perhaps those stories were what brought Jason Todd out at bat gas on December 25th, a Ouija Board in hand. The original plans to spend the holidays at the Wayne Manor had been scrapped with the raging of pits and glow of green eyes leaving every other member of his family walking on tip toes around him. Normally that would mean ditching Jason Todd for the comfort of Red Hood, except there were no issues in Crime Alley for Hood to take care of. Every bastard seemed to have scampered into hiding in time for the New Year. So, he was left as he was, a lost Jason Todd just looking for some way to ignore the mess of his life on Christmas Day.

So. He was going to use a Ouija Board to see if Bat Gas was actually haunted. What could he lose? His dignity if anyone stumbled upon him? He forsook that years ago.

Walking onto the cracked concrete, it was like an icy wave of contentment washed over him. Any lingering Pit Rage simmered beneath the surface before mellowing out completely. The knots in his chest unwrapped themselves and all that seemed left within him was a feeling of light-weightiness. Like the feeling when he was grappling between buildings and he was falling falling falling until the hook's line tightened and he was flying back up. He wasn't sure he had felt this way since the day he awoke half alive half monster.

(There was definitely something dead here. It was just so familiar. He would never be able to explain the feeling, but it was as if he was bathing in less angry Lazarus Pits.)

Danny perked up as the presence of a halfa (liminal? halfa? he couldn't tell exactly, something seemed off with both descriptions, but halfa was definitely the closest between them) entered the neat little gas station he had decided to make his temporary haunt.

He had decided to haunt the abandoned Bat Gas he had heard others talking about during Christmas, not wanting to deal with questions on why he didn't celebrate. (Seriously, after all the arguments every year and that one time with the possessed candy cane, he had given up any sort of Christmas Spirit he may have had before.) After visiting Mars last year on Christmas Day, he family had given up all hope of trying to get in contact with him for the entire day. So, he knew he would be free to haunt the cool looking gas station with no one hunting him down and trying to stick him in front of a tree with too many blinking lights and gaudy paper wrapping unnecessary trinkets he'll lose between his ribs after like three days.

But! There was a halfa entering his new haunt! And they were maybe ill! He had to see what that was about!

Peeking over the roof he was situated on, he watched as someone continued walking, something weird and rectangular looking in their arms. Tilting his head to the side, he slowly floated down, staying invisible as he took a peak at the stranger.

His eyes narrowed in on the rectangle object in the halfas arms. They placed it on the concrete, giving Danny room to finally look and- ohmygodwasthataouijaboard?! HE WAS GETTING OUIJA BOARDED! HE WAS SO GOING TO SHOVE THIS IN SKULKER'S FACE THE NEXT TIME THEY FOUGHT! THIS WAS EONS WORTH OF BRAGGING RIGHTS! HE WAS GETTING OUIJA BOARDED!

Silently clearing his throat, he sat in front of the halfa, allowing him to get a good look and... fuck, he was hot. Like, thighs that could absolutely crush a watermelon hot. Hair wind swept back with a little white etched into the front hot. A boyish, smugish, hottish face that just screamed danger hot. Hot enough this man could probably melt his ghost ice hot. Did Danny mention he was hot?

Maybe if his Christmases were always spent getting Ouija boarded by incredibly hot maybe halfas he'd have more Christmas Spirit. Santa, he knows you're real, send him this halfa again next Christmas and maybe he'll actually respect you.

The new halfa furrowed his eyebrows as he concentrated setting up the Ouija board properly and Danny almost fainted from how hot he was. Patting his cheeks sharply, he concentrated on the fact that he was getting to do his first Ouija Board! He had to look cool! He had to be smooth! This halfa was hot and Danny couldn't blow it!

"Oh Ghost who haunts this gas station, can you hear my voice?" The halfa called out and Danny had to hold himself together from freaking out over the man's voice. It was just perfect. It wasn't too harsh nor did it have the silken smooth feeling most liars had. It was gruff but in an experienced shit way. Oh my Ancients he could absolutely die once more and be the happiest ghost!

He giddily grabbed the little wood whatever-it-was-called in the halfas hand and slid it towards the YES option.

Jason blinked in shock as the planchette in his hand began moving without him forcing it. He had known something not quite alive was here in the gas station, but he hadn't expected it to actually be able to communicate. "I'm Jason, do you have a name?" Slowly, it began moving once more, spelling out P-H-A-N-T-O-M. Which, he wasn't necessarily expecting such a cheesy name, but it could have been worse... probably. "Nice to meet you Phantom. Why are you haunting Bat Gas? I don't recall there being any deaths here."

I-M B-O-R-E-D.

Yeah that was actually a fair enough reason in his books.

"Is there a reason you haven't passed on? Is something tethering you here?"

A-V-O-I-D-I-N-G P-A-P-E-R-W-O-R-K

Shit? There was paperwork in the afterlife? Maybe that was why he decided to come crawling back after getting dumped in the pits. Unfortunate that being a crime lord actually had more paperwork than being a Robin ever did.

Danny was vibrating so fast it looked like that time he ate lithium batteries (it was for science!). The halfa was still talking to him! He was keeping up an interesting conversation! Ouija boarding was so much fun!

"Can you turn visible? Or is that just something movies make up?" He wanted to see Danny! He was interested in what Danny looked like! Dropping his invisibility, Jason visibly startled taking in the sudden appearance before him.

"Hello! I'm Phantom!"

#dc x dp #dpxdc #danny phantom #jason todd #dead on main #danny is an absolute disaster #He's trying so hard to look good for the cute halfa #Jason was not expecting the Ouija Board to work actually #will I write more? who knows I sure don't

[skywitchmaja]

Things Continue to Happen: this movie is paved like a vine complication 😵‍💫

#in a good way ofc i have adhd i love vine compilations #pouring some vodka on some watermelon & starting part ii #fear street lb

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Homebound.

Pairing: Yandere!Childe x Reader (Genshin).

Word Count: 2.9k.

TW: Prolonged Imprisonment, Obsessive Behavior, Delusional Behavior, Mentions of Torture, There Is A Kid Involved But Childe Just Sorta Found It In The Woods, and Disturbing Themes.

[Part Two]

He would be coming for you, soon.

The sky was still dark, the stars still as bright as they had been in the dead of night, but the moon was beginning to sink below the horizon, the lampposts that lined the street below your apartment beginning to fade as their oil stocks ran dry. You’d been at your window since sunset, too anxious to do anything more than stare at the scrapes of landscape and, occasionally, glance towards the cradle behind you, where your Lina slept soundly, unaffected by your racing heart or gnawing nerves. It was for the best, as unfair as it felt that you would have to burden her fear as well. You did this so she wouldn’t have to suffer like you had, wouldn’t have to live under the suffocating care of a man with too much power and too little love in his heart.

You were doing this so she would never have to know what it was like to be a part of Childe’s family, and a toddler's cluelessness wasn't going to be the thing that made you give up.

With a shallow sigh, you tore yourself away from the window and brought yourself back into the reality of your cluttered apartment, hastily thrown into disarray after his visit that afternoon. As many of your possessions as you could account for had been ripped from their drawers and thrown from their cabinets, brought out into the open where you could take stock of what few belongings you had. There wasn’t much you needed, really. Any family heirlooms or beloved childhood trinkets had been lost the first time you escaped from Childe, but you filled your pockets with what little you still considered dear to you  - a rose-shaped pendant a kind stranger had gifted to you when you first arrived in Mondstadt, a flimsy ring of golden vines and miniature cecilias you had won at a booth during the last Windbloom festival, and lastly, the sphere of metal and glass as-of-yet unbound by any casing. Your Vision, as much as you hated acknowledging the damned thing’s existence.

 Your cloak was next, dark enough to melt into the shadows of the forest and long enough to drag against the floor as you tied it around your neck. A swab of shapeless, black fabric accompanied it, but before you made use of that, you found the powered sleeping draught a healer had given your sometime back, when the nightmares were still too vivid to be suppressed by exhaustion alone. Gritting your teeth, you spread a small portion of the lilac dust over the pad of your thumb, and approached the cradle.

It was a small mercy, really, that whatever resemblance Childe had seen in Lina was lost on you. She had reddish hair, but it was too light, closer to blonde than ginger. Her eyes, while blue, were brighter, more curious, more full of life than those of a man who felt nothing but bloodlust and obsession could ever be. She did not have her abductor’s freckles, his pale skin, and you were thankful each time you looked at her that you did not see Childe, that she would never be bound to him by blood or by likeness.

You could remember the day he brought her home, no more than a few months old and bundled in his blood-flecked coat. He’d made it out to be a miracle, as if the archons had descended from Celestia and laid the child that you had selfishly refused to give him at his feet. You’d already decided to run away by then, already started to plan how you’d escape his awful little cabin and his awful frozen nation, but Lina had forced you into immediate action. It was one thing to submit yourself to Childe, to play soft and innocent for another week while you prepared. You couldn't have left Lina in his care for any longer than absolutely necessary and still expected to be able to live with yourself.

That might’ve been why your heart ached as painfully as it did as you reached down, slipping your thumb past her lips and spreading the powder across her gums. She stirred, her expression souring, but you swallowed back your remorse as the sleeping draught took effect, as she relaxed and fell into a sleep too still to be natural. The guilt was nearly overwhelming, but you would have to stomach it. Whatever happened, she couldn’t wake up. Not before you made sure she was somewhere safe.

Steeling yourself, you pulled the cloak’s deep hood over your head, lifted Lina from her cradle, swaddled her body in the black fabric, and slipped out of your apartment and into the night.

--

Childe was in your apartment.

In your living room, sitting in your favorite (and only) armchair, bouncing Lina softly on his lap. You could hear her cooing as soon as you stepped through the door, see her sitting upright and gripping at the fingers of an offered hand, taste the apology you'd been practicing for taking so long at the afternoon market, but it took you a little longer to notice Childe, to process that he was here, in your house, holding your daughter. Like he had any right to. Like you hadn’t gotten away from him.

“I can already tell - she’s gonna be a fighter.” He was already grinning, already pushing himself to his feet. You couldn’t move, couldn’t run as he came to stand next to you, holding her against his side. “That’s our little Atalanta. Barely a year old and already shaping up to be such a fierce warrior.”

Atalanta. You’d almost managed to forget that Childe had given her a name of his own – a name fit for a hero, at that. Your Lina wouldn’t be a hero. She wouldn’t carry a name that demanded a place in the tales of adventures and on the tongues of storytellers. She would live a quiet, happy life in Mondstadt. the city of freedom. She would be great if she wanted to be, but she wouldn’t be a weapon. She wouldn’t be what he would’ve raised her into.

“She's growing like a weed, too.” And yet, you couldn’t seem to say that. You couldn’t seem to move. A hand fell to the small of your back, his smile taking on a softer drawl as he let his head lull to the side. “We’ll have to redecorate the nursery. I tried to keep up with all the milestones, but it’s been… how long? Nine months?” He paused, chuckled. “You kept me lonely, you know that? I didn’t even have our little Atalanta to keep me company.”

Something very large and very sharp lodged itself in the back of your throat. “Lina.”

Childe’s smile faltered. “What was that, dear?”

“Her name is Lina.” You were smart enough not to try and tear Lina out of his arms, but that did little to stifle the temptation. “You’re not welcome here. Get out and get away from my daughter.”

He let out a breathy laugh, pulling away from you and returning Lina to her cradle, unbothered by your meager threats. “You’re really going to be stubborn about this, huh? I let you go on your little trip, gave you more than enough time to live out your little fantasy in this rotting shack of a country, and you’re still going to be stubborn?” Another laugh, another faltering grin. He started towards you, careful to keep himself between you and Lina, but it was an unnecessary precaution. You were rooted to the ground, unable to move as he embraced you – wholeheartedly, this time, both arms wrapped around your waist as he pulled you off the floor and into his chest. You could feel his smoldering breath fanning over the side of your neck, his blunt nails burrowing into your sides as he fought to keep you as close as possible, but you did nothing to resist him. You weren’t going to fight him in front of Lina, no matter how much you wanted to claw at his face, to shove at his chest, to get him away from you. You weren’t going to make her watch that. “Come home. I’m only going to ask once.”

He hadn’t asked at all, but it would’ve been a waste of time to point that out.

“Are… are you going to hurt me, if I refuse?”

“Oh, sweetheart, I’m going to hurt you either way. You ran away from me. You stole my daughter.” Spoken softly, with more than a note of anticipation in his voice. “But, if you don’t put up a fight, I’ll try not to break anything that won’t heal.”

--

His subordinates were swarming the area around your apartment. They couldn’t wander openly, not with the attention their concentrated presence would draw, but you could feel their eyes burning into you from side streets and alleyways as you descended the narrow staircase, prying into you for a moment before moving onto their next target. They were looking for someone who fit Childe’s description – a sweet, doe-eyed thing carrying a child made from sunlight and laughter, not someone dressed for weather much more hostile than anything Mondstadt had to offer, trotting a formless heap of material. What interest your attire would’ve garnered dissolved completely as you joined a large group of passing drunkards, thrown out of their taverns and sent to stumble home at some unholy hour, too belligerent to do anything but welcome you into their numbers. It was a small blessing that you'd spent as much time in the taverns as you had, despite how little you cared for wine. There wasn't a barfly within Mondstadt's walls who would think to question your presence among them.

You followed them north, through the city’s commercial district, keeping your head low and Lina wrapped in your arms until you reached the gate to the eastern port. The drunkards continued on, but you remained.

It was deserted, as you thought it would be. You knew Fatui agents were posted at the city’s gates, waiting to catch you if you tried to flee this nation, too, but the eastern port wasn’t so eye-catching, wasn’t such a vital thing to guard when it came to blocking off the possible escape routes of runaway captives. Even if it hadn’t been so easily forgotten, it would’ve been a waste of men to guard. There was only one bridge over Cider Lake, and no one in their right mind would try to swim across, especially with a child in tow. Unless you could walk on water, the main gates were the only way in or out of the city.

Unfortunately for Childe, you weren’t as helpless as you’d been the first time he stole you away.

You followed the shore for as long as you could, until the city’s walls threatened to bend and reveal your position to the agents posted at the main gates. With no lack of trepidation, stepped onto the sand and reached into your pocket, taking up your Vision and holding it tightly in your clenched fist. The chill bit into your palm, unhindered by any casing, pure Cryo energy pulsing beneath the hazy surface of the glass. You hadn’t been able to look at it for weeks after you arrived in Mondstadt, and even after you’d started to overcome your aversion, it was hard to imagine a world wherein you could carry it proudly, where you could give such an awful thing the care and attention it’d take to learn how to use it properly.

Not that you had time to practice, right now. It was all you could do to give yourself a few seconds to catch your breath as you stepped out and onto the lake, the glassy water instantly freezing underneath your feet. A hairline crack formed across the surface as you shifted your weight onto it, but the ice held, and you let your shoulders slump, relief replacing a fraction of your anxiety. It was slow progress, each step hesitant and unsure, but you persisted, even as frost crept up the heel of your boots, even as a chill more pointed and more penetrating than any you’d felt before seeped under your skin and into the gaps between tissue and bone.

Even as, as much as you loathed to admit, you realized that the cold was not quite as unpleasant as you'd hoped it would be.

--

“But, if you don’t put up a fight, I’ll try not to break anything that won’t heal.”

You glanced towards the cradle, towards Lina as she struggled to sit up and started to look for her suddenly absent source of entertainment. It wasn’t good to lay her down so quickly, to leave her unattended while she was still awake, but once again, you doubted it’d be of any use to tell Childe that. “What’ll happen to Lina?”

“I’ll take care of Atalanta, obviously.” You could feel his lips against the curve of your throat, the points of his teeth against your skin. “I've had to wait months for this. Do you really think I’d neglect her now?”

You were more worried about how she’d turn out under his full attention.

But, you pretended to consider it, pressing your lips into a thin line and going quiet. After more than a few seconds, you brought your hands up to his chest – not shoving, but nudging gently, softening yourself into something delicate, something he’d be able to understand. There was a throaty, disappointed groan, a minute or so of resistance, but eventually, he lowered you back onto your feet, letting his hand fall to your hips. “I’ll come with you,” you started, slowly, deliberately. It hurt to say, the sentiment searing your throat and catching on your teeth. The fact that you, of course, did not mean a word you said was only a minor salve. “But, Lina deserves one last day in her home, and so do I. Give us until dawn tomorrow, then we’ll both come willingly.”

He bowed his head, falling far enough to let his lips brush against your forehead. He’d always thought of any distance between your body and his as an unnecessary frivolity, a luxury he wasn’t willing to give you. Apparently, your time apart hadn’t lessened his distaste for separation. “You know how pointless it is to run, right? The Fatui have every plank of wood in this city under surveillance, and my subordinates won’t be as forgiving with you as I am.”

“Please, Childe.” You lean into him, melting against his chest. He was a soldier, a warrior, not a diplomat. If you were sweet enough, if you spoke in a way that appealed to his delusions, then he would listen. “Just one more day. Then, you’ll have us for the rest of our lives.”

There was another squeeze to your waist, another lingering kiss to your forehead. “One day.”

There was no need to look at him as he pulled away. You could practically hear his smile.

“Then, you’re all mine.”

--

You made it to shore unscathed, but your trek through the forest was not so painless.

Each step was labored, made more impossible by the bundle in your arms, the weight of your cloak, the months you’d spend living in domestic peace. Your cloak snagged on every stray branch and boulder, your boots easily caught under roots and stray vines, and the darkness of the night only served to make each obstacle more unavoidable, more difficult to shield Lina from. Even holding your daughter was a challenge, once the adrenaline faded and exhaustion began to set in. Your arms ached where they had not already gone numb, and your chest swelted underneath the heavy fabric, more suited for Snezhnaya's eternal winter than Monstadt's ever-present summer. Resigning yourself to the main road would’ve cut hours off of your journey, but roads were patrolled, and you could not risk meeting another person – knight, adventurer, and agent alike. You didn’t have the time it would’ve taken to explain yourself, let alone pick a fight.

You travelled west, across the valleys of Windrise, through the most wilderness-infested outskirts of Springville. The sky was beginning to lighten by the time your destination came into sight, and with its purpose now obsolete, you shed your cloak and began to descend, taking your time to skirt down sheer rockfaces, to wad through the slow-running streams that webbed across the land. You navigated through the rows of wooden racks and grape vines, not yet in bloom, only letting yourself slow as dirt turned to cobblestone, as the mansion before you turned from a shadowed suggestion to a great, towering structure – secure in the sheer implication of its size.

Finally, finally, you came to a stop before the main entryway. It was all you could do to stand there for a moment, to stare up at the mansion and note all the minute differences between its face and that of Childe’s cabin. When you finished, you raised your hand and, with as much force as you could manage, knocked on the door to Dawn Winery.

A maid answered immediately, confusion turning to abject horror as she noticed the state of your clothing, the leaves and debris caught in your hair, the thousand or so tiny cuts and scrapes pleated over your arms and face. She opened her mouth, but you spoke first, unwilling to spend any longer out in the open than you already had. “I need to speak to Master Ragnvindr.”

She pursed her lips. “The young Master does not—”

“Concerning what topic?”

It was a masculine voice, coming from further down the hall. Somewhat begrudgingly, the maid pulled the door open, allowing you to see into the dim mansion. Diluc stood at the other end of the hall, half-dressed, a length of black ribbon in one hand and his hair gathered in the other. Clearly, you’d interrupted his morning rituals. “I’ve heard,” you started, unwrapping Lina’s bundling and praying that those long nights spent listening to the rumors that swirled in the deepest pits of the darkest taverns would serve you well. “that you do not hold much affection for the Fatui.”

His gaze flickered from you to Lina, to your trembling arms. With little hesitation, he approached you, meeting your eyes as he reached for your daughter. You gave a reluctant nod, and he took her up, holding her to his broad chest. “I've always preferred to keep less blood-stained company.”

“In that case,” You step across the threshold, allowing the door to fall shut behind you.

“How would you like to make a Harbinger very, very angry?”

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere oneshot #yandere genshin imagines #yandere genshin impact #genshin impact #genshin impact imagines #genshin imagines #yandere genshin x reader #genshin x reader #yandere childe #yandere tartaglia #childe x reader #tartagalia x reader #yanderecore #yancore

[poorwritingandstalecoffee]

don't let me go

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x reader

Summary: Y/n gets a concussion in the field but thinks nothing of the headache and later ends up in the hospital with a worrysick Emily.

Notes:

It’s been a hot minute since I’ve written fanfiction so if I’m rusty, just bear with me okay, and hopefully the burst of inspiration with last long enough me for to get back into the flow of things.

* Part 2 will be the ending probably.

Rating: 16+

Warnings: mentions of dizziness, headache pain, nightmare, and a very sad Emily (not forever though)

Word count: 1,638

It was supposed to be a regular Tuesday. That’s all.

You hadn’t intended any for this. The pain, the darkness, the silent, deadly suspension between life and death. The cold isolation from everything and everyone you loved—from her.

It just was supposed to be a regular fucking Tuesday. Where did it go wrong?

**

You couldn’t catch your breath; your lungs were on fire and pumping over time from the relentless running, running, running. Sweat matted the hair to your forehead and neck while your ponytail lashed at the wind and your arms and legs muscles screamed from the exertion. You didn’t feel it, though, not with the adrenaline and anger coursing through your bloodstream and the news that a 7-year-old girl’s life was hanging by a thread in a hospital bed and five more lay dead in the morgue because of the motherfucker.

You couldn’t stop. You knew if you did, he would disappear from your radar only to pop up 2-3 years later with the flashing headlines of another murder taunting and screaming at you from a pixelated screen for letting him get away.

So you kept running and running and running. Down street after street, Derek and Emily running perpendicular to you, and the rest of the team split into two cars coming from other directions.

Hotch was giving you orders, and the comms line was buzzing with information from the rest of the team as they tried to predict which direction he would turn next.

But you didn’t hear any of it; it was all white noise, with your surroundings blurring into flashing colors. You were the closest to him. So close you could nearly reach out and touch his shirt collar. So you gritted your teeth into near pain and pushed your tired limbs to go just a little farther, just a little faster.

Your lungs screamed because you hardly had any breath left to give, but you didn’t care—you nearly had him dammit.

Just. A. Little. Farther. And at the last second, without even thinking of it, without feeling a thing… you jumped. Careening toward him, clasping around his torso with an iron grip, you sent both yourself and the unsub flying in a mass of limbs through the street.

Your body smashed against the gravel and rolled with your head slamming into the concrete…but you never let go because you had him dammit. And you didn’t feel a thing.

**

“Y/n!!”

“Y/n! Hey, wake up!”

You jolted awake and flinched away from the warm hand on your already burning body. You couldn’t see a damn thing in the dark, and the air wasn’t reaching your lungs because part of your exhausted mind thought you were still back there—in the dream that wasn’t a dream but a faster and more truthfully terrifying version of the reality you faced the day before.

The sheets were becoming twisting, confining vines around your legs. You still couldn’t breathe right, and the shadows in your room were morphing into ghouls and demons that only caused the sweat on your body to run cold with quickening fear.

Just as you were making up your mind to run, a light flicked on, and a familiar face came into your hazy vision.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. It’s me, it’s Emily.”

Briefly, you looked at her with trepidation before your mind finally caught up with you, and your crumpled look of fear and confusion relaxed.

“Em.” Sighing, you fell back into your sweat-soaked pillow and closed your eyes while the first breath since waking up eased into your tired lungs.

Emily lightly brushed the matted hair from your forehead and looked at you with concern and solemnity. Because she knew this would come, had learned to expect it not just with you but herself also. After years of fighting the flesh and blood monsters, the imaginary ones would come to take their place until those two could be conquered.

“Deep breaths, angel. That one was rough,” she said while rubbing your arm gently. She would never admit it to you, but it scared her to see you like this.

Your eyes were still closed to try and stop your vision from spinning, but you could hear the soft tremor in her voice. “Hmm, oh, I don’t know. I give it a 4—you pulled me out of it pretty quickly, huh?”

“You still haven’t caught your breath, though, nor opened your eyes.”

At that you did look at her. Slowly, you let your eyes wander over her face: the telltale wrinkle of worry between her brows, the adorable bed hair that she would never stop arguing with you about how it is, in fact, not cute; the soft, flushed cheeks that you can’t help but want to kiss every second of the day; those completely kissable lips that are pressed into a frown; and finally, the endlessly beautiful dark brown eyes that could hold a thousand emotions at once and whose depths you could happily become transfixed by and lost in for eternity.

You looked at her with a familiar comfort and love that is as old as time itself. The kind of love that could cross time and space to reach two people who will continually find one another in every lifetime, in every universe.

“I’m okay, Em. I’m here with you, so I’m okay.” You reached for her hand, kissed her palm, and placed it against your chest so she could feel for herself.

Emily laid back down next to you and let her hand feel the steadying of your heartbeat. Moving her eyes over the plains of your face, she still marveled at how beautiful, strong, and human you were. After nearly two years together, she still was amazed at how much she loved you, at how you could continually make her feel like the most important person in the entire world, at how alive and human you could make her feel after years of feeling numb and cold to the world because of her demons.

“You’re okay. We’re both okay,” she said quietly. Without taking her eyes off of you, she turned off the lamp and pulled you closer to her.

“I’m still sweaty–”

“I don’t care. Let me hold you, please.”

“Okay, Em.”

She could feel you smiling against her neck, and she kissed the top of your head before burying her nose in your hair. Sighing in relief, she let herself be lulled back asleep by your soft breathing, because you were okay.

Right?

**

Later that morning.

“I still think you should go in—at least to get some stronger painkillers than fucking ibuprofen.”

“Emily, I’m fine,” you sighed in exasperation. You knew her worrying would only increase; it always does for either of you when something like this happens. “I got checked out yesterday, remember? And the headache will pass. It went away yesterday, and it’s going to go away today. Just give the pills time to work.”

You could see your words weren’t getting through to her with the way she was watching you like you would drop dead right in front of her. Her fingers were fidgeting already, and you knew she was fighting with herself not to start biting them.

Grabbing her hand, you rubbed soothing circles into her palm. “If it gets worse, I’ll tell you and will go, kay?”

Emily stared at you for five more seconds, letting the colors of your eyes, the feeling of your hand in hers, and your soft smile ease the stuttering, painful feeling in her chest before giving in. She pulled you back into her embrace, leaned back into the couch with you, and exhaled into your shoulder. “Okay…”

**

Five, ten, fifteen minutes into the movie that was playing, you could still feel her eyes on you—watching you for any signs of pain or discomfort. And to be honest, you could feel the headache creeping into unbearability and part of you hated both the headache and your body for falling out of your control.

The stabbing pain escalated to explosions across the back of your brain, the characters on the TV blurred in your failing vision, and you could feel the dizziness slowly clouding your senses.

“Alright, fine, let’s go.”

Emily’s breath hitched because you are always an inch more stubborn than she is, and if you're giving in, then it’s real this time, and no matter how many times you get hurt during a case, she will never be ready for it.

Slowly exhaling, she whispered, “I’ll get the keys and let the hospital know we’re coming,” because to say it any louder is like solidifying your pain into reality.

She lightly kissed your forehead and went to the kitchen to call the closest ER. You could hear her talking in the other room, and even that was becoming increasingly unbearable as the headache worsened.

Breathing in unsteady but measured breaths, you slowly stood and walked to the foyer where your shoes were, and just as Emily came out of the kitchen, you glanced up at her, and time slowed.

The explosive headache pain swallowed your mind, and black dots sporadically burst into your vision. You could feel the strength leaving your muscles, the sound of her voice escaping your ears, and for the first time since waking from your nightmare earlier that morning, you were terrified again. Your body felt so weightless and heavy at the same time—like you might fall through the floor or float up into space without a single tether to your life with Emily.

Slowly, you watched your hand limply reach out to her before the growing black dots finally swallowed your vision, and the last thing you saw was the look of terror on Emily’s face as she dropped her phone, screamed something you couldn’t hear, and ran to catch your body before it fell to the floor.

#michelle's works #emily prentiss x reader #criminal minds #emily prentiss #emily prentiss x female reader #emily prentiss x y/n #emily prentiss x you

[th3casscad3]

Alastor x reader but hades and Persephone style where reader spends 6 months in hell and 6 months on earth/heaven

As The Seasons Change. Alastor X G!N Reader.

Warnings: Based On Hades X Persephone. Abusive Relationship, Forced Marriage, One-Sided Love, Slow Burn, Curses, Soul Collecting. Part 1 -

You Were A Gentle Soul, Kind Hearted, Brave, Curious. You Were Walking Around The Street Of New Orleans When You Discovered A Run Down Radio Building. It Wasn't In Horrible Condition, But It Was Abandoned. So, You Decided To Take A Look Around. As You Were Looking You Found Lots Of Pictures And Awards Of A Man Named "Alastor" The Date, 1930's. Intrigued By This Long Forgotten Radio Host, You Came Back Everyday To Learn More About Him. Going Through His Office And Reading Up On Him Through The Internet. You Were Fascinated. One Day, You Stumbled Upon A Clock You'd Never Seen Before In His Office. It Was Brown And Shaped Like A Spear. It Had Green Vines Wrapped Around It. It Looked New? You Decided To Check It Out. You Read The Name On It "Alastor, The Radio Demon" " Radio Demon..? That's New..? " You Took A Closer Look At The Radio, When Did It Get Here? Why Was It Here? You Had So Many Questions. After You Typical Day, Roaming Around The Abandoned Building You Decided To Take The Radio Home With You. You Placed It On Your Bedroom Dresser. That Night, You Heard Strange Static Noises Come From The Radio. You Woke Up Only To Find The Radio Was Glowing. More Curious Than Fearful, You Got Out Of Bed And Walked To The Radio. When You Touched It You Found Yourself Falling. Falling. Falling. You Fell On Your Rear With A Thud, You Winced And Rubbed Your Bottom Before Your Eyes Shot Open And Looked Up. You First Saw Shoes, Then Black Pants, Until You Were Looking Face To Face At A Strange Creature, No Man. Wait? Where Am I?! You Frantically Scurry Up And Stumble Slightly, Looking Around AT Your Surroundings, Your Appearance Itself Had Changed. You Start To Panic When The Man With A Microphone Shaped Cane Tapped You On The Shoulder. "Calm Down, My Dear. I Will Explain Everything! Please, Do Take A Seat" The Man Points His Cane To The Nearby Chair. Out Of Natural Reaction, You Sit Down In The Chair And Fumble With Your Claws? You Were Cut Off By The Man Again. He Simply Chuckled And Twirled His Cane. "Darling, Do Relax. Stress Doesn't Look Good On You. My Name Is Alastor, The Radio Demon. But You May Know Me As Alastor, The Radio Host." "I Know You May Have A Lot Of Questions. So Let Me Start By Saying This. You, My Dear, Are In Hell. No, You Are Not Dead. But, You Do Belong To Me Now, In The Sense Of When You Touched That Radio, You Sold Your Soul Over To Me. " Alastor Grinned. " What Do You Mean You Own My Soul? How Did You Know About Me? Were You The One Who Sent The Radio? " You Asked, Slightly Curious, Slightly Amused. You Had Calmed Down, Adjusted To Your New Form, It Felt Like It Was Just Memorized In The Back Of Your Head. You Looked Down At Your Hands And Saw An Engagement Ring! "Wait! What's This??" Alastor Let Out A Amused Chuckle. " Oh Ho Ho! I See You've Noticed Your Binding Ring. You See, Ive Been Watching You Through My Items At The Radio Building, Like A Curse. And Boy, You've Caught My Eye. So, I Left Little Items For You To Discover, Such Entertainment. So, When You Touched The Radio And Sold Your Soul Over To Me, I Decided To Claim You As More Than A Mere Pet. You Will Be My Spouse And Forever Entertain Me! " You Gave Him A Dumbfounded Expression That Soon Turned To Worry. " What About My Life!! You Said I Wasn't Dead! Cant I Go Back Up To Earth! I Have Family And Friends!" You Were Now Angry, Who Was This Man-Creature Thing To Tell You That You Were Bound To Him For Eternity. " They'll Forget About You Soon Enough. Worry Not, You Pathetic Reader. Smile, You Know You're Never Fully Dressed Without One. But, I Suppose For Your Binding To Me, I Can Compromise... 6 Months Here In Hell, You Must Keep Me Entertained. Then I'll Allow You 6 Months Back On Earth, So You Can Bond With Your Little Family And Friends. " He Scoffed But Kept His Grin On His Face, Twirling His Cane As He Stuck Out His Hand. " Do We Have A Deal.? " " Deal. "

#alastor #alastor x reader #alastor x y/n #hazbin hotel alastor #radio demon #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction

[red-riding-wood]

Yellow Light

Pairing: Jonathan Crane x F!Reader

Summary: Jonathan is your guide as you escape Arkham Asylum.

Based off the song "Yellow Light" by Of Monsters and Men (original version here and acoustic version here). This song is really special to me and helped me brave my heart surgery in August. A lot of this fic is a projection of my own experiences, trauma, and health issues over the past several years -- but Arkham can represent absolutely anything you want it to that you or the character is trying to escape.

Song lyrics are in bold.

Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, depictions of PTSD (hospital trauma specifically), drug addiction/use, psychosis, hallucinations, fear of death, blood.

Will also use similar themes to my upcoming series "Darkness Until Dawn" and OC Cassie Hart but this is a standalone x reader fic.

I also feel like Crane might come across a bit OOC in this fic because he's in an established relationship with the reader and he's in a comforting role, but I promise I have some very fucked-up stuff for him coming up where he's an absolute menace.

WC: 3309

Sounds of Hell threaded themselves into the night air. Howling, bleating, baying down the streets. Whispering thoughts of death into your ears. Thoughts that formed into icy talons that raked down your spine, that stirred goosebumps along the bare flesh of your arms. That froze you in place, your heart slamming against your ribs as they tethered you to the cold concrete like vines.

Frantic looks cast to your left, to your right, you turned, stumbling over your own feet as you whirled, the darkness of each alleyway sinking into your soul. Staring back at you as if to say, you cannot escape me.

I’m looking for a place to start. Everything feels so different now.

Which way was out? Which way was back there? Back to the dingy halls of Arkham, the acrid stench of spoiled cafeteria food, the howling of patients that still seemed to echo back to you from the alleys.

The maw of a great beast parted, razors of teeth glinting silver in the dark, stretching from one brick wall to another. Hurtling towards you, wisps of black smoke emerging from the darkness and curling round you like hissing tongues. The roar started as a peal of thunder, and ended as a shockwave, razor teeth shattering into glass as the beast collided against your skull. Dizzying waves sent the world spinning, brought you to your knees before the Devil himself.

She’s good as dead.

The beast’s maw burned hot as hellfire, breathing smoke into your aching lungs, ripples of molten lava racing beneath your skin. Teeth tore into your shoulder as your hand met the ground, shaking fingers settling into the grooves of the concrete like cold tiles. Death’s talons wrapped around your throat as a cry twisted from your larynx, pointed nails morphing to scalpels and tearing down your sternum, splitting open your ribs and baring your bleeding heart.

Crimson freckled the concrete, splatters of your blood landing hot and thick against the back of your hand as cold washed over each limb, the darkness creeping in from the corners of the alleys. You reached your free hand to your forehead, and nearly cried out again in pain, but you couldn’t speak; something sharp wedged itself between your fingers, something sticky attaching webs of hair against your clammy palm.

Your hand came away with a shard of glass protruding from the stretch of skin between your fingers, red dribbling down flesh too pale to be living.

Your stomach buckled, and you curled in on yourself, eyes rolling to the back of your throbbing skull and voices pouring in like a tide.

Get back here! She’s running. Running away. Where does she think she’s going? She’s not going anywhere. She can’t escape us. You can’t escape us.

Patients rattled the bars of their cages, threw themselves against their padded walls. Screeched warnings and mournful wails and haunted cries into the stale air of the hospital, into the icy chill of night.

Fingers seized into talons as they closed around your ears, attempting to block out the noise as it built into a terrifying crescendo, wails and whispers melding together as if the darkness were mocking you but the chill that swathed your impotent form reminded you of your isolation.

GET OUT! your lips parted to say but fell silent upon the words of the damned. Let me go. Let me go, let me go.

Warmth brushed your shoulder, and you blinked saline from your eyes, streaking salt down your lip, dampened hair falling over blurry vision as you looked up to the hand held to you in the darkness. The white cuff of a shirt disappearing beneath a black suit.

Just grab hold of my hand. I will lead you through this wonderland.

And his voice, soft and warm and human, cut through the noise. Hollowed a path through the tunnel of voices and breathed life into lungs that gasped for air. Sent a tremble of fear through death’s icy talons and made the demons crawl back into the earth.

I’m here, he said.

You couldn’t straighten your claw-like grip as it brushed the warmth of his hand, but his fingers entwined in yours and the glass split his palm and bled over your knuckles and he pulled, your shoulder screaming in pain and your legs wobbly beneath you, but you stood.

Your fingers balled into a fist, the touch of his hand dissolving like a pill in water, like sutures that held you to together for one moment only to leave you in pieces, scarred and bruised and broken. For a moment, you thought you’d fall again.

Faintly, a glow emerged from the blackness, silhouetting the lazy fall of a feather, so tranquil in contrast to the tendrils of ink black that writhed in your peripheral. You swiped a hand out to the feather, its softness akin to his hand, but the voices hissed at you to look up.

The jagged peaks of the skyscrapers groaned above, folding in across the dim sky and curling into black tides that came crashing around you as pressure mounted in your skull.

The darkness devoured you. 

Water up to my knees. But sharks are swimming in the sea.

The ocean came flooding in around you, dampness seeping into the cuffs of your trousers, rising as the blackness pressed in around you. Ahead, the light glinted yellow, casting a thin line of white against the waves. The feather bobbed along the surface, chased by current that now buffeted the backs of your knees.

One foot placed before the other, you waded through the water, each step weighing heavier than the last. Each time, the light ahead grew just a little brighter, though the sides of your vision darker.

Wretched creatures began to emerge from the darkness, hissing and snarling and reaching for you in tendrils of smoke and ink. Gravity began to pull you downward, the current guiding you forwards as the alleyway morphed into a tunnel, and the voices of the underworld rang louder in your skull as you descended into the bowels of the city.

She’s heading into the darkness. The rot.

A giggle, echoing against the walls of the chamber that reeked of all things barren and desolate. Her mind’s a disease.

The reach of death grew thick here, in twisted ropes and vines that swallowed the arched ceiling, that bore down on you like snakes and streaked through the sea like eels of tar, the water itself no longer seeming so heavy in comparison as they engulfed each limb. Tightening. Shuddering.

She can’t get very far. She’s killing herself.

She has to. She has to live.

The voices were starting to argue.

Some were even voices you knew; they came to you past the iron bars nestled into pockets of your memories, depressions in the walls – people you’d known in that awful place cried out to you, cursed you, their faces fuzzy but still recognisable even in the darkness. Fellow souls trapped in the place that knew not of the sun’s warmth against your skin or the whistle of freedom through the wind.

Look. Look, girl.

Your brow furrowed, and your eyes scanned the darkness. With each face they landed on, the symphony of wails seemed to spike in volume along to the frantic thud of your heart, the little weaving line of a monitor etching itself across your mind’s eye.

Not there. No, not there.

Can’t she feel it?

It’s too late. The rot has her.

Soon it will reach her soul.

Your heart came lurching to a burning throat as the waters stirred and a creature emerged from their murky depths, slivers of metal protruding from its back before it disappeared, for half a moment resembling the wicked tips of syringes that still pricked your swiftly numbing skin.

Tearing your hands from the water, you froze, paralysis seeping in to every pore.

Ink tendrils snaked across the pallor of your flesh. From your fingertips to your elbows, the rot had taken you. It tightened round your forearm, your fingers turning completely numb.

You screamed.

Shhhhh, he soothed. Just come to me, darling. I’ll make it all better.

“JONATHAN!” Your mangled cry turned into something intelligible, the name sweet like honey on your tongue despite the bitterness of bile at the back of your throat.

Just follow my yellow light. And ignore all those big warning signs.

You began to slosh through the water, seeking him out in a frenzy, your teeth gritting as the walls of your skull began to cave in, as the rot spread to your shoulders and turned the water to pitch.

And at last, you saw him. Like the feather, silhouetted by the light, but unmistakably him. He paused, looking over his shoulder, strands of his black hair wisping this way and that. His face was shadowed, the sockets of his eyes black. The frames of his glasses glinted silver in the dark, like the teeth, the scalpels.

And he disappeared round the corner that twisted, walls shifting and shuddering as if forming a maze for a path.

Death’s icy fingers pried their way beneath your skin as the cold seeped past your blood and bones and settled somewhere deep inside the dwindling warmth of your soul. Freed from the water at last, you turned the corner and raised a rot-wreathed hand to the light fractured by a criss-cross pattern that reminded you of the bars of the asylum’s gate.

And the damp air became dry and musty, and the sewers morphed into dingy halls, alabaster wallpaper peeling back to reveal the black rot. Your pace quickened as these walls closed in, groaning with curses of the damned.

Just a little farther, the soothing, slightly-lilted baritones of his voice encouraged you on, but every turn you made down the narrowing halls, he managed to evade you, disappearing just out of reach. At the end of each hallway, what must’ve been a sewer drain and not a gate yawned from the blackness, little pockets of light stretching wider with each turn.

The feather crunched beneath your toes.

Fingers wrapped around the bars of the gate, and the hinges squealed as it swung open, your feet slotting into indentations along the walls as you desperately attempted to pull yourself up.

Warmth made you shiver in your cold sweat, and whispers funnelled into thin threads and lay buried beneath the ground as his hand met yours. In the faint glimmer of the light, you witnessed the rot dissipate, chased away by his touch. Purified.

“Jonathan,” you breathed, pulled flush to his chest, the mint of his breath raking across your lashes and the familiarity of his musk inhaled deeply through flared nostrils. You buried your face in his wrinkled tie and dress shirt and sobbed, your tears still tasting like saline. You savoured this moment, trembling beneath his touch, his hand petting the back of your dampened hair. You pulled away only as he hissed in pain.

“Jonathan, I’m scared,” you whimpered, guilty that you had seemed to wound him but caring only for sanctuary in this moment in which you knew nothing but fear. “Please don’t leave me. I’m so, so scared.”

“I know you are,” he said, squeezing your shoulder. “But you have to keep going.”

“Where? Where are you taking me?” You stared into the hollows of his eyes, still pitch black past the glint of those silver frames. Why couldn’t you properly see him? Could he see you? Was he just another shadow, a trick of light on the wall?   

Somewhere deep in the dark, a howling beast hears us talk.

Sirens wailed from the alley behind, and your blood ran cold. Jonathan stepped away, his touch tearing from yours almost painfully. Like he’d left the shards of glass in your palms.

“Don’t let them take me!” You pleaded, stumbling forward through the darkness. “I can’t go back! I can’t! COME BACK!”

She’s so afraid. So pathetic. She can’t do this without him.

The light grew in intensity, tinted more gold now than yellow, bathing the walls in a soft glow as they drew impossibly close, tapering the air in your lungs, building the pressure against your temples until your shoulders sagged under the weight of fatigue and white-hot fire cleaved your skull in two.

Jonathan paused, and turned. “Close your eyes,” he told you. “It’s not so dark here when you embrace it.”

I dare you to close your eyes. And see all the colours in disguise.

“NO!” You screeched, afraid that if you so much as blinked, he’d disappear, and you’d be lost to the darkness forever. You lurched forward on your heel, wedging yourself between the shuddering walls that closed in around you, following the same – and only path – he had taken. Turning sideways, you gulped in a breath of air, fingers scraping madly against the brick walls as the tide beginning to pool again round your ankles. The sky collapsed, pinning you, forcing your only breath from your lungs and snapping your ribs around your stuttering heart.

She’s gone. She won’t make it. She can’t reach him.

The air grew stuffy, stale. Your own breath bounced off the walls and flushed your cold, tear-streaked cheeks.

“Just trust me,” Jonathan said. “Just let go.”

Running into the night. The earth is shaking and I see a light.

With the darkness claiming you and the ground beneath you quaking with wrath, the howls of the damned echoing through a familiar hall, the world swaying on its axis, you had no choice but to suffocate your fear, to shutter your eyes closed on the light that seeped through the crack in the walls, warm against your skin in the cold dread of night.

She’s giving up.

She’s fighting.

She wants to die.

She wants to live.

The yellow-gold exploded across the backs of your eyelids, streaking like fireworks along the pitch black. Your skull still throbbed in pain, and your lips parted, the sound of a window banging against old hinges as death whispered to you through the alleys, the sewers, the hallways.

Next time.

Jonathan’s touch met your clammy palm, and the world fell silent, the walls disappearing around you and the emptiness of air spilling around your limbs.

I’m here, he reminded you.

The light is blinding my eyes, as the soft walls eat us alive.

Your eyelids peeled back to reveal the checkered, rose pattern of your wallpaper, the bright fluorescents of the bathroom, the blue eyes that bore into your own past silver frames. Slivers of ice encroaching on ink black pupils, cold and calculating yet echoing a familiar warmth.

He loosened the makeshift tourniquet from your arm, pins and needles racing from your fingertips to your elbow. A syringe of your favourite poison lay on the bathroom tile, beige powder swirling in a sea of saline.

“Come back to me. Come back to me, please,” he begged, as if for this moment alone, he allowed himself to believe in the higher power you knew he cursed.

Water seeped into your clothing like the sea of pitch, spilling from the bathtub that you had left on. It carried little rivulets of crimson around a minefield of glass. He didn’t seem very concerned with turning it off right now, despite always bitching at you about saving electricity or water. His eyes were on you, and only you.

“Jonathan,” you mumbled weakly, though you thought you screamed; your eyelids fluttered and your heart pounded faster in your chest as the darkness threatened to spill across your vision again. Your nails dug past the fabric of his suit, gripping his arm tight so that he could never let you go.

“I’m here,” he breathed, and reached his other hand around your neck to cup your head, to bring you forward. You glimpsed the white ceramic of the bathroom sink, bloodied where you’d tried to steady yourself with your hand after you’d bashed your skull against the mirror – your ineffectual attempt to cast the demons out. Glass shards lay scattered against the tile. Fragments of your broken reflection.

You still remembered the haunted look you’d hoped to banish from your eyes.

“You have to get your head out of that place,” he murmured against your scalp, his fingers bloody and sticky as he brushed shards of glass from your hair, seemingly immune to the pain. “You’re not in hospital anymore. You’re here. With me. You have to come back to me.”

Your lower lip trembled. “I can’t escape them,” you admitted, voice a mere whimper. “I can’t escape it. You’re here to take me back, aren’t you? You’re gonna lock me up.”

For a moment, you really thought that he might; his palm still rested, warm and bleeding, against your cheek, but his cold blue eyes studied you not as his lover but as his patient, assessing your condition. He sighed, as if disappointed. Shame crawled its way beneath your skin like the cockroaches that had infested the asylum’s lower wards. You had always been so desperate for his approval, he rarely saw this side of you since your rehabilitation. It wasn’t until slivers of ice shattered into twin pools of blue fire that relief began to seep into you, slow and warm but whelming.

“No. No, I’m not,” he said, voice gentle, soothing. Blue eyes glanced to your head again. “Though, you are showing symptoms of a concussion…”

Your heart sped in your chest, and the icy talons of death speared your soul, the darkness hedging the borders of your vision. Innerved by your fear, you reached for the bottle of tiny white pills that lay open, haphazard next to you. But the warmth of his hand left your face, and your fingers clenched around nothing. In a blur of movement, Jonathan threw the bottle at the toilet and it clattered against the back of the seat. You jolted, gasping, wincing as the jagged teeth of the beast sliced through your clothing.

“You prescribed me those,” you told him. “They’re supposed to make me better. You said so yourself.”

“I’ll fill you a new prescription tomorrow. Taper you off. They were no good for you,” he said, and laced his fingers through the bloodied locks of your hair. Pulled your forehead to his so that your breaths became one, and the demons in your skull grew muffled, and his warmth chased away the icy touch of death.

“What am I gonna do?” you whimpered, sobbing, hands grasping feebly at whatever you could grab hold of – his sleeve, his tie, his collar. You felt as if your soul, your mind, were laying in fragments around you like the glass, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t piece them back together. “I just want to be free. I just want to be okay.”

“I know.” He inhaled, closing his eyes, and his grip tightened on your hair, scalp stinging slightly at the almost needy action. Like in this moment he was more afraid of losing you than you were him.

Even he thinks she’s a lost cause.

And Jonathan was never one to utter false truths; because you knew this about him, his silence unnerved you. But finally, after what could’ve been hours or minutes of your pitiful sobbing and the endless drone of the tub, the trickling of water against the tile, he said,

“I’ll be right here, darling. All you need to do is take my hand.” The warmth of his palm slotted into your own, and you wove your fingers so tight that your knuckles turned white around the blood that trickled down both your wrists from the jagged glass that barbed your flesh. A seal. A pact.

“I will see you through this,” he said. “All of it. I promise.”

MASTERLIST • REQUEST

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#jonathan crane #jonathan crane x reader #jonathan crane x you #scarecrow x reader #jonathan crane angst #jonathan crane imagines #jonathan crane fanfic #jonathan crane fic #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy x you #cillian murphy fanfic #cillian murphy #nolanverse #arkham #the dark knight #dc #batman #s: yellow light

[home-of-renn]

Can you imagine if Amity Park were a place that got a lil messed up from the effects of the portal and the land itself became liminal?

The animals become far more in tune with ghosts and thus have less fear of humans. Now they tend to wander into town and people have to watch out for deer that wander across the roads and birds that nest low to the ground and way too close to the footpath. Cats no longer hiss at passing shadows or wandering spirits, and dogs no longer bark nor growl at passing strangers - only those who come from out of town.

The flowers grow curious and wild. Larger and thornier and wholly untamed. Abandoned buildings are quickly overrun by trailing vines, vibrant moss, and the expanding fringes of the untameable wilds that surround the town. The most beautiful blossoms bloom in the presence of shuffling mourners and weeping widows. Petals scatter the surface of freshly unearthed soil and the air is filled with an intoxicating fragrance that carries on the wind, laced with a siren's call. The cemeteries of Amity have never been so inviting.

After all, death cannot exist without an abundance of life.

Shadows flicker and move when they shouldn't. Alleyways lead to abrupt dead ends and sudden curves. An evening stroll can take you down winding labyrinths that'l lead you to the other side of town despite having walked in the opposite direction.

Something's made it's home in the woods surrounding Amity and no one knows what it is, only that it shouldn't be disturbed. Sometimes you can hear it in the dead of night, but only if you close your eyes and strain your ears. Sometimes the only thing you can hear is the screech of birds and the silence that follows.

The street lamps have all been powered with ectoplasm so they wont go out during ghost fights or disasters, and when it gets dark the streets are bathed in an eerie green glow. The shadows they cast are misshapen and flawed. It's always best to avoid those who linger beneath them.

Amity park evolves over time. The place gradually becomes influenced by Danny's Obsession as the contamination seeps into every crack and crevice. As the town becomes more and more apart of Phantom's lair it becomes more isolated. People who end up lost or in need of help in the surrounding areas somehow always stumble their way into Amity park, guided by some unknown force that pulls them towards this unearthly safe haven. Amity becomes more and more like a spider's web as Danny continues to grow, the strands of his Obsession being spun through the air and through the ground, extending beyond the borders of his lair and into the surrounding land.

Despite the dangers of living in Amity, the people who live there feel this inexplicable sense of safety. The residents insist that they've simply gotten used to the ghosts and all the little quirks that have popped up over the years. But people are more passionate than they used to be, more livelier and spirited. They say that growing up in a place like Amity builds character.

No one ever leaves Amity Park. And if anyone ever dared to ask, they'd only ever receive one answer,

There's just no place like home

#creepy amity park #dp #home of renn #danny phantom #amity park #a nice place to live #danny fenton #dribble drabble #ficlet #ecto contamination #liminal amity park #ghostly obsessions #the addams family would fall in love #dp obsessions #dp AU #dp HC #dp writing prompt #ghostly lairs #no place like home #amity park locals #dp hc #dp au #feral amity park

[moriche]

Inktober Day Fourteen: Castle

Twisted mycelial spires rose haphazardly above small, bulbous mushroom pods that grew clustered together, each accessed by a maze of root-like stairs and bridges. Broad caps blocked the sun from reaching some of the streets below, overgrown with moss, long strips of vine and lichen swaying from the edges. A giant tower dominated the centre of town, easily three times the size of everything else, topped with a cap so big it cast the buildings below it in permanent shadow. From Fear in a Handful of Dust

India ink and red watercolour on paper, 10,5x14,8 cm

#morichesfic #morichedraws #art #tesart #tesblr #elder scrolls #tes #telvanni #morrowind #inktober #inktober2023 #traditional art #trypophobia

[camcanime]

I had the craziest angst dream last night

It was based on an RP my bestie and I had been working on but, man, my brain knows how to toy with my feelings. Words cannot express how I felt after having this dream, my heart was racing. (Will do this in the form of x reader coz damn)

That day was a tragedy, a devastation to yourself and everyone who knew you. No one could have foreseen such a thing and, yet, a heavy blame was taken upon the two men who had cared for you most. You were all fresh into beginning your careers as heroes, barely a year out of graduation, and it didn't last long for you. Somehow, a group of especially dangerous villains had managed to get the jump on you. They beat you to a pulp and took you into capture, falling out of the radar and becoming completely invisible to anyone who may have had a chance to save you.

You were held in captivity for almost two years. Two years. They tormented and verbally degraded you to no end. To say it was torture was an understatement. You may as well have been crucified and left to hang amongst the vultures awaiting the sweet, bitter end to life. Unfortunately, these monsters were not merciful creatures. At first, they attempted to coax information out of you, seeing if they could unlock all of the inner workings of the pro heroes and utilise this for their nefarious deeds. When it became clear that you weren't so easily broken, they decided that you would make a decent venting dolly. You sought to escape once.

"That was a big mistake... hero."

Due to your weakened state, they quite easily recaptured you and they were not happy. They could have just killed you. Part of you wishes they did. No. Instead, they opted for a more fitting punishment: they took away your quirk. More ridicule and abuse is all that followed, is all you had to keep your wavering sanity occupied.

You felt close to your end.

An eventual rescue tore you away from your imprisonment but at what cost? You couldn't even discern the reality from a nightmare at that point. Your saviours, some heroes on the other side of the country, made sure that you were immediately admitted to a hospital. The physical wounds were in need of major attention but the mental scars ran so much deeper.

It probably would have been easy enough to call all of your friends, to ask for help from a familiar face, but a chain would heavy your hand any time you'd reach for the phone. You couldn't even bring yourself to call your two favourite boys.

With months of gruelling therapy out of the way, you now have a home - a new home - that you can call yours and a typical civilian job to keep the money coming in. You may be somewhat established back into society but you are merely a shell of what once was, a sauntering after image of the person you used to be. It had taken countless sessions just to counter your agoraphobia but a slithery vine is quick to entangle your spine any time you choose to leave your home. The darned thing clenches and digs its thorns in, threatening to jolt your head into a spasm but you always fight the urge.

That day wasn't much different. To begin with, at least.

After your usual mental prepping and throwing your cap on, you take the leap of faith from your doorstep and trudge along for your weekly grocery run. All in all, it seemed it was going to be fairly standard; weave in and out of people, make no eye contact, get the goods, and go home. It wasn't like it was late on your way back either but, with the winter season, that night was soon rolling in. You notice another set of footsteps trailing behind you, which certainly isn't helping. It could just be that pesky paranoia settling in but this person has been hot on your tail for a few minutes now. Still having some streets to go, you curse your blunder in not choosing a location more in-city. In an attempt to get home faster without displaying your fear, you ever so slightly pick up the pace. The individual appears to do the same and you are ready to run. The muscles in your calves tighten in anticipation of a quick escape.

That's when it happened: a chance encounter that reduced you to tears.

"Hey!" an all-too-familiar voice beckons from behind you.

Anxiety prickles your skin for different reasons than before. There's no way it's him. Surely not.

Oh, but it is.

The great hero Dynamight had been making his rounds in the city, keeping an astute eye out for anything amiss but also for you. It may seem outlandish for him to still be looking for you after almost three years but this is Bakugo. He's not one to give up. That's probably why he's grown more calloused in this time. He hasn’t been able to heal. To move on. The night still haunts him though he never lets that show. His cold heart had grown even heavier and colder since that day. He barely says a word - more so than usual. The man eats at himself over the whole situation. What could he have done differently? Is there actually anything he could have actually done? If he can’t even save a comrade, a person he cares so deeply about, is he even worthy of the title of hero? Perhaps that is another driving force to keep searching for you. It may seem crazy but at least he hasn't lost his hope. Not like they did. How could they all just assume you dead like that? How could they give up on a friend? A fellow pro hero? Not him. Not ever and nor Kirishima. That redhead, as much of an idiot as he may be, is the only one who stuck by Bakugo's headstrong tenacity over the years. He shakes the thoughts from his head for about the umpteenth time just that day alone.

It seemed as though it would be another afternoon of quiet. One might say that's a nice change of pace but some individuals like to be kept busy. Bakugo stopped for one of his annoying fans when he caught a flash from the corner of his eye. It almost looked like... no. It couldn't be. Wait... is it? His gaze has never once failed him before. The calls of the young boy were lost to him, his feet moved without his consent. He'd recognise that stupid hat anywhere. It wasn't even a matter of questioning the legitimacy before he was practically tailgating the unsuspecting individual. It didn't take long until it was just the two of them walking along the darkening street. His heart hasn’t beat this hard since that terrible day. He shakes his head, almost grows angry. What if it is you? What will he do? A deep breath. Just keep focusing on the task at hand - one that seems to be slipping from him the longer this cat-and-mouse chase drags out. His tracks aren't exactly subtle given how the freshly falling snow crunches and groans beneath his weight. The speed picks up and he knows he has to say something before his "prey" runs off. He has opened and closed his mouth several times to speak up to her but he backs out every time. Goddamnit Bakugo just say something. He growls to himself and closes his eyes. His fists clench beneath his gauntlets. He can’t believe he is about to do this. He must be crazy.

Finally, somehow managing to find his own voice, he calls out. "Hey!"

He didn't know what else to say. He didn't want to call out that name in case his assumption was wrong. The figure stops and slowly turns around to face him. Bakugo stares a moment longer before slowly walking over to get a closer look. His heart punches against his ribcage when he's no more than a meter in front of that familiar face. There have been some changes, of course, but he would recognise those eyes anywhere - your eyes. He looks back and forth between them before letting out a deep sigh and shaking his head. He closes his eyes and rests a hand on her shoulder, an action that is hesitant but proves the reality of your existence at this moment. All he can do is keep his eyes closed as everything tries to catch up to him. Eventually, he takes in a deep sigh and slowly looks up at you. His expression holds a mixture of sad and relived and some exhaustion like he just got done with a war.

"How long, (Y/n)?"

At first, you haven't a clue what he's talking about until it hits you like a steel pipe to the cheek. You had gotten so caught up in the situation, Katsuki Bakugo slowly trailing towards you with an unease you had never witnessed in him before. Not like this. A million and one thoughts spurry around your head but, at the same time, you are also completely blank. Crimson eyes pierce right into your soul, attempting to coerce your tongue for the words but still nothing. You can't help the nausea in your stomach when it dawns on you just how mad he may get. You already envision the blade of his teeth slicing through you.

"They... I was discharged from a hospital in Hachinohe almost... almost four months ago."

It all comes down on him like a sack of bricks. Understandably, he is pissed - unequivocally burning in damnation of the truth that you are alive and have been roaming the streets for so many months and against his knowledge no less. It doesn't matter if he had been in the middle of a battle; he would have been there for you in a heartbeat. Growing more painful, he rubs at the migraine pounding against his temples. He wipes his forehead as if making up for the fact that there are no tears to dry. He doesn't know how to cry right now. The pressure and strain amidst his palms shake his nerves to no end.

"And you didn't call?!" he screams over his crackling throat. "I would have come for you! We would have come for you!"

How could you call? You were so sure that everyone was better off without you, that you weren't needed in their lives. By the time you had been freed, everyone had become more well-established heroes in society. They don't need you. They moved on. That's how you thought of it, at least. Your attempted explanation of this only angers him further but he breathes past the frustration when he realises how worked up you're getting. What happened to you for you to think such awful things?

"I'm not sure where you got this narrative of not being needed," he sighs and looks away. "Do you have any idea what it has been like without you, dumbass?"

The old nickname slips off his tongue so naturally. He'd always call everyone an idiot, stupid, nerd ironically enough, but dumbass? That was reserved for you and for you only, so for it to be said - to be heard - after two years breaks you.

It had been quite a sight, watching you crumble down to the snow-covered floor. He had knelt down, waiting for you to calm down enough to form coherent sentences again. As cohesive as you could against the waves of rainfall spilling from your face, anyway. When things had eventually calmed, he took you back to your apartment and gave you the chance to speak. You managed to tell him little about what you had been through. Each sentence dwindled beneath the weighing sickness that bubbled in your throat any time you tried to get into detail. One thing really stood out to Bakugo, however. He envisioned the mass murder of those bastards for having done this to you, for rendering you quirkless and making you believe such self-deprecating lies.

That was two days ago. Bakugo insisted on you staying around his just to keep an eye on you. You know better than to refuse his help and it's for his own piece of mind as well as yours. He even took the liberty of calling off work for the rest of the week just to make sure you're okay. He never does that, which is probably why a certain redhead is standing at his door, wide-eyed, gawking at you. Once he had caught wind of Bakugo's absence at the agency, he raced over to make sure everything was okay. He could have never anticipated seeing you. The two of you stare at one another, unable to say anything. You take a stand and open your mouth to say something, anything, but the wind is pushed from your lungs when Kirishima gulps you up into his arms. He cries. God, this man cries and sobs with no yield as he just holds you. Restraints don't appear to exist anymore and you spill again, clutching onto him with unceremonious content. He doesn't ask any questions and just weeps into your shoulder, fearing the worst if he were to let go.

Everyone else had assumed you were dead. Why wouldn't they? After two, almost three, years, why would you believe a person to still be alive? Not them. They kept looking, searching, and scouring every last mineral in this damn country to try and find you. Now they have you back in their lives? They swear by All-Might that you will be waited on, pampered, loved, and cared for until they see the remnants of your old self again. It will take time but they waited this long for you, right?

No time in the world is more worth it.

It's probably worth mentioning that I could very clearly hear the chorus to Childish Gambino's song 'Heartbeat' when Kirishima went in for the hug and now it's stuck in my head.

I should also probably work more on WSA but I think I need to do a few one-shots just to get me back in the groove. I hope you enjoyed and sorry if it feels a bit rushed in some areas :')

Did I proof read it? Unfortunately not.

#x reader #kiribaku x reader #bakukiri x reader #bakugou x reader #kirishima x reader #angst #angst with a happy ending #fanfiction #mha #bnha

[jasonsknight3]

Finally got this out! Turns out it will be a two parter! I mean unless y’all want more or I think of something else. Enjoy part one!

Zombie apocalypse

Jason Todd x reader

Part one

Over a year, it’s been over a year since it began. It took about 24 hours of screaming, panic, choking, and pain for it to spread like wildfire, it took a couple days for the screams to turn into quiet gurgling sounds. All it took was one week for the majority of humanity to turn. Not sure how it started, but this wasn’t like the movies. Not in the slightest. These “zombies” weren’t rotting, they weren’t falling apart, they weren’t slow, they didn’t eat flesh, some only bite for the purpose of spreading the disease. Some give the kiss of death erasing what humanity you had. The mindless creatures were pale green with irritated red under their eyes, some had thick vines creeping painfully out of the mouth, nose, eyes, or all three. A truly horrific sight.

“Unsure meetings”

Running through the trashed streets of Gotham you panic. Your warm breath being seen in the winter gray air. Hoots and hollers getting closer behind you. Your legs feel number and number by the minute. How long have you been running? How far could the adrenaline take you? You felt yourself slowing down. Up ahead were boxes, barrels, and stakes made of different materials. A normal thing to see in the streets these days. However, usually these places were abandoned. You wished you could get rid of these guys on the stakes but they were human. Somewhat smarter than the mindless creatures. “Come on pretty lady! We just wanna talk!” One of them cooed loudly while others laughed and encouraged. Zipping between barrels and other things you make your way. A scream cut through the air making you look back. You see one of the guys bleeding, nails embedded in his face and whole left side. It was a sucking sight, torn flesh, the nails contorting his face. The other men were trying to console him, stupidly pulling the nails out of his face. Looking back was your worst possible mistake. Your ankle caught some thick rope making you fall. It was so quick the sound of crunching didn’t even seem real. Your eyes watered, heart pounding, your arm felt…numb. Swallowing the fear you turn your head to a horrific sight that makes you shriek in horror. The pain was extreme as it all suddenly came rushing to you. Bloods leaked from your bear trapped arm. Unfortunately the group of men hadn’t forgotten about you. They all started approaching.

In a hurry you tried prying off the bear trap to no avail. After all, bear traps required two hands instead of one. “Well well well, looks like our little lady got stuck.” One of them taunted. “Well, looks like we don’t have to catch er’ now.” Another said laughing. Quickly you pulled out your knife pointing it at them. You hated that you shook. They could see the fear. “Oh sweetie. No need for that, let just say we’re a couple of guys that need a- a little affection.” In response you cursed at them. “Back off!” You yelled. “No need for that little lady.” One of them kicks the bear trap causing you to drop the knife and shriek in pain. In a single moment they had you pinned to the ground, your face on the cold dirty asphalt. You scream at them, and cry desperately for help. The men talked among themselves. “It’s not like she needs both. We could just cut it off.” Another interjected “we could just take off the bear trap dummy.” Another one huffed “but if we cut her hand off she’ll be less of a fighter.” They all agreed your eyes watered as you pleaded. “Pl-please don’t!” They only laughed. The one on top of you pulled out a knife. “This might hurt little lady.” You squeeze your eyes shut, the blade touches your skin but nothing more. A weird silence followed. Something warm dripped on your face. Opening your eyes you see the man above you. Red leaking from his throat. A blade covered in blood stabbed through his jugular. The man gurgled but was quickly thrown to the side taking the wait off of you. “Walter!” One of the men screamed. “You gonna pay for that!” Trying to get away from the commotion you crawl away as far as you could and sit up. Just before you was a bloody scene. A larger man was in a bloody battle with these guys. Blood was everywhere. Using skill and accuracy he sliced and stabbed to kill. They got a few hits on him but it did little to nothing. Within a few moments of agonized screams the winter air fell quiet. Zombies you could handle, this- this was true horror. Living in Gotham before all this was pretty dangerous but this was one of the most violent things you had seen personally.

You attention strayed away from the dead bodies to the approaching figure. “No- please! Don’t hurt me! I- I’ll leave! I swear!” You plead. The man crouched down. “Stop.” He demanded abruptly. Being quiet you take note of a few things. This huge man was wearing plated armor that had some sort of red symbol on the Breast plates, wearing a brown leather jacket over it, he had some waist holsters obviously for guns and a knife sheath. Leaning down you could see he wore a red handkerchief over the bottom of his face. his eyes. One green the other blue Strangely soft and a scar between his thick eyebrows. He took a hold of the bear trap. “Hold your breath.” He ordered and you comply. The sound of straining metal claws was a relief and painful. The exhale was sharp and the inhale quick. The man put a hand over you mouth muffling the screams of agony. The trap clamping on hurt just as much as coming off. Tears streamed down wetting you flushed cheeks. “You’re alright. You’ll be fine. Come on.” Taking a hold of your upper back the stranger lifted you up and started taking you to a building. He looked around aware the sound of the infected getting worked up. “Need to get off the street.” He said aloud more to himself than you. “I’ll take care you.” He assured you.

#arkham knight x reader #batfam #jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #redhood #red hood #tim drake #dc x y/n #dc x you #redhood dc #dc joker #dc robin #dick grayson #jason todd headcanon #jason todd fanart #ak redhood #ak jason #arkham knight #arkhamverse #dcu #dc universe #roy harper #redhood fanart #harley quinn

[tallymonster]

Memories of Us Chapter 17

Masterlist || AO3

Hey another Election Day Tuesday and that means I have a lot of time to kill! So a new update is the result lmao!

As always, thanks to @cheesy-cryptid for blessing me with permission to use her art as inspiration.

Thanks also goes to @micropoe10 and @tragedybunny for being my besties and betas and everything else for me. I love you both. Extra special thanks to @leomonae for encouraging me to try first person pov lol I DID IT MONA. BE PROUD OF ME.

Warnings for this chapter are as follows: mentions of death, violence, and grief.

This part of the city was peaceful at night, it was one of the things Astarion loved most. The walk back from Octavia’s house wasn't too bad, she lives about a 30 minute stroll from the main city. Pretty convenient, all things considered. 

He walks down a hidden path that leads straight from her little cottage to the main road. He could've taken one of the other connecting streets to her house, but there was a somewhat romantic feeling to the solitude of being surrounded by the trees and wind.

Astarion steps towards the gates of the museum, no one should be here by now. Pushing the gate open, he makes his way down the paved walkway. The warmth of the sun still radiates from the ground. He turns and makes a detour down to the gardens.

The stretch of gravel to the lush greens is long, a tall figure peeks out from behind the rows of flowering shrubs Astarion surrounded her in. Tav’s arms stretched out to greet those who visited. 

My treasured flower. 

Astarion walks towards her, plucking a few buds from the walls of vines that wrap around each other. He looks up at her and sits at the bench at the base of her statue. Her gaze permanently locked in the adoring way she used to give him when he would fall at his knees and worship the ground she walked on.

 I regret each choice that took me from you. My fears always let me make the worst decisions. 

He stares up at her beautifully carved stone face, knowing it can't react to the words he says to her. “Hello, beautiful.” Astarion places the small bundle of flowers at her feet, a small token of everlasting devotion. 

Staying at Octavia’s house felt strange. It's been a long time since he’s tried to do anything like that. After he left Tav, it felt wrong. No one was like her. The few he tried were pretty to look at, sure. With the right words, he could get close to anyone, but not the same way. 

Astarion feels a small flutter of anxiety in his gut, something that he keeps trying to push away. This feeling of longing growing for someone else. The same feelings of excitement he felt when Octavia let him bite down and drink from her veins. 

“I can't stop myself from thinking I've betrayed you by letting myself partake from another. I keep seeing you when I look at her. The same eyes, so soft, adoring, and curious. I hear you in her laugh, her words of comfort, and her cries of ecstasy. Her touch is sensual and familiar, so intimate in ways I've longed for. I even saw you when I finally gave myself away to the urge after I fed on her sweet blood.”

Astarion lays with his back flat on the stone bench. The stars shining as bright as that night he led Tav to the graveyard and lived his first night truly free. He closes his eyes and sinks into the warmth of the stone. If he tried hard enough, he could almost replace the breeze with Tav’s fingers running through his hair. He sighs and begins to speak.

“If you only knew how much I wanted to turn back and take you with me. I couldn't forgive myself for leaving you, but with all those feral spawn, I couldn't take the chance that you would be in danger. The thought of you being safe somewhere else with anyone else was better to me than having you by my side.”

He pauses, opens his eyes, and plays with his sleeve. “I couldn't take the chance for you to have a family away from you knowing that I couldn't give you the children you wanted. There were too many things that I knew you wanted and deserved.” 

Astarion lets his mind wander. He stares at Tav’s face. “I guess now is a good time to explain myself. There's things I need to apologize for, and some things I need to tell you.” His voice quivers slightly as he trails off. The memories of the last century and a half without her flash periodically through his mind. He usually pushes them away, but tonight he lets them wash over him. 

—-------------

The journey to the Underdark was lonesome and tiring, always having to lurk in the shadows. How many people would recognize me without her? How many would take their chances at killing me? I had to stay shrouded once more, sometimes I would get lucky and cross paths with someone needing a favor or two. 

I’m not sure how many times I had to kill a shady merchant, an abusive husband, or slaver just to have a place to stay during the light of day. It seemed like one of the Gods finally came to watch over me during this long trek. It was always about killing the right people. 

It took three months for me to finally make my way down to the Underdark. Considering, people weren't too open with any information on what had happened to the 7006 vampire spawn that we had freed. I had heard rumors of a mass casualty event, but without more information, it would be difficult to fully understand what they meant. 

Eventually, I found a familiar face in the Myconid colony. I ran into my sister Dalyria as she was buying some potion ingredients from a traveling merchant. 

I still remember the wide eyed stare Dal had on her face, her gasp of surprise as she dropped the potion bottle in her hands. Her sobs of happiness when she held me tightly in a grateful embrace. 

The words that followed after she pulled away would haunt me forever. 

“I thought you died with the rest of them.” 

I was taken back, the rumors were indeed true. “How many?” I asked, anxiously awaiting Dal’s answer. She hesitates in answering, “We lost more than half our people that day. Mostly the Gur children, the starved, the weak, the ones who most likely wanted to die.” 

We talked more once she finished. She led us down to the outpost she and Leon had settled in. I listened as Dal spoke quietly. 

“We got caught in a solar eclipse. It was a total disaster. Youssen promised that he calculated everything correctly, but he didn't. I knew it would've been dangerous. I warned them, but he and Petras kept fighting with Leon and I. They were so desperate to get here and live freely that they turned the rest of the family against us.” 

Dal sniffled and continued, “Everything happened so fast. They promised they had it down to the minute, but it seems that even with precise instructions, you can't account for arrogance.” 

“Arrogance?” I asked, looking at our surroundings. Cave systems that twisted and snaked together to form a hidden stronghold. After a couple of miles or so, we were finally there.The broken and dilapidated temple where they had settled.

It looked strangely reminiscent of one that our group had visited once. I pushed the thought away as Dal led me through it. I noticed the number of spawn that resided there, a stark difference between the amount I helped free back in the bowels of Cazador’s manor. 

Dal scoffed, “One can never account for those who are desperate to prove their point. No matter the cost to those around them. Like I said before, Petras and Youssen turned everyone against us. Violet and Aurelia followed soon after they explained their reasoning. It was hard to argue two against four after that. 

They wanted to get here as soon as we could. So when they heard of the eclipse they figured it would save us around half a day. Leon and I couldn't argue with that kind of time, so the most skilled of us went first.” 

“Where is Leon?” I interjected. 

Dal’s eyes locked behind my shoulder, I turned and saw a staircase leading up to the next floor. “He goes up there alone frequently. After we were released,we explored the manor for a while. Gathering clothes and some other things for the journey. He saw Victoria. He..” she exhales, hesitating some. 

“He hasn't been the same since. She was all he had left from his previous life.” Dal finishes with a quiver in her voice. 

“Children are dangerous company for vampires.” I replied empathetically.

“Quite. Come on, let's get you a bed and some blood.” Dal placed her hand on my shoulder, she smiled, and walked off after a few seconds. 

I followed her up to a small room with a solitary bed. She held the door open as I walked past her, dropping the brown leather bag I held over my shoulder. 

“Apologies if it's not as luxurious as you're used to” she says with a small sarcastic tilt, "It's one of the few private rooms we have. Figured you would appreciate that over aesthetics.” 

As Dal prepared to leave, I turned to her. She's paused by the door, halfway between the frame and the hallway. “Thank you.” My voice was quiet and soft. Dal looked at me and smiled, “Of course, brother. What is family for after all?”

—--------------------------—-----

Twenty years would pass with little problems. The vampires that lived in the outpost were used to having to ration. Hunting in small packs, majority of the time Leon and I would supervise them and teach them to hunt. We tried to be careful about making sure the younglings never went too far by themselves.

As the main hunters, the two of us would seek and kill animals on the surface at night, bringing the meat to merchants around Faerun once we broke down the carcasses and bleed them dry. 

With the money we gathered, we would buy more blood from other butchers up top. We’d also get blood from other less than reputable sources, but as long as the blood was good, we wouldn't ask too many questions. 

Leon and I were on our way back to the outpost after a few days out hunting and trading when Leon stopped mid step. “Brother, something feels off.” He held out his arm, took a few steps forward toward the opening of a cave, and stayed quiet for a moment. I walked up to him and concentrated on the noises around us.

I heard people yelling, sounds of feet shuffling, a loud rumble, and then sharp screams. “DAL!” Leon gasps, and rises to his feet, sprinting out to the maze of cave openings.

Once we got closer, Leon pointed out the smoke billowing out from the outpost, the thick clouds growing darker in color as we neared our destination. 

“Astarion, we must find Dal!” Leon stood ready, with his hand on his crossbow. I looked around and noticed the two converging tunnels in front of us. 

“We have to split up, Leon. We can cover more ground that way. Find her, I’ll see about the others.” I commanded, grabbing onto the daggers hung on my hip. I turned to run when Leon grabbed my arm, “Be careful, I’ll do my best to find you as soon as I find Dal.” 

I nodded, sprinting down the tunnel. As I neared the opening of the path, the smoke became a thick curtain, making it more difficult to see. I pulled at the leather bag that hung from my back, searching for anything to help. “Come on, there's got to be something here.” 

My hands moved frantically inside the bag, until I felt the texture of a scroll. “Fucking finally!” I unfurled it and began to speak the words inscribed. I raised my right hand and braced myself, a giant gust of wind came out in a burst of energy, clearing the way forward. 

My legs pistoned me forward as I continued to look for Dal. I hurriedly made my way to the back of the outpost. When I got closer I noticed some rocks leading towards another tunnel. I ran following the path of debris until I reached the end. 

One of the exits had been collapsed. 

I knelt in front of the pile of rocks and began to dig into it, using my body weight to pull big pieces of stone away from the opening. I dug into the avalanche, my hands becoming raw and bloody as jagged pieces of rubble cut into my skin. 

I keep digging, a sharp kind of sulfuric scent hits my nose and goes down my throat. I can taste the acidic notes, it’s acrid with a hint of ash. I immediately recognize it. Runepowder. However many people were in that tunnel, they were certainly dead. Someone did this on purpose. 

I must find Dal.

The adrenaline pumping through my body kept me going until I heard yelling coming from inside the outpost. “Dal!” I ran into an open door in front of me, up some stairs. I crept up to a broken wall, the opening leading to the dining hall’s ceiling lined with wooden beams connecting the adjacent wall. 

I stayed hidden in the shadows concentrating on the sounds around me. A short time passed before I heard some movement coming from underneath. I stepped forward and saw Dal and Leon. I gasped softly, gently stepping out to one of the beams obscured by the darkness. 

Soon after, a group of at least 10 Gur flood into the room and block the only exit. A man steps forward as Dal and Leon realize they are outnumbered with no way out. 

The man begins to speak, “Where is the third? We were told there were three of you running this bastardized commune.”

I continued to creep along the wooden supports, Leon noticed me and quickly turned back to the man in front of him. “I came back alone. My brother was…killed by a bulette when we were on our way back. It caught us by surprise. I was barely able to get away from it. I tried to save him but we couldn't overtake it. It killed him before I killed it.” 

The man looks at him suspiciously, he nods and the hunters behind him point their crossbows at Dal. “I will not ask again, vampire scum. Where is the third?” 

“I swear to you he's dead! There's no one else other than us now. You killed the others, did you not? I saw the bodies, the rubble, the fires. You said you collapsed a tunnel when you came in, is that not enough? We cannot turn anyone into vampires, we're mere spawn. We’ve been living in peace for a decade and a half. Why do you come hunt us now?”

 Leon held his hands up as he plead his case, Dal trembled as she hid her face in her hands. 

“One of yours killed an innocent woman. Found her drained near the sewers in the Gate. We caught him sneaking around underneath the Elfsong Tavern’s wine cellar. He told us about this place with at least 1500 of you waiting to be killed. Planned this little raid for a few weeks. Had some people watching your little outpost. Even paid some merchants to tell us your movements.” The leader explained. 

Dal uncovered her face and looked up, noticing me watching them. Her eyes were full of fear. She shook her head slowly, mouthing “Run.” 

I swallowed, my mouth feeling dry, I retreated to the shadows before the leader turned and looked up where I was just perched. 

The man turned back to Leon and Dal while I watched them. “Kill them. If the third is gone, that means there shouldn't be any more of these abominations. Ulma should have destroyed you all when she had the chance, now that she's no longer our leader, her deals with you all are void. Consider this a mercy.” 

He walked a few yards then he stops and speaks with a serious tone, “May the Moonmaiden have mercy on your souls.” He looks over at a woman to his right and nods at her. She steps forward and yells out “Take your positions. Fire on three.” I could've shot at her, but I would've be easily outnumbered. 

I had to sit here and watch as the last two people I ever felt close to were slaughtered like lowly carrion. The Gur took no hesitation in killing Dal and Leon. They shot at them with what looked like silver tipped crossbow bolts. 

I suffered hearing Dal and Leon’s screams of pain, the sounds of them dying were unbearable. I waited in the darkness for what seemed like hours until the Gur left, a wake of devastation behind them. The second their footsteps waned, I sprinted over to Dal and Leon’s crumpled bodies. 

“No no no nononono.” I choked back, Dal and Leon’s faces were battered and abused, their clothes slathered in blood. I felt the rage and devastation crash down on me. 

The guilt for letting the young ones hunt when I knew better than to trust them to go off alone. Leaving Dal alone while Leon and I left. Splitting up and letting Leon go off to find his death. 

I couldn't help the sobs that came out when I was holding them, I realized I was finally truly alone. The sadness and anger just came flooding out. My eyes stung as the tears came out, lungs burning when the air expanded them sharply. I gripped on Dal and Leon, their bodies growing even colder by the hour. 

A week would pass, I gathered what I could, buried my siblings, and left. I made my way back to Baldur’s Gate hoping to sneak into Cazador’s manor. 

I knew the people of the city were too afraid to go near it. Leon and I had spread rumors of it being haunted, so that kept them out. We used to sneak inside using the underground tunnels that led to the kennels, ransacking the place and selling off what we could. 

Leon came up with the idea of stashing small piles of gold away in loose floorboards around the manor. His foresight was a blessing. 

I began to gather the piles and count my reluctant inheritance. After finishing, I realized I was set for the foreseeable future, but I still had a manor to legally obtain. I talked my way into becoming a historical conservator given the relics I had at my disposal. 

My vast inside knowledge could be chalked up to being a lover of history and a studied mind. No one would be the wiser. I decided then that I would go to the City Council and plead my case to purchase the manor to turn into a museum honoring those whom I loved.  

I took great care to disguise myself, thankfully Wyll wasn't in the City. He and Karlach were in Avernus. Gale had gone back to Waterdeep. Lae’zel and Shadowheart were living in a cottage somewhere near the mountains…And you…I don't remember where you ended up.

More time would pass, the museum was open after a year and a half of me selling, restoring, commissioning, and appointing a board. I opened with a team of people to oversee the major projects while I maintained the procurement of items for the galleries. 

A century or so passed when I met a familiar looking young man. He came to apply for the lead assistant position straight out of Blackgate. Usually, their graduates would go out and teach themselves, but he wanted to research and preserve these items instead of being in front of a classroom full of people.

I questioned him for a few minutes, noticing the unusually similar flair he had to his speech patterns. The air of assuredness behind his statements. 

When he told me his name was Gale Dekarios. I could hardly hide the shock on my face, luckily he didn't notice. “Dekarios? Any relation to the wizard of old legends?” I asked tentatively awaiting his response. 

I watched as he wrung the corner of his blazer and cleared his throat. “Y- yes sir. He was my grandfather.”

Was? I thought wizards lived hundreds of not thousands of years? I hesitate before questioning him further. “Was? Don't wizards usually live many lifetimes over? Did he get killed in a grand battle?” 

The young man bites his lip. A worried look flashed over his face. “Well it's still pretty recent, sir. I'm sure you know all about the Netherese Orb that used to occupy his chest?”

I swallowed fearing the worst, my throat clenched as if I had swallowed fire. I nod urging him to continue. 

“A few years ago, my grandad started to have these bouts of chest pains that would last hours, days, sometimes even up to a whole tenday. My grandmum was a druid healer, so she would make him different teas, tinctures, balms, pretty much anything to help him. Nothing would ease his suffering. One day she helped him to bed, like she usually did, and she had me assist her in making tea for him.

My grandmum told me he was dying and I was the only male in our family that wasn't adopted or married into it. So I guess he wanted to keep his story alive and told me everything. His past, his mistakes and triumphs, friends he made and lost. He and I were close, he was my best friend.” 

Gale cleared his throat and wiped his eyes. “So yes, I am related to *the* Gale Dekarios. I hope I can live up to the expectations my grandfather set forth.” 

I hired him on the spot. 

Now, to make a long explanation somewhat shorter, this is where things get complicated, my love. Here, I feel I may have fucked up. 

You see, there was this woman Gale hired. It was about 6 years after hiring Gale. I was off in the Underdark around the anniversary of Dal and Leon’s deaths. I came up with some story about looking for artifacts to cover my tracks since Gale liked to ask a million questions. Guess the apple doesn't fall too far from the tree?

Once I got back to the museum, Gale had informed me of our new hire, Octavia. I imagined if she made an impression on Gale, then she would be useful at least at the administrative level.

I couldn't imagine what came over me when I got to know her more .

—--------------

Astarion sighs with a long exhale. He stares at Tav’s face, hesitating as if he's actually saying this all to her. “She's indescribable. Absolutely beautiful, smart, she challenges me the way you used to.” Sitting up, he presses his back against the stone platform. 

“That night I saw her outside of the restaurant, I swore I saw you. You in front of me like the day we met.” He plays with his sleeve, not knowing how to proceed with this long overdue apology. Even if Tav wasn't really here physically, he was truly able to say the things he held behind.

All the regret from his idiotic spontaneous decisions, grief from losing those he loved and held closest, and most of all the devastating pain from losing everything he took for granted. 

At the same time, something had dropped this precious jewel on his lap. Was it possible for him to be able to open up to someone the way he did with Tav? Octavia showed that she trusted him when he confessed about his true self. She even let him bite down and drink her blood. 

Everything about Octavia was feeling the same, could she be some sort of reincarnation of his lost love? No. That would be impossible. Humans can't do that. Can they? He shakes the idiotic notion away, softly laughing to himself.

Besides, he saw the picture of Octavia’s family. 

Astarion sits with his gaze pointed up at the night sky. It seemed like so long ago when he was doing the same type of internal argument about Tav. He's enthralled by Octavia and agonizing about it. Gods, somehow he was always stuck in a cycle of perpetual pining. 

He wants to open up to Octavia more. Sprinkle in some truths to the little lies he tells. 

Opening up to people has always been a struggle for Astarion, but Octavia has a way of prying his emotions out of him. It's so easy for him to let her reach into the emptiness and allow her to pull his past out.

Her hands pull at the chains around his heart, slightly loosening them with each gaze, each fleeting touch, all of the little ways she reminded him of Tav. Was this a sign of approval from beyond the grave? Maybe this was Tav’s way of pushing him to live again just as she did once before.

Astarion is in deep contemplation, he doesn't begin to notice as the night sky begins to turn light. The bird songs become more animated, he is knocked out of his head and begins to make his way inside. Thank the Gods that his suite is close to the gardens. The manor had secret entrances and rooms for him and his siblings to come in and out, convenient for a thoughtful vampire losing track of time.

As he goes into the museum, he sees the first rays of light break through the tops of the trees. It feels like that morning after the tiefling party, the cool air of morning breaking against the feeling of the warmth from the sun. 

Astarion feels the same hopeful warmth from within. The same tug of curiosity that wants to allow Octavia in. He lingers at the doorway, watching the same sun begin to rise above the trees. So many similarities to weed through. He would take his time though, he can't rush this opportunity he's been given. 

He has to trust whatever force is guiding him at this point. It brought Octavia to him, so it must be good. Turning to walk up the steps to his suite, he looks out the window and stares absentmindedly at Tav’s statue. Suddenly, a tiny green and blue hummingbird flits by and stops at the row of gardenias that lined the windowsill. 

Astarion watches as the little bird takes a sip from the buds. It's fragile wings glint off the reflection from the glass. After zipping through a couple of flowers, it hovers facing him as if watching him. It's little head tilts to the left, then to the right, before flying away. 

It's been so long since he's been around early enough to see them feed. It brings a small tug to his heart. Tav’s words about her people and how they grieve flooded back into his mind. 

“There's a legend in my culture about hummingbirds being messengers for the dead. They say if you see one, it's a sign that your loved one is watching over you. I always thought it would be the way I would communicate with you if I ever died.” she’d say.

I just laughed it off and said “Oh darling, you don't have to worry about that. I would follow you into the dark if that day ever came. I’ll be close behind.” Another lie I told her. 

Gods...

I think it's time I stopped lying to myself.

Tags: @justporo @satanicspinosaurus @sleepy-timaeus @tragedybunny @davenswitcher @wayward-hel @hereliesblackdragon @misscrissfemmefatale

#bg3 #astarion #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #astarion ancunin #bg3 astarion #astarion bg3 #fic: memories of us #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios

[creakture]

the birds in the thickets eat berries, taking seeds with them everywhere they go - extending everyone's range by the diameter of how full their stomachs are. just a little each year, to be sure no one gets pushed too far out of their comfort zone. planting food forests and safe havens to welcome them home next year.

some places the concrete chokes out the vines, but the birds still visit, still bring their strategic stores.

the seeds settle amongst the crumpled receipts and take-out crumbs and empty bottles and they wait. they wait while the rat shit and the french fries accumulate brake dust and dog hair and together they turn into something like soil.

it's not a long wait.

they wait until just the right rain comes, in just the right weather. overflowing gutters and storm drains. turning streets back into the rivers they paved over just long enough to remind us to fear them. and filling every crack and crevice with a lilting invitation:

"...expand...

... expand upward, and downward, and outward...

expand defiant, and insistent.

the concrete that threatens to starve you is not so unyielding as it seems!

expand!

and in their ruins you shall flourish!"

this is a song of the water.

this is a song of the birds.

#my writing

[ofmermaidstories]

soulmate AU but it’s a world where platonic—and no less intense—soulmate bonds are just as common as romantic ones. like it’s not uncommon to come across siblings who are soulmates, or friends, etc etc. and like, obviously the romantic ones are romanticised—they’re popular in dramas and idols/singers will play up the mystery of their soul-bonding if it’s with another bandmate, because, you know, stans—but love is everywhere in this world, it’s a fact of life, inescapable.

and then there’s you. you’re quirkless; it’s fairly rare, these days. around you everyone is getting super-powered, and super-bonded but you’ve always just been—you, singular. you, quirkless. there’s studies, of course, that suggest quirks and the soul-bonding thing comes from the same source, has something to do with the human heart but you’re not a scientist and you’re not a quirk theorist so—eh, it doesn’t matter, you just live your life.

the most infamous soul-bonded pair in Japan would have to be Pro Heroes Deku and Great Explosion Murder Dummy Dynamight. they’ve been studied, poked at, prodded—their bond isn’t romantic in nature but they’ve torn battlefields and cities apart to get to each other, both in their anger at each other and their fear for one another’s safety. their former classmates are all tightly bonded—with marks of their own—and both Pros have been linked to other people romantically. Pro Hero Deku’s just celebrated his marriage to Japan’s sweetheart, Uravity, the pair just as close as any soul-bonded couple. And there were rumours—hope, maybe, for the perfect ribbon-tied ending to their story that it’d imply—that Dynamight was dating Red Riot, who’s affable and strong and is golden foil against the smoulder of Dynamight’s glares. but he’s not; Red Riot bonds with someone else. It doesn’t effect their relationship in the slightest but the media—and the hero fans—are disappointed for them both.

the soul-mate mark isn’t an actual, visible mark; it’s a shift in someone. falling in love at first sight is an old adage that doesn’t adequately express what happens. People describe it like knowing; just seeing someone’s face for the first time and thinking, yeah. That’s them. soul-mates who find each other early in life—like siblings, like friends, like Dynamight and Deku—describe it as it’s own presence. A tether, for good or bad, that keeps them together. There are stories of people not realising they’re soul-mates, because they’ve known each other all their lives—not realising until it was too late, until they were separated by choice or circumstance or death. sometimes you wonder if that’s what happened to you—if you met your soul-mate when you were young, too young, and just never knew.

“Don’t be silly,” your mother says in that mean, too sharp way that suggests at the heart of it, she’s worried. Her soul-mate was your father; classic and perfect and very much what you weren’t living. “Everyone around us at the time found their bonds. Don’t you remember?”

She’s talking about the time you came home from grade school, seven years old and crying, because your best friend—the only other kid in your neighbourhood who hadn’t found their bond—bonded to the new girl. She’s talking about the time you came home and slammed your bedroom door shut, fourteen years old and in tears, because your other best friend bonded with a boy he met at a sports competition. They hated each other and still hated each other to this day, fierce rivals that played against one another—

And still it was just you. You, singular. You, walking along a windy pathway, trying to shove the new book you’ve just bought into the gape of your handbag—the ribbons of your best friend’s birthday present trailing along your arm like creeper vines. A gust blows through the street and you squint as the ribbons you’ve overzealously used dance; bringing you to a halt in the middle of the path as you try to fight three things at once.

“Watch it,” a voice behind you growls, rough and annoyed. You half-turn, similarly irritated—and stop, something within you shifting.

He’s bracketing you; sour courtesy, an arm up and giving you space, making others move around him, around you.

He’s not in costume. You stare at his arm in it’s dark jacket, and then follow the line of it to his shoulder, his face; a face that might’ve been lovingly carved, once, out of marble, smoothed over with an artist’s hand and given the deep-set eyes, the wide mouth pulling into a frown.

“Eh?” He asks, when you don’t say anything. His face—classical and beautiful—pinches. “Oi, y’good?”

Oh, you think. Oh no.

Dynamight raises a fine blond eyebrow and you try to swallow the laugh at this cosmic joke back.

#prompts and drabbles and other things #i was made for lovin’ you — drabble

[deathbecomesthem]

Cat and Mouse | Chapter 2 | 2.2K

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+18 ONLY - Minors DNI - Adult Content

Eddie Munson x Fem!Preacher's Daughter!Reader

Chapter Summary: This chapter is an introduction to our Reader's home life. Take caution, religious trauma and sexual shame within.

A/N: This chapter is full of angst, fear, and humiliation. There isn't a lot of Eddie contained within outside of our thoughts of him. I promise, it gets better. Right now, we're taking a look at what home feels like. Expect another update of this fic over the weekend.

---

Blink. 

Good morning, Hawkins. It’s 6:05 on this hot, hot, hot summer morning. 

Blink. 

High of 91 with a chance of thunderstorms after 5. 

Blink. 

Right now, let’s get your motor running with the help of my favorite blonde bombshell. 

Blink. 

The light seems to be blinking in rhythm with Madonna’s Papa Don’t Preach as you sit and consider turning your car around and heading back to Nancy’s. You had promised your parents you’d be home this weekend to watch your younger siblings while they were away on their retreat. You groan as you turn the wheel and head to the house where your dreams have rotted on the vine. 

Things have been tense at home in recent months. Instead of feeling the comfort of home, you feel stifled when you walk through the front door of your parent’s house. The Reverend is a hard man with high expectations of his oldest daughter. Ever since you announced your intention to take a gap year rather than immediately joining the ranks of the faithful young adults of Bob Jones University, you’ve been teetering on the edge of danger with him. There is the constant threat of a raging storm behind his horn rimmed spectacles.

He knows the truth of the matter, that you are not planning to go to Bible college. That the promise of “next year” will inevitably turn into “never”. He’s just waiting for you to admit it. He’s waiting for you to say the truth. He’s waiting, with the patience of a saint, for you to tell him and your mother that you plan to shirk your responsibility to the family. To the church. To your Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. On that day, he’ll know what to do. He cannot make you do the right thing, but he can take everything you love in this world. You know this as well as he does, and it’s been a game of dodge and deflect. There is no comfort in the split level ranch at the edge of Roan, Indiana, only pitfalls and booby traps around every corner. 

What the Reverend and his dutiful wife don’t know is that you’ve been making a plan. It’s on shaky ground, but it’s taking form. Karen Wheeler has been a lifeline to you, getting you a job at the library at the community college between Roan and Hawkins. She helped you open a bank account that neither of your parents know anything about. She’s offered you the basement room of the Wheeler house. The temptation to leave the Reverend’s home is only mitigated by the thought of leaving Rebecca and Noah, your brother and sister. If you leave, you know you’ll never be welcome back through those doors again. 

The highway is dead this early in the morning. Your mind continues to drift, back to the previous day. Your mind travels back to the one thought that has been persisting since you laid eyes on his thin frame - Eddie. For the first time in your 20 years, a boy rejected your advances. Even the ones you don’t want fall apart around you. It’s a blessing and a curse. Boys are easy. Steve is a case in point. 

Not Eddie, though. Yes, his eyes told you he wanted you, but he flatly rejected you. It won’t do. No. He made you feel silly, he made you feel unwanted. It makes you angry to think of it, and you crank the wheel harder than necessary to make the turn down Elm Street. Eddie Munson, the metalhead stoner, has the upper hand. How infuriating.

All thoughts about the curly haired grinning metalhead evaporated when your family home came into view. Without being aware of it, you’ve started biting and peeling your fingernails to the quick. Shit, your mother is going to notice and berate you. Before heading to the front door, you checked yourself in the rearview mirror, wiping away any remaining mascara that may have collected under your eyes. Hair pulled back tightly, you grip your backpack to your chest and enter the house.

You can smell coffee and pancakes. Mother always makes hot breakfast for your father and siblings on Saturday mornings. The stairs in front of you lead up to the bedrooms. You could go straight up and shut yourself away before they realize you’ve made it back home. Hand on the railing you hear his booming voice, “Pumpkin, is that you?” You return your right foot to the ground with a sigh and head towards the clanging of silverware on plates in the kitchen.

“Hi daddy.” Your lips met the scruff on his cheek before he could ask for a kiss. “Do you need help with anything, Mother?” You ask the woman at the sink. Her hair was perfectly coiffed, makeup may as well be tattooed onto her face with the precision in which it was applied. 7:30 in the morning and she was ready for war, just like every morning of your life.

“No, dear, your father has been waiting for you. Sit.” Sit is what you do. Your hands obey your training and find themselves folded in your lap, back straight, eyes on the man sitting at the head of the table. Bible sitting next to coffee mug. You wondered if he’s waiting for you before he starts the morning devotions. With furrowed brows, you realize your younger siblings were missing from the table.

“Pumpkin, thank you for coming home like I asked. Mother and I are leaving in an hour.” He takes a big swig of coffee and a last bite of pancake. His finger finds his Bible, and he pokes it fiercely as he does sometimes when he’s at the pulpit on a Sunday morning. “We need some prayer time, you and I. Especially after you’ve spent so much time at the Wheeler house.”

You can’t help but let the confusion show on your face. You know that your parents disapproved of the way the Wheelers lived. They give their children far too much freedom, and Karen lacks discipline. Plus, she “dresses like a whore”, your mother’s words. They don’t even go to church on Sunday mornings anymore. “Daddy, where are Rebecca and Thomas?”

“Oh, they’re spending the weekend with your Gram. Didn’t your mother tell you?” For fuck’s sake, of course. They just wanted you to come home, they dodn’t need you here. You know better than to start an argument with your mother while your father was in the room, so you bite your tongue and shake your head.

“No. I thought I was watching them this weekend while you went on your retreat.” Your father’s head is nodding up and down, acknowledging what you’re telling him. 

“Well, Gram decided she wanted some time with the little ones, so you’re off the hook.” His big hand found your own and gave it a little squeeze. “I’m glad she forgot to tell you. I’ve missed my girl.”

A plate of pancakes is set on the table in front of you. You catch a sideways smirk on your mother’s face. She didn’t forget. She hates Karen. She’s jealous of the relationship between the two of you. Or maybe, she’s jealous of the way that Karen lives her life. The way you’ve begun to spread your wings a little, pushing at the walls of the confined life your mother has built for herself and her family.

“We’ll be gone until Monday evening. I left a list of chores that need to be done in our absence. I already informed your Bible study group that they could meet here this evening.” You almost start to protest. You had planned on canceling the meeting, hoping to use your babysitting as an excuse. “Don’t worry, we trust you to be the well-behaved young woman we raised.” She knew you were going to weasel out of it. The Bible study had been her idea. Just another way to keep you occupied and out of trouble.

“Thank you, Mother.” You smile warmly at her, not giving her the satisfaction of appearing disappointed. “Are you sure you’re comfortable with them meeting here?” The question is for your father, and you notice your parents exchange a look. This had been discussed already, you realize.

“Oh, I think you girls will be just fine. No overnight guests while we’re gone, though.” With that, he rises and kisses your temple. “Come to my study when you’re finished. We will spend some time with the lord before I leave.”

At your father’s exit, the room falls silent, apart from the sound of your mother washing the breakfast dishes at the sink.She is up to her elbows in soapy water despite the dishwasher that sits, unused, under the counter to her left. She doesn’t believe in using it, she trusts the efforts of her own two hands over the machine designed to ease the housewife’s burden. It’s her burden, after all, and God does love a hardworking woman. 

The pancakes in your stomach feel as if they are expanding. It seems impossible that the zipper of your jeans could already be pushing against a bloating stomach. Your mother had placed 3 on your plate, and you knew that you had to finish them or else deal with her disappointment. Furious rage disguised as motherly concern. Speed is the key, you must not give your stomach the time to adjust to the thick buttermilk pancakes before getting them past your gullet. You cut them all into bite sized pieces and started to shovel them into your mouth. You’re unaware that your mother has turned from her chore, and she’s watching you eat.

“I see you’ve picked up some manners from the Wheelers this week.” Her disapproving frown and head shake freeze your movements mid bite. It has the desired effect as you sheepishly change the grip on your fork and resume your eating in a more ladylike manner. “Your father and I are leaving in an hour. Deacon Andrews will be driving by to check up on you throughout the weekend. He’s promised to call me if you’re not here.”

She always thinks of everything. 

“Yes, mother. I’ll be here, I promise.” You tell her, biting back at words that sit on the tip of your tongue. I’m an adult, and I can leave the house when I want. 

With your last bite, you rise and begin clearing the table. The mess your father had made would be yours to deal with, it is a woman’s job to keep the house tidy and running smoothly. It amazes you how easily you fall back into these habits when you’re in this house. The routine is a comfort to you, but it pains you all the same.

As you hand the dirty plates to your mother, she meets your eye with a sternness you are not expecting. Her voice is low and conspiratorial as she whispers, “I found what you were hiding. Father doesn’t know. You need to spend some time in your prayers and seek forgiveness. Those carnal desires inside of you are an evil you must resist.”

No, no, no. Fear shot down your body from the top of your head to the bottom of your feet. Without a word, you stumble through the kitchen, up the stairs, and into your room. You shut the door gently, not making a sound. A feeling, panic, is gripping your chest tightly. The thought, She didn’t. No. She can’t have, plays on a loop inside your mind. The bitter taste of humiliation begins to crawl up your throat at the thought of what she found inside your room. Your room.

A sigh of relief escapes your lips when you see it still sitting where you left it last. You remove the books and lift the box out of its spot. Dread. Horror. Mortification. You knew before you even opened the lid what you would find, the weight of the box is all wrong in your hands. Inside, the secret box, is a Bible tract. You recognize it from the shelf next to the entrance of your father’s church. It takes the place of the small silicone device that Karen Wheeler bought for you on your 18th birthday, followed by a conversation about condoms and birth control. You remember the way she kept her eyes focused on yours, never flinching from the topic at hand, simply explaining in plain language the things that you had been taught were evil and sinful. After all, Karen Wheeler knew about the pregnancy scare in the summer of your 17th year, something neither of your parents could be trusted with. Worst of all, though - that small leather bound journal where you keep all of your most precious thoughts - gone from its secret spot.

In bold letters on the tri-folded booklet you had seen so many Sunday mornings when entering the church sanctuary - “What does the Bible say about LUST?” 

Tears fell hard and fast, shame and anger at having been caught. Humiliation. You lower yourself to the ground, your forehead presses against the carpet of your closet. You think about what you’ve lost, the least of which the small vibrator used only twice since Karen gave it to you. The journal is gone. Your words, your private thoughts, are gone. Worse still, they are in your mother’s possession, where she can twist them. Make them dirty and vile. Your truest thoughts turned to ash, never to be thought by you again.

Tagging: @tomtomslongdong@big-ope-vibes@jo-harrington No pressure to interact, but I want to make sure ya'll see it if you want to read it.

#eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x fem!reader #stranger things

[krysalla]

this is a request for how our creepy darling dr crane would realize and deal with Feelings towards the reader please 👉👈 i feel like he’d have trouble reconciling the mental/psychological attraction with more baser, sexual feelings and would end up either being too restrained or too uninhibited

warnings: ummm crane being a creep with no boundaries and a little freak

f!reader

Dealing with Ivy is never a pleasant experience. Her lair is a thick, humid jungle of plants that always change, teasing him as they shift the path to confuse him and lead him astray. She refuses to meet him outside of her hideaway. So, he trudges along the shifting roots and vines to get what he wants. He huffs and he puffs and he curses the bits of leaves and dirt and debris that get on his suit and into the burlap fabric of his mask.

He bats at a plant, pushing it out of his way, only for the damned thing to hit him back.

The compound better be ready.

Finally, the plants give way, done with their game, and reveal Ivy’s lab to him. And, of course, Ivy is nowhere in sight. So he huffs and puffs some more, crosses his arms over his chest as he looks over the lab. It looks untouched, even with an experiment running in the back. Another trick. He won’t be so easily turned away after all he had to walk through to get here. Jonathan digs his feet into the dirt floor. He refuses to leave without Ivy’s samples. He has spent months planning and researching for this new toxin. A new way to descend Gotham City into complete and utter chaos. The streets will be filled with people overwhelmed by their own fear and arousal. He wants them reduced to nothing but animals, to watch them burn their beloved city to the ground with their brains in overdrive from the conflict of the two heightened states. This will be his magnum opus. 

Minutes go by before he hears a noise coming from behind a curtain towards the back wall. The fabric flicks up and you duck beneath it quickly, scrubbing at the front of your denim overalls.

“Oh!” you startle when you notice him. Perhaps this venture won’t be a waste if he can get such an easy fright from you. He always carries a small case of syringes with him, just on the off chance he finds himself bored. It would be so easy, just a small pinprick.

He clears his throat, “Where is Ivy?”

“She’s busy. Something about a pesticide company, I think?” you buckle the left straps of your overalls back into place and smile, “But she told me you’d be here. I’ve got everything ready for you.”

You beckon him with a wave of the hand and he follows you, some nameless nobody, to the room you’d just come out of. You pull back the curtain and reveal rows and rows of samples and plants, all lined up neatly on the shelves. Ivy’s been up to no good recently judging by the various substances.

He reaches into his front pocket and feels the rigid line of cool metal.

“Let’s see… compound 34A…” you wander the aisles, snaking through them while occasionally checking over a few plants along the way with a thoughtful hum.

If only you would hurry up. Ivy could be back any moment and he would like to witness your fear himself for as long as possible. And it would be more beneficial to him if he got Ivy’s pheromone before he injects you. Ivy might not take well to his playing with you, if you really mean anything to her, her revenge would be swift. He taps his foot when you spend a little longer on an out of control plant. You don’t even acknowledge him or his impatience, you just pull out a little notepad from your pocket and start taking notes.

He can’t help the sharp tone in his voice, he doesn’t want to spend a second longer here than he has to. He has big plans and so little time to fulfill them. “Do you enjoy wasting my time?”

“Hmm?” you don’t even spare him a look, focused on examining the wilted leaves of a plant that looks like it's on the verge of dying.

“Who are you? I thought Ivy worked alone.”

“Well, you can’t let plants run amok like that. Fungi will spread, infect other plants, poison the fruit. Diseases run rampant. Ivy believes in the green but it still needs to be maintained and cared for. That’s why I’m here. I care for the green.” You put your notepad in the front pocket of your overalls, “You know, I was very impressed by your work on that last release of fear toxin. It was incredible.”

“Of course it was.” He doesn’t need praise. Doesn’t want it from someone as low as you on the food chain. Jonathan knows how well it went, how seamless his plans went. Even the Batman himself couldn’t stop him and that there is a badge of honor around this city. So, no, he will glaze over the compliment from the girl playing farmer’s daughter, as pretty as you might be.

He presses the latch on the case to open it.

“Self assured, huh? I like that.” You take the compound from the test tube rack and turn to him. You step into his space, close enough for him to feel your breath against the sliver of skin that shows on his neck. He’s glad for the mask, you won’t be able to see the blood rush to his cheeks and ears. Your hand slides up his chest, test tube caught between your index and middle finger, and back down to his front pocket to carefully slip the test tube there, right next to his case of syringes. “I hope this works for you, Mr. Scarecrow.”

He hopes you don't notice the shiver that runs through him.

---

As with most nights, he works late, scribbling notes on his subjects. His current ones are a man and a woman, a couple he'd picked up somewhere in the East End, are a particularly good pair of subjects. He wrote down five pages worth of notes in the three hours he had them naked and writing around on the floor. The man had beaten the woman to death in the throes of ecstasy and then slammed his head against the wall.

Cockroaches, he screamed out, had been crawling over the woman's body and his own.

They expired quicker than he thought they would. He will have to adjust the ratio of Ivy's pheromone to fear toxin.

He places his notepad down and reaches for one of the dozen others that he keeps on his desk. He needs a clean slate. Jonathan works dutifully on correcting the dosage, the chemical makeup of the sample. And his mind can't help but wander. He thinks of the gardener.

The pure pheromone sits still on the rack.

You would make a wonderful test subject.

---

He stands in a familiar corn field. Yes, he remembers it well-- the grueling summer afternoons spent tending to the field under his great grandmother's eye while he swung the scythe to cut down the dead corn stalks. Even during autumn and winter he was not granted reprieve from punishment out in the fields. Yes, this corn field is familiar.

He stands above the field, watching carefully over his crop. He cannot move. His limbs made of straw and sticks. He is wearing his burlap sack. Jonathan has become a real scarecrow.

It's peaceful.

Content with the sounds of birds and the soft beating of the sun against him, he relaxes into his post. Even if his body is strung up like he's Christ on the cross.

The stalks before him rustle. The breeze stops and the birds quiet. Not a dream then, but a nightmare, some terror just on the horizon. It’s safer than a dream. He waits, tied up on his post, and watches the slithering path of the creature in the field. It waits at the edge of the clearing.

It’s no creature full of teeth and venom ready to consume him, just you, the gardener. You emerge from between the green stalks, wearing your silly overalls and a big smile like you're happy to see him. You do not falter. You step to his post and climb up the ladder. Face to face, you stare at him curiously as your hand hovers along the side of his masked face, and he waits with bated breath for your next move.

"Hello, Mr. Scarecrow," you whisper, leaning close to his ear, "won't you join me?"

You untie the ropes around his ankles and wrists, catching him against your chest when he falls forward. It's an awkward dance down his post, your hand gripping onto the tattered burlap of his shirt and your stilted steps as you stop on each rung of the ladder, checking that he is still safe in your grasp.

A crow caws.

Finally, he is down on the ground, placed gently on his back by you.

He wants to feel you on him, even the press of your hand against the burlap would be enough. Never in his life had he wanted so badly to feel the skin of another against his. Jonathan is used to it, but it's all he thinks about, your hands, your lips, your teeth on him, anywhere so long as you touch him. All you do is hover over him, straddling his waist and watching with a gentle stare.

The sky behind you has turned dark and the crows flock to his post. A thousand eyes stare down at him.

You lean closer to his face. He wishes to hold your shoulders and drag you down to him but his body is made of straw. Your hands wander over burlap and straw and rough plaid. If he had a heart, it would be stuttering in his chest.

Mercifully, you kiss him.

When you pull back, your face falls. No longer is the kind, warm gleam in your eyes and a smile of a love-struck fool. There's no burlap. He can feel the air on his skin. His face revealed to you. No longer is he Scarecrow, but plain old lanky Jonathan Crane. He reaches for you, limbs again made of skin and bone and tissue.

You wrench yourself from him in disgust and run back towards the corn.

The crows caw in unison.

---

If he didn't have to, he wouldn't be back here. He wouldn't be storming through Ivy's lair where you play gardener in your overalls and gloves, with your little trowel and watering can. But he needs more of Ivy's compound. Weeks he spent fantasizing and dreaming that same dream of you and now, confronted with the idea that he will see you in the flesh once more makes his stomach turn with fear and embarrassment and that infuriates him. He, the master of fear, should not be so scared of a silly, little girl who wears overalls embroidered with bright flowers. He pushes at the branches a little harder, digs his feet in a little deeper into the mushrooms he steps on, tears the flowers from the bushes as he shoulders his way through the thicket.

As he inflicts his damage, the forest grows crueler, springing thicker walls of branches and makes the mud thicker to trap him. Ivy's children go to work on making it harder for him and it only angers him more and makes him more violent to the green. A vicious cycle, all because of you.

You barrel out from the bushes and shoulder him down onto the ground. He lands hard, knocks the breath right out of him, while you land softly on him, legs splayed around his waist with that same look of disgust he dreamed up.

"What are you doing!"

You hit his chest with the sides of your fists and it hurts, but it feels good, makes him feel alive, and he knows this is not just another dream. His heart beats and his lungs suck in air, and his limbs are flesh and bone. And he grabs you with one hand, just the way he wanted to in his dream, and with the other hand, he rips off his mask. He is the master of fear and he will not let some lackey scare him into submission.

The both of you are covered in mud, and his hands smear it across your face as he brings you down to a kiss.

You shake in his hold and beat your fists along his sides and his chest. He savors each second of blazing contact. In the struggle, you wrap your hands around his throat, pressing down on his windpipe. Who will be the first to break?

His lungs burn and wreak havoc in his chest as they try to pull in as much air through his nose. He holds you tighter to him and you bite his lip hard and draw blood. He lets you go. You whip away from him, leaning back on your haunches. You lick his blood from your lips and spit it back at him.

“Don’t ever touch the green like that again.”

You push his face down into the mud and clamber off of him and wander back into the wood. He follows after, his hand in his pocket, fingers circling over the latch.

#YES i was thinking about that scene in pearl! #jonathan crane x reader #jonathan crane x you #scarecrow x reader #scarecrow x you #my writing #req tag #dc imagine #asks

[sparrowrye]

Demi Demon || Alastor x Reader, A2 part 11

Synopsis: It’s been over a year since we were brought under Alastor’s watchful eye. We’ve unlocked our Demonic powers, discovered our own talents, and began building the Safe Haven with Charlie and co. Alastor seems increasingly interested in the power we hold as one and intends to use it properly.

Previous part

Part 11: whistling

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Spencer tried not to swallow for fear of his throat brushing against the razor sharp knife a hair from his skin. The magic headband had been strapped tightly to his head, preventing any and all use of his magic. His hands were tied painfully behind the chair he was sitting on. His guard lay unconscious by the door.

"Where is the Haven?" one of the Humans demanded. There were three of them, two standing in front of him and the other behind his back holding the knife to his throat.

"I-I don't know. I wasn't allowed to know." He didn't know where or who to look at.

"Bullshit. We've seen the photos on your papers."

"Those were given to me. I wasn't allowed in the Haven, I swear." He felt the knife press harder against his neck and a trickle of blood fell.

"Can we use it boss?" the one man asked. He was the smaller of the three and wore a flat hat similar to Spencer's. The man standing beside him nodded, finally telling Spencer who was in charge.

"Use what?" Spencer asked nervously. Alastor where are you?

The man didn't answer. He let his lackey put a heavy suitcase next to him. He withdrew a metal device with wires connected to it. Reaching behind, Spencer let out a cry when something sharp stabbed his wrist. The man turned on a switch on the case.

Spencer instantly knew what was happening. His body tingled and he started to feel lightheaded as his blood was sucked out by the machine. His head lulled back against the chair.

"Where's the Haven?" someone asked him again.

"Don't know coordinates," Spencer mumbled.

"Describe the surrounding area."

Spencer tried to keep quiet but he couldn't stop himself. "Ocean. Forest."

"Good job. What about the-"

The room went dark. The men started yelling at each other trying to decipher what had happened. Meanwhile, I turned off the switch and sliced the wires. I pulled the headband off Spencer and lifted him up by his arm, dragging him to the door before lifting the shadows.

The men stared at the empty seat before looking around. They went still when they saw us standing at the entrance. I had a tight grip on Spencer's shoulder to keep him upright against me. My Demon side was showing and I let my lips curl into a smile.

"I don't appreciate you interrogating my friend," I said in a sweet voice. The headman pulled out a whistle and blew. My ears pinned to my head and I fell against the doorway. The noise pierced my eardrums, my hands desperately trying to protect them. The noise didn't last long but it left a horrible ringing in my head.

The window shattered as a green vine wrapped around my ankle and yanked me out into the night. I skidded on my back and rolled over, sliding to a stop on the other side of the street. I looked up to find a woman with her arms raised and various vines coming out of her back.

Fuck.

I hated fighting women. They were more vicious and faster than men who wanted to brute force their way through things.

The woman wore layers of browns and creams and I could see moss and other plants running along her limbs. She almost looked infected rather than a willing host. I noticed a lack of horns atop her head, a marking for all Demons. Perhaps they were just very small.

She casted a vine at me and I rolled out of the way. I threw fire and wind to singe the plant, two more replacing it immediately. I fell into the small version of my Dragon form and ran along the street. I jumped and weaved through her vines, noticing very quickly that they all had thorns on them.

I casted wind as I jumped through and ducked under them. I slid out from under the mess and turned to admire my handiwork. I had managed to tangle most of them in a knotted mess. She was trying to untangle her vines when I noticed something on her back. It was some kind of strange backpack. Wires ran from it directly into the back of her arms.

She threw her vines in my direction, nearly throwing me off my feet. I opened the ground beneath her and closed it around her body. I imagined my invisible hand pinning the vines to the ground. She let out a yell as she tried to pull herself out of the hole.

I went back to the window to find Spencer. He was slumped against the wall and the men were nowhere in sight, their machine with them. Spencer was breathing which meant he was alive. I could feel his soul still anchored tightly to his body.

I turned back to the woman. I knelt down to examine the backpack. "What is this?"

"Fuck off!" she snapped. She was about my age, maybe a year or two younger.

"Where did you get this?"

She responded the same way as the first. I laid a heavy hand on her shoulder to stop her from moving so much. The backpack was made of metal and clearly had electricity running through it. On the top, engraved in a gold plate, was the name: Blackwater.

It felt familiar but I couldn't pinpoint from where. My thoughts were rudely interrupted by another high pitched whistle. I covered both ears this time, pressing my forehead into the cold stone. It wouldn't stop. My body started to vibrate and I let out a yell as the sound punctured something and grew only louder.

Then it abruptly cut off. My vision was blurry as I looked around the empty street. I looked to the woman and saw the hole where she had been empty. She had gotten away. There was no movement anywhere on the street, even when my vision cleared. I had lost her.

I eased the horrible headache and the throbbing pain in my ears with magic before attempting to stand. I went to find Spencer more awake. He was massaging his wrist where a piece of cloth had been wrapped around.

"Thank you," he said as I stepped around the broken glass.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here sooner," I apologized, holding a hand out to him. I helped him up as he took in the sight of his office. His little shop had been torn apart, papers and books everywhere and ink splattered all over the wood floor.

"It's alright. I knew this would happen." His small shoulders sagged with the sigh he let out.

"Why don't you come back with me? At least for tonight."

He nodded, his cartoon eyes looking around his distorted room once more. The fact that he didn't argue against the offer told me he had been dealing with a lot more than I first thought. I wrapped an arm around his shoulders and grabbed the guard's wrist. Charlie teleported us all back and found an empty bed for Spencer. She and I talked briefly about moving him permanently to the Haven.

Back at the house, I found Alastor waiting in the hallway to our bedrooms, arms folded behind his back and cane sticking out from behind one shoulder. "Thank you for taking care of Spencer," he said. I had heard Spencer was in danger through one of the many radios in Alastor's room. He had been nowhere near the house so I went to save the poor man before we lost a big asset.

"Sure." I rubbed my eyes. "Do you know what Blackwater is?"

He tilted his head to the side. "In what context?"

"I saw it on a contraption one of the people were wearing. It was on a metal plate on some weird metal backpack."

He continued to stare at me, lost in thought. For once, I wasn't incredibly bothered by it. I had gotten used to his crimson red eyes always watching me. "I don't believe I recognize it. Sounds as though its a manufacture name."

"Probably."

I moved to grab my door handle but he suddenly appeared an inch from my face. "Your ears are bleeding."

I took a step back and reached up to feel the nearly dried blood dripping down the side of my head. I looked at my blood on my fingers, darker because of my black, scaly skin. He moved to touch my wrist but hesitated, drawing it back a moment later.

"It must've happened when they blew the whistle."

"The whistle?" he inquired, straightening up.

"Yeah. One of the men had a small whistle but it was really loud. I think only I was able to hear it because the woman I was fighting got away when I heard it." I touched the other ear to find more blood on that side too.

Alastor offered his hand in front of me. "May I?"

"May you what?" I turned to face him completely.

"May I heal your ears?"

"Oh...uh..." I could heal my own ears but maybe he was looking for an excuse to touch my blood. It would be better for him to do it this way then to do...the thing...like last time. "Sure."

He held his cane in the crook of his arm and brought both hands up to the side of my face. His palms were cold as they pressed gently around my ears, gradually warming as his magic melted into my skin. He didn't invade my shields, sitting comfortably just a hair away and soaking in our shared energy. I almost wanted him to pass through my shields out of sheer habit.

My ears made a funny pop and it felt like a blanket had been lifted from them. I could hear everything, even the creak of the house's wood from the wind. My ears tried moving against his hands as the sound of magic slowly faded away. I hadn't realized how much I couldn't hear until he had fixed them.

"There," he said with a raise of his voice at the end, "that should feel much better!" He lowered his hands but didn't step away from me. I rubbed my fingers in front of my ears and smiled when I could hear my skin rubbing together.

"Thanks." I noticed his teeth had disappeared to show his gentle smile.

"Of course.  Will I be seeing you tomorrow afternoon for another session?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Good. Sleep well," he nodded his head to me. He swiftly turned around and took two steps to enter his room. I noticed the outline of our thread again. I was about to walk into my room when I heard his radio turn on.

I lingered in the hallway, newly healed ears twitching at the sound of the introduction tunes. I didn't have to wait long for the lyrics to start and when they did, he began to sing. I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes, falling into a trance like state.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author's Note:

Y'all better get ready. The next chapter is a doozy.

#demi demon #alastor the radio demon #alastor x reader #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #soulmate au #soulmates #reqs open #ocs