#ghosts who died in the woods. and the woods are more full of ghosts than there will ever be in the cities.

[zillychu]

I’ve gotten a WAVE of asks about this AU, so I decided to flesh it out some more and answer some of those questions!

I’ll probably polish this extended summary up at some point and submit it to AO3. But for now, here’s a rundown of my thoughts–please feel free to send more questions! I’ll update this post if I get any more. But if you’re someone who wanted to write fic for it, don’t worry, you don’t need to take my headcanons as gospel. It’s a pretty basic AU honestly lol

Summary:

The portal accident results in a violent explosion that wipes out the whole block, and condemns all of Amity Park. Danny haunts the city for 100 years, before Sam and Tucker find him. 

Setup:

In the 1920’s, 19-year-old Danny went into the incomplete portal on his own, hoping to help out his parents. Ripping the portal open through unnatural means created a huge burst of energy that resulted in a massive explosion. A good portion of the Amity Park population died, many were injured, and the ones on the fringes relocated–Amity was quickly deemed too dangerous due to the excess ectoplasm in the area that attracted ghosts. 

While the disaster was in Amity, the fallout was seen around the globe. Before, natural portals were rare, short-lived, and rarely allowed ghosts to fully slip into our realm (the most severe cases being on par with poltergeists that most people didn’t believe in). Now, natural portals pop open frequently around the world, large enough to allow the entirety of a ghost into the physical plane. They’re more common the closer you get to Amity, but they happen enough elsewhere that this change was something of a small apocalypse before people settled back down and found out how to combat at least some of their new, permanent neighbors. 

Danny is unaware that he’s only half-dead, believing he’s a full ghost. He ends up sticking around Amity, unintentionally making it his haunt. His grief and guilt over causing the death of his loved ones (and many others) makes him isolate and avoid human contact. Though he has, at times, scared nosy people away from the city in a mix of territorial instinct–and to get them to leave before a less friendly ghost finds them. 

Ghosts are much more of an uncontested danger in this AU. Lesser ghosts are practically mindless, and while stronger ghosts are capable of reason, their interests are limited. They’re highly territorial, possessive, and often destructive. Most worrisome is that they also like to snack on the life force of anything alive. No one is sure what dictates a ghost’s propensity to attack or hunt the living for their life force since ghosts don’t exactly experience hunger. At least, not the way we do. If a human is rescued before their life force is fully drained, they can make a full recovery–though humanity has still not yet found what this “life force" is. 

And since the Fentons’ research died along with them, there aren’t many tools available to the public to protect them from ghosts. Most homes have standard ghost shields and some weapons are available on the market, but certified ghost hunters are required to take care of anything more powerful than your average spook. 

Sam and Tucker met in high school, and are now rooming together for college very close to the Amity border. Rent is surprisingly cheap when you’re a stone’s throw away from a condemned area crawling with ghosts. Sam is the one who drags Tucker along with her fascination over finding out more about the city, and its largely mysterious demise. Sam is aware of the danger, but feels ghosts have a place in this world just like everything else, and does exercise caution–like one would while foraging in the woods with a known tiger population. 

What she and Tucker weren’t expecting was to run into a ghost that felt almost human. One that hasn't hurt them, not for lack of trying–while being powerful enough to walk past ghost shields without so much as a flinch. The long white hair is familiar in the whispers of the ectobiologist community, but there’s no way it could be the rumored ghost king Phantom, right?

About Danny:

He has very long hair, claws, and black sclera. His hazmat suit is more torn and ragged, with exposed hands and feet that fade into a burnt black.

His hair tends to float a lot on its own. It can start morphing into fire under duress. 

He does still technically have gloves and boots, they've just charred and melted into his skin towards the ends. He can't take them off in his ghost form. His hands and feet have a leathery texture that's tougher than the rest of his skin.

The white of his hazmat suit is both supposed to look like flames, and also a battered look representing his more violent, explosive death.

Overall, he appears rather listless and sad, with an unnerving air of danger around him–even for a ghost. 

Danny’s “ghost sense” comes out as white smoke.

He does breathe black smoke at times, usually when agitated. 

He's already fought and defeated Pariah Dark by the time Sam and Tucker find him, technically making him the Ghost King. This is heavily speculated by ghost experts, despite there being no real proof beyond a massive battle that scarred Illinois. He has not donned the Ring or the Crown, and captured sentient ghosts are hesitant to answer questions surrounding him. Danny basically has the throne but doesn’t do anything with it, and finds it meaningless enough to routinely forget he has the title. He only fought Pariah because he knew otherwise, humanity would have perished. A lot of ghosts are scared of him because he's so hard to figure out, and he's strong. 

Danny is usually very quiet and speaks softly, because his lungs were damaged in the blaze that half-killed him. He's technically healed since becoming a ghost, so it's more of a compulsion due to the traumatic memory. That, and he’s just… very forlorn and distant, shy around humans who don’t seem to understand how dangerous it is to keep hanging around him.

His memories pre-accident are extremely fuzzy. He knows the very basics of who he was, but specifics have been muffled due to trauma and isolation. He routinely forgets human habits, etiquette, etc. and tends to act more like a full ghost with some odd quirks. 

He does try to scare Sam and Tucker off numerous times. Unfortunately for him, they realized they shouldn't have been able to escape a ghost that strong–but they did, because he let them. 

Sam and Tucker think he's mute at first! He doesn't speak a word to them until several encounters later, when he fumbles his whole scary act and saves them from another ghost. 

He’s still half-ghost, though he doesn’t figure this out until Sam and Tucker come along trying to unravel the mysteries behind the Amity catastrophe. Physically and emotionally, he’s been stuck for 100 years–so his human form is still 19. It’s unclear at this point if he can age normally like a human as long as he stays in human form, or if he’s immortal. 

Danny's family did not turn into ghosts, though he sometimes worries he'll find them in the afterlife as shells of their former selves. He doesn't know if it's better or worse that he's not sure he'd recognize them. 

(Danny also still has some living family. Take a guess.)

Yes, he knows how to Wail. Understandably, he very rarely uses it. You do not want to witness this.

Danny :) is not immune :) from the allure of eating a human's life force :)))

#danny phantom #au #zilly art #I just wanted to draw a boy with long hair and claws how did this happen #fire core au

[ask-spooky-manor]

Common Fear Headcanons

What common fear/phobia each manor resident has and why

(Leaving it under a Read More cause it got long oops)

Trigger Warning: There are hints to child abuse in Sally’s and Tim’s parts so read with caution

Toby: The Dark

- Toby has a really bad anxiety disorder that only worsens if he’s left in the dark. Not being able to see anything leads to his mind coming up with more and more horrid scenarios that leave him at best: extremely on edge and at worst: having a full blown panic attack.

Tim: Spiders (and some bugs)

- Not every foster home was kind to Tim. A lot of then were outright cruel. One of them would lock Tim in a dark basement for hours on end where he constantly felt spiders crawl on his skin. Even when he was let out, he could still feel the phantom touch of the spiders. It lead to him developing a really bad case of arachnophobia as the sight of a spider takes him back to a time where he felt so hopeless.

Brian: Heights

- Brian is considered to be very fearless, but the idea of being somewhere high up will have him frozen in place. He fell once, technically died, and he fears of it happening again without being given a third chance at life.

Jeff: Heights

- This one is less personal and more having the general fear of falling to his death. He also deals with that phenomenon where once you’re high up, you have the urge to throw yourself off. It really unnerves him.

Ben: The Ocean

- …okay well sometimes the obvious choice is the best one! Drowning is said to be one of the worst and most painful ways to die. With Ben having been killed that way, they’re not exactly ready to jump into a pool anytime soon. Ghosts are mostly numbed to a lot of sensations but even then, Ben never wants to experience drowning ever again.

EJ: Forests

- The fear is completely ironic, but Jack has lived alone in the woods, freshly blind, for enough years to realize that a lot of freaky shit happens there. From ghosts haunting an area to creatures lurking behind the trees to even inhuman acts happening where no one in society can judge. It spooked Jack to the point where he dislikes having to go into the woods to hunt. Again, it’s ironic when he himself is a man eating demon, but you gotta remember that he still has his humanity unlike most forest creatures (and serial killers).

Natalie: Tight Spaces

- She has a classic case of claustrophobia. Generally speaking the feeling of being trapped makes her slowly lose her shit the longer she’s stuck there. It’s even worse if she can’t move her body. It subconsciously reminds her of the time she was made to stay in a poorly funded mental hospital against her will.

Jane: Mirrors

- It’s also an ironic kind of fear. On one hand, Jane very much adores looking at herself in the mirror. She’s gorgeous, she knows she’s gorgeous, she likes being able to see how gorgeous she is. On the other hand if she stares at it for too long, she starts to dissociate, see shadows lurk behind her, swear the person looking back isn’t her. She hates walking by them more than anything, fearing she’ll catch a monster following her if she glances over to the mirror.

Nina: Being Alone

- She is the kind of person who needs to be with someone else at all times. Being left alone will lead to her thoughts racing faster than it should. Her paranoia worsens, and she starts to feel like she’s losing her mind. The anxious thoughts and scenarios she has scares her to no end.

Sally: People

- After what happened to her, Sally unfortunately is someone who was forced to realize that there are terrible people out there. People who want to hurt others for no good reason. She may seem fine living in a manor with a bunch of people now, but truth is that it took a loooong time for her to get used to it. Each time a new person is brought in, Sally needs to take a good while to see whether or not they’d ever hurt her. Luckily no one in the manor ever would, and if they did they’d be swiftly dealt with.

Slender: The Outside

- Slender is borderline agoraphobic. He can’t really leave the dimension he created because if he did, his Curse of Misfortune would take affect. Anyone he’s near is doomed to face great misfortune to a life ruining degree. For this reason, Slender has grown a fear of leaving the manor knowing simply being out there will lead to people getting hurt. It makes him nauseous to step out there even if the portal to the real world opens up in some secluded place.

#headcanons #creepypasta headcanons #creepypasta #creepypasta fandom #ticci toby #toby rogers #marble hornets #masky #tim wright #hoodie #brian thomas #jeff the killer #ben drowned #eyeless jack #natalie ouellette #clockwork #jane the killer #jane richardson #jane everlasting #nina the killer #sally williams #slenderman

[yandere-chocolate]

Yandere invisible monster x Reader ~(Plamantic)~

@biribaa requested an invisible yandere.

CW/TW: kidnapping, possessive behavior, horror, fear.

You were in the old library that resided out by the hill near the small town you lived in. You had heard there of the folklore surrounding this library since you were young. Some told you it was haunted by lost souls that died in the woods before the town was built, whilst others said the library itself came alive at midnight & consumed all who entered. Whatever the case, the folklore never seemed to paint it a friendly light; which is why you’re here now. You wanted to prove these foolish tales wrong! & also the books & atmosphere in this library are simply divine.

You walked between long, full shelves; completely unaware of the nonexistent eyes burning into your soul.

You gaze at the spines, giving some a soft stroke to feel their golden letters. All the books here looked like they came straight out of a fairytale! Although some had odd titles such as:

“The cookbook for demons.”

“The bride’s spider.”

“How to kill someone beloved.”

“101 ways to eat teeth of all kinds!”

All of which had soft leather covers & gold engravings, which only made their content more bizarre.

As you were reading a book titled “the love story of butterflies” the lights flickered & you heard the sound of a book falling on the cold, hard light-auburn floor.

You slowly turned to the noise, the fear of seeing someone or something else there making your blood run cold.

But there nothing there.

Just a book the laid at the center between two book shelves. As you took a closer look the pages began flipping faster & faster until they landed on a page.

“‘Hello! What’s your name?” I ask to the lovely patron, or rather someone I hope will become a frequent visitor.”

You stared in awe at the page, a chill crawling its way up your spine. The page stayed like that before it flipped to the next one,

“‘Can you understand me?” I ask, hoping the other person can understand me & isn’t unable to read. There are unfortunately quite a few people who can’t read in the nearby town, especially after they stopped allowing me to teach people…oh, so much education; wasted. “Oh!” I acknowledge, remembering that if they can read, they can read my boring melodrama. “I’m sorry! I haven’t been to tαʅƙ ƚσ αɳყσຖē iຖ ฯēคrŞ.’” The text said, the writing near the last section becoming…different than the rest of it. But it was clear the book was talking to you. You felt a little worried, but that drained away soon enough.

“My name is…” you trailed off, only able to stare at the page. It flipped once more after about a minute,

“‘That’s okay, my friend” I say, “I will find out soon enough~”. I smile, but my newfound can’t see it, not with what happened. “Oh dear! Please, ignore that, the story sometimes just writes itself!” I tell them, gazing at them through the shelves, though they can’t see me due to my lack of physical form; outside of this book, of course!”

Although you still felt off you still talked to the book, almost all of the fear in your body had slipped away & you began learning about the strange spirit…shadow…demon…whatever.

You learned that it was a man! A man that was dedicated to learning as much as they could so that they could share that with everyone he could. He became a professor & a librarian; pleased to educate anyone who wanted to learn & when they weren’t teaching, they were learning. From what they told you, they seemed to almost have their head in a book when they were…well, they aren’t sure if they should say “alive” or “physical form” but, regardless of if they were a ghost or a being unknown to you, you felt a bit of that fear spike back up but quickly die back down.

You soon left, planning to come back despite the multiple chills you felt at the library. They were genuinely nice, albeit talkative.

He learned your name & you learned his; Vivílo.

You kept thinking about Vivílo & their magical library. Books full of spells, descriptions of other dimensions, & even some normal stuff like cookbooks & children’s fairytales.

You soon fell asleep in your warm bed, dreaming of those stories you & Vivílo read together.

——————————————————————

You had been visiting Vivílo every dusk. Reading stories, listening to him table about certain discoveries he made that he used to teach the town, but you did notice how the next would change in the books he presented himself in every time he mentioned being alone or being without a bipedal form. Or any form outside of a book, for that matter.

Unfortunately, you & Vivílo’s friendship couldn’t last. You had gotten a job elsewhere. Normally, you wouldn’t even bother, but this particular job paid quite a bit. You didn’t want to pass up this opportunity.

“‘Hey! Are you okay? You aren’t paying attention to anything my vessel is writing! I can’t speak anymore, you know?” I say to them, becoming a mix of annoyed & worried. They haven’t been reading my texts for the past 5 minutes!” You read, feeling embarrassed that you zoned out on this invisible person for 5 whole minutes. You didn’t mean to! It’s just…it breaks your heart that this is your last night together. Well, maybe. Who knows? Maybe you will find time to visit.

You told Vivílo.

“…” the page said, remaining only those three dots for what felt like forever. The ink faded away; retreating into itself & the page was left blank. You waited, but to no avail. You let out a sigh of disappointment.

You closed the book Vivílo was controlling, set it down, & headed to the door while waving goodbye.

But as soon as you reached to open the library door, they closed shut on you with so much force that you stumbled back. Confused, you tried opening the doors again, “it might just be a strong gust of wind! These door are very heavy.” You thought. But unfortunately, no matter how much you tried to push them open, they stayed closed.

You began violently shaking the doors, banging on them, but they didn’t budge.

Then, you heard the oh-so-familiar sound of a leather book falling to the floor.

You slowly turned, seeing the book about 5 meters away from you. You freeze.

Did Vivílo…?

The book open sharply, its leather cover smacking to the floor. It stayed blank for a few seconds before letters began to appear as you walked closer. It felt like a bad idea—but what was the worst that could happen? Vivílo had no form! They’re invisible!

Of course, you were wrong. Because how could things possibly be that simple for you? How could you be that lucky?

“‘I’m sorry, my dearest friend”, I say to them, “I’m afraid I have been alone far too long to let you leave forever. Do you have any idea how long I have been here? Alone? Well, I can’t tell you, because I lost count after the first hundred years.”’ The text read. He sound pissed. “‘Can you believe that?” I ask, “can you believe that after spending 378 years of my life to help these people & they repay that by leaving me to not only rot away in my library but they made folktales to deter others from coming here as well?! I-…” I pause, letting out a sigh. “That doesn’t matter. Because now I have you. &, unfortunately, you aren’t going to change that. So sorry, love.”’ The book said as thorny vines crept around the doors & locked them into place. You began shaking, completely confused. Vivílo was never able to do this before!

“‘Oh? Impressed? Well, I suppose I never told you I can control this entire library & then some~” I say” as the text appeared the candles began flickering before burning just as bright as before.

“‘Sorry, love. But I think another hundred years alone mɨɢɦȶ ɖʀɨงē ๓ē t໐ ๓คᦔꪀꫀᦓᦓ”’

#yanderecore #yandere #yandere blog #yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere monster #yandere monster x reader #soft yandere

[bethanythebogwitch]

@fishyfishyfishtimes, I noticed you like mermaids and enjoyed my fish Digimon post, so you may be interested in mermaid Digimon.

The OG is Mermaimon and I really like that she's (I'm saying she but whether or not Digimon have genders depends on which setting is being used) also a pirate. The lore says she uses her beautiful singing voice to lure people in and rob them. She also carries an anchor as a weapon and is not afraid to give someone a thrashing.

Mermaimon is the OG mermaid in the sense that she debuted first, but in lore the OG is AncientMermaimon. She is one of the Warrior 10, a group of ancient Digimon from the beginning of the Digital World. The Warrior 10 are dead, having long ago died to stop Lucemon (as in Lucifer) from destroying the Digital World. While the Warrior 10 are long dead, their data went onto spawn many species of other Digimon. AncientMermaimon specifically is the ancestor of all aquatic Digimon. She was effectively a goddess of the sea, able to control the weather and with enough power to sink entire islands. While I like the original Mermaimon's design more for its pirate theme, AncientMermaimon also has a great design.

The only merman in Digimon is Neptunemon. As the name suggests, he is based on the Neptune, roman god of the sea. He is also part of a group, the Olympos XII, who are also based on the Olympian gods. They collectively rule a portion of the Digital World that is on a private server called Iliad. He is the absolute ruler of the oceans on the Iliad server. I really like his samurai-inspired armor and the trident made of shark heads.

While that's all the proper mermaids, I have some honorable mentions in that they still fill the aquatic creature/girl archetype. The first is Ranamon, who has a direct connection to AncientMermaimon from above. In the anime Digimon Frontier, which introduced the Warrior 10, it is established that their spirits, each representative of an element, survived their death and can be taken up and used by others. While half the spirits are taken by the heroes, the other half are corrupted into evil. The good spirits are fire, light, ice, wind, and thunder while the corrupted spirits are steel, water, wood, earth, and darkness (later redeemed). Ranamon and her evolution are the corrupted spirit of water. The only spirit that we saw both the pure and corrupted versions of was darkness and I think that's a big missed opportunity. Ranamon is easily my favorite of the spirits, which is largely due to the english dub making her a classic mean girl with a southern accent. Her name comes from the Spanish word for frog.

Ranamon's evolution is Calamaramon, who is deliberately designed to be a darker version of a mermaid. Instead of a fish tail, she has an entire upside-down squid for a lower body. She's also supposed to be a sea witch and has a major temper. Oddly enough, she's one of the only spirt Digimon from Frontier that has shown up in other series. In the Digimon Adventure reboot she shows up as a major threat and in Digimon Ghost Game she's a monster of the week that's only a villain due to a misunderstanding. In approve given her role in Frontier basically boiled down to a joke about her being uglier than Ranamon.

Last of the honorable mentions is the entire Jellymon evolution line: Jellymon to TeslaJellymon to Thetismon, to Amphimon. They're pretty recent recent Digimon, having been designed for the most recent anime, Digimon Ghost Game, where she's one of the main characters. She is also easily the biggest little shit in the franchise. I really like the jellyfish meets human design of the line. I also suspect Amphimon wearing a full-body dive suit is a deliberate subversion of the trend of feminine Digimon having sexy designs.

Jellymon

TeslaJellymon

Testismon

Amphimon

#Digimon #mermaid #mermaid digimon #mermaimon #ancientmermaimon #neptunemon #ranamon #calamaramon #jellymon #teslajellymon #thestismon #amphimon

[pedropascallme]

The Good, the Bad, and the Better

Pairing: gunslinger!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Summary: "You stretched your legs when you got off the train, wondering how so much sitting could make your joints so sore. You had one bag, which was, truthfully, more than enough. You fit your entire life into the handheld leather case, and it felt both freeing and deeply, deeply woeful."

Content: Mentions of death, uuuh US cholera epidemic? gnc!Ellie because I said so. That's all for now. If I missed anything please let me know!

AN: hi I’m trying something new….felt the need to get Joel involved with a sexy lil cowboy AU. Full disclosure this was inspired by @qwimchii and the AMAZING gunslinger!ghost series she’s been writing (go support her work!!). Lmk if you guys want more of this in the future, I have….plans….for this story, to say the least, so treat it as an intro of sorts?

Jefferson Territory (Colorado), September 1847

The executor of your father’s will wore small bifocals, perched gently on the bridge of his nose. You bounced your leg, perhaps unladylike, but it was all you could do to steady your mind in the tight office that smelled of wood and purified alcohol.

You clutched your handkerchief to your chest, fresh out of tears to wring from your eyes and waiting to get the bequeathing over with. With breaths so deep they threatened the lace of your corset, you were able to look up at the executor, who had been kind enough to wait for you to give him the ok to continue.

“Alright, miss?” His voice was nasal, but not condescending. You nodded. “To my daughter, my only child and carrier of my good name, I leave my land in Texas; doing so in the hopes that she will live out her life there, with kin.”

The man stopped reading and looked up at you. That was all he had for you.

You hadn’t been expecting any more. Hadn’t even considered you would be getting any land—an unmarried woman with land, though, was sure to catch the attention of a gentleman, and you’re sure that your father had known that.

“Thank you.” You mumbled to the man, dry lips cracking under the moisture of the tears you had licked up. “Am I meant to sign anything?”

“No, miss.” He seemed sorry for you, and you felt a flare of anger at him in that moment; you were sick of hearing people speak to you so slow and soft, as if the weight of their words would knock you down and bury you along with your parents.

It hadn’t even been one year since the death of your dear mother, the woman who had brought you up like a proper lady, who had taught you your prayers, and the proper way to tie your hair up so that God would smile upon you along with the sweet church-going boy on the ranch next to your own home. Your family had been naïve in thinking that the cholera outbreak wouldn’t reach them in the west. When word first spread in the papers, it was a small number of people in the City of New York; your father was quick to dismiss the cases as God’s wrath upon those who didn’t appreciate the frontier, too busy with their fancy jobs and big-city values to go to church. But your mother fell ill that summer, vomiting and lethargic, and it wasn’t long until you watched the priest say his prayers over her coffin.

You admired your father’s will to keep going, until you didn’t. He kept busy, and you thought he would work himself to death—maybe that’s why he seemed so calm when he got sick, compared to the panic your mother had in her eyes in the days before she died; he knew he wouldn’t be on the mortal plane much longer, soul too deeply intertwined with your mother’s and ready to go where she went even in death.  

So here you sat, in the same mourning clothes you had worn for the past 11 months, listening to this law man explain that he would be taking care of any other business that had to do with your father’s measly estate. You thanked him, giving him a polite curtsey before you exited his office and found your way back onto the street.

You didn’t have much left in Jefferson Territory. You made the short walk back to your family’s home with your head down, ignoring the coaches that passed on their routes and the women who spoke in hushed tones when they saw you walking all by your lonesome. "Poor thing", “just a girl,” “should have been married off sooner.” You wanted to bite back at them, tell them you’d rather die along with your parents than ever abandon your family and run off with some boy just to mother ungrateful children who would in turn run off themselves. You were happy, at least, that your parents had died in your presence; you couldn’t imagine the suffering had you been gone from their home, the pain after being there with them when they took their last breaths was bad enough.

You walked through the door of the house, careful to close the door and lock it how your mother always told you—even without her present, you knew she would appreciate the little things. You appreciated them, too, now, more than you had ever thought you would.

“Auntie?” You called out to your father’s sister, hearing a bustle in the kitchen and smiling for the first time that day; your aunt was a wild woman, never married and never sitting. Her kindness was perhaps the only thing that motivated you to wake up every morning without your parents. You found her kneading dough, moving her whole body over the clay-like clump with a force, upper half covered with flour. “Auntie.”

She turned, noticing you for the first time since you arrived back home. “Welcome home, little one!” She greeted you, and you watched her run a hand over her forehead to combat the sweat running over her eyes, leaving a trail of flour over her brow. “You doing alright?” She turned back to her ball of dough, leaning an elbow into it, anticipating your answer.

You just sighed, pulling up a chair close to her and studying her movements, unsure of how to tell her just how alright you were; it was like you had no emotions left, your heart a husk keeping your body moving with nowhere to go. Not nowhere, maybe.

“I got land in Texas.” You were quiet, and her movements stalled.

“Texas?” She quirked a brow and slapped her hands together, sending flour to stray over her apronless front. “Who got you land in Texas?”

“Papa.”

“Your daddy had land down there?”

You shrugged, “That’s what the lawyer said. Said it’s all mine, now.” You hadn’t yet absorbed the news, unsure of what to do with yourself or your earnings.

“War’s bad, little one,” your aunt huffed, not angrily, but with a concerned look spread over her face, “not much use with Texan land until Mr. Polk can figure out how to appease the folks down south.” You nodded, aware of the conflict and uneager to get anywhere near it. “Still…” Your aunt looked at you now, the black fabric of your dress bunched up over your knees with the specks of white dust she had covered you with.

“Still?” You questioned, feeling a wave of anxiety cross you.

“…Nothing left for you here.” She spoke quietly, barely above a whisper, looking you dead in the eyes.

“You’re here!” You felt trapped, scared, but mostly confused. She of all people would be the only one to condone such an outlandish notion—dropping everything and running off to a war-torn territory away from everything you ever knew—but you had hoped she would appeal to her more realistic side in this particular matter and tell you to forget the whole thing before dinner.

“I’m not staying, little one,” her eyes were pleading, “got my own life, got people in other places to look after.”

You felt tears well in your eyes, appalled that you had any water left in your body to cry out today. “I don’t want to leave…I don’t want you to leave.” You felt yourself begin to cry again.

“I’ll never leave you,” she whispered, the ghost of a smile on her lips, “but I can’t stay in Jefferson Territory…got plans back east.”

“East?” You practically yelled it, offended that she would leave the life your extended family had built in Jefferson Territory despite the unease that churned in your stomach whenever you thought of living out your own life in the same spot you'd known since you could toddle.

“East.” She was calm, balancing your abject terror. “I’m sure you’ve noticed I’m not exactly cut out for…roughin’ it.” She emphasized the last words, using the accent your father had worn so proudly. “I got friends in New York—going out to be with them…it’s safer there, easier.”

You were enraged; the one final person you trusted was abandoning you for a life you couldn’t ever imagine. It was safe here, you were safe here—with her, and your mother, and your father. “Well, I’m sorry I’m not a big city fool like you!” You felt yourself tremble, “I’m sorry you’d rather have it easy than live the life God gave you!” You were seeing red, standing now to lord yourself over her and make her seem as small as you felt. It didn’t work, and she looked at you now like everybody else did—full of pity.

She let you cry, sobs taking over your body and forcing hiccups up your throat. You shouldn’t be mad at her, you realized, couldn’t be mad at her; she was a grown woman, with wants and needs, and maybe someday you would be, too.

“Take me with you.” You pleaded through sniffles, wiping your nose on your sleeve in a move that your mother would have tutted you for. Your aunt stayed silent, placing a hand on your head to smooth over the hair that had come undone in your rage.

“I would,” she explained, “but I don't think you...I don't think you'd enjoy it any more than you enjoy it here. Not now, at least. Not yet." The pity in her eyes faded to reveal the compassion she had for you, and you nodded into her chest when she pulled you into her, acknowledging the truth she had spoken. You wouldn’t know up from down in a place like New York; too many people, too much smoke and noise. You let her hold you for as long as she would, soothed by the hand she combed through your hair and the way her heartbeat thrummed in your ear. Maybe someday.

“We’ll get you a train ticket,” she murmured above you, chin resting on the crown of your head, “I know a fella in Texas—real gentleman, cross my heart—and I know he’ll have a place for you away from all the ruckus.”

“Cross your heart?” You asked her to promise once more.

“Cross my heart, little one.”

~~~

Texas, October 1847

You stretched your legs when you got off the train, wondering how so much sitting could make your joints so sore. You had one bag, which was, truthfully, more than enough. You fit your entire life into the handheld leather case, and it felt both freeing and deeply, deeply woeful.

Your aunt had arranged for her associates (her words) to pick you up, show you around, and help you to your new home, but she hadn’t given you much of a description; you had no idea who you were looking for, or what they might look like. All she had done was give you a name. You felt small, already sweltering in the Texan heat and feeling out of place in your black mourning gown. Maybe it would be ok, given the circumstances, to forego the entire outfit, and simply wear a veil, but you felt that the only thing grounding you was the way you were dressed, the reminder of why you were here in this dusty sand-and-brick station.

You looked around, not minding the jostling of the people passing you to get to where they needed to go. You tried to identify anybody that might look as if they were waiting on a lonesome orphan, but all you saw was a pool of sweaty businessmen and women in large hats.

Attempting to find a map to get the lay of the land, you turned a corner, and collided into the chest of a tan man with long black hair and a hint of a mustache.

“I’m terribly sorry—” You felt yourself go bright red, already a nuisance and you hadn’t been in Texas for all of ten minutes.

“Woah, there,” the stranger tipped his hat down to you, offering a wink and a toothy grin, “no harm done, ma’am.” He patted down the front of his vest, smoothing out any wrinkles that remained from the collision. “Y’look lost.”

“I am lost,” you straightened your posture, trying not to seem so inconsequential compared to those around you, “Um—I’m looking for…Mr. Joel Miller?”

The man in front of you laughed, and he flashed the same toothy grin again. His laugh came from his stomach, and you watched him take his hat off to fan himself after he calmed down.

“Found her, El!” He called over his shoulder and a shorter, much younger boy appeared; he was wearing the same style of hat but was much paler than the man who had yet to introduce himself. His clothing gave away how young he was—that, and he was shorter than you, with a babyface and nary a whisker on his chin. He looked almost feminine up close, and was clearly quite a few years your junior.

“Oh, I’m sorry—you’re Mr. Miller?” You closed the confused ‘o’ of your mouth to form the question.

“No, no no no—I’m Tommy Miller,” he put his hat back on, “Joel’s my brother.” You nodded, trying to appear as though you understood the series of events that were taking place in front of you. What an odd introduction to the people whose care you were in. You had never questioned the company your aunt kept—she had her life, and you had your own, much more conservative one. Still, you began to think that these men had just as little an idea as to what you were doing here as you did. “’N you’re Tess’s girl.”

“I’m her niece,” you clarified, “my parents are dead.” You winced when the words came out, unsure of why you felt the need to share that with a man you had just met. Surely he must have been aware by now, and if he wasn’t, why would he care?

Tommy let out a low whistle in lieu of an apology. “Best get you goin’ then, girly.” He turned on his heel, encouraging you to hurry after him through the crowds. El grabbed your sleeve in a manner that, although gruff, was clearly meant as reassurance.

“Mine are, too,” he spoke softly, and his voice was similarly feminine to his face. When you gave an inquisitory glance at him, he continued, “My parents. They’re dead, too.”

“Oh,” you tried to think of a way to make the subject more lighthearted, aware of how tiring it got to hear constant apologies for something out of everybody’s control, “so you’re not—”

You didn’t even have to finish your sentence; El had anticipated your question from miles off. “Do we look related?”

“Well…no…” You muttered, embarrassed by how obvious the answer was.

“They’re like…well,” the younger boy mulled over everything he could say, but instead placed his arm in yours and laughed, “you’ll see.”

~~~

The ride back to the Miller’s land was long and bumpy—or maybe it just felt that way with Tommy looking back on you and El to ask various questions and soothe any anxieties, though it wasn’t as much help as he had thought it was. You taught El cat’s cradle with a string you had found in the cart, and it amused you for long enough before you switched to cards instead. El was shocked to hear you didn’t know how to play poker, and tried to teach you blackjack before Tommy reprimanded him for trying to corrupt you; you opted for go fish instead.

The cart came to a short stop in front of a rundown shack. There was a horse tied to a post with three feed bags in front of it—the extra two, you assumed, belonged to the two horses pulling the cart you were in.

Tommy helped you down, and you were careful to pat down the front of your dress when your feet touched the ground, not wanting to look unkept in front of new company. El jumped down behind you, making quick strides towards the door of the cabin. You and Tommy followed suit, with the older man taking your arm to lead the way.

When the door opened, El swore. “Jesus H., Joel!” he jumped backwards when a large figure stepped over the threshold and onto the dirt outside, “Scared the hell out of me!”

“Language, young lady.” The man in the doorway was tall, with a chest and shoulders to match his height. He was older than Tommy, and had the salt in his beard and dark hair to show for it. He wore the same hat, but didn’t have a full outfit on, with only the pants of a gentlemen to go with his undershirt and heavy boots.

So this was Joel Miller.

You were so focused on the new addition to the group that you almost didn’t catch what he had said to El—“young lady.” Tommy, still holding your arm, sensed your confusion.

“Well, cover’s blown,” he laughed, and El rolled his eyes. Taking off his hat, you watched thin, curly locks of hair come down to frame his face, and when you looked under the dirt and grime that coated his skin, you saw a little girl.

“El’s short for Ellie,” El laughed, tossing the hat in the air and catching it before walking past Joel to go inside.

You were almost more confused now than you had been.

“Little girl living with two grown men, wearing men’s clothes?” Tommy read the look on your face, trying to offer an explanation, “she’s a natural at bein’ a boy—‘n it draws less questions.” You nodded.

Joel continued to stare at you, and you couldn’t help but feel exposed to him despite your body being covered in the modest dress you had on. He was riddled in scars, and his tan skin flexed under his white undershirt; he looked so masculine, and it frightened and excited you in a way you decided to repress. He strolled over to you, taking slow steps and examining you with dark eyes that looked like honey under the Texan sun. He stopped in front of you, and you let go of Tommy's arm to curtsy, unsure of what else to do under his gaze.

“You’re Tess’s girl.” He said it with more confidence than Tommy had when he found you. Joel didn't bother returning the friendly gestures of introduction you had extended, shifting his weight on his heels and letting his eyes drag over your face.

“I’m her niece.” You clarified as you had at the train station.

“I know, darlin’.” He smirked down at you, and the way it was painted on his face made him look almost predatory. You offered a weak smile in return, hoping he would mistake the blush creeping up your face as a sunburn. He grunted something that sounded like approval.

Joel turned around and walked in after Ellie, leaving you with Tommy.

“Don’t worry,” Tommy took your arm once more, “he’s like that with everyone.”

You didn’t know if you liked that.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #tlou #tlou fanfiction #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction

[the-likeable-wizard-mack]

Modern Fantasy Monsters: Monster Roommates!

Werewolves having to disclaim to their human/ non werewolf roommate that they get a bit cranky when it gets close towards the full moon so the roommate can prepare for it.

Vampire's who are almost always home during the day due to the sun so they can let you into the apartment/ dorm. Also going out at night with the vampire at night since they might know were all the fun night-life spots are.

Rooms that have a mimic living there for a while only to be discovered by a collage student who accidently almost smothers the poor thing with a pillow on the collage furniture in the dorm. They sorta have truce were the collage student will allow the mimic to stay only if they can keep their shared space well guarded.

Elves who's room smells completely like a forest and morning dew. They use diffusers to make their room and the shared space smell like you're walking through a dense wooded area to make it feel more homely.

Mermaid, naga and centaur accommodating rooms that have areas were they can rest their bodies and have more space. Similarly centaurs having stable like doors rather than regular doors.

Ghosts of collage students who have been living haunting in the dorms for a long time giving small tidbits of advice to incoming students who are moving in on stuff they've seen. Such as Ghost: "They never check for stuff under the bed man. You a can hide your stash there." Human: "Are you sure? I think they might be suspicious." Ghost: "You just gotta be sneaky with it. Like really sneaky with it. I snuck in so much shit and I turned out fine." Human: "....But, you're a ghost." Ghost: "Oh, uhh...died for different reason

Demons who place a pentagram portal to the underworld in the basement right next to the laundry machine of their shared small home. The roommate realized that there was a portal in the laundry room when they saw a hellish monster ripping up their bedsheets.

Angels who bless every single part of their shared room plus their roommates room so that they always at least feel a bit warm and fuzzy on the inside whenever they feel sad. They're a great roommate despite their feathers getting everywhere.

#urban fantasy #suburban fantasy #modern fantasy #fantasy #my writing #urban magic #writing #werewolves #werecreature #vampries #vampire #vampyr #elves #high elf #elven #merfolk #mermen #mermaid #centaur #centaurs #ghost #naga #angels and demons #demons #angels and devils #angels #writer #fantasy writing #writeblr #writers

[impala-dreamer]

Tourniquet - Chapter Ten (Finale)

 Supernatural Dean x Reader Series Told Backwards

~Y/N has been by Dean’s side through his worst days, always there if he needs her, forever just a call away. Love is impossible to fight and more impossible to live with. Just a side character in his epic life, Y/N would give anything just to give Dean a moment’s peace.~

Please see MASTERLIST for full info/warnings/chapter links.

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works ~ Get A Custom Story

At First Sight 

There was a field behind the junkyard, a wide-open space not yet overtaken by rusted car skeletons and twisted metal. The grass grew high above her head, and in the spring, bluebells and tiny purple flowers bloomed, peppering the space with joyful color. 

She first saw him there, peeking at her through the tall grass. He was taller than the weeds, so much taller than she was; older too, by a few years, it seemed. But he was beautiful and she knew it. 

She’d seen beautiful people in her nearly eight years on earth- her mother who had just died, and her younger sister who went with her. She’d seen mountains covered in autumn mist; country roads slicked with rain. She’d felt the sun in the desert; tracked a rainbow across the sky. There were so many pretty things in the world that she was just learning to appreciate, but she’d never seen something like him before. 

She’d never seen green eyes that glowed golden in the sunlight, cheeks sparkled with freckles, hair a soft brown somewhere between straw and bark.

When he spoke, her cheeks heated up. When he grabbed her hand through the grass, her stomach flipped. 

“What’s your name?” he asked, pulling her into a run through the brush. 

“Y/N!” She laughed as he tugged her along, running so fast he nearly lifted her off her feet. 

The sky was perfectly blue, not a cloud to be seen. 

He looked back over his shoulder, face haloed by the June sun. 

“I’m Dean,” he said with a smile. 

They ran to the edge of the property, stopping short of where they weren’t allowed to go. There was a stream that hugged the line, a shallow creek, not more than ankle deep and wide enough for Dean to straddle with his bowed legs. He put one foot on either side and reached for her hand. 

“Come on, it’s fun.” 

Y/N hesitated, watching from the left bank. 

“Daddy says I’m not to go past the water,” she explained, looking back toward the house. They were far enough away that the rickety roof wasn’t visible, but she knew the woods, she’d grown up running through Bobby’s legs, hiding in the car graveyard, lying in the warm grass. 

Dean craned his neck to look around her. He shrugged. “Don’t see your dad anywhere.” Again, he reached for her and smiled. “I won’t tell if you don’t.” 

Nervously, she took his hand and Dean helped her down into the riverbed. She toed off her grass-stained white Keds and chewed her lip. 

“You sure you won’t get me in no trouble?” 

He laughed sweetly and lifted a finger to his chest. “Cross my heart and hope to die!” He placed an X on his thread-worn tee and she gave in. 

Her toes skirted the water and Dean helped her step over it. 

“You shouldn’t hope to die,” she warned. “The ghosts might hear and come get you.” 

They hopped to the other side and perched on a big rock, just wide enough for two children to sit on together. Their shoulders bumped and Y/N’s stomach twisted up funny again. 

“Ain’t no ghosts here,” he assured her. “My dad would know. He’s the best hunter there is.” 

Y/N squinted up at him, unsure. 

“Besides,” Dean went on, bending to pick up a pebble near his foot. “You think Bobby would let his place be haunted? Bobby knows everythin’ about everythin’. No way he’d let some nasty ghost bother us. You’re safe.” 

She crossed her arms over her chest, hugging her fear. “You sure, Dean?” 

He tossed the pebble into the stream and a ripple pulsed over the surface. 

“I’m sure.” Dean threw his arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer. “I’ll protect you. I promise.” 

She didn’t know why, but she believed him. There was something about him that seemed magical, like he was a superhero or something. She sighed against him and put her head on his shoulder. 

They sat and watched the water for a while. Now and then a leaf would float by, or a few tadpoles would appear. It was quiet and peaceful and the wind was warm. 

When the daylight began to fade, they left the stream behind and stepped into the grass again. He held her hand and swatted away the weeds, making a path for them. 

“Are you stayin’ up in the house?” she asked, hoping he wasn’t leaving anytime soon. It was boring being alone even though she found things to do, but with her dad off on a job, it had been just her and Uncle Bobby for a few weeks. 

“Yeah. Just a few days. Gonna head to Kentucky next.” 

“I’ve never been there.” 

Dean shrugged. “It’s OK.” 

The grass gave way to gravel and Dean let her hand go once they could see the house in the distance. 

“Have you been here a while?” he asked, sneakers kicking up dust as he shuffled beside her, hands jammed into his pockets. 

She exhaled sadly and nodded. “Yeah. My mom just…and… and Jackie, my sister. They…”

Dean paused and turned, looking down at her and leaning on a broken Oldsmobile. “Mine too,” he said softly. “I mean, my mom- she uh- well, it was a long time ago.” He kicked at a stone and it rolled a few feet away. 

“I’m sorry.” 

He smiled gently. “It gets better after a while, ya know..” 

Tears prickled her eyes, her bottom lip trembled. “Does it really?” 

Dean looked away, pretending to count the row of cars to their right. “No,” he whispered. “Not really.” 

An ache pulsed in her chest and she felt sorry for him, for both of them. She could see the tears in his eyes as surely as she felt her own, and she slipped her tiny hand in his, squeezing tight. 

“We’ll be OK, Dean,” she said, trying her best to believe it. “You’ll see.” 

Sniffling hard, he beat back the tears and took a breath. 

“Hey, you smell that?” 

Confused, she took a deep breath and her stomach growled loudly. “Burgers?” 

He grinned. “Burgers!”

They ran through the junkyard, carefully maneuvering through the jagged steel and dodging each other as dusk settled over Sioux Falls. 

She didn’t know why, but she felt like he was it. He was the thing that would keep her going, the friend she needed right then, get her through the pain and the confusion. 

The boy with the green eyes. 

Tourniquet Tags:

@prettyinplaid94 @winharry @muhahaha303  @cookiechipdough @ladysparkles78

2024 Forever Tags (Always Open! Send an Ask!)

@babysimpala @beardburnsupersoldiers @chenshemesh1 @cosicas-cuquis @deans-baby-momma @deanwinchesterswitch @feelmyroarrrr @foxyjwls007 @hobby27 @impalaspixie @jackles010378 @kazsrm67@k-slla @leigh70 @lyarr24 @nancymcl @peachy-vans @pizzagirlxnsfwx @rachiem4-blog @sexyvixen7 @the-wounded-healer05 

#spn fanfiction #dean winchester fanfic #dean x reader #dean/reader #tourniquet #series #angst #c10 #finale

[the-witchhunter]

Plant(??) Danny

Just was going through my old likes and found THIS POST

And it gave me some ideas

So kind of a twist on corpse au and full ghost Danny, Full Corpse Danny if you will:

Danny died in the portal accident and did not come back as a ghost, leaving his fully dead body there. To cover up the death someone buries him in the woods. As time goes on, Danny starts to grow from where his body was planted like some kind of twisted shrub made of meat, wood, and ectoplasm that loosely resembles a person, that becomes more Danny-like as he grows. And he’s just kind of stuck there until someone finds him since he’s not very mobile at that point.

Depending on who buried him and covered up his death it can go a couple of ways. 

The Fentons: Seeing their invention killed their son, accidentally, they panic and hide his body in the woods, because as much as they loved their son, they can’t let him have died in vain and destroy their life’s work. The official story in Danny ran away, and Jazz is still hopeful he’ll return or reach out to her. I’d set it maybe a year or two after the accident with Sam and Tucker finding him in the woods, Them being younger and having not known Danny before, and taking care of and bonding with their new weird plant friend.

Sam and Tucker: They were just dumb kids. It was a stupid dare, their friend died, and they panicked. They buried him in the woods and swore never to talk about it again. They watched as the Fenton parents and Jazz desperately tried to find their son, wishing he would come home, and they said nothing. A year passed, Jazz went off to college and everyone had to move on. Then Valerie found him in the woods. Her dad had been let go of his job. Axion had been looking to cut its costs, and after mostly automating the security system, they let go of the more senior(more expensive) members of the security team. They put down their old security dogs rather than rehome them, this is exactly something a company like that would do. So Valerie, having lost her status with the A listers, spent her free time walking in the woods where she finds Danny. Danny’s mind is a little scrambled from the accident and isolation of being alone in the woods for a year. His memories aren’t exactly clear, coming to him in bits and pieces. She names him Danny, ironically after himself, and they bond. over time, with a little extra care from Valerie, he grows more and more until it’s apparent that he is in fact the same Danny. Perhaps even romance happens

maybe after enough time, he can pass as human again. So Danny Fenton returns, much to the confusion and fear of whoever put him in that hole in the ground.

Maybe he still has to deal with ghosts. Hard to do when you’re a plant stuck in a pot, but he’s used to dispose of them like a weird Venus flytrap. Whether he’s eating them or his mouth is connected to the ghost zone is up to debate

#Danny Phantom #danny fenton #plant danny #kind of horror ish #valerie gray #I started out thinking about the fentons option #then got really into the sam and tucker option #hence why it's twice as long #it feels like a nice and weird twist on the whole thing

[aufucker]

Uhhhhh

TW: talks of decomp, eye injury mention, osha nightmare, more strade being weird about holes u shouldn't stick your dick in

You still remember the day it happened as fresh as yesterday.

It was a decomp, an old man who slipped and died in his home, unfound for weeks. You heard it all the time. It was the majority of your work aside from cleaning out hoards.

You and your team cleaned the sticky, blackened ghost of him from the floor, each of you growing more and more tired and weary as you realized how far his fluids pulled into the wood of his floor, like something trying to drag him into hell.

Scrapers and sprays turned to planks and power tools, a cleaning turned to a repair. New planks, fresh and untainted, replaced the old and stained one by one.

Enzyme spray, react, replace. An insidiously invisible enemy that served nothing but to make the day longer and the work harder.

You didn't remember what specifically occurred, you heard your co-worker using the nail gun, you heard him swear and your attention turned to him in an instant.

Before you knew it, your vision went completely black in one side. It didn't hurt, not at first, at least. Not until you felt fluids filling your mask. You had a 4" nail in your skull, yet all you could think of was the fact your blood would have to be cleaned off the unsealed planks you had all just put in.

That was years ago that you were in that house.

Now you were in this basement.

You tried to forget the past half hour, you think it was about a half hour, at least. Time doesn't matter here. Your only eye kept a low gaze, knowing you wouldn't like the sight before you. He had taken your fake eye as a prize of some sort; you weren't sure what he did with it at this point, but you knew he seemed fascinated by your empty socket.

He seemed enchanted by it. That's the word you were choosing to use. His heavy breathing above you said far too much, in your opinion.

You heard him mutter something, certainly not in English. You two seemed to find some bizarre camaraderie in speaking words neither of you understood. But then you heard the unmistakable sound of his zipper lowering, pulling your heart into the pit of your stomach.

His palm pressed to your damp forehead, brushing your hair back from your face as he made you look up. He made you look at him, tilting your head in just a way where he knew you could see him, could see exactly what he was thinking of doing to you.

You didn't even think when you spoke, "Well. Not the first time I had four inches in my eye."

His expression immediately changed, his brow cocked and an amused grin tugging his lips. You even felt him jolt a bit from laughter, a scoff lending itself into a full belly laugh that he had to bring himself down from with a contented sigh.

"Oh, Süßer. You know it's more than four inches."

#btd #ykmet #strade #btd oc #ykmet oc #my writing #I NEVER??? POSTED THIS IM A FOOL

[hearteyes-for-killmonger]

-7- Prima Ballerina

Once Dawn awoke in the bed of the Birnan Zanan hospital, she was immediately burdened with a flood of questions. Those who did not speak English prodded others to ask: How did you survive? How deep did you go? Were the legends true? What did you see? How did you find your way? How are you alive after your body's trauma? Your organs should have failed. Your leg was recently broken. Were you alone?"

She told them of the hell of being lost and alone in a deep rainforest with venomous creatures, aggressive beasts, slippery mud, deep waters, cliffs, and trees. It wasn't a fairytale, and there was no curse! She hadn't seen anyone but opportunists! THEY murdered her fellow dancers. THEY were the issue.

Some of the smells in the hospital triggered her. She could smell the blood from neighboring rooms. She tucked her robe tightly around herself and folded her arms when the vivid images of hanging men being bled and torn with blood-covered faces returned. They were burned into her memory, as were the ruby red eyes of the stoic prince and the brooding regality of the royal court. She'd never return to a life of blissful ignorance, for she now knew that some legends were real. What else was real? Werewolves? Leprechauns? El Chupacabra? There were people in those woods with unparalleled senses, unrivalved beauty, and immortality. They lived a strange, secluded, and lackluster life that went on even when everyone they loved had died, and they were all stuck in a bubble together for better or worse. Dawn felt Julip's words in her soul. She truly would rather die than live in eternal Hell and servitude.

Fortunately, that part of her life had passed. She recovered faster, stronger, and sturdier than expected by the doctors, and she was able to go back home to New York where her dance company had written her off as dead or missing along with Sam and Makae. They froze when she appeared. It was as if they'd seen a ghost when she arrived to warm up, stretching her long legs at the barre. She'd grown more limber and athletic since Wakanda. Her skin was a little more tight and smooth.

"Missed the plane," she joked to ease the tension, but they wanted answers from A to Z. It took strength to relive the details aloud, moving through traumatic flashbacks explaining how the others were gunned down in the woods. They'd also lost their tour guide in the violence, and Dawn had no clue if he survived. "Makae went quickly," she paused, seeing it happen again. "I don't think she felt too much pain, but Sam," Dawn hesitated. "I was holding onto her."

A hush came as Dawn was met with solemn expressions and some awkward tears, but the most heartbreaking part was explaining the events again to Sam and Makae's families and seeing their pained faces. They needed to know, and they needed the closure, but Dawn felt like the bearer of bad news, shelling out grief. They would have to put their loved ones to rest without bodies to bury, only worn pointe shoes and momentos stuck into the caskets. The only other offering of peace Dawn could provide was through a dance with the company at their respective funerals out of respect for their lives and craft. Her heart was genuine each time, although she never knew the girls well. She meant every good word spoken, but still, it would never hit her like it hit the families who'd lost two very loved people.

She had to go forward and let go.

On the Koch theatre stage, under the designer lights, Dawn's thinning arms undulated in a way that was unduplicable. Her gestures were dynamic and sharp. Her moves expressed great flexibility and vitality. Her effortless storytelling evoked a silencing awe from the packed full house, and by the end of the first act, all were mesmerized.

In act two, flashes of green forestry appeared. She was running without a destination, afraid. She should have died many times, but she didn't. She was lucky to still be alive. Her vision cleared to see the dancers on stage around her. In fact, she felt better than she'd ever felt. She'd never danced this well. No one in her company had.

Dawn stood out as the lead, lost completely in the tragedy of a perplexed woman called Victoria. Victoria was torn between a life of numbing comfort with an older man and a life of fast-paced danger with the man she loved.

Every time she laid eyes on her counterpart to show love through dance, the prince's keen red eyes filled her mind as if he were right there. It was jarring to suddenly see him so clearly. It didn't feel like an illusion. The contour of his bearded jaw, thick neck, and trap muscles under the tunic's blood and water-soaked collar were vivid. Even the feel of the wind on her face felt absolutely real. It unlocked hidden memories of him pulling her from the stream and whisking her away from would-be abductors. The number of times he'd saved her kept adding in her mind as she started to recall things that were previously fuzzy in her mind . They were clear now.

She was amazed. Even her memory was better. She was remembering the most minute details. And yet again, as she was lifted into the air, without her trying, she couldn't help but picture the face of the prince. This was more than trauma. This was an inexplicable connection, messing with her body and mind. She was bound to him by blood, and that connection was beginning to materialize in her every thought and action.

Her counterpart on stage returned her feet to the ground and by the end of act three, the final act, the audience was on their feet making thunderous applause and throwing tall stalks of roses onto the Koch stage. She received an arrangement of them that were half her size. The tragically beautiful story of danger and desire told through her dance had come to a bitter end in a Shakesperean style death, and there was no dry eye, not even on the company dancers.

The role as principal dancer was permanently Dawn's. All who'd been witness to the flawless performance agreed that not one could do it better.

Night after night following, Dawn romanticized her bad experience, almost completely forgetting the hell she'd experienced. She continued to see open sky, beautiful free flying birds, and tall green forest trees instead of the dancers on stage. She was flying and lying in the grass with Deanna and Julip. When her feet were on the floor, she was running in the castle garden's wildflowers, not a stage. Instead of a sold-out crowd, there was only one face before her. Prince N'Jadaka. He was waiting for her with his hand extended, saying, "Come to me." She was enticed. The direction of her thoughts was jarring. Never had he given her any inclination that he liked her. Or had he? She didn't know what was real anymore. The forest was haunting her and drawing her back in. Even in her apartment, she could feel the grass in her hands and on her skin. She'd blank out for nearly an hour at a time. She couldn't stop it, and what REALLY surprised her was that a big part of her didn't want to.

It took a year for her impulses to take over, and without realizing when or how she got there, Dawn found herself mechanically sitting on another international flight arriving in The Golden City, travel bag in tow. It felt somewhat involuntary, like being on autopilot. She picked up a few necessities, including a machete, and snuck past the forest guides, running into the cover of the trees in search of the bear cave that Julip mentioned in his previous directions. She wasn't the same Dawn that left those woods. She was sharper, stronger, and faster. Inexplicably, the impulse to locate Prince N'Jadaka had become stronger than anything else within her. She needed to find him for her sanity.

Dawn wore black rubber boots tall enough to protect her long lithe legs from bites. Her sleeves were long and thin. Her hair was returned to its low naturally kinky bun, protected in a bonnet. Her buttery skin was slathered in sunscreen and repellant.

The lime green birds were there as she'd seen in her mind. Dawn looked up at the sound of flapping and rustling from the tops of the trees flowing in the wind, and it was as though they were calling to her specifically to follow. She followed them, moving quickly but cautiously. The way they flew was not the way she remembered coming or going, but it all looked the same. She couldn't tell what from where.

She remembered once more via flashback being carried away with the wind in a feeling of floating to the edge of the forest. She'd seen the build of his face up close, felt the hardness of his solid body, and his gentle hold.

The memories of being lost in the forest overcame her. She knew she'd been through trauma, but it wasn't hitting her. All the bad feelings were numbed nearly out of existence. As clear as her memories had become, there was a trade-off. Only the good stood out to remain.

There was a swamp ahead that she had to cross quickly, remaining weary of the sitting alligators. The blue heron and the mudfrogs were seemingly harmless, as was the large snapping turtle that ignored her. She trusted the parrots with her life apparently. Onward, she trekked as they led her from high above.

@dashhoney25 @lettidarawest @soufcakmistress @ljstraightnochaser @princessstevens-blog @eye-raq @thiccdaddy-mbaku @destinio1 @iamrheaspeaks @hidden-treasures21 @bidibidibombaclaat @forbeautyandlife @blowmymbackout @misspooh @thotyana-in-this-hoe @purplehairgawdess @thegucciwaffle @goddessofthundathighs @theegoldenchild @thadelightfulone @sultanabby @mysticalblackhottie @baekhyunbabybunni @fd-writes @richonne4life @goldieccentric @thehomierobbstark @capswife @blackpinup22 @harleycativy @lishabaybeee-blog @playgurlxoxo @beaut1fulone-blog @blackerthings @syndrlla97 @ladymac82 @browngirldominion @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @uzumaki-rebellion

#original #erik killmonger #killmonger #erik stevens #erik killmonger fanfiction #black panther killmonger #black panther fanfiction #black fanfic writer

[bittersweetresilience]

sunny's favorite fanfiction

By no means a complete list of what I've read and loved, but these are some of the fics I have found the most memorable, captivating, and influential to me. Mostly oneshots. Mostly dark. Mind the Sunny.

clear blood

Prince_Enby (OMORI, 2,674 words)

Hero took a little too long.

I am pretty sure this fic rewired all of my neurons. I wrote a sequel to it. I wrote multiple sequels to it, though only one published. I think about it all the time. I have absorbed it into my body and my writing. The slow build, the foregone conclusion, the denial, the interspersing of memory, even the summary and author's note Altered™ me. This is my all time favorite fic, and from my all time favorite video game.

Each That We Lose Takes Part of Us

aceofbasedesires (The Untamed, 12,652 words)

“Wake up,” he says to his body, alarm making him itch. There’s no response. He says it louder, and then yells it, trying to drift forward. He can’t move. He’s curled over his own body, staring down at it, without being able to do anything. From inside Burial Mounds, Wei Ying’s mind reaches out to those he’s left behind.

Exquisite sadness indeed. I wrote a sequel to this one as well. I love fics that haunt me. I love fics that make me feel like a ghost. I love unhappy endings. I love this part of the show. I love hurt people hurting people. I love inevitability. I love tragedy.

tarnishing

ruthwrites (Mob Psycho 100, 21,147 words)

Reigen realizes that he never gave the man his name. He knew it, anyway— as well as the slogan for Reigen’s whole business. There must be some sort of reason for it. Maybe they’ve met before. As Reigen walks, he becomes more and more certain— he’s seen the man before.

There is nothing I appreciate more than a well done piece of horror. So insidious, so creeping, so everywhere. Lingering. A work of art and a model for manipulative relationships and gaslighting. The final scene with the rope has a full body grip on me.

Cold Water

messageredacted (Homestuck, 6,551 words)

You’re barely finished with your ascension to god tier when they drag you off your quest bed.

Iconic fic forever. I have reread this fic and its remix an unknown number of times over the years. Made for me.

The Decline

EzraBlake (John Dies at the End, 5,284 words)

I'd never heard him make a sound like that. It was almost inhuman coming from John – John, who once drank an entire bottle of tabasco sauce and then got it all over the bathroom because he was laughing hysterically while he vomited. John, who fucked up an alternate dimension by aiming an uncontrollably shitting dog like a rocket launcher. John whimpered.

This fic is so intensely, faultlessly in the spirit of the books, which I adore, that it makes me want to blow up my house with grenades.

power & control

instead (Miraculous Ladybug, 1,404 words)

“Was he always like that?” Félix asks on a ride home from school. She glances to her left: in the passenger seat, he smooths out his uniform, clenching and unclenching his hands into fists. “When you first got married.”

I write the most about Félix and Amélie, and this is the best depiction of them I have ever seen. I call Amélie my queen of England constantly.

This Time I'm Coming Down

telm_393 (The Good Place, 3,585 words)

Jason makes a lot of decisions he might regret.

I had a really hard time deciding between this and Some Things You Can't Touch. True to the characters in a way that makes me want to bite things and scream.

like the sheep

zehecatl (Night in the Woods, 1,564 words)

Sometimes, reality mixes in with memories, and so there's Angus, right across the median.

I am pretty sure it's still sad, but it's a tender sort of sad, like Angus loves him so much it's a sad thing osmosed into my entire personality. Dreams. Gore. Bleeding.

runner ups

The Arowana

chesslyfe5eva (Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc, 6,486 words)

"Thank you, father. I've always wanted to look like a third-rate Yakuza lieutenant." "You're welcome. It's a beautiful creature. Kind and self-sacrificing. If anyone in its household were to die, it gives its life and dies in their stead." When Kiyotaka is born, his grandfather gifts the new parents a baby arowana.

Writing about side characters who are almost original characters in relation to a minor detail in the franchise, love of my life. It is so well made.

Terrycloth Mother

rowdymouse (Mother 2: EarthBound, 4,325 words)

Tony's faced with a hard task: providing Jeff all the love he never got and desperately needs.

This actually spoke to my core. It has a very particular feeling shared by The Arowana. Second person perspective never misses.

Until the Walls Break Like Waves

attackfish (Avatar: The Last Airbender, 21,095 words)

It was just before the winter solstice when Earth Kingdom soldiers captured the prince of the Fire Nation and his uncle, the Dragon of the West. It was the dead of winter when they were brought to Ba Sing Se.

I feel like I have to include such a powerful and iconic fic. Good thing this exists.

ten thousand grit

besselfcn (Hunter × Hunter, 1,310 words)

Killua isn’t anything. Killua is a sharpened blade. Killua is the teeth and fillings left behind when a body burns to ash. So what’s another whetstone? What’s another funeral pyre?

Since I read this, what’s another whetstone? What’s another funeral pyre? has not left my brain.

special mentions

running in the shadow

wackus_bonkus (Miraculous Ladybug, 3,062 words)

Félix doesn’t miss the soul bond between him and Adrien until it’s gone.

How could I not award this masterpiece? I love nonlinear narratives and vignette style fics. Especially when they are written by my friend and for me. This is worth the world and deserves everything.

The Homestuck Epilogues

Andrew Hussie, Cephied_Variable, ctset (Homestuck, 190,398 words)

Ten years after their adventure began, the heroes are enjoying a well-earned retirement on Earth C. But John still has one last choice to make.

Can I count this? I'm counting this. This inspired my love for metafiction and shaped me as a person. Narratives, futility, meaning, characters getting worse. I've never seen a more creative usage of visual elements in fanfiction. I devour experimental media.

#GOD I LOVE UNHAPPY OR AMBIGUOUS ENDINGS #it's overwhelming how many fics i didn't include HJSHHJSHSFKJDSK #my almost 6000 bookmarks on ao3... #looking at this lineup is interesting to me #because i read and enjoy whump the most but it seems #a great number of the fics that actually stick with me and weave their way into my body are the experimental ones the horror ones #the ones that make me do or feel or think something new and interesting #i hope my fics can be that for somebody... #🌃

[scribblesbyavi]

Can you survive a haunted house?

The question is not if I would just stare at it from the woods or actually enter it, the question is if I would choose to spend the night or escape for days in a row…

I'm a haunted house,

a ghost lives in me and sometimes it doesn't.

It's dark, so much that nothing can be found easily.

It's messy! It's dusty!

Every small thing is stored carefully even when it shouldn't be!

I've always been fascinated by haunted houses and would love to stay in one. It would be cool and spooky! No one would ever visit me there. No nonsense from stupid people, only silence and chills from the ghostly energy. I can lit scented candles all around the house and play board games with them. At least the ghosts will be more predictable than the humans.

After walking through the whole place I’ll finally go upstairs to the library.

I'm reading a book in the library and one after another book falls from the shelf.

May be some of the ghosts had wishes and dreams they couldn't complete in their mortal life.

May be they are still here because sometimes people die but not their dreams.

Their wishes might have been so strong that they kept them back as souls until they are able to find peace.

May be they need some more time here before they can leave.

Souls need to heal before they can leave this world for the other.

The mortal body is dead, buried, decomposed or burnt to ashes but the soul has suffered too. Where will it go? It’s pure energy…

May be the books that fell on the floor, that's not just to scare me.

May be they are trying to communicate,

tell me the stories from decades and centuries ago.

The Myths. The Truths.

The kind of secrets and mysteries being guarded by the walls.

But haunted house shows flashbacks.

Flashbacks she gets:

You know abuse, childhood traumas, I have many flashbacks of them. But still I have love. People are so stupid to not hate a person that should be hated. Many times, almost everyone who hasn't faced anything like this says that why do people return to their abusers, well, let me answer you. Because, we love them and hate ourselves, because we trust (believe) them and not ourselves. Because we are scared of ourselves, of them and everyone around us, but we still feel the safest place is where they are. We return and we just don't know what we're giving ourselves and that we won't forgive ourselves for that. We'll regret and we'll still feel we are guilty, People who face it get them.

When I was only nine, I saw the first murder. A murder in front of my eyes. And, who killed him was the one who was supposed to take care of him. I was six(class 1) when I saw dead body, mysteries, tears, when I heard screams, cries of people who'll never laugh again, screams of people who lost their loved ones, and I saw some really silent people who'll never laugh again.

These flashbacks can take a toll on us, make us feel everything all over again. They can drain us mentally and physically. Run again and again inside our heads. We stop loving ourselves, make wrong decisions and stop caring about everything else.

We enter the worst phase of our life and the darkness drags us in to the depths.

Heart is a haunted house.

And I'm neither a human nor a ghost.

I'm not a mix up of angel and devil in one soul as poets say, I don't know what I am, but I know what I'm not! I'm not a ghost. I'm not dead spirit. I'm not a dead body, I'm not a person who still stayed alive because he wished to fulfil his dream. I'm not a ghost.

And if you are able to see beyond me, you'll keep finding flashbacks!!!

But before you even step in it, let me tell you again,

I'm not a human nor a ghost, I'm a haunted house.

Full of darkness, mysteries, stories and shadows.

Every love story ended with death in me.

Everyone died, in the end.

But all along, there's something about the haunted house.

I'll tell you stories, if you want to keep listening to me and I'll tell you what happened when you weren't around.

I'll make you hear the screams, and if you don't find them scary,

then know that I'm trying to communicate with you.

My heart guards mysteries that are scary even for me, but they won't haunt you if I cry.

I'll laugh and you'll get scared with the loud sound.

They say, heart is a rebel that's why ribs are cages, but haunted house says heart is a wall that guards things that should be guarded and it guards even those that shouldn't be.

You know it's a MUSEUM.

The heart is a museum of stories and expectations!

Heart is the place where books we read become the parts of our lives, they're no more just books. Heart has lived them even if they didn't happen to us,

you will ask how?

It's a haunted house babe!

Excerpts from an Avis-Ajooba conversation. ✨

For the source material: Post 1 Post 2

Read the tale of turbulent waters.

#haf #haunted house #conversation

[reve-writes]

—within these walls. | my hero academia dabi x villain!reader.

who are you, really? villains playing house with each other? | slight suggestive themes; mentions of violence.

FUNNY, YOU THOUGHT.

The both of you were outlaws. Both of your hands were stained red and slick with blood, but his hands in yours felt like salvation. During night time, you would do what you do best in the dark, usually meetings with the League, but as dawn broke, you and Dabi settled into your small apartment, eating peanut butter and sandwich as if your sword hadn't pierced someone dead the night before, as if he hadn't burned a building to ash.

“Do we have milk?” he asked, opening the broken down fridge. The freezer had broke a few weeks prior, and neither of you were really in position to go out and buy a new fridge.

“We had some left,” you replied, mindlessly browsing through television channels as you lay down on the tattered sofa. There were holes all over with clumps of cushion filling spilling out. Your nails pulled on it, undoubtedly ruining the ruined furniture more. Your feet were propped up on your coffee table, one of its legs were shorter than the other. Dabi had lodged a thick piece of wood under it to keep it level, although you still thought that it leaned one way.

“Where?” His face glowed with the light from the fridge.

You stood up, approaching his crouched form. You leaned over him, moving a couple of takeout boxes to the side. His eyes lit up when he saw the milk cramped into your fridge.

“I'm gonna throw these away,” you said, picking up the two-day old takeouts and throwing it into the trash — which had gotten quite full, so you tied up the black plastic bag.

He hummed, pouring milk over his cereal. He pulled the hem of your shorts slightly down as you walked past. You didn't even realize your shorts riding up your backside. You yelped when he delivered a gentle slap.

“Dabi!”

He laughed. It was melodic, really, and you wanted to listen to it everyday. His azure irises lit up with a childlike mischievous glint.

“Remind me to get a new lightbulb, doll,” he said in-between spoonfuls of cereal. “It's really hard to look at you without the lamp.”

He pointed to your ceiling. Your lamp had died two nights before, and it had slipped your mind. You nodded, your eyes flitting to your costume and his coat hanging by the front door. It felt wrong, to soak yourself in such domestic bliss, as if you weren't involved knee-deep in some grand world-ending plan, but it had felt so right, too.

You returned to your spot on the couch, but instead of watching the television, you opted to dive into a stack of comic books under your coffee table. Dabi had gotten them for you last year, but you had only gone through half of them. You never asked how he had gotten them, but you had a pretty rough idea when you brushed out shards of glass from his dark hair.

As Dabi stood by the sink, thinning down the mountains of dirty dishes, you spoke.

“I want to quit.”

He froze. For a split second, he thought you wanted to quit this — whatever this was, to quit him, but you were quick to clarify.

“The League, I mean.”

You didn't say anything else, but the implications of it hung in the air. I want you to quit with me.

For a moment, he was silent, washing away as if he hadn't heard you. He put away the last plate, wiping down his hands on his pants, approaching you. Your eyes followed his movements, filled with anticipation.

“You know I can't,” he said, sitting on the floor, leaning against the coffee table as he reached for your hands. “There's nothing left for me.”

“I can work for us,” you said, your fingers tracing the rough scarred skin on his face, gently ghosting over the staples holding everything together. “We'll be okay.”

“What will I do, then?” He closed his eyes, leaning into your touch. You leaned toward him, pressing your foreheads together, before capturing his lips with yours. A ghost of a kiss that left him leaning forward to chase your lips when you pulled back.

“I'm no good for anything, doll,” he said, eyes half-closed. ”I'm only good at ruining things.”

“You're good at taking care of me,” you argued. “Good at making this damned place feel like home.”

“It's a miracle that I haven't fucked it up with you.” He sighed as you tugged at the hair at the nape of his neck.

“You won't,” you said, falling to sit on the floor with him. The wood floor was cold against your legs.

“You don't know that.” He grabbed your hand, placing butterfly kisses on your palm and wrist. “It's alright if you want to quit, but I can't.”

He had a lot that he wanted to do with the League, mainly his revenge. He had everything planned out, and although you were never part of his plans, you were a nice surprise. An uncertain element that kept him sane every night.

He pressed his lips on yours. The kiss was sweet and long and passionate and it took your breath away. His hands traced the familiar planes of your body, slipping under clothing, touching you on your most vulnerable places. You sighed, fire burning everywhere as he touched you and you touched him. His breathless moans mixed with your gasps, a dance that you both had practiced so often within the walls of your apartment.

Looking back, it had felt like he was touching and kissing you as if it was the last time.

Because it was.

The sun had set when you woke up. Your clothes were folded into a neat pile on his side of the bed. Everything was neatly placed, in your usually messy apartment. The pile of clothes waiting for laundry in your bedroom was now sitting in your dryer, freshly washed. Your desk filled with various wrappers and knick knacks had been cleaned up. Little figurines that you and Dabi had won from minigames were placed in a row next to your tv. Your shoes were neatly arranged in your mostly unused shoe rack. Every chaotic detail had been placed in order.

His things.

You panicked, sliding your drawers and pulling your wardrobe doors open. His things were missing. You regretted bringing it up. You didn't want to quit if it meant him walking out of your life. He was the reason that you wanted to quit in the first place.

Tears were now blurring your vision as you stormed through the small apartment, haphazardly trying to find any trace of him left. It had been a home for the both of you for the past year, but looking at it now, it felt like every trace of him was removed. The smell of burning wood that was so him had been replaced by the fresh smell of laundry.

“Dabi?” you called out, your voice small and quivering. Hearing no reply, you called out again, louder, “Dabi!”

You cried out his name for who knew how long, tears streaming down your face as you sat on the floor where he had sat with you just that morning. You cried until your voice was hoarse, until your tears dried and all that was left of you was small hiccups and sobs.

It took you a while to notice that the lightbulb of your living room was working. His parting gift.

He was gone.

[ ]

#dabi x you #dabi x reader #touya todoroki x reader #touya todoroki x you

[softsweetwhispers]

The Wither’s

“The Ol’ Wither’s house ain’t nothin’ but snow and coal, now. 

The gray winter pulls on its hinges and clings to it like rust on metal. The paint thickens and peels off like cracked nails, revealin’ molded wood underneath. The planks splinter and lay worn by the passage of time. It sags off the frame, like pale, dead skin too heavy for brittle bones. The windows that haven’t yet broken are cracked and half-boarded. They glow an eerie blue, curtains darkenin’ the light that tries to escape. The wind pushes against it, causin’ it to tremble. 

The surroundin’ overgrown weeds grow in tangled clumps, lost in the grass that hadn’t been mowed in over a lifetime. Damn shame too – my grandaddy used to tell stories of the beautiful sunflowers that there yard used to grow, their thick, beautiful stalks that shot up to ten feet tall, the way their mustard gold petals turn towards the sun in youthful yearnin’. Now, the only thing that grows there is them vines, full of malicious intent, and there ain’t no sun they can turn too. 

The dark oak front gate groans when the wind gets too heavy, a warnin’ against those foolish enough to approach. They’re a rare bunch, but they tend to come in abundance. The trouble-makin’ youngins who get adrenaline rushes from triple dog dares, teeterin’ on the edge of brave or just plain stupid; squatters that leave cigarette butts littered across the already gross property; CPS and CVS and all the other nonsense government spies with sticks up their asses and an itch to scratch. Jameson, who doesn’t know the difference between black and white, is certain the latter’s been comin’ ‘round just to find somethin’ wrong. I’m inclined to believe him, just this once – I can’t be the only one who’s seen them pokin’ around poor Molly’s trailer. It ain’t her fault she’s livin’ disability check to disability check.

Ain’t nobody ever been inside, and those who say they have are just flat-out lyin’. Everybody knows of the rot that sets in every year. The heat must be too much for the old wood, and the smell that wafts off it is like nothin’ I’ve ever encountered. It smells bad enough that the police did an investigation on it a while back. Someone said there musta been dead bodies in the walls, but when they tore apart the inside, the only thing they found was those nasty maggots. Apparently them nasty critters had been there for months.

The ‘Withers? Well, nobody really talks about ‘em no more. They’re just an ol’ part of this town’s lore. And, well, we’re not really sure how true their stories are, see –? They’re ghosts, now, too lost and sad to let go. 

Between you ‘n me, they were an odd couple. Jamie and Sarah were the parents, the ones who started the beginning of the end of the Withers’ legacy. They’d inherited the two-story from Sarah’s grandparents – her father had earned it from his father, had earned it from his mother. you know how it goes. Who knows who owned it first, or how long ago it was built. Apparently it’s been such a state since their daughter went up and left to become some big city hotshot. She hadn’t been the same since her brother died in that fatal accident. 

Terrible thing, the way that family attracted tragedy like nobody’s business. Or everybody's business, if you live ‘round here. Some people just can’t handle it. They drift away, dreamin’ of becomin’ somethin’ like an artist or a singer or a poet, and they end up dead, addicted to drugs, or back at the gates of this town, beggin’ to be let back in. You know how it goes – we all do. It’s the same song and dance. 

It's just unfortunate that the house has got to be the one to pay for it, just sittin’ there, witherin’ away. Us too, of course. Whatever happens to one family in this town, affects the rest of us.

But those are just rumors and you didn’t hear nothin’ from me. All that really matters, all we really know, is that that house right there has more ghosts than a cemetery. 

Some say it’s the same place where Missy Felps went and died – her innocence stolen like a final breath before drownin’. Her pinky piggytails were the only trace of her left behind, ‘cept for the stories the kids around the block whispered with exaggerated terror. Missy’s fate was left to be told by those with too wild of imaginations and middle schoolers with too much time on their hands. The adults ‘round here pretty much know better, keepin’ their mouths locked and sealed ‘bout secrets untold, as they should. Ain’t nobody want anybody talkin’ ‘bout them as Missy is talked ‘bout, so most had the half-mind and empathy to look the other way.

Missy had been the ripe age of six when her screams echoed through these ivy-clad streets. That night, the lights flickered low and yellow as they turned on, their dull glow illuminatin’ hopelessness and danger. Neighbors had run out into the street as the ambulance had wailed loud enough for the next town over to hear. News of her death had been known straight to Atlanta by the time mornin’ time had come. The sky had been colored in a hazy mix of oranges and pinks, and her headstone had been a black shadow ‘till the sun came out.

Most of the story had come straight from Missy’s ol’ neighbor, Georgia Smith.

I’m not one to talk ill on a lady, but Aunty Georgia could hardly be considered as such. She has more words to say than she outta be allowed.  She didn’t just run the gossip mill – she created it. You can hear her whispers carryin’ through the cold wind if you listen hard enough. Her weathered hands knit the tales that laysthe foundation of this town like they knit her sweaters ‘n scarves ‘n gloves. She always sits in that same rockin’ chair, an ominous creak as she rolls forward, echoed by an ominous creak as she rolls back. She has as many stories ‘bout her as she’s created – kids sayher one blind eye was the reason she knew everythin’, that she was the one who killed the stray tabby that’d turned up in her front yard, that her wealthy, white collar grandson was threatenin’ to send her into one of them mental institutes – but nothin’ could be considered true, ‘less it came straight from her mouth.

Yeah, she’s one person to be wary of, especially around your secrets. Nobody outta blame her, though, Lord knows that mansion’s been awful empty since her good-for-nothin’ husband up and left her. You know, all her kids are adults by now, out in the real world. Empty nest syndrome ain’t for the faint of heart, and she’s had that condition for years now. Most the town’s got their bets placed on the day she clocks out and never clocks back in. Jameson says she’ll last ‘till May, but there’s no way she’ll survive past April. 

No matter – the town’ll find a new Aunty Georgia once the mournin’ is done and the everyone’s done well to move on. There was an Aunty Georgia before I got here, and I’ll be damned if there ain’t when I leave. There always is, there always be. That’s the way things work ‘round here. 

Don’t worry if you’re not used to it yet, sometimes it takes a while. New soil, new roots – we all get it. Though, most of us ‘round here have been ‘round here since pretty much the beginnin’ of time. Ain’t no reason to leave. We got a market and a gas station, and that’s all we need. None of those fancy academics with their billion dollar homes – makes the charm of this place dwindle and the economy crash.

In this town, life unfolds like the lazy river that runs along the fields of cotton and sunflowers. The drawl of conversation is as slow as the molasses in the sweet tea, and always has been – ain’t no point in rushin’ when we're all goin’ the same destination. 

After all the Withers’ ain’t the only place where there’s ghosts, and they won’t be lonely for long. That’s just a fact of life.”

#hi I'm back #long time no see #drawn from the life around me #musings of moments in a life that comes of and brings nothing signficant #nosebleedclub #original writing #poetry #writing prompt #prose piece #original poetry #writing #story prompt #original story #soft poetry #prose poetry #the nosebleed club & its inspirations #southern #southern narrative #creative writing #spilled ink #spilled writing #spilled words #writing prompts #writblr #writerblr #poetry prompts

[thedarkwitchesblog]

SHADOW PEOPLE

Shadow people are dark figures associated with nighttime visitations and some haunted places. Shadow people appear as solid black figures who are darker than darkness. Most appear to be male; some wear coats and hats. They are usually six-and-a-half feet in height. They have substance and form and can interrupt light and block objects from view. Shadow people rarely communicate, but many seem intensely interested in human beings. Shadow people fall into several categories:

BEDROOM WATCHERS.

These figures are discovered standing by a bedside or in a corner of the room when a person awakens in the night. They seem to stare at people in bed, even though they have no visible eyes or facial features. Most do not behave in a threatening manner, though their presence is often terrifying. They can remain for long periods of time and when observed, disappear suddenly or melt through walls and ceilings. Some act aggressively toward people, causing choking sensations similar to the Old Hag.

SHADOWS ON WALLS.

These figures appear suddenly as dark human outlines on walls, which detach from walls and move about rooms.

MOVING SHADOWS.

These figures appear abruptly and move quickly through a room, as though on a mission. They come through walls and melt into walls. They may seem to pay no attention to people present or else watch them intensely. They may be seen out of the corners of the eyes or in full view.

BACKGROUND VISITORS.

These figures usually are not seen, but are captured in photographs. They appear in backgrounds, their forms noticeable on walls, doors, and so forth.

HAUNTING PRESENCES.

These figures appear in places known or thought to be haunted. They move about, act with intelligence, and appear and disappear suddenly. They may follow people. In some cases, shadow people are associated with bad luck.

There may be no single explanation for shadow people. They are not likely to be ghosts; dark ghostly figures often found in haunted locations are more “shadow figures” than shadow people. However, as noted above, shadow people are found in haunted locations, too, including wooded areas where they are known in folklore as “watchers.” Shadow people share characteristics with the old hag nightmare terror; some experiencers feel paralyzed, suffocated, or choked.

However, shadow people cannot be equated with the old hag syndrome. An explanation favoured by some researchers is that shadow people are interdimensional beings. They find ways into the physical world and seem to have the purpose — unknown—of observing humans. They may show up as bedroom visitors because the nature of human sleeping or dreaming consciousness enables an entry for them.

Their appearance may be a form they deliberately assume, or it may be the only way they can manifest in the physical realm. Many experiencers feel shadow people are a type of nasty spirit, even a Demon, because they sense evil or trickery radiating from them. Almost all experiencers are deeply frightened of shadow people, even though they are not harmed by them.

Shadow people are sometimes associated with turbulent emotions. For example, many people who have had significant shadow people experiences can link them to states of emotional upheavals, such as anger, sadness, loneliness, and so forth.

Other people may be psychically open in such a way as to perceive shadow people more easily than others. Some haunted places where shadow people are prevalent, such as the Waverly Hills Sanitorium where thousands of people died, may be permeated with thought-forms of negative emotions.

#shadow people #witchcraft #witch stuff #traditional witchcraft #occult

[castleofthade]

wanna read my unfinished Eliv Thade fanfiction? here you go. ifhte readmore breaks i'm sorry im fixing it as fast as i can

Castle Thade is.. old, it is older than Eliv and his parents, but it was always of their family.

Neovia and The Haunted Woods were once known under a single name, which has become lost to time.

The establishment of the Grand Neovian Coal Mine caused an economic boom in Neovia; most of the population moved to the fledgling town to find work there, leaving little funding for any significant infrastructure upkeep in what is present day Haunted Woods.

With most businesses focused in the successful sister town, the main remaining economic draw of the old village was tourism. Along with the re-establishment of the fairground, the townsfolk who remained embraced the novelties of living in an environment full of ghosts and eerie magic, and over time the abandoned village’s identity became synonymous with The Haunted Woods.

Eliv Thade was born on the cusp of this economic shift. As a child, Castle Thade was the center of the community, and the family often lent space and resources to their numerous neighbors. His mother, Evolly Thade, was a genius scholar who frequently welcomed visitors from near and far come to the estate to pick her mind on new theories and matters of philosophy. Dafét Thade, his father and heir of the family’s company, was similarly popular- though with a more business-minded crowd who sought advice with inventions and investments.  

Eliv was a shy child, coddled by his eccentric parents and never sent to a proper school or encouraged to socialize. He spent a great deal of time doing private studies, or getting lost in the castle's labyrinthine hallways and secret chambers. Exploring his home was a puzzle itself with all of its trick locks and hidden mechanisms, which contributed to and encouraged his love of logic games and clever tricks.

In another life, he could’ve been some sort of sleight of hand magician, but there's a world of difference between "obscuring the answer" and "presenting a problem to be solved." 

The first tragedy of Eliv Thade was when he was three years old and, despite his parents' cautions about this exact scenario, was excitedly sprinting across the halls with a pair of scissors from his mother’s study. The resulting injury and infection from this caused his right eye to stop developing, leaving it tiny and nearsighted. His left eye remained large and beautiful, though would be mistaken for the injured eye post-mortem.  

The second Tragedy of Eliv Thade occurred when he was ten years old; His father died suddenly and violently. Foul play was considered, but a killer was never found. He was too young to fully understand the situation; No matter how much of a prodigy, a ten year old is still a child. Eliv surely felt his absence, but Dafét was rarely home to begin with.

His mother coped with the traumatic loss by forgoing the ambiguous, floweriness of philosophy she once enjoyed, and focusing her interests on things that could be answered in a solid way; If she couldn’t make sense of her husband's death, she would make sense of a riddle or a math problem.

Evolly began to test her son with logic puzzles rather than showing him art and poetry and… affection. Eliv would comfort in these sorts of things,  as they were the few interactions he had with his mother while she grieved, aside from seeing her at dinner. It was around this time that he started creating his own puzzles, both as a game and as a way to spend time with his only parent.  His studies shifted towards anything that could improve his craft.

Aside from this change in dynamic, his childhood continued in relative comfort. Evolly Thade took over her late husband's business and became less involved with the community and more involved in the comfort of numbers and engineering. The castle would empty, little by little, as neighbors and friends felt estranged by the absence of a warm welcome, and more enticed by the rush of money to the neighborhood of the coal mines.

By the time he was 15,  the village of the woods had only a quarter of the population he’d known as a child. The woods itself had begun to overgrow and take over the abandoned properties, and it was starting to feel like there had never been a sizable village at all. 

His mother was a ghost of the woman she once was, the grief took a toll on her body and she could no longer focus on the business. Eliv showed no interest in taking up the mantle, buried as he was in his own studies and creative endeavors. It was passed on to his uncle, a stern kau named Faltheu who loathed his late brother and had only visited once before (as a formality when Eliv was born.) 

 Faltheu cut all financial ties with the widow and her son and never looked back. Both of them were too distracted with their own miserable fixations to protest, and it wasn’t until much later that the family’s well of fortune would threaten to dry.

Evolly Thade vanished before they began to feel the financial strain. She announced, one day, that she was going into the darker woods to find an answer, she would do it alone, and that she would return in 3 days. Her son assumed it was some sort of riddle and didn’t stop this; He figured three days was his time limit to figure out what the game was and complete it. He did eventually realize that his mother was actually, finally speaking to him again, and that some tragedy had occurred in the dangerous forest that grew larger each day.

The reason this answerless tragedy didn’t destroy him was simple- It wasn’t a puzzle, not in the sense that he believed in. A puzzle contained all of the pieces needed to solve it. His mothers disappearance was missing too many pieces, it had random and meaningless elements- it was EMOTIONAL-  It wasn’t a riddle, it was a mystery, and Eliv Thade did not view himself as a detective. 

It did affect him, though. In small and quiet ways, his mothers (presumed) death hardened whatever wonder and joy he felt towards the world around him. The years ground by, each lonelier than the last. There were no more guests, and the small castle staff mostly kept to themselves.

Now an adult at 24,  Eliv Thade’s home was only a landmark in the ghost town of the haunted woods. Only the most stubborn or most suited for the area remained now; Namely the witches, the beasts, and the undead. 

Eliv tried to keep himself busy as he always did- writing and inventing puzzles- But he struggled with the futile nature of creating without an audience. He grew up surrounded by people eager to have their wits tested and to test his own mind, and he did lament that he had been only a child. Moreover he regretted hiding himself away as a child, not establishing himself with the friends and guests of his family, not KEEPING those friends. No one knew who Eliv Thade was. Not in the way people had known previous heirs of Castle Thade.

It didn’t help that the family business, in his uncle Faltheu’s hands, had been driven into the ground with bad financial decisions before he’d turned 18. Everything connected to the Thade family (save for the castle itself) had been destroyed and was fading,  and Eliv fell into a deep existential depression. He lamented aloud how the greater world would never know of his genius!! Neopia was deprived of the greatest mind of their time!! The castle’s staff thought it was very melodramatic, but Mr.Thade and his remaining old wealth kept a roof over their heads, so they kept quiet.

He spent his 20’s and a good part of his 30’s trying to publish books, making numerous miserable trips to Neovia and failing to network. He very much had what it took, he just didn’t know how to sell himself. 

He was offered a job as a puzzle writer for one of the Neovian weekly newspapers, which he humored briefly but eventually found too insulting to keep up with since his boss didn’t appreciate how difficult all his submissions were. Neovians were very easily insulted and didn’t enjoy puzzles that made them feel stupid.

It wasn’t until he met one Mr.Krawley that the course of his life changed. The salesman appeared out of nowhere (as he does) and proposed a business partnership. Krawley, a worldly traveler, would sell the idea of a genius puzzlemaster you could come and challenge to the wider public… In exchange, he would be allowed to sell his own wares and do other shadowy deals with these same guests. Eliv Thade, with not much to lose and while in the fugue of a midlife crisis, agreed without much thought.

At first there was a slow trickle of curious guests, mostly from Neovia, which quickly became a daily stream of strangers from as far as Tyrannia; All of them eager to test their wits and pick the mind of this mysterious man in his mysterious castle. It reminded him exactly of how his home was as a child, and for a time, all was good.

It was around this time that the old fairgrounds, long abandoned from “The Incident” had been re-established by a crew of carnies that popped up from nowhere. There’s a lot of “nowhere” in the haunted woods, so don’t worry about that! Eliv did not care for the carnies and found them anti-intellectual and annoying, and he was insulted to learn that his home and his GREAT MIND was considered an extension of the fair; Just another tourist trap.

As all things go with Mr.Krawley, so did his deal with Eliv Thade. The effects were slower, quieter than the fate that awaited Neovia down the line. You could argue that Krawley didn’t even do anything, and that it was all Thade’s own hubris.  His frustrations with his skills being sold as a novelty, as well as the ever decreasing amount of actually good challenges.. It wore on him. He became apathetic, consumed with ennui, and the bad attitude it nurtured was causing this poisoned well to finally dry. What was that thing his late Father always said? “Life is a game,” wasn’t it? But this game had bored him enough. 

Eliv Thade began to grow dangerous, to himself and to others.

#neotxt #thadeposting #Intended to go all the way to the Present but writing the downfall of eliv thade is a tall order..to me