#i just stopped in the middle of the street and stared in horror actually

[effervescentdragon]

Write a fic.....in Old Irish

Everyone go home actually this is the most evil thing anyone has ever said.

#i just stopped in the middle of the street and stared in horror actually #akira answers asks #margridarnauds #lovely moots 💕

[frenchkisstheabyss]

⛧ 𝙽𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚊𝚕 𝙱𝚘𝚛𝚗 𝙺𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝙸𝙸 ⛧

⛧ Pairing: poly!slasher!minsung x chubby!fem!reader

⛧ Genre: slasher au/horror/angst/smut

⛧ Summary: It's Halloween 1996, you've just broken up with your toxic ex, and there's a killer on the loose. When you go to the local video store to find your next distraction, you run into your longtime crushes who have their hearts set on looking after you. But you must be careful. Not everyone's who they appear to be.

⛧ Word Count: 2.k-ish

⛧ Warnings: If you don't like horror turn back now. This isn't graphic by any means but there are horror elements! Slight sadomasichism, full blown yandere vibes, mentions of toxic ex, mention of dead body w/ tame description, shallow knife wound (you don't get stabbed. no worries), knife/blood play, a lil smut because there's kissing/fingering/nipple play, pet names (babe, baby) a threesome happens but is only referenced, slasherfucker reader, reader's kinda losing it

⛧ A/N: This is part 2 in a series. I linked the first part in the summary. Part 1 was dark and fluffy while this one is really dark and angsty. There's still romance but said romance is kinda psychotic. For the record, I'm in no way encouraging you to go out and have sex with two psychokillers. But if they're Minsung hot? I meaaaaan....

💀 <<< Rewind to Tape 1 or Keep Going to Tape 3 >>> 💀

Han laughs, bringing his arms around your waist, “Oh but sweetie, we’ve played your game. Don’t you wanna play ours now?”

Street Fighter is a game. Monopoly is a game. Minho forcing you to hold a knife to his throat in the middle of their kitchen? This is unlike any game you’ve ever played before. Against your better judgment, you throw caution to the wind and ask the million dollar question.

“And what are the rules to this game of yours?” 

Minho clicks his tongue, delighted at your morbid curiosity, “It’s simple really. If I can make my lips touch yours without the blade slitting my throat open I get a kiss.” 

“And if he doesn’t—” Han muses, “I’m down a roommate I suppose.” 

“Kiss or death, baby” Minho says, leaning into the tip of the blade so that it's agonizingly slow to witness. He stops when it pricks his skin, a scarlet drop of blood rising to the surface. Your fingers tremble around the handle of the knife, your body running ice cold at the realization that this is actually happening. 

“You’re both fucking psycho!” you shout, twisting free of them with reckless abandon. You stumble backward into the kitchen counter, the blade still in your hand. When you regain your footing you notice tiny droplets of blood decorating the white tile floor. You trace their source to the much larger cut in the side of Minho’s neck.

Han stares at you with a Milky Way galaxy of stars dancing behind his eyes, “So she does have it in her.” 

Time itself seems to come to a halt when you register what you’ve done. You hadn’t meant to do it but, accident or not, you did it. “Oh god, no, I didn’t mean it. I’m so sorry. I…I…” you stutter, tossing the knife into the sink. Minho takes a deep breath, running his fingers across his wound as he approaches you. “It’s okay. I’ll live” he smirks, applying blood to his lips like some luxurious lipstick, “Now about that kiss.” 

Minho’s close enough to you that you can feel his shallow breaths against your face. His bottom lip brushes yours and your mouth falls open without hesitation. The voice of the girl you were before you came here whispers for you to run—leave this place and never come back—but it’s far too late for that. Minho locks you in a kiss, metallic and sweet, that makes you a stranger to yourself. 

It’s not you hungrily kissing Minho, blood staining his collar as he takes greedy handfuls of your plush body. It’s not your cheek that Han cups, tilting your head to the side to steal kisses and taste that last bit of blood on your tongue. Only…it is you and you’re loving every second of it. So much that when Han unbuttons your jeans, slipping a hand inside to tease your clit, you’ve already managed to soak through your panties.

“Aah, I knew it” he whispers, lightly stroking your entrance, “I told you she was the one. That she was special.” You moan into Minho’s mouth when Han’s fingers sink into you, your cries of pleasure echoing within his cheeks. “It’s true. You’re our special girl, aren’t you?” Minho hums, his thumb circling one of your nipples through your shirt. 

The praise goes to your head in the worst way, setting a once cold body ablaze with lust. Your walls contract with every mention of how special you are—of how long they’ve waited to have you here. Han’s never had his fingers this drenched before, his mind’s already running wild with thoughts of licking your juices from them once you come. The noises you make are so melodic, so splendid, that they'd burn them into their memories if they could.

Minho’s sharp eyes lock onto yours, fingers toiling away at the delicate hooks of your bra. “Can we keep you?” he asks like a demon masquerading as a child. Innocence with something darker lurking beneath, waiting to tear you to pieces. The answer comes easily, driven by your thirst to be devoured.

“Yes,” you moan, exhaling at the relief of being freed from your bra, “I’m yours.” Han licks up the side of your neck, softly nibbling at your earlobe as his fingers pick up speed.

“All ours,” he whispers, “Forever.” 

Grainy black and white dots dance across the TV screen, casting a white glow across the bed where you lay naked cuddled up beneath the blanket with Han’s childhood teddy bear. It’s 3AM and Camp Counselor Sleepover Murder Party 4 ended an hour ago. Not that you were paying an ounce of attention to it. Your focus was placed entirely on being bent into a series of unholy positions by the two men you expect to see when you open your eyes. But when you finally do—limbs still tingling from your last orgasm—they’re nowhere to be found.

Yawning, you force yourself up in bed, squinting at the light from the TV. Holding your hand up to shield your eyes, you notice the dried up blood on your fingertips. The events of the night come back to you gradually like a fuzzy radio signal sorting itself out. Your mouth is saturated with that same metallic taste from before, the sweetness of it having long faded. Finding it too nauseating to tolerate, you retrieve your underwear from the floor and set out in search of something to wash the taste away.

Stepping out into the hallway you find yourself in near pitch black darkness. The only guiding light is the glow of a lamp from the bottom of the staircase at the opposite end of the hallway. “Minho!” you call out, taking slow cautious steps down the hall. You extend your arms out on both sides, feeling around for anything you might bump into. You hold your breath, listening for even the faintest sound of his voice but it never comes. Finally reaching the staircase, you grab onto the sides and make your way down.

You call out again, this time trying another name for good measure, “Han! Where are you guys?” It suddenly occurs to you that this is the moment in slasher movies where the girl wanders downstairs and gets sliced up by some masked psycho killer. You stop halfway down the stairs, glancing up at the darkness you left behind. “Fuck that” you huff, jogging the rest of the way down the stairs to find safety in the light.

Finally you’re back in familiar territory. To your right you spot the kitchen and your heart jumps at the thought of the Halloween candy left untouched on the table. But your tooth rotting dreams are derailed by the sound of whirling somewhere to your left. You turn to spot a heavy wooden door left slightly cracked. It’d look like any other door if not for the two deadbolts drilled into the frame. Off to the side sits a black garbage bag, the kind contractors use on construction jobs, and it’s stuffed full of…something.

Hearing the low chattering of voices, you drift towards the door whispering to yourself the whole time. “Why are you freaking out? Nothing’s wrong. They’re probably just taking out the trash. Don’t be so—” You choke on your own words as you stare down into the trash bag. It is full of trash. There’s pizza boxes, empty soda cans, and crumbled up chips bags all from last night.

And then there’s something else.

The tip of something red poking out from between the pizza boxes. You lean in closer and make out deep wrinkles carved in plastic. Pinching the end of it you pull it from the trash and you feel even more nauseous than before. It’s a mask. Not just any mask. The same mask your ex had on when you saw him at the video store. A chill runs down your spine, making you let out an unexpected squeak that brings all of the background conversation to a halt.

“Hello?” Han’s voice rings out, seemingly from beneath you. You crack the door a little more, peeking in to find another set of stairs leading down into the basement. “Everything okay up there?” Minho asks, his tone oddly suspicious of you. You clear your throat, tucking the mask back into the trash bag, “I’m—I’m fine. Just got a little snack craving is all. Are you guys good?”

You’re met with silence reminiscent of the moment before Minho forced you to cut his throat. “Why don’t you come down?” Han insists, bubbling with joy, “We have a surprise for you!” You pull the door open all the way, shuddering at the creaking sound the old wooden stairs make when you step on them.

“A surprise? What kind of surprise?”

“One you weren’t supposed to see yet” Minho pouts, “But you’re here now so whatever.”

Minho’s adorable tendency to whine gives you the sense of normalcy you needed to get you to the bottom of the stairs. But when you reach it you wish you hadn’t. The basement is nothing like the welcoming warmth of the rest of the house. It’s pristine and white, the polished floor icy against your bare feet. In each corner there’s a large cabinet stocked with all sorts of medical supplies. It reminds you of an operating room in one of those medical dramas.

It is an operating room and at the center of it, in a pool of blood that leaks between the cracks in the tiles, is the partially dismembered body of your ex boyfriend. “Hi, baby” Han waves with the hand not currently holding a cordless saw. Still in his underwear, he’s dressed in a long black apron with the gloves to match. Minho’s dressed the same and both are slick with blood.

Before you can think better of it, you’re screaming at the top of your lungs and bolting back up the stairs. All the while images of torn flesh and fractured bone flash in your mind. You couldn’t stand that man, hated him in fact, but you’d never wanted to see him in pieces.

Spotting your purse by the front door, you make a mad dash for it clueless to the two figures gathering behind you. Your vision clouded with tears, you fight with the front door locks to get out. “I knew it was too soon” Minho sighs in disappointment, “We should’ve waited.” Han slips his gloves off, coming over to kiss you on the cheek.

Your body recoils, shaking in fear, “Don’t hurt me. Please.”

“Hurt you?” he scoffs, flipping the lock open, “I’d never hurt you. You just seemed like you needed a little help.”

Minho flops down in a chair near the door, messy hair falling in his face, “Take my jacket at least. It’s cold out.”

Their calmness is odd to say the least, making you reevaluate the fear that you feel. “You’re letting me go? Just like that?” Han plucks a wool trench coat from its hook, draping it over your shoulders. He pulls the door open and a slight autumn breeze blows through the door. “I told you. We don’t want to hurt you. We’re here to protect you...and maybe teach you how to protect yourself.”

His sincerity makes you uncomfortable and you feel yourself splitting in two again. This time the old you wins and throw yourself out into the night, scanning the street to find where you parked your car. The block is as dark as the upstairs hall, giving you the sense that you’re on some terrifying island all your own.

You can't make sense of why they’d let you go. Any normal person would drive straight from here to the police station. You know their faces. Their names. Where they work. Where they live. Do they want to get caught?

“You can’t run from who you are forever, pretty girl!” you hear Minho taunting. You look back to see them watching you from the doorway, smiling lovingly in your direction.

Minho winks at you, blowing you a kiss, “See you real soon, babe.” 

#stray kids au #stray kids x you #stray kids x reader #han jisung x female reader #han jisung x you #han jisung x reader #lee know angst #han jisung angst #minho x reader #lee know x reader #minho x you #stray kids angst #plus size reader #chubby reader

[queenofanime]

Matching Tattoos

"You know I can see you, right?" The girl, who until now was strolling through the dark alleys, stopped. Her question was met with silence, with complete stillness. Y/n just wanted to get home, but she knew that as soon as her back was turned, the person walking behind her would follow.  

"Just come out already. I really don't have time for this." Irritation laced her words... honesty too. She truly didn't have the time nor the patience for this. Y/n had lied before though, for she couldn't actually see the person. She could only assume it was a man. Living in the red light district had changed her perception of life, of love. She was cynical and street smart. By now, she had heard too many stories of raped women, too many horrors happening a couple of blocks away from her flat. She had experienced quite a few scares herself. 

Despite her efforts, nobody answered. 

At the other end, Gyutaro felt conflicted. The demon had gone out to town, trying to find a meal. His standards were never high, therefore, when he saw a bunch of middle aged hags, he was ready to devour at least two, but then he got distracted by the commotion from across the street. 

Apparently a woman had trespassed into Triple Thread territory, and was now having a hard time getting out of trouble. 'The Triple Thread' were nothing but a bunch of low-level thugs. However, over the years they had become quite the gang. Nowadays, they basically ruled part of the district and controlled more than half of the whore houses.

Three of them had corner the young girl, who he, was currently trailing. Gyutaro hadn't thought much of it at first, but when the men got their asses kicked and send to the hospital, he became intrigued.

Looking back, he should have just minded his business and try to eat someone, instead of trailing the poor girl, who seem to have an attitude and was now asking questions... questions he wasn't ready to answer.

He wasn't used to being noticed. And if he were to step into the light, she would probably faint.

Maybe he should just eat her. 

"Okay, you clearly are taking your sweet time so I'm coming over." Y/n's voice and the fact that she was closing in, brought the demon back to reality. However he couldn't move, his feet were completely glued to the ground. Maybe he wanted to see the girl's reaction and entertain his sadistic side. Or maybe he simply was a full-on masochist and wanted to damage his self-esteem even further. Maybe he just wanted to hear more of the girl's voice, even if it meant hearing insults and hurtful words. Whatever the reason may be, he didn't move, he didn't hide, no... Gyutaro just waited patiently for his arm to be yanked into the light. 

Yet the moment never came. Gyutaro most certainty was not yanked by the arm as he had mentally script. No, no, he was yanked from his ear. The nails from the girl painfully pinching at the tender skin, almost drawing blood. 

An audible yell escaped the demon as his thoughts ran wild. 'Did this human just had the audacity to do something as stupid as this!?'

Unpleasantly, Gyutaro was thrown just below the lamp-post, the only lamp-post within 5 blocks. 

Recovering from the shock and the slamming of his spine against the metal tube, Gyutaro's eyes glanced upwards in rage. "You BITCH! What the hell was th-"Kill me now, because I'm done saving myself." 

The interruption of the girl quickly had the demon shutting up; his mismatched eyes staring in disbelief. In return, the girl's gaze looked back at him. Not a single hint of fear or disgust could be seen through her orbs, just boredom and completely unimpressed. As if seeing a demon was a daily occurrence. 'Just another Tuesday for this asshole', thought the male. 

Somehow the night seemed darker than usual. Small droplets had started to appear, littering the street. Soon, the sound of rain was the only thing that could be heard. 

Gyutaro took the moment to actually analyze the girl's features. She was quite pretty, but it was an unconventional pretty. She had a knife-cut scar gracing her left cheek. Unlike Daki, her nose wasn't a round perfect button shape. Her hair was messy, her eyebrows were bushy and edgy. And her makeup wasn't the usual pastel colors that girls loved to wear. Maybe unconventional pretty wasn't the right description. The girl was harsh pretty... warrior pretty pretty. 

"Are you going to kill me?" 

"I'm not sure yet."

__________________________________________

"Quit watching me." 

"Did you do something different with your hair?"

"No."

To put it shortly, Gyutaro didn't kill Y/n, he couldn't bring himself to do it. Instead, he became a guardian demon angel of some sort. He knew Y/n could handle herself, as she had demonstrated weeks prior. Still, he felt useful watching over her. Both parties had come to some sort of mutual silent agreement, allowing Gyutaro to crash in Y/n's flat, as he was doing tonight. 

"I really think you did something with your hair."

"I didn't! Cut it out!" 

The girl decided to stop asking, as she had clearly irritated the demon, but her staring didn't weaver. Annoyed and self-conscious, Gyutaro shot Y/n a menacing glare, however she seemed unaffected by it. 

"Where did you get your spots done? Which artist was it?"

"What?" 

Y/n's question had genuinely confused the man. What did she mean by artist? Did Y/n actually think his ugly birthmarks were made with ink? Gyutaro hated everything about himself. He hated his face, his body-shape, he even hated his attitude. But... if there was one thing he hated above all else, were those ugly dark spots which adorned his body in the most horrible way possible. He hated them the most because they were a constant remainder of the lack of love his mother had had for him. 

"Woah, you really are dumber than I thought." The words slide from his mouth harsher than ever before. For the first time Y/n was taken aback. For the first time, she actually felt cold sweat run down the back of her neck, fearing what the demon would do. 

"I-I j-just- "You really think I'd litter my face like this, by choice?"

Before Y/n could say something else, a giggle escaped the green-ish creature. A giggle that soon turned into a psychotic laughing fit. The girl could only watch in horror as the demon, with its nails, scratched and teard at its skin, drawing red blood lines.

The flame from the alcohol lamp flickered with the wind. Y/n prayed the only source of light wouldn't go out, leaving her defenceless. 

"My mother tried to kill me several times before I was born. She ended up dying of syphilis, the hateful bitch." 

In reality, Gutaro didn't know why he was sharing. His tongue was faster than his head, which was a very rare occurrence. Trauma dumping the woman in front of him was a test. Just like the night he met her, Gyutaro wanted to see what she was made of. What unexpected reaction she would come up with next.  

The girl was at a loss of words, now understanding it was likely that Gyutaro suffered from congenital syphilis. She wanted to say 'sorry' but that seemed superficial. Sometimes words aren't enough, but actions were. 

Without looking at the demon, Y/n's hand slowly reached out for the small nightstand. Gyutaro watched her intensely, knowing for sure a woman like her would have a blade or some kind of weapon hidden. However, Y/n had something else in mind. Seeing as the demon hadn't move from his spot and wasn't trying to stop her, Y/n pulled out a paper rice sheet, an ink pen, and a needle. That certainly got Gyutaro's attention. 

The night was cold. Shadows danced across the room, casting an ethereal glow upon the worn furniture and faded walls.

Y/n approached the boy cautiously. Her steps measured and deliberate towards the skinny boy, who still looked angry and distrustful. She understood the depths of his longing, his hunger for affection, yet she knew all too well the fortress of distrust he had built around himself. But she was determined to bridge the gap, to breach the walls that confined him. Slightly gulping, Y/n closed the gap between the two of them until they were just a few inches apart. 

With gentle grace, she extended her trembling hand, her fingertips craving the warmth of human connection. She closed in slowly, mindful of every fragile moment that passed. Her touch was like a whisper, delicate and tender, a beacon of solace in a world that had shown him little to no kindness. 

Y/n didn't think her next action through. If she did, she would probably have never done it. She reached and delicately traced her fingers across the black spots covering his left prominent hip-bone. This time, it was Gyutaro who gulped, feeling the chill of her freezing hand. 

Since he didn't move, Y/n took the opportunity to take out the sheet of paper and the ink pen. Gyutaro's yellow eyes widen, gleamed with an otherworldly glow, reflecting the untamed curiosity that coursed through his veins. The girl, with full-on concentration, covered his hipbone with the paper. And with the pen, started tracing the birthmark's shape. 

Once she was done, Y/n removed the paper and set it aside. 

She then proceeded to undress herself, shocking the demon (even further). And soon, Y/n was left in her undergarments, exposing her own hipbone. 

Slowly but surely Gyutaro started to understand... understand her, and he couldn't help but feel a tug within his heart (if he had one).

The air was thick with a sense of determination as she prepared to embark on whatever journey this was. With trembling hands, she carefully grabbed the needle, that until now had been forgotten and started burning it with the flame. Once the tip was dark, bordering black, Y/n removed the insignificant metal item, recovered the paper, and placed it over her own skin. 

Part of him wanted to stop her, wanted to tell her not to ruin her own perfectly soft skin, but Gyutaro has always been selfish. So he didn't. 

Y/n had a million thoughts running though her head: 'Was it safe?' 'Should she do it?' 'Was it too late to turn back?' 'Was it going to hurt?' 

No it wasn't safe. She shouldn't do it. It wasn't too late. Yes, it was going to hurt. But she had made up her mind. She wasn't going to back down from a promise, a promise of a better, honest world. 

Despite knowing that this act would forever mark her skin, Y/n took the needle and grazed her flesh. It burned. A searing pain jolted through the girl's body. Pain the demon could see through her eyes. The smell was probably the worse. 

Wherever the needle grazed, splatters of blood followed. Instinctively Y/n wanted to pull away, but the logic within her wanted to get this over done quickly. 

Y/n spent over an hour carefully filling in the area while Gyutaro just watched, mesmerised. 

When she was finally done, the burned birthmark took and ugly red-brown color. The angry blood lines starting to dry up. 

Despite the painful experience, Y/n was satisfied with herself. 

Finally she looked up towards the demon, acknowledging him with a cheerful smile. 

"See, now we match..." 

______________________

(image taken from Pinterest by Jenn)

______________________

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#demon slayer #demon slayer fanfic #kimetsu no yaiba #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #femreader #gyutaro #gyutaro x reader #fluffy and sad #demon slayer x reader #matching tattoos

[erikahenningsen]

rejanis #62 if you feel like it :)

62. “Do you have a ride home?”

Janis checks the weather forecast every day when she wakes up. And this morning, nowhere did it say anything about rain. But, well... the forecast was wrong.

Because it's pouring. An absolute deluge, its tap-tap-tap against the window like an ASMR get-ready-with-me video.

And Janis doesn't have an umbrella.

Not for the first time, Janis curses her parents for buying a house too close to the school for a school bus stop but far enough that she knows she's going to be dripping-wet-squishy-shoes soaked long before she gets home.

She's just crossed through the parking lot and is turning onto the sidewalk along the street when a Jeep rolls to a stop in front of her. Janis wipes back the hair plastered to her forehead with rainwater and squints as the window rolls down.

It's Regina.

"Do you have a ride home?" Regina asks.

"No, but I was due for a shower anyway, so..." Janis says.

Regina rolls her eyes and hits the unlock button on her door. "Get in the car."

"If you're kidnapping me you could at least say please," Janis says, because she has never outgrown the part of her that derives pleasure from goading Regina.

Regina stares at her for a moment before starting to roll the window back up.

"Wait, no," Janis caves, jumping forward and opening the car door before Regina can lock it again.

Regina's smirk turns to mild horror as she takes in just how drenched Janis is—and how much water is now seeping into the car seat and carpet.

"It's raining," Janis says unnecessarily.

"Thank you for the update." Regina puts the car into drive and pulls away from the curb.

Janis tries to remember the last time she was in Regina's car. Well—in a car with Regina, considering it was probably in middle school. She pulls down the sun visor to survey the damage to her makeup in the mirror.

"You look like a raccoon," Regina tells her, and... she's kind of right. "Here."

Janis accepts the napkin Regina pulls from the cup holder in the car door and wipes away the mascara and eyeliner as best she can.

They're stopped at a red light when Janis notices Regina looking at her.

"What?" Janis asks.

Regina quickly returns her eyes to the road. "Nothing."

Janis feels a little prickle of self-consciousness, something she seemingly never outgrew—craving Regina's approval, unsure if the lingering stares meant that Regina was silently assessing her or admiring her.

The car stops and it takes Janis a moment to realize they're in her driveway.

"You remember where I live?" Janis asks. She's not sure why that surprises her. She could get to Regina's house from her own with her eyes closed.

Regina doesn't answer, actually looking a little embarrassed. Maybe that's what prompts Janis to ask her next question.

"Do you want to come in?"

"Oh, uh..." Regina says, eyes wide. "Well..."

"You don't have to," Janis adds quickly when Regina can't seem to produce an answer. She feels kind of stupid for asking.

"I just... don't think your parents would be too thrilled to see me," Regina says quietly, and Janis knows she's right. "But maybe you could come over to my house sometime?"

Janis remembers Regina's cavernous house, feeling more like a staged showroom than a home, how lonely inside it Regina sometimes seemed, even with her mom constantly barging into the room. She wonders if anyone has come over to hang out with Regina since the bus.

"Sure," Janis says, and she means it. "When I don't look like you just pulled me out of a pond."

Regina snorts. "That would probably be best."

For the first time in years, they exchange smiles.

#rejanis #mean girls #mean girls 2024 #mean girls the musical #regina george #janis 'imi'ike #janis sarkisian #janis ian #i will never get tired of writing them intentionally annoying each other #ask #anonymous #prompts

[rajbow4ever]

my rajbow hcs, copy and pasted straight from my tt cz what else do i post...

(some of these are in full grammar for some reason?? idk all of these were from various middle-of-the-night decisions)

raj: did figure skating for a while when he was younger but stopped because people called him un-manly

bowie: tries to persuade him to try it again

raj: goes to stroke every stray animal he finds on the street

bowie: 'babe that probably has 20 diseases...' lets him do it anyway because he wants to see raj smile

raj: can talk about his interests for hours at a time

bowie: thinks its the cutest thing ever and loves to listen

bowie: owns one of those small business jewelry shops online

raj: learnt how to make little beaded bracelets for it

bowie: naturally very good with instruments

raj: doesnt even know how to hold a guitar

raj: got banned from his local arcade for raging at a claw machine

bowie: claw machine pro (gives 80% of the prizes he gets to raj)

bowie: loves pointless internet debates like how many holes are in a straw

raj: doesn't understand a single one of them

raj: didnt think narwhals were real because they're like 'unicorns of the sea'

bowie: had to search them up to prove they existed

raj: chronic weezer fan (same raj same)

bowie: listens to whatever's popular most of the time, but he listens to a lot of upbeat stuff

raj: is able to notice if bowie gets stuck in his thoughts

bowie: is able to notice if raj is stressed about something

raj: Gives Bowie cool rocks he finds.

bowie: Keeps. Every. Single. One.

raj: Was shocked to find out most people can't down five burgers after a simple hockey game.

bowie: Is just ever-so-slightly terrified.

raj: Sleeps at 9pm, wakes up at 5am - but them goes back to sleep and waked again randomly.

bowie: Sleeps at 4am, wakes up at 10am.

bowie: Took Raj to watch one of his basketball games.

raj: Was just staring, absolutely ENAMOURED, IN AWE at him the whole time.

raj: Scared of birds (cassowary incident).

bowie: Scared of spiders.

raj: Attacks every spider he sees.

bowie: Scares away every bird he sees.

raj: Surprisingly a very good cook, but is banned from the microwave.

bowie: Also a very good cook (is not banned from the microwave).

bowie: Bought Raj star-shapes sunglasses to match with his heart-shaped ones.

raj: They became his most prized possessions ever.

raj: uses stupid words like "coolio" and "awesomesauce"

bowie: "what the FUCK are you saying"

raj: incredibly tactile, loves physical affection

bowie: always initiates it because he knows how much raj love it

bowie: worries sometimes because he thinks he's 'ruining raj'

raj: took after some of bowie's snark

bowie: is good at skating, but falls over a lot so he continues to do it just for fun

raj: genuine pro at skating, if you name it as long as it's on ice he can probably do it

bowie: monopoly demon. takes the money from everyone, wins everything

raj: fairest monopoly player ever but is incredibly competitive

raj: struggles with panic attacks every now and then, wayne usually helps but he's started letting bowie see him vulnerable too

bowie: taught him fancy breathing techniques (that i don't trust myself to name)

they play 2 player princess tycoon on roblox together

bowie: kills everyone

raj: actually does the tycoon

bowie: is a big fan of horror movies but screams every time something even slightly scary happens

raj: is terrified of horror movies but watches them with bowie (he hopes that bowie will get scared and latch onto him)

raj: hates talking to the waiters when ordering food

bowie: does it for him

bowie: had an emo phase when he was way younger

raj: found his old emo clothes "HOLY SHIT??"

raj: believes in ghosts n that stuff

bowie: thinks its the most stupid thing ever (secretly believes in them)

thank you for listening to my ted talk. next post scheduled for 2025 i think

#td raj #td bowie #td bowraj #td rajbow #rajbow #bowraj #is it bowraj or rajbow... #me personally im a rajbow liker #because it sounds like rainbow #raj total drama #bowie total drama #total drama #total drama reboot #td23 #td reboot #how different is tdtiktok to tdtumblr? only time will tell.

[doomspiral]

Doom's Movie Rec List

Some of these are bangers, some of these are the worst thing I have ever seen in my life, but I think they are all worth watching and enjoying one way or another. Sometimes the enjoyment is cringe and sometimes its staring at a wall for three hours. <3

The seventh seal (1957)

Classic chess game with Death film, I presume the entire thing is Bergman staring into the soul of the viewer in dead silence until you can read his mind.

The cabinet of Dr. Caligary (1920)

Strange, lurching, I watched this in German without knowing enough to keep up and I believe my confusion added to the experience.

Atomic blonde (2017)

This is my favorite movie. This is the one that I can't stop rewriting in my fics. I can't get the "lies" soliloquy out of my mind. My soul is tied to this fillum. Hot insane woman does a lot of violence, kisses women, beats up a guy who truly deserves it. Iron Curtain Spy Nonsense.

Hackers (1994)

Am I depressing you? Good, watch Hackers to experience child-like wonder and also see a grown man skateboard down a foggy street in the middle of the night to harass the homosexual teenagers (and slim shady) he's beefing with.

The core (2003)

This is not a good movie. But there is a little freak in there named "Rat" who I am obsessed with.

Angel's egg (1985)

This is the kind of movie where you have to not try to figure out what's going on and instead let it take you by the hands, just experience it, just keep your mouth shut and your mind at rest and you can consider the implications afterward when its safe.

Princess mononoke (1997)

I watched this as a child and saw those beasts dissolve into bloody worms and apparently that left a lasting mark on my brain.

Nausicaä of the valley of wind (1984)

I actually read the manga for this one but this is a movie rec list, so please go watch this for the death and rebirth vibes, and some mild foeyay yuri.

Invasion of the body snatchers (1978)

Horror movie that's odd and disturbing and clearly betraying some better dead than red fears, worth it for the horrible despicable freakish noise the guy makes at the end while pointing at the viewer.

Strange days (1995)

Please read up on this before watching it, it revolves around a fictional, then-futuristic critique of the adult film industry, HEAVY focus on the capitalistic dehumanization and devaluing of human life.

Underworld (2003)

Bad asses in leather fighting monsters. Core memory.

Blade (1998)

Bad asses in leather fighting monsters but maybe you need a break from how white this whole movie list is overall. That's okay, I see you, this vampire flick fucks severe.

Fright night (1985, 2011)

The first movie is pretty campy (fun) but the remake dug into my actual stressors and fears and scared the lights from my eyes for a day or two. Welcome... to FrrrighT NighT.

Dracula (1931, 1992)

First movie is a classic, this is thee one with the guy crawling around like a lizard and there's armadillos for no reason. The 90's version has no business being as deranged as it is and for this it is a core personality trait movie.

Fast&furious: Tokyo drift (2006)

Not sure I would say this is peak cinema but it's a racing movie that falls in line with the F&F tradition of being clearly in love with the entire premise, location, and cast. Rent free.

Drive (2011)

I like this movie because it is not about the guy getting the girl, it is about doing the right thing every single time because that's what it takes to be a real human bean. being. whichever. I was so obnoxious about this movie when I watched it with my now-ex gf that I wish I could siphon the memory of it out of her brain, because I kept pointing at actors I knew.

Green room (2015)

This is the best punk parable I can think of. Litany against not reading the room, litany against being the hero when there's no one to save, litany against thinking shared trauma is gonna get you any pussy.

Lords of chaos (2018)

I'm obsessed with the band Mayhem there is no other explanation.

There will be blood (2007)

WILD WEST TOXIC YAOI. I'm not apologizing for this summary and I'm not elaborating.

Butch Cassidy and the sundance kid (1969)

I don't know. I watched this in the wee hours of the morning with my best friend and actually cried about it. Doomed criminals and a famous final stand.

Saw (2004)

I used to watch Saw movies when I lived in the trailer park while hiding from my family in a neighbor's place so I don't know if these movies are good or if I needed to watch tortureporn to relax bcs the roof leaked on my bed when it rained? But I think everyone should at least watch the first movie or how are you going to play any games?

Chernobyl diaries (2012)

I walked out of this movie shaking head to toe and couldn't think about anything else for months. I don't think I'd be as scared now but I can't say if that's because I'm not 16 anymore. Warning against going into a dangerous situation with a guy you met off Craigslist.

Constantine (2005)

Demon hoards, evil angels, catholic bullshit, 9/10.

The neverending story (1984)

Well after all that let's reinstate some whimsy into our souls again bcs this is the Jim Henson Power Hour. This one is just a solid entry point into "puppets are fun and practical effects are my best friend".

The dark crystal (1982)

My babysitters put this on for me as a bed-time story when I was five (5) years old and I do not believe I slept, I think they regretted this and had to tell my parents what they did. But now I will never stop making Skeksis noises at people I love.

Labyrinth (1986)

Y'know the phenomenon of alt teens and preteens dating young adult men who are total and complete losers, including actual band members? It's not that this pre-dates any of that, but I believe it does a good job representing it through the lens of a modern fairy tale. Like when you watch this you have to realize this is wish fulfillment for people who want to be Sarah because their age-gap goth boyfriend in the real world is a manipulative disappointment.

Pacific rim (2013)

Love letter to the mecha and kaiju genre(s). Makes no sense, compels me though.

Eurotrip (2004)

This is the movie "Scotty doesn't know" is from. Some high schoolers fuck off to Europe and have the most misadventure possible. It's somehow exactly the kind of cringe humor you would expect from the 00's without being cruel or overly disgusting. I used to watch a lot of really bad 00's comedies and this is a good one I promise. Scussie.

Hamlet (1996)

Personality point, I think this is the best version on film because the guy actually looks like how I envisioned Hamlet. Ignore your girl! Avenge your dad!

Advantageous (2015)

This movie goes in on the connection between race and class in a sci-fi future where you can change the former through predatory, dangerous cosmetic surgery.

Gravity (2013)

This is my go-to movie when I need to sob like a sick little baby. Space travel as a metaphor for motherhood, spaceships as the womb, scientists are the babies who left their babies back on earth. It's about what you give up in the name of fulfilling your human urge for the unknown.

All clear on the western front (2022)

Thee anti-war fillum. Very well done. I never recovered from one of the final scenes to the point I wrote a final paper on it. Without spoiling it, the Ending gave me the feeling of when you're a kid and you want to go play, but you're grounded and you fall asleep listening to your friends outside in the street. I hope this sentence ruins your life if you watch this movie.

Inglorious basterds (2009)

They lock some nazis in a theatre and set them on fire, good cinema.

Shadow dancer (2012)

Domhnall Gleeson in one of his classically pathetic twink roles but its about British imperial violence and Irish reactionary violence.

Logan (2017)

Good art film, a story about dementia, legacies, and why putting children in cages is fucking evil.

The batman (2022)

Weird art film, next question.

Joker (2019)

I do not care about the opinions of straight men who watch things uncritically, this is a good movie because of the depictions of poverty in the US. I don't believe this needed to be about the DC Joker this should have been a standalone art film about a mime.

Dragonheart (1996)

Medieval era dragon nonsense, I will never be convinced this is a bad movie.

Sleeping beauty (1959)

Personality trait was rooting for the dragon.

Snow dogs (2002)

I'm not defending this one it stands on its own, please watch this movie if you wanna see Cuba Gooding Jr. bite a husky's ear so it'll stop ruining his life.

Luck of the irish (2001)

This movie is genuinely so bad I have considered it some kind of hate crime since the day it came out, because I watched this the day it was a direct-to-TV movie. I think I was too young to feel insulted but I was deeply, deeply bemused.

Black swan (2010)

There is a woman inside her and she is trying to crash the plane. Can I get away with calling this foe-yay yuri also? I'm going to.

I, tonya (2017)

Sufjan Stevens' song "Tonya Harding in Eb major" makes me so unreasonably emotional, so one day I watched this movie and then the film of the 1988 Calgary Olympics in the living room while all of my housemates had to sneak around in the dark. This is just a solid movie about ambition, betrayal, abuse, tragedy, and having to get over it and move on because you're not dead yet.

Phantom of the opera (2004)

Whatever was going on in Labyrinth, this is the adult version. Weird man in a sewer possessing a soprano. I think there's some gender happening here but it gets a little lost under the love(?) triangle.

A knights tale (2001)

Just go watch some more medieval nonsense, it's good for you, its fun.

White chicks (2004)

I'm not defending this choice, it's a good movie. "You were thinking it" "Yeah but you said it" there are some phrases you could use to see if I had been replaced with a body double and this is one of them.

Heathers (1988)

Ouughhgh ough oh. Personality trait. Watched this because I kept listening to the musical soundtrack, love both but agree the themes are much tighter in the movie. This is just a fun schlock to tell teens life is stupid and difficult and bad things will happen, so don't abandon your friends.

Priscilla queen of the desert (1994)

Classic homo fillum, if you wonder why I write Gilbert Like That it's partially because of the mean little fruit from this movie. It's about the Aussie drag scene and who belongs in the queer community.

300 (2006)

I'm not sure that I would call this a "good" movie, but it's a classic as far as I'm concerned. This is the "THIS IS SPARTA" movie.

The foreigner (2017)

I actually don't remember the plot of this one too solidly but the suspense and action were solid, and I enjoyed the setup. Good for if you wanna be really pissed off for two hours.

Conan the barbarian (1982)

Look at me. Look into my eyes. You're going to watch this movie. You're going to think about the wheel of pain and you're going to go wow, this is so stupid. Don't look away I'm not done. You're going to watch this movie and then you're going to get a couple of paper towel tubes and find someone to beat the shit out of each other with the tubes.

Law abiding citizen (2009)

I don't know I think watching this movie changed my brain chemistry in very special ways. Guy fucking loses it and becomes a problem for his local community by kidnapping and torturing people who killed his family. Cathartic and vile.

Black dog (1998)

:D DO YOU WANNA WATCH AN ACTION MOVIE ABOUT AN 18-WHEELER?

The hunt for red october (1990)

Almost forgot this one. Lithuanian Submariner off the shits, goes rogue, I'm not sure what accent Sean Connery is going for, I get the impression he just showed up to gigs and did whatever he wanted.

#long post #movie recs #mein #If nothing else this is just the 'why is Doom like that' list

[camels-pen]

our hearts will blend (with a fucking semi)

Summary:

“Y’know I think I can take out my heart and still like. Live.” “That’s nice, Danny.”

Danny proves a point.

—

based on @phantomphangphucker 's prompt "To prove a point, someone (it could even be Danny himself) removes Danny’s heart, and promptly misplaces/loses it." and @kawaiijohn 's prompt "Tucker Foley's terrible, awful, very bad day."

Warning: gore, blood, body horror, mentioned animal death

Ao3 Link | Phight '24 series

“Y’know I think I can take out my heart and still like. Live.”

“That’s nice, Danny.”

There was a grumble. “I can do it.”

“I wasn’t doubting you.” Danny stuck his hand under his shirt. “I WASN’T DOUBTING YOU, DON’T SHOW ME!” Tucker shrieked.

Danny ignored him. There was a loud, wet tearing noise—almost a SQUELCH—followed by a pop and Tucker was covering his eyes and walking away. The sounds of some of the jocks down the hill grew louder as he fled, but he would take jocks over still bleeding hearts any fucking day.

“Tucker, c’mon—Tucker.” It sounded like Danny was jogging after him, but Tucker sped up.

“I can’t believe I have to fucking say this, but I am not hanging out with you until you’re not holding your actual real live heart that is still bleeding in your hands.”

“It’s not even that bad—” There was a squeak, like sneakers on wet grass. It was the middle of a drought. In July. “Seriously, it’s not even that much blood.”

“You’re a liar and a whore and I’m ignoring you.”

“You know that’s pretty racist, Tucker.”

Tucker stopped. Another squeak behind him as Danny too, stopped.

“This is a perfectly normal part of ghost culture and is actually really helpful for keeping happy and healthy. To just dismiss it and say such hurtful things 

“This is a totally normal thing for ghosts—it’s part of our culture and all that. Intangibility, flying, and shapeshifting, that kind of stuff,” Tucker could practically hear him fumbling his heart in one hand as he listed things off on his fingers. “Taking out your organs for fresh air is just another thing on the list of normal ghost things.”

Tucker slowly, oh so slowly, let his hands fall from his eyes.

“Really hurts my feelings to hear that you don’t like a part of my culture, Tuck.”

Tucker turned. Danny had a stupid fucking grin on his face, smug like a cat that caught the canary.

“You’re breaking my heart here.” He held up his hand and Tucker finally got a good look at the bloody, pulsing thing Danny was so proud to show off. His hands were practically painted red, there was so much blood on them and despite the lack of any blood vessels connected to that—oough—fucking thing, it pumped along, happy as a clam.

When presented with such a thing, Tucker did as any average, normal guy would do.

He screamed at the top of his lungs and slapped it away from him as hard as he could.

The heart was flung from Danny’s bloody fingers, soaring in a wide arc down the hill. 

It landed in a patch of grass. Intact, thankfully.

“69! 420! Phantom rules! HIKE!!!” 

A wide, white, untied shoe punted Danny’s heart high into the air, followed by Dash tripping and swearing bloody murder. The wretched, happy thing fell with a distant splat atop the trailer of a parked moving truck. 

“What the hell did I just fucking kick? Where’s the fucking ball?” Dash started to push himself up when he slipped and looked down. “What the—oh my god.” He scrambled away, falling over himself as he made gagging noises.

“Dude, did you just kick a fucking squirrel? Did you pop that thing?” Kwan yelled.

Tucker stared at the scene below a long while before a hand tugged his sleeve. Danny pointed him towards the street. The truck had pulled out of the driveway and was driving innocently down the street.

Danny and Tucker watched it leave, the stupid fucking organ pumping in tune with each bump in the road. Almost as if waving goodbye.

“Hm.”

“Hm.”

The sound of Dash’s gagging and sobs drifted up from below. 

“So,” Danny said, stretching out the word. “I can’t go ghost without that. You think your mom would lend us her car?”

Tucker put his head in his hands. “Dude, you’re fucking heartless.”

“Is that a yes.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Great!” Danny slapped him on the back. Blood immediately seeped through Tucker’s sweatshirt. “Also, I need to borrow your shower.”

#danny phantom #danny fenton #tucker foley #gore #blood #body horror #mentioned animal death #phic phight #nemo the writing ho #it's crack though i promise #belated tumblr post for this lmao

[magniloquent-raven]

enough of you to dull the pain

HEY it's been a minute since i put any writing out there lol how yall been

tag list: @spreckle @growup-thatbeautiful @prettyboy-like-you 💕

(read on ao3)

**

If it was anyone else Billy would have said no. Immediately. No question. He's got rules, and staying in familiar territory is a big one. Doesn't matter how good the money or the dick is, he doesn't let johns choose the location. As much for his own safety as Heather's peace of mind. He always tells her where he's going before he leaves the apartment. 

Until tonight.

Until Steve fucking Harrington.

He figured Steve was a fake name at first. It's generic as hell, and the deer-in-the-headlights rapid blink he did before it fell out of his mouth that first night seemed like the look of someone scrambling for an answer. Usually isn't that hard for people to just tell the truth when someone asks their name. 

But no. 

He tossed Billy his wallet once. Still naked and sweaty and stretched out in questionably clean motel room sheets, a rosy glow on his cheeks and not a care in the world, like he hadn't just handed some random street walker every piece of ID he owns and $600 more than he's worth. 

His driver's license was tucked into a clear plastic pocket on the inside flap. A faded picture, his hair neatly combed, the corner of his mouth pinched like he was trying not to smile. Harrington, Steve. No middle name. 5' 10". 175 lbs. Eyes, brown. Hair, brown. 

He's a year or so older than Billy. Born in the fall.

"Harrington, huh," Billy drawled out, liking the way the name fit into his mouth. 

Steve shrugged, lounging, beautiful even in the dim light of a dirty lightbulb. The tiny smile that tugged at his reddened lips set something aflame in Billy's chest. Something that had been burrowing its way inside for weeks and had no business being there.

Something he's long since accepted isn't going away any time soon. They're months past Heather jokingly calling his weekly appointments date night and not thinking anything of him nervously brushing it off. Weeks past her dawning horror, growing concern, slammed doors and three rounds of a shouting match. He's tired of her going quiet every time he tells her where he'll be on a Friday night. Her judgemental eyes and pitying frown. Her chastising and talking in circles about how much of a moron he's being, like he doesn't fucking know already.

He always knew he was in over his head. It's been blindingly obvious from the start. Even when they were on his turf, Steve in his pressed slacks, unclipping his shiny fucking Rolex so he could carefully lay it on the scuffed-up table next to their rented bed, too clean, too bright, too good to be sitting on wrinkled sheets next to Billy in a dingy motel. The home field advantage should have kept him grounded but Steve's presence alone—his touch, his taste, the way he laughs, the way he looks at Billy like he's an actual person—kept him falling so far out of his depth he didn't know which was was up anymore. 

It's so much worse here. He's unmoored. Blind and struck dumb, nothing to hold onto but Steve but clinging too tightly hurts.  

He should have said no. He was prepared to say no. But that's not what came out of his mouth, and now here he is, in some ritzy fucking hotel, worlds away from anything resembling a safety net. He's pretty sure the floor his grimy boots are clomping on is actual marble, smooth and glassy and probably worth more than his first car. 

His reflection stares back at him in every surface he looks at. Shiny golden columns, lacquered wooden panels, crystal light fixtures sparkling on every wall, everything's so fucking polished and pristine he can't stop seeing his own face, flushed cheeks and barely concealed nerves, sticking out like a sore thumb even in his nicest shirt. 

It shouldn't matter. It doesn't matter. He's here to do a fucking job, the thread-count of the sheets he ends up between doesn't change that. All he needs to do is keep it together 'til he's there. Then he can forget about the concierge and his pressed suit glaring down his nose at Billy's cheap rings and butchered haircut. And the lady with her ankles crossed, eyeing him up from over her newspaper. And the man at the front desk with his bushy mustache, its edges curled with disdain. And the air in the room pressing in on all sides, thick and perfumed, catching in his throat like he's fucking drowning.

A familiar sickly feeling bubbles in his gut. His fingers twitch, curled into fists in his jacket pockets, sweat gathering in the creases of his palm. Ten years ago he'd have been giving in to the urge to break shit and run. Pick a fight, any fight, smash a window, knock over a stupid goddamn vase, anything to not be the only damaged thing in the room. 

Hell, he still might. He hasn't grown up that much.

Steve's hand lands on the small of his back, and he jolts, tensing, heart in his mouth. 

"I already checked in, just wait 'til you see the room," Steve says in a low voice, breath warm on the side of Billy's neck. 

Thank Christ, at least he doesn't have to stand around in this gilded hellscape attracting stares while Steve rents a room, totally fucking oblivious to how this looks to everyone in the foyer. 

There's a crude remark on the tip of his tongue. Some kind of innuendo he'd normally make in this sort of situation. It's expected of him. He's got a very specific role here, no matter how many idiotic fantasies he has about the what ifs. 

But he chokes. The thought of someone hearing him, the idea of leaning in and making it even clearer what they're here to do, it's all too much and his throat goes dry. 

Neither of them speak until they're alone in a third floor suite with the Do not Disturb sign hanging securely on the handle of its locked door. 

It's a nice room. Obviously. Well-lit. Plush carpet. There are at least six pillows on the bed, and none of them look drool-stained. 

Billy kicks his boots off, letting them land lopsidedly next to the coffee table. 

Damn, the carpeting really is fucking ridiculous. Might be easy on his knees for once. 

He bounces on his toes a little, trying to be subtle about shifting his weight around. Reminds him of walking barefoot on the beach, the warm give of sand shifting under his feet. But cleaner. 

"Nice, right?" 

Billy freezes, caught. Steve shed his jacket while Billy wasn't looking, and he's absentmindedly loosening his tie, eyes warm, watching. 

"Uh." Great. Good job. Steve's really getting his money's worth with all this witty banter. "...Yeah." Jesus fucking Christ.

Steve hums, seemingly content with Billy's answer, and continues to undress.

Now would be a good time to get it together. Like, right now. Say something cool, or offer to suck his dick, or…

"So, plans fall through with your wife or something?"

Not that. Idiot. But he can't take it back now, no matter how much he wants to. Steve might not wear a ring, but that doesn't mean Billy isn't about to hear something he never wanted to know.

He busies himself with taking his jacket off and laying it carefully over the back of the nearest chair. When he chances a peek at Steve he catches a glimpse of a furrowed brow and parted lips.

"Dude, I'm not married."

"Girlfriend then."

"No."

Billy lets out a silent breath, relief he has no right to feel washing over him. 

He doesn't ask why he's here if not to fill some void in a pre-existing plan. It won't be what he wants to hear, 'cause he's gotten too lucky already. Best to quit while he's ahead. 

It's probably just a kink thing.

Because he's here to fuck and that's it.

Every time they meet up it gets a little harder to remember that.

Which isn't entirely his fault, to be fair. It's not all on him and his incredibly inappropriate crush. Steve's started to linger, longer and longer after they're finished, he'll just…hang out. Asking Billy questions. Telling him little things about his life. 

Maybe they're sort of friends. In a fucked up way.

"How do you want me tonight?"

"Oh, uh…" Steve's shirtless now, thick mat of chest hair on full display. He's got good shoulders. Well-muscled. Broad, even if he doesn't hold himself like they are. He puts his hands on his hips, standing like a suburban dad who can't find his reading glasses while he eyes Billy up. Somehow this does not make him any less hot. Mostly it's just stupidly endearing. "What are you in the mood for?"

Billy blinks at him. 

It's not out of the ordinary for Steve to be mindful of Billy's needs when they have sex. In fact, he's very consistently been a generous lover, but he's never outright asked like that before, because…that's just not how this goes. Even when he gets clients who prefer being more submissive it's just a game they play, and they both know he doesn't make the rules. It's always about what the johns want. He's providing a service.

But Steve loves to come in and change shit, doesn't he. 

Billy used to let clients kiss him. He likes kissing. He likes having someone's tongue in his mouth. He likes the heat on his lips and the pressure and the softness. Not all of them are good at it, but a bad kiss can still be kind of fun. 

And then he met a client that he wanted to kiss more than anything else. Steve Harrington's mouth fucking haunts him. He dreams about kissing him. Lazily. Sloppily. Hungrily. Laying in bed for hours and just pressing their mouths together. He wanted to kiss him the second he saw him, and he knew it would ruin his fucking life.

So he lied. When he was giving Steve the run-down he told him he didn't kiss, and he pointedly ignored the puppy-dog eyes and the way Steve's gaze drifted south with poorly concealed disappointment.

And to make matters worse, he hasn't kissed a client since. Because none of them are Steve, and Billy's a fucking idiot. 

"C'mon, anything. What d'you wanna do?" Steve coaxes gently, so gently, like he's approaching a stray cat he wants to pet. 

Billy shakes his head, hoping it'll dislodge all the dumb rosy thoughts of sunlight in Steve's hair and petal pink lips trailing up his chest.  "That's not how this works."

"Why not?"

"Seriously?"

Steve just looks at him. Just fucking looks. His expression is fairly neutral, but his jaw is set. He's not going to just let this drop. Of course he isn't.

"Because. You're the one paying, man. Your wish is my command and all that shit."

"What if my wish is to do what makes you happy?"

That pulls a laugh out of Billy, a tiny, surprised noise burbling up out of nowhere. "Jesus Christ," he mumbles, rubbing his mouth with the back of his hand. The tips of his ears are warm, and it gets worse when Steve beams at him. "Yeah, yeah. You can't sweet-talk yourself a discount y'know."

"Not what I was after." 

Steve really needs to stop looking at him like that. Before Billy does something even stupider than agreeing to come here in the first place. 

He doesn't stop. It gets worse, actually. His delight softens into something fond, eyes crinkled at the corners and honey-sweet. And he comes closer. Close enough that Billy can smell his shampoo, an outdoorsy scent, clean and sunshiney. It's familiar by now, but still hits him right in the chest. 

"What're you after then?" Billy asks. He meant to sound light and flirty, dripping with enough innuendo to get this back into safe territory, but instead his voice is barely a whisper, straining with his failed effort to keep his feelings out of it. 

Steve toys with a button on Billy's shirt, tracing circles around it with a fingertip. "Told you already." He keeps running his thumb along the seam, teasing, a hair's breadth from the bare skin peeking out of the low dip of Billy's neckline. "I wanna make you happy." 

It's too much. Everything, the tone of Steve's voice, low and earnest and soft as velvet, the lump in the back of Billy's throat, his heart squeezing painfully, his lungs seizing, the cold sweat on his back, and the tiny point of contact between them, just…

He can't do this. 

He pulls away, stumbling back, shoulders hunched, hands frozen mid-air because he doesn't know what to do with them. "Don't do that." 

Steve's expression drops, his eyes wide, lips parted. He shuffles a step away from Billy, arms wrapped around his middle. "Shit—sorry. Sorry. I…uh. Are you…okay?" 

"Stop."

"What?"

"I'm not your fucking boyfriend, stop treating me like…" Like there's a chance this might go somewhere? Like hoping isn't a dangerous waste of time. Like there aren't hundred dollar bills burning a hole in the pocket of that jacket on the floor. 

Billy rubs his eyes, pressing with the heel of his hand until he sees stars.

"Sorry," Steve says again, quieter. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." 

God fucking damnit. 

"Why are we here, Steve?"

He's just a good person. He's just considerate and kind and it's not his fault Billy can't stop seeing signals that aren't there. The hotel was just a friendly gesture from someone with too much money. Or it was a sex thing. Or what the fuck ever. Billy doesn't want to hear it, but he fucking needs to.

So, he waits. And waits. Steve blinks at him, opening and closing his mouth silently. 

"Steve."

"I don't want to make you more uncomfortable!"

"What the hell does that mean?"

"I—" Steve bites his lip. "It's been a year."

"What."

"A year ago today. Since we met. It's dumb, alright. I got a little drunk and booked a room, and I wasn't sure if you'd even say yes but I figured I'd ask, 'cause I'd already done it, and then…well, I mean, and now we're here. Because I…" He runs an agitated hand through his hair. "I want you to have nice things."

That wasn't what Billy expected. He was vaguely aware that they met this time last year, but he hadn't marked the day. And he definitely didn't think Steve had. 

He shoves his hands into his pockets to stop them from shaking. "You…" He trails off, at a loss. 

Steve's worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, his gaze dropping from Billy's face. "Yeah, I know, I'm a pathetic cliche. Miserable trust fund baby falls in love with a hooker. Shock, surprise. I'm sorry, okay, I…" He freezes, seeming to realize a second too late what he just said, but instead of back-paddling he just winces and looks apologetic. 

He's not taking it back. 

He's not taking it back. 

But he can't mean it, right? 

Billy's pulse roars in his ears. His ribcage feels hollowed out, full of hot air and champagne. Steve's words echo in his head, repeating over and over and over, but no matter how many times he hears it, it doesn't quite sink in. Doesn't feel real. 

His whole body is jittery, wracked with terror like he's never felt in his fucking life. 

He's been trying so hard to keep Steve at arm's length. Not that he's been doing it well, but he's tried. For Steve's sake as much as his own. Their relationship should've been simple. Easy. Just a business transaction. And Steve wasn't paying for Billy to get his dumb selfish feelings all over the place. 

Billy somehow never stopped to consider the flipside in all of this. He was too caught up in his own shit to notice that Steve was…Steve is…

Fuck, he has to say something. The right thing, for once. Hopefully.

He pushes a hand through his hair, fingers catching in tangles behind his ear, and he wastes a moment fiddling with the curls caught on his shirt collar. Stalling does nothing to settle his nerves. The rise and fall of his chest is still stilted, shallow, lungs burning as he tries to even out and can't quite get enough air. He opens his mouth. Closes it. And…

"At least we're a pathetic cliche together?" He manages to push out a wobbly exhale that's almost a laugh. 

Steve blinks at him. 

Another long moment passes. Silence.

"Are…you saying. What I think you're saying?"

"What do you think I'm saying."

"I…" Steve looks unsure, shifting his weight around. It's almost too much to bear, his kicked puppy-dog face, downcast eyes and contrition a weight around his shoulders. 

"Steve," Billy says softly. He pauses, chewing the inside of his cheek. The words are there, stuck. It feels like a physical thing, a lump in his throat that he can barely breathe around. It takes effort for him to whisper, "I want you to kiss me." 

Which at least gets Steve's attention. His head whips up, cheeks flushed pink, and he locks eyes with Billy. "You do? Right now?"

"What—yes, obviously, right n—nmm—"

Kissing Steve Harrington is better than he imagined. 

It's overwhelming in the best way. How suddenly Steve is just there, in his space, a gentle hand cupping his jaw, warmth radiating off him, his bare chest, his thigh pressed to Billy's, and his mouth, god, his mouth. Soft lips and a clever tongue. Billy's never wanted so badly to be devoured, aching more with every teasing scrape of teeth along his bottom lip. 

The room could be on fire and he wouldn't notice. 

Eventually they come up for air. Billy's not sure when his hands ended up on Steve's shoulders, fingertips pressing white marks into his biceps, but he's glad for the support, because his knees sure as hell aren't holding him up on their own. 

"Jesus Christ, we should've done that a long time ago," Billy chuckles breathlessly.

"Been wanting to for a year." 

"Mmn." He sighs, and rests his forehead against Steve's. "Yeah. Same." 

"Yeah?"

"Yes. Now kiss me again."

And he does.

#stranger things #harringrove #steve harrington #billy hargrove #a raven's writing desk

[messenger-of-stupidity]

Can the Redacted Characters Skateboard

Hi and welcome back to bullshit that I wrote while on a hiatus to avoid actually working on WIPs and then shoved into my scheduled posting so i didnt have to worry about it. 

Also if this has already previously been done, can someone please tell me so I can delete it because i dont wanna be a content thief. That always fucking sucks. (I say as I make up things about characters that Erik made up.)

Redacted Masterlist

OKAY LETS GOOO

Starting off strong with the Shaw pack and their respective partners.

David: Man had zero interest in actually learning to skateboard. He preferred learning to drive or ride a bike if he needed transportation. But he learned it with Asher when they were kids. Since being able to drive though he stopped practicing and now he’s rusty. He can skate and do basic ollies but that’s it.

Angel: No. They are clumsy. They get on a skateboard and immediately fall over. Wrap them in bubble wrap because they will get hurt but they will continue trying because they’re stubborn as all hell.

Asher: Yes. I headcanon he’s a skater boy so fucking hard you don’t understand. Man got obsessed with skating when he was in fifth grade and begged David to learn how to skate with him. He got so many injuries, Marie told him that she wouldn’t heal him for his skating injuries anymore. But he kept at it and when David started driving, he would be skitching to David’ car/truck all the fucking time. He also knows how to make his own boards and do a bunch of cool tricks.

Baabe: Baabe started to learn skating in middle school but then stopped. Asher taught them when they got together and now they go to skate parks and go on skating dates every now and then. it’s very cute. Asher made them a matching board to his.

Milo: No. This man sits on a board and uses both his feet and hands to make it move. He can at least balance on it unlike Angel but don’t ask him to push. He will fail and he will fall into traffic.

Sweetheart: They were able to skate in middle school but then stopped because they kept going invisible while on the street and people would try to stop a runaway skateboard. It ended up getting them and others injured so then they stopped. Now they’re too busy to see if they still retain any of their basic street skills.

Darlin: Abso-fucking-lutely. This is their main mode of transportation when they aren’t running. They continuously try to skate through the woods and fail every time because it’s not a stable enough surface. However they are a longboard user since they view street boards as hella cliche and they refuse. Also they like asking Asher to make longboards since he dislikes making the fuckers.

Sam: Yes. Especially post-turning. Man has reflexes and can make the skateboard go zoom with his vamp speed. But he doesn’t do it anymore because skateboarding at night can be kinda dangerous due to low visibility and he doesn’t like drawing attention to himself. 

Arden: yes. I just get skater girl vibes from her. I can’t explain why. But I could see Asher making her an eggboard cruiser.

Christian: No. He tried to learn so he could be better than Asher but he fails harder than Angel. Everyone thought it wasn’t possible, but he proved them wrong. Congrats Christian.

Amanda: No. She didn’t have any interest in learning.

Now onto the Solaire vamps!

William: I wanna say yes simply for the mental image of this fabulous man skating down the street while Vincent and Sam stare on in shocked horror, but Imma have to say no. He will finance skateboards, but he doesn’t know. Darlin did try to teach him how to skate with a longboard but he looked at the board then at them and politely declined.

Vincent: Are you kidding me? Of course this flamboyant fucker knows how to skate. He only got better when he was turned. He prefers driving cars, but he likes skitching to one of his cars while Lovely is driving. It’s very fun. But he continuously tries to do tricks with a longboard and fails every time since that’s not what they’re made for. He’s too stubborn to stop though. His streetboard is so scratched up please get it some TLC.

Lovely: They’re in the process of learning because Baabe and Asher told them about their skate dates and they think that’s cute. Vincent is a horrible teacher though so their learning is going very slowly.

Alexis: No. This is commoner activities and therefore below her.

Adam: No. He’s missing a head. Usually pretty important when one wishes to skate. Thoughts and prayers dude.

DAMN squad!

Huxley: FUCK YES! This dude is a skateboarding king. He has a cruiser though since he just likes the chill vibes of cruising everywhere. It’s especially helpful on campus.

Damien: No and it frustrates him to no end. Huxley has tried teaching him, but he’s not able to pick it up. And everytime he gets frustrated he ends up damaging the deck so he stopped trying.

Lasko: No. He’s way too anxious to be confident about his balance so he always falls whenever he tries to put his foot on the back deck. He’s content with just walking, thank you.

Lasko’s listener (Kinda excited to see what pet name they get.): Yes. The confidence that is dripping (heh get it?) from this being is tangible, even from just one video. They seem pretty confident in their abilities, so that would serve them well for skating. Whether I think they do skate or not is still kinda up in the air. I can kinda see them being like that on tiktok teacher who skates around in the building ona  cruiser. They give off a really chill teacher vibes (They literally wanted to start up a workplace romance, that seems pretty chill to me) so I could see them cruising down the hall with a stack of graded papers in their bag. Also they would totally skate during a storm. They’re a water elemental so they can probably control the element enough to make sure their wheels don’t slip too much. Lasko did say they were pretty good at their magic, so I could see them having that level of control.

Freelancer: Yes. Huxley taught them, so they only know about cruisers, but they’re okay with this. They get to cruise around campus and everything and it makes them feel cool. 

Gavin: He has no need for it, but Freelancer has been begging him so he relents. Huxley and Freelancer are teaching him right now. It’s slow going since he would much rather just tease them both though.

Caelum: No. He can’t. But he’s very energetic when following after Freelancer when he can. He’s happy they found another activity that helps loosen the knots inside them. He’s a hype-boyo. 

Meridian and Sovereign storyliners!

Vega: No. It’s a human custom so therefore he has zero interest in it. Also it holds no purpose to further his goals so why would he bother learning?

Warden: No. They were too busy to learn how and they also didn’t really care. It’s just a skateboard, but there are people that need their help. Also they’re too busy trying to fight off the never ending hunger.

Avior: He’s wanted to learn but has been a bit busy the past several months/hour. 

Starlight: They know the basic push and ollies so they can easily get around but that’s it. They’ve been a bit busy too. Plus they like walking. It’s good for them.

Cam: (he needs to be here for organization sake) He has a cruiser. It’s nice to be able to to take a small break and just go past some flowers or parks and soak up how everyone is having a pretty good day. He doesn’t get the chance very often though sadly.

Asset: Yes but only because they know everything and have the ability to go through with it. They have never stepped foot on a skateboard and don’t have any plans to.

Marcus: No he’s a whiny little baby bitch. He would fall into traffic.

James: No, he’s a runner not a skater. But we respect him for it.

James listener: Yes. They don’t wanna be a marathon runner like James, but they wanna be able to go with him during his runs so they have a cruiser and they know how to use it. That’s it though.

Anton: Yes. I can feel it in my bones, if the workplace was more chill he would have an eggboard and that would be how he’d get around within the facility.

Anton’s listener: No. I get a gentle plant parent vibe from them. But they like seeing how content Anton gets when he gets to skate.

Brian: (i think that’s his name) No. He just wants to go home to his family bro. Plus he plays tennis (hc). Being a tennis player makes him above skaters. (lovingly said.)

Blake: Yes and he’s annoyingly good at it. He impresses his listener every time he does because they always think he’s not gonna be any good and then he proves them otherwise. Whether they’re dreaming or not when they see this and are impressed is unimportant. What’s important is that he impresses them and has their attention. What, are you not feeling drowsy? Don’t worry about that, look at this cool flip he can do.

Blake’s Listener: They have a skateboard that they have not touched since 3rd grade. So no, they cannot. They don’t remember and they didn’t practice long enough as a kid for it to be in any kind of muscle memory.

Elliot: Absolutely. This is another born, raised, and bred skater boy. He loves putting stickers all over the underside of his deck. It looks like someone vomited the definition of multi-fandom all over it. He also needs to get a new board before his deck snaps in half, but he’s too attached to it to do so.

Sunshine: Yes. After their accident, they were a bit scared to drive again so they learned how to skate in an effort of alternate modes of transportation. It was a necessity. But they met Elliot at a skate park when they were practicing turning and he helped them out. They became friends and then you know how the story goes.

Brachium: No. He has no access but Sunshine has told him about skating and he’s happy for them.

Unempowered! 

Aaron: He got interested when Elliot got obsessed and he tried it out but then decided against actually dedicating time to learn. But he gave Elliot stickers to put on the deck.

Smartass: Aaron mentioned that he gave up learning while Smartass was half-asleep. The next morning they went out and bought a board to prove that they were going to learn and be better than Aaron. So they’re in the process of learning and everytime they feel like giving up because it offers nothing for them besides bragging rights, spite makes them continue. We wish them luck on their spiteful journey.

Ollie: No he doesn’t. He was more into playing board games inside then going outside to learn how to skateboard or anything. He knows his name is related to a skating maneuver but that wasn’t enough to make him have any interest.

Baby (Ollie): No. They’re content with playing board games with Ollie. They like being indoors instead of outdoors anyways.

Ivan: He learned but never put his skills to use. So theoretically he knows how to skate but we aren’t sure.

Baby (Pre-Vega’s Ivan): Yes. They learned with Ivan, and actually put the skills to use. So they do know how to skate and it’s a fun hobby for them to learn new little tricks.

Baby (post-Vega’s Ivan): No. They don’t. They didn’t have any interest and still don’t even after being freed and memory modified. Skateboarding isn’t for everyone and that’s fine.

Guy: yes and he’s horrible at it. He knows how but he likes messing up because then he can go to Honey about his “boo-boos”s and try to convince them to kiss the scrapes and bruises better. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t.

Honey: Yes and they’re good at it. Their favorite thing to do when just skating around is a Dragon flip (also known as the 360 dolphin flip) they think it’s fun and they would do it continuously if they could. But every chance they get, they’re at least doing a dozen of them.

Geordi: He’s too anxious to actually be confident (like Lasko) but he really wants to learn. It seems less exhausting than running. He also thinks it looks cool.

Cutie: No they can’t, and street boarders thoughts are a bit too intense for them to even want to learn or try. They know Geordi wants to try, but they aren’t going to mention skateboarding because then they would have to worry about Geordi’s thoughts getting like the street boarder’s. 

Regulus: He’s invisible, we will never know if he’s a secret skater boy. He’s very good at doing flips inside your mind though.

Regulus Listener (Precious I think they’re called? Getting Gollum vibes ngl): Why do you need to go outside? Inside you can be with Regulus. That’s all you want, not to see if you can skate. Inside with Regulus, safe from those who want to take him away from you. To separate the two of you. Why are you crying? Oh, he understands. Those are tears of joy aren’t they? Don’t worry, he’ll wipe them from you as he makes you lay dormant to his every whim. Isn’t this the life you wanted?

#redacted asmr #redacted audio #redactedverse #redacted shaw pack #redacted damn #redacted david #redacted angel #redacted asher #redacted baabe #redacted babe #redacted milo #redacted sweetheart #redacted christian #redacted amanda #redacted arden #redacted freelancer #redacted lasko #redacted gavin #redacted huxley #redacted damien #redacted caelum #redacted avior #redacted starlight #redacted vega #redacted warden #redacted darlin #redacted darling #redacted sam #redacted vincent #redacted lovely

[hwxnghyynjin]

Kannibalen [Teaser]

Pairing: stray kids x reader Genre: horror, fluff, angst Warnings: tba Words: 1086 (teaser), actual word count tba Release date: 31/10/2023 Taglist: @abiaswreck

It started out as a normal day in Seoul. Everyone enjoying the sunshine, feeling the warmth from the sun on their skin. Children were playing in the park, laughing with not a care in the world. Young people seeing their loved ones, enjoying spending their time together as they basked in the afternoon sun. However, that all changed in just a couple of hours, a virus outbreak turning people into cannibalistic psychopaths. 

5 hours before the outbreak

You were chilling at the dorms with the guys, sitting between Hyunjin and Jeongin. You were playing with Hyunjin’s hands, twirling the rings around his fingers. Hyunjin didn’t seem to mind though, too engrossed in the conversation he was having with Seungmin. Jisung and Minho were bickering, as usual, probably about what they wanted to eat. Felix was in the kitchen, baking brownies for everyone, the smell of the brownies baking hitting your senses. You swear that Felix puts a hint of magic in the brownies as they are the best brownies you’ve ever eaten. You’re not sure when Chan and Changbin are, probably working out, which they usually do.

“I want to eat jajangmyeon”

“I want tteokbokki!”

“We had that last time!”

“I don’t care, I’m craving tteokbokki again”

“If the both of you don’t shut up, you’ll both be eating a sock”, Seungmin said, glaring at the pair for their bickering. You giggled, finding the scene in front of you funny: Jisung and Minho both staring at Seungmin, not knowing what to say. They just sat back in their seats, sighing. “Why don’t we try out that new steak restaurant? I heard that the steak there is amazing”, Jeongin suggested, to which everyone agreed on the idea. You texted Chan and Changbin to meet you at the steak restaurant, to which they were ok with that.

4 hours before the outbreak

You all arrived at the restaurant, the aura of the restaurant felt warm and cosy. You were greeted by a front of house staff, guiding you to a table before giving you a menu each. “I hope you two aren’t going to bicker about what to eat”, Seungmin said, referring to Jisung and Minho. The table was filled with laughter from Seungmin’s comment, both Minho and Jisung feeling embarrassed. 

Thankfully the meal was filled with laughter and jokes, and the occasional dad joke from Chan which made you all groan. Hyunjin fed you some pieces of steak and some veggies, and you did the same to him. Jeongin felt a bit left out so you fed him some steak and veggies too, the smile on his face making your heart warm. Soju filled your system, as well as the others. You were all tipsy, some more than others, but you were still aware of your senses and surroundings. 

3 hours before the outbreak

You all walked back home, the streetlights illuminating the city. You were laughing at nothing in particular, probably at something Hyunjin said as you leaned into his side. The others were walking ahead of you, Jisung twirling around like a ballerina, whilst Changbin tried to push Minho over for some odd reason. Chan stops him, scolding him like a dad telling his child off. All of a sudden, you felt yourself being stopped, looking up to see Hyunjin looking down at you.

“Can I try something? Just, don’t hit me please, I’m fragile”, Hyunjin said, making you laugh. You just nodded your head and a second later, you felt his lips against yours. They were softer than you imagined, like pillows. You thought it was going to be a soft and short kiss, you didn’t expect to make out in the middle of the street. 

“Hey, love birds! How about instead of making out in the middle of the street, we get home. I’m tired and Changbin won’t stop trying to push Minho over. Oh, and Jisung almost walked into a lamp post pretending to be a ballerina. I’m too old to look after you all”, Chan said, really sounding like a tired dad. You and Hyunjin ran towards him, holding hands so as to not lose each other, even though the street is practically empty. 

2 hours before the outbreak

You were in Hyunjin’s room, straddling him as you made out. His hands were on your waist whilst yours were around his neck. Your lips moulded together perfectly, like they were made for each other. Neither of you made any moves to deepen the kiss, just wanting to keep the moment sweet and soft. After a moment, Hyunjin was the first to pull away, looking at you with soft eyes. He planted a small kiss on the tip of your nose, watching as you scrunch your face up from the feeling. He planted kisses all over your face from how cute you were. You continued to sit like that for a while, basking in the warmth from Hyunjin’s body.

After a while, though, you both left the room and joined the others. Some kind of action film was playing on the TV but you’re not familiar with it. Hyunjin sat down on the sofa, pulling you down on the couch, snuggling up into him. No one was talking at this point, probably still tipsy or just really tired, which you don’t blame them. You could fall asleep right then and there but you didn’t want to, not just yet.

“Do you think bees have belly buttons?”

“Jisung, what the fuck?!”

1 hour before the outbreak

The TV was still on, some film you didn’t recognise playing as everyone else was asleep apart from you. The sound of Hyunjin’s light snores hit your ears, his lips pouty as his head rested on the back of the sofa. Jisung and Minho’s legs were intertwined as they cuddled against each other, which you decided to take a picture of because you found it adorable. You didn’t realise you left the flash on, though, as the flash went off as soon as you pressed the button. Thankfully no one woke up as you let out a sigh of relief.

You felt yourself getting sleepy as you let out a massive yawn, putting your phone in your pocket. You sat back down next to Hyunjin, resting your head on his shoulder. You closed your eyes, hoping to fall into dreamland, which you did a few minutes later. However, your sleep was soon interrupted as about an hour later, you were all woken up by a massive explosion.

#stray kids scenarios #stray kids horror #stray kids x reader

[cyberp-1-nk]

[ Ladies man. || simp party. ]

A/N: Nina/Clockwork are a little out of character. Just because I thought it would be funny asf..

WARNINGS: None!

TAGS: @insane-horror-movie-addict owns Anni, @cheesefanboy2

WORD COUNT: 1,930

A crowd of succubi and female demonics surrounded this poor unfortunate man, who had been simply trying to do his job. The crowd of women followed him around relentlessly, they screamed and begged him for his number— even going as far as to fight over him. Douglas, of course, was infamous for having fangirls practically glued to his hip wherever he went. And having a job didn’t change that in the slightest. In fact, his fangirls, especially succubi in particular, seemed to go up and above their way to spend time with Douglas, even when he had no idea who they were.

"Excuse me, but I'm looking for a girl—" Doug attempted to get a word in, before being furiously interrupted by the crowd of women screaming and throwing money at him— some of them even throwing themselves at him.

"Take your shirt off!"

"Can I have your number?"

"I'll give you a real good time~" 

"Please— let me buy you a drink!"

"Are you free tonight?"

Doug's eyes examined them in extreme disbelief as they all screamed and screeched over him— the absolute last straw was when a random women's shirt got thrown to his face, as one of the fangirls started to shed herself of her clothes. He angrily tugged the shirt off of his face, and threw it to the ground— Doug shook his leg, in an effort to get one of the fangirls to let go, but the woman's grip only tightened around his leg. 

Looking for his boss's daughter was an absolute pain in the ass— he constantly got bombarded by random fangirls on the streets of the under-realm, he swore, these women were just a whole different species— well, technically they were, but that wasn't the point. He roughly stuffed his fingerless–gloved hands into his pockets, letting out a sigh of exasperation, "I don't get paid enough for this.." 

Doug brought his hand up over his shoulder in a weak wave, cocking his head in a rough nod and stepping away from the women who continued to scream. He walked down the sidewalk, dodging a few girls along his journey in returning to his truck. The driver's door creaked open and he stepped in the black colored truck, staring at the picture in his hands of Ophelia— the girl he was forced to search for. A gruff sound of annoyance emerged from his throat, he tossed the picture down on the seat and started the groggy, roaring engine of his trusty truck. He shoved the stick shift into first gear, taking off.

The scratchy seat poked at his legs and he shoved the key into the ignition, twisting it to start the engine. But it refused. The engine turned over a couple clicks and finally started, taking a few seconds to actually gather enough power to drive. Douglas sighed to himself and rubbed his head; he couldn't wait until he had enough money to buy a new car or at least get someone to fix it— honestly though, he would probably fix it himself once he had the chance to stop somewhere.

He found his way on the small road leading to…somewhere new. He passed through the forest and the little downtown area on the lake, this place kinda seemed incredibly reserved. This was a beautiful forest, and it was one of the only benefits of having this particular job.

His eyes finally locked onto the driveway of an incredibly large mansion, with cabins littered across the field in the middle of the forest. With a turn of the wheel, he pressed on the breaks and came to a stop. Grabbing his bag he stepped out of the rusty car and walked to the front door of the mansion, knocking at the unnecessarily large door— he swore, it looked to be about 20 ft in length. The door instantly swung open,

"Hey, uhm, I was wondering if—"

"Holy shit.." Nina interrupted him instantly, her jaw tightening as she dryly swallowed, eyes widened as she flirtatiously traced his form. Nina didn't realize that her lips were parted in slight awe as her staring was longer than she intended. "Wow…okay— who owns him? Is it you Clockwork? Because you fucking scored!" 

Before he had a chance to interject, Clockwork peeked her head out to get a chance to examine this stranger— her lips pulling into a smirk. 

"No way, somebody this hot is here for business— all of Slenderman's henchmen are ugly as fuck. What are you here for?" Doug's eyes moved back to her face as her words finally reached his ears, and being knocked from his thoughts, he finally muscled out words that rolled off his tongue awkwardly.

"As I was saying, I was wondering if I could—"

"Who's at the door?" Anni interrupted, pushing past the two girls to get a good look at him— tilting her head at him. He watched her eyebrow raise and her hands grip onto her curved hips, staring at him as her brown eyes narrowed, as if to ask him why he's here. Doug straightened his posture and tugged involuntarily at his sleeveless shirt, dryly swallowing as he got slightly intimidated by the much shorter woman.

"I was just wondering if any of you saw this girl," He finally had a chance to speak. He passed over the most recent picture of Ophelia, a pair of dark brown, apple colored eyes staring back from the picture; fear slowly veiling themselves from her fight-or-flight response. In the photograph, she wore a small black tank top that sucked against her pale skin, exposing a couple inches of her tight lower belly. It was strange— in every picture Fang was featured in, she was either scared or depressed looking.

"You're looking for Fang. She lives here, she's just having a little alone time." 

"Fang?" That word struck him hard and the confusion in his eyes made Anni smirk. He had never seen this woman before, not even in the past couple years that he was forced to spend with Ophelia— to be completely honest, he didn't even know Ophelia had friends. And why did they call her Fang? Was it some type of cover name that Ophelia came up with? Strange. Doug heard the heel of her boot clad against the floor as she stepped back,

"She should be back soon. You don't talk much, do you?" The woman mused with another smile, stepping towards him and stopping a few feet away. Doug shook his head and spun his finger around his ear,

"Nah just… trying to wrap my mind round all this." She shoved her hands into her back pockets and studied his features briefly, leaning back and balancing on the heels of her boots. Tilting her head, she stared into his blue eyes curiously,

"What's your name?"

"Douglas. Call me Doug." She extended her hand towards him with tenderness and welcoming. With slight hesitation, he took her hand in his, feeling her hand tighten in his grasp. It didn't tighten with friendliness this time, but that of insecurity and uncertainty.

"Anni." Her voice wavered in Doug's ears and once their hands split from each other, her demeanor changed back in the sliver of a second. 

Doug rubbed the back of his neck nervously,

"Well, Anni, while I'm waiting for her— can I use your garage? I need to fix my truck real quick— got my own tools and everything." 

"I don't see no harm in it," Anni shrugged, her face turning into a stoic expression once again as she crossed her arms— while the two girls behind her were mumbling about how hot this random stranger was. For the first time today, a smile found itself carving on his face.

— . — . —

Doug sighed , grabbing a few ratchets, screwdrivers, and socket wrenches from the large tool box. Yanking up the hood on the large truck in the incredibly massive garage, he propped it up with the hood rod. He saw the hole in the radiator in which it blew and quickly grabbed an oil pan, crawling under the truck and placing it under the engine. Reaching up, he twisted the cap to the radiator fluid and moved his head quickly as the green liquid began to drain into the pan.

Standing back to his feet, he wiped his forehead of the sweat already forming out of the hot morning. The sun was already high in the sky and Doug forgot to check the time before he left his truck.

As the radiator fluid drained, Doug easily swapped out the spark plugs, cap, and rotor to ensure a clean tune-up on the old truck. Grabbing a socket wrench, he checked the fluid and saw that it was no longer draining and took to the old rusted radiator. Back and forth the socket wrench clicked until the bolt came out, Doug moving onto the other bolts and finally yanking out the old radiator. He walked out into the blazing sunlight of the summer day, tossing the radiator into his old junk truck to be taken to a junkyard later on.

He lost himself in southern rock music and the hard work of a vehicle mechanic. Hours rolled by as he moved from the radiator to the engine, stripping off parts to make sure they didn't need to be replaced. The hot air got the best of him and he couldn't resist stripping off his shirt and tossing it on a wooden chair. His muscles contorted under his skin as he moved them about, yanking at engine parts and getting oil all over himself in the process, "Shit.." he muttered quietly, slightly coating his carved muscles in oil. He groaned but from slight annoyance and exhaustion. 

He stretched his thick shoulders and stepped back from the truck, looking over to see Anni hovering over a small ice-cooler. The small woman seemed to be in trance— a slight hue of blush coating her cheeks as she watched him. She shook her head, leaning up and tossed him a beer, Doug catching the cold bottle flawlessly. His fingers twisted off the cap and the cold alcohol seeped into his tongue with much needed liberation.

"Why's it gotta be so damn hot?" Doug asked before taking another swig and running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair. Anni took a few chugs of her beer, downing half of it in only a few large drinks, as a red-hot blush continued to burn furiously— she ended up gulping it so fast that she started to choke.

"Why do you have to be so damn hot—?" Nina interjected, before Anni effortlessly threw a filled-can of beer at her. She instantly got knocked to the ground with a loud stumbling fall, Nina muttered a small 'worth it' before running off. Anni smirked at Nina finally running off, even if she continued to choke on literal air.

"Geez— slow down, sweetheart. The drink isn't going anywhere," Anni continued to cough furiously when he said that, finally clearing her throat and gaining some much needed breaths of fresh air. 

She tilted her head at the thought of the man that was currently infront of her. Douglas. He seemed sweet in her eyes and he was the first man out of a handful that didn't seem to stare at her in the same matter the others did. He was a bit hesitant to engage in conversation, but maybe he was just shy around girls? A lot of men are.

Doug chewed on his lip and narrowed his eyes as she gave a quick smile. He hummed a chuckle in his throat and couldn't help but smirk unknowingly to himself as she continued to clear her throat. She scratched the back of her head and shifted uncomfortably in her boots. With an amused sigh, the man infront of her grabbed a wrench and continued to work. He cleared his throat and stepped out from behind the truck, gripping his pair of fingerless gloves tightly behind his back with both hands as he stretched slightly, sliding himself back underneath the truck.

Damn. He was hot.

#simp party #simp party my beloved #anni my beloved #doug kinda fine ngl #oh my lawd #*screams* #anni and doug possible ship? maybe

[biboybuckley]

Ficlet prompt: don't let go

so this is. intense. don't ask why, it just happened.

Buck can’t name this. He has no way to identify the thing that chokes him, that curls around his heart and squeezes, that floods his lungs and lies bitter on his tongue, that fogs his mind, that winds through his veins. He can’t name the beast anymore than he can name what releases it. It’s- simply put, sometimes the dam breaks. The walls he has carefully built up, the ones that hold the nameless monster at bay, they come crashing down. And they bring Buck with him. 

He’s gotten better at dealing with it as he’s grown up. He’s far from the little boy holding his own knees and rocking in his bed in the middle of the night, trying to stifle his whimpers and biting his lip till it bled to hold in his cries. Now he does it in the bathroom, fists clenching the ceramic sink, jaw clenched in a stubborn attempt to hold in the tears that sting behind his eyes, glaring at his reflection in the mirror. Now, he tries to fight it. But he still does it alone. 

His arms are shaking as he grips the counter, straining with the effort of physically holding himself together, as if, if he relaxed for even a moment, he would shatter and fly into a million pieces. He swallows hard, his jaw trembling, and stares at himself in the mirror. He looks fine. He should be fine. Aside from his eyes, glistening with unshed tears, and the visible tension of his jaw, nothing is out of the ordinary. He looks tired, sure. But that’s to be expected. 

It goes like this- Buck stops sleeping. His nights turn longer, plagued by nightmares and haunted by ghosts. Little by little, he spends more of the night lying awake, dreading sleep, than he does actually sleeping. He functions for a while off adrenaline and obscene amounts of caffeine and/or sugar. He pretends that if he can just stay active enough, he might be able to outrun the demons in his mind. He shoves them down deep, into a dark hole. He tells himself they don’t exist. 

They do. 

They find their way out eventually. The sleep deprivation sinks its claws in, ripping the defenses he has in place to shreds. It all becomes too much. In a matter of hours, he goes from hyper, to numb, to soft, to… this. No matter what, the demons always find their way out. 

Buck doesn’t know when- sometimes the cycle lasts months, dragging out until he’s worn so thin that his mind shatters him in an instant. Other times, it’s fast, quick enough that he still has the willpower to try and force it back down, that he still tells himself that giving in makes him weak. 

This is the latter. The nightmares started up about a week ago- he can’t name those, either. Not exactly. He knows that in the first one, he hurt Maddie. He doesn’t recall what exactly he did, just waking up, drenched in sweat, her name on his lips and a pang of guilt stabbing through his chest. The last five nights, he couldn’t tell you what the dreams were about. But they all culminated the same way- him waking up, tears burning his cheeks, sweat dripping down his spine, and something akin to horror curling in his gut. It’s left him on edge all week- his skin buzzing, his hands shaking, his mind distracted. 

And then tonight. Tonight, he does remember. Tonight, it was Eddie. 

“How could you?” Eddie’s voice had shaken, his words breaking. There was a shattered look in his eyes, his brows drawn together and his lower lip trembling. “How could you do this to me?”

“Wh-what did I do?” His voice sounded foreign to his own ears. They were standing in the street, no one in sight. 

“You killed me.” 

Red bloomed on Eddie’s shoulder, seeping through his white shirt. Eddie just stared at him, his expression heartbroken. 

“Eddie you’re- you’re bleeding,” Buck stammered, reaching for him. Eddie stepped back. 

“You did this to me.”

“No I- no, I didn’t- I didn’t mean to.” Panic curled in Buck’s chest. “Eddie, what’s happening?”

Eddie’s fingertips started to crumble, turning into dust and blowing away. Eddie just cocked his head, tear-filled eyes staring directly through Buck’s soul. 

“You couldn’t save me.”

“Eddie, no!” It came out as a cry as Buck lunged for Eddie again. His fingertips brushed across Eddie’s chest, but his body crumbled under Buck’s fingertips and Eddie let out a shout of pain. Buck jerked his hand away, horror turning his veins to ice. 

“It’s your fault,” Eddie whispered, and the sorrow in his eyes turned to betrayal. “You did this to me.” 

“Please,” Buck begged, tears burning his eyes. “Please don’t leave me.”

“Why would I stay?”

Buck was sobbing now. “Because I love you!” 

“How tragic it is, to love a ghost.” 

And then he was gone, a cloud of dust carried off by the wind as Buck lunged into the space where he had just stood. Dropping to his knees, another sob ripped its way out of Buck. Blood. There was blood on his hands, on his shirt, on his tongue. Dust rained down around him, coating him and filling his breaths, choking him as it seeped into his lungs. 

Eddie was gone. 

Buck had woken up drenched in a cold sweat, his cheeks soaked in tears. There was a warm presence right beside him, an arm over his waist. Shakily, he’d slipped away and stumbled his way to the bathroom as quietly as he could, swallowing the sob lodged in his throat. 

Which led him to now, clenching the cold ceramic of the sink and trying his best to breathe. Eddie’s okay, he tries to tell himself. He’s in the next room, sound asleep. Whole. Alive.

But Buck can still feel Eddie’s blood coating his hands, sticky and warm. He can taste it on his tongue, bitter and metallic. He looks at himself in the mirror and sees Eddie staring back, shattering with each passing moment, slipping away. 

He can feel himself shaking, the tremors seizing him growing worse as the minutes tick by. His jaw is aching with the effort of containing his sobs, his eyes burning with the tears he stubbornly refuses to shed. His head aches, pain lancing through his skull every few seconds. And his stomach churns, anxiety sharp and stabbing in his gut. His nostrils flare with each jagged breath, but his head is spinning. 

Buck can’t name the beast in his mind anymore than he can fix whatever this is inside him, the part of him that’s fundamentally broken. This isn’t something he can solve. This is something he has to let explode and pray it doesn’t take anyone else down with him. This is his burden, and his alone, to bear. 

But- fighting it has never done him much good. More often than not, it just makes everything worse. Which is sort of his brand, he guesses. Even with himself, he just simply makes things worse. He’ll make Eddie worse, too. Eventually. Eddie says Buck helps, he swears he does. But that only lasts so long before Buck’s true nature- the one his parents always saw- takes over. Before he, as he always does, takes something beautiful and shatters it. Before the universe realizes that Buck does not deserve this- this perfect, precious gift that it’s given him. Before it all falls apart. 

Buck shoves at the counter hard, sending himself stumbling backwards until he collides with the wall, sliding down it as a sob tears its way out of him. It’s what he does. He breaks things, he ruins them. It’s what he’s always done, it’s all he knows. He will shatter Eddie. He will take the beautiful man that inexplicably loves him, and tear him to pieces. 

He fists his hands in his own hair, twisting his curls until pain strikes through his scalp. His eyes are squeezed shut, hot tears tracking down his cheeks. His breaths are sharp, erratic. His entire being is trembling, shaking as he tries to stay as silent as he can. Quaking as he implodes. 

“Buck?” The soft voice breaks through the screaming in his mind and Buck just shakes his head frantically. No, no, no. Eddie can’t- he can’t be here. Not while the ticking time bomb that is Evan Buckley goes off. “Buck.”

He hears himself talking. “No, no, no, please, god, no, please, please.” It’s a desperate string of nearly incoherent begging that tumbles past his lips, a frantic plea to a god he’s never believed in, to an entity that’s never answered. 

“Evan, baby.” There’s soft hands on him, running over his arms, brushing down his sides. Gentle fingers tug at his wrists, trying to get him to stop ripping at his own hair. Eddie’s voice is colored with panic as he tries desperately to reach Buck. “Sweetheart, please, I’m right here, please.” A whimper rips its way past Buck’s lips and he just shakes his head. “Cariño, look at me.” A tremor runs through Buck as half of him tries to obey and the other half insists he doesn’t. 

Soft knuckles brush over his cheek and a thumb presses into the skin of his wrist, directly on his pulse. “Mi cielito, you’re scaring me, please.” Buck lets out a strangled sound, desperate for Eddie’s comfort and knowing he doesn’t deserve it. He’s scaring Eddie. He hurt Eddie. He couldn’t save Eddie. 

“Buck,” Eddie whispers tearfully, prying Buck’s hand away from his head and pulling it to his own chest, covering Buck’s fingers with his own. “Feel that, Buck. I’m here. I’m alive. Because of you, okay?”

Buck’s head spins. There are fingers on the back of his neck, pressing lightly, urging him towards the comfort of Eddie. Buck’s too tired to fight. He has nothing left. He goes until he feels Eddie’s skin, smooth and warm beneath his own, made slick with Buck’s tears. Eddie’s chin is atop his head and when Buck moves, just slightly, his nose brushes the column of Eddie’s throat. His hands are clenched into fists now, one curled around the material of Eddie’s shirt and the other pressed into Eddie’s chest, covered by one of Eddie’s. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into Eddie’s skin, his voice rough and raw with tears. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Eddie shushes him softly, fingers curling in Buck’s hair and nails scraping gently against his scalp. “It’s okay, baby, I’m right here.”

“Don’t-” the words catch in Buck's throat, heavy and dangerous, “don’t let go.” Eddie’s knuckles press into the side of Buck’s head, his fingers squeezing Buck’s hand. 

“Never,” he swears, his voice hushed. It sounds like a prayer. “I will never let you go, Evan.” 

Buck can’t wholly believe him. Maybe he will someday, but for now he can hold onto those words, onto the temporary assurance they offer, onto the promise that for now, Eddie will hold Buck together while he falls apart. That in this moment, Buck doesn’t have to face the demons of his mind on his own. That Eddie won’t leave. 

“I love you,” Eddie says, his lips against Buck’s temple, brushing a kiss over his birthmark. “I love your scars, wherever they may be. I love every piece of you, both inside and out. I love you for your flaws and imperfections, not in spite of them. I love you, irrevocably, completely, purposely. I choose to love you, Evan. Every day, since the day I met you until the day I die. And by some miracle, the universe let me be loved by you.” 

“You- you don’t believe in the universe,” Buck whispers, the words gasped between tears. 

“No,” Eddie concedes. “I never did, not really. Not until I told the most incredible man I’ve ever known that I loved him and he said it back. Not until it gave me you, Buck.”

Buck has no answer for that. He can only press himself further into Eddie, let Eddie’s arms wrap around him, let Eddie catch the stray pieces of Buck that threaten to fly away and hold them all together. Let Eddie love him, even in the moments he can’t possibly believe he deserves it. 

And thank the universe for giving him someone who’s love doesn’t choke Buck, doesn’t turn him inside out or break him apart. For granting him a love that is whole, a love that comes without a cost, without requisite. A love that is pure. A love that sees him, the good and the bad, and decides he’s worth staying for.

A love that can hold him together when he falls apart. 

#tals writes #tals answers #anon prompt #anonynous #writing asks #writing prompts #thank you to anon for sending the ask #and of course to moost for making sure this shit is legible. #i wrote this at approximately 1:30-3 am #please enjoy #hurt/comfort #buddie fic #buddie911 #buddie 911 #buddie #buckandeddie #buck eddie #eddie and buck #evan buckley #eddie díaz #911 fic

[krysalla]

I’M TRANSFORMED! - ii

i do not want to talk about how the first draft was about 8k words and then i realized a lot of it wouldn’t flow well so... here we are a somewhat reduced version

summary: your first three weeks go off without a hitch and not a single sighting of dr. crane until he catches you dozing off at work.

sfw | jonathan crane x reader | word count: 6.4k | prev | read on ao3

warnings: fear, hallucinations/unreality, me not knowing how a psychiatry residence works lol

You felt confident when you looked in the mirror before leaving for your first day. It’s a lovely yellow button down, brand new and never worn before, a recent and expensive purchase that you tried not to guilt yourself over. It looks nice. You look pretty and professional in it. It’s not often you spend so long staring at yourself in the mirror. You held your head high until you actually left your building and made it out onto the street where the dreary brown and beige setting makes you stick out like a sore thumb with your neatly pressed yellow shirt. The yellow is too loud, too new and hasn’t been muted by multiple rounds in the washing machine. A new job, a new chapter in your life made you confident in buying a new outfit to celebrate. Now you want to hide; the best you can do is shrug on a jacket and hope that it will be enough to let you blend into the background. 

For a city with such theatrical villains, there isn’t much color to be seen.

You live in the Bowery, just a jump, skip and a hop away from Crime Alley. It’s far too east for your liking, putting you at about an hour and a half travel time from home to work, but the apartment you got was the cheapest you could find and ready for move in as soon as you signed the lease. 

The jacket really isn’t necessary, just an old habit of yours, but the air is still warm, the last remnants of summer slipping away with it. This month is transitional. Stuck in a limbo trying to find a new home in Gotham, calling around leasing offices and getting dead end after dead end while keeping the date your lease was up tucked away in the back of your mind. Uprooted your established life and moved across the country somewhere in the middle. Stuck in an apartment with boxes not yet unpacked, dishes taken from bubble wrap and packing paper one at a time as you use them. Fall creeping into the morning air while summer heat takes over in the afternoon.

You continue on with the morning crowd.

-

From your apartment, you walk three blocks up to reach the train station, wait fifteen minutes for the next rail car which takes you across the water into the Upper East Side. Then you’re seated on the blue line for nearly an hour and jump onto the orange train which, after five stops, drops you off down the road from Arkham. 

The sidewalk is overrun with grass and pavement lifted and cracked from tree roots. You’ve only been to this part of the island but you’re sure the rest of it hardly fares better than here. It’s Gotham’s dirty little secret. A sight of horror. Throughout the rest of Gotham, there’s numerous stops and rail cars that cut through the city. Going to and from Arkham there are two lines that each only make four stops each on the island.

There’s a different guard in the box this time. A younger man, somewhere in his thirties, alert but relaxed in his position. He smiles at you and opens the gates when you tell him why you’re here. You’ll be getting your badge today. 

There’s no signs this time. It feels normal now. Every little detail that had left you squirming, giving you fanciful thoughts of a haunting are gone. You have your head stuck in the clouds and maybe read one too many books, seen one too many movies. Life isn’t like that and you trying to supplement the unknown with played out tropes makes you feel silly. This is a normal place and your nerves were getting the better of you. There isn’t someone waiting in a dark corner, waiting to pounce on you.

You make your way up the crumbling steps and into the gravel driveway, up the wooden stairs and enter the double doors of Arkham.

The yellow shirt seems louder.

–

Orientation is more intense than you expected. Patsy, the HR director, runs through mindless and outdated videos going over HIPAA laws, emergency evacuations in the case of a fire or impending natural disaster, accident prevention, codes, and what cleaning agents not to mix. It’s the longest five hours of your life and there’s still a whole week of it plus a week of training.

The bright side is that you get to meet the other residents in the program. There’s only three others but that’s three more people you know in the city. 

Your first week in Gotham was exciting. A new chapter in your life, a new job, a new apartment in a new city. You spent a week trying to unpack, going box by box, you were stalled in your attempts when you found a box of pictures. Nothing tempted you after that. You split the tape on the boxes and folded the flaps down and looked out at your belongings in your living room. All your life reduced down to a few dozen boxes. 

It would have been easy to call the friends you left behind, have their voices to help stave off the crushing isolation of the city. You didn’t. You allowed yourself to wallow in a misery of your own making. 

So, knowing three other people, even only as prospective work friends was infinitely better than none at all. It doesn’t matter that Eugene is a chatterbox or that Piper has a habit of clicking her nails against the table. Mariam is just as quiet as you, she observes the table, watches you as you watch her. She offers a small smile.

You’re all filling out tax documents when a woman comes in, one you don’t recognize but everyone else seems to. The residents at the table sit up straight and smile at her. Your reaction is delayed as you watch the others.

“Excuse me,” Patsy says and links arms with the woman — the doctor — who interrupted orientation. 

The door to her office is left open but even then you can barely make out what they are saying over the chattering of the other residents. You can’t hear them either, not with the rush of blood to your ears or the flurry of thoughts going on in your head. 

“Hey, you good?”

“Yeah,” you look down at the table and huff, it’s hard to admit when you’re not in the loop of things. “Who was she?”

Piper stares at you blankly. She must be someone important then if Piper is looking at you like you’re stupid. You don’t take well to that look. You stare her dead in the eye and wait for some explanation. She trips over her words, stutters a few times before Eugene takes over the conversation.

“You haven’t met Doctor Carver?”

“No, it was just–”

“Wait,” Piper interrupts, “Were you alone with Doctor Crane for the interview?”

“Yeah, it was a surprise for me. I guess a patient died.”

“Oh, he was scary enough even with Doctor Carver in the room. I couldn’t imagine being one on one with him. He gave me the creeps!” Piper says, not really to you but to anyone that will listen. She fakes a shiver and laughs. 

They continue to poke fun at Crane. You couldn’t blame them, there was something unnerving about the man, like there was something dark, hidden and locked away inside of him waiting for the perfect moment to show itself. They talk of his appearance, his scarecrow-like body with a mocking edge. Each comment has someone ready to tear into it and rip it apart.

Something about the remarks directed at Crane gets to you, makes your skin itch. You don’t know where the urge to defend him comes from, you don’t know him and even the brief impression you got of him in your nearly two hour long interview wasn’t good. Your mother always said you had a bleeding heart. But it’s not just that. You recognize something in him, something you see in yourself, you’re just not sure what to call it. 

“He’s not that bad. He’s just… intense.”

“Rohl, would you come with me?”

You’re relieved. An excuse to break away before they want you to participate in their little bonding moment. 

“Of course, Doctor.”

It’s only when the training room is out of earshot that you start to panic. You’ve been singled out by the head doctor of psychiatry here and yanked out of orientation. Only you. 

You keep your pace behind Doctor Carver and the silence between the both of you only makes it worse for you. Where are you going? Has this all been a mistake? You knew it was too good to be true, Crane must have messed up, put you on the wrong list – you knew deep down that it had to have been a screw up, you weren’t meant for this, weren’t smart enough – and now Doctor Carver is going to rectify that mistake.

The walls close in on you, the passage getting narrower and narrower. The building is scaring you and it would be one thing if this was just first day jitters but it’s not, whatever it is you’re feeling, this suffocation, it’s not the first time it’s happened though this time it’s stronger. Rearing its head right into the center of your chest to knock the breath out of you. Others pass you by, patients and staff alike, and they all acknowledge her in some way or another.

Her office is the opposite of Crane’s. It’s bigger, though that could just be because of how clean and neat her office is organized versus the mess he made of his. The sun filters in through the windows, clear and bright, not a speck of dust floating in the air. Photos and degrees, awards and newspaper clippings line the walls and even her desk speaks to who she is: cute, little tchotchkes and colorful pens.

Your nerves are at ease here.

“Please sit.” 

“Well, you made quite the impression on Crane and that’s very, very hard to do, so, I applaud you for that.”

“Oh, well, thank you, guess it was just my natural charm.”

“I don’t want you to feel singled out from the other residents, that’s not my intention, but I just wanted a moment to talk to you one on one. I trust Crane. We’ve worked together for a long time, so when he took a shine to you, I didn’t really need to hear anymore. But with that, it means I haven’t had a moment to get to know you and to be successful here, in this residency, you need to make connections. And since we haven’t had the opportunity to lay the foundations down, we are going to do that now.”

“Okay, sure,” you squirm in your seat. The leather creaks and stretches. “How do we start?”

“I’m going to interview you.”

“What?”

“I wasn’t able to hear your answers, only read Crane’s perspective of you. It was a leap of faith to just let you on the program without meeting you. As much as I trust Crane, I have to trust my own judgment too.”

“Hope I don’t mess it up this time.”

“Don’t worry,” she clicks her pen and smiles, “I have faith in you. Let’s begin.”

It’s easy enough – she asks the same questions that Doctor Crane asked you, so you parrot your responses from that interview. They worked enough to get you into the residency, they should be plenty proficient to keep you in it. It goes back and forth, your answers are no longer passionate, just a mimicry, floundering to remember what must have been perfect answers.

“Is something wrong?”

“Yes, there is,” she sighs, “This is not what I was looking for. I don’t want the answers you’ve given to Crane.”

“Then what are you looking for?”

“You’re already in the program. That means I can’t rescind your spot without cause and a heap of paperwork. You just started. I want honest answers, passion. That’s what I look for in my residents. Not perfection, not a rehearsed script. I’m not Crane and you are going to learn just how differently we run things here.”

“Honesty? Passion?” you shake your head, “I was both of those things when I went into that interview.”

“Yes, but we’re not in your interview with Crane. We are here.”

You chew the inside of your cheek and try to push down the lump of embarrassment in your throat. She’s your supervisor and it would be best not to get on her bad side by arguing with her. It’s always been a struggle to hold your tongue and it doesn’t matter that she is right, it’s hard to admit your fault of seeking perfection at the expense of being transparent.

“Okay,” you clear your throat, “Repeat the question please?”

“Why do you think you belong here?”

“Why? The last decade of my life has been leading up to this moment, pushing and pushing through another year, another month, another day, another assignment, another rotation. I wouldn’t have put myself through hell and gotten into debt if I felt like I didn’t belong here. All my life I have been this aimless thing, drifting from one thing to the next because I was so unsure of what I wanted or how long it would last.

“I’m not interested in your maximum security patients. I’m not here to make a name for myself by rehabilitating masked criminals. I’m not here to make aname for myself at all. I’m here to help people, not use them to climb the social ladder. I belong here because I know I do.”

She looks at you while she jots her own notes down. “That’s better.”

-

It’s been two weeks and you are utterly exhausted. It’s better than the schedule you had during your rotations in med school but you’d had nearly a whole month free of work before coming to Gotham and diving headfirst back into a full time schedule is grueling. Your feet hurt from being on them all day and breaking in new shoes that left your toes and ankles raw and blistered.

You’re alone at a table in the breakroom. One of the nurses sleeps on the couch, feet elevated on one of the pillows. She has the right idea. You look down at your lunch and push it away, the idea of eating no longer appealing. A nap will do you better. The only couch is already taken. Slouching over the table will just have to do it.

You get maybe twenty seconds of peace with your arms crossed on the table and your forehead pressed there before someone interrupts your much needed nap. 

“Ah, Rohl, I was wondering when I’d see you.”

You perk up immediately. You don’t care much if Carver or any of your other superiors catch you dozing off, they understood well what this job takes from a person, but to slack off in front of Crane, even on your break, seems like a punishable offense. He’s a no nonsense man, blunt and doesn’t care about overstepping boundaries. He’s far up enough in the food chain to evade complaints. Crane is also massively feared. You ask anyone here about him and they whisper his name like saying it too loud will summon him. You don’t know how true any of that is, you only met the man once.

“Tired already?” he quirks an eyebrow at you. “Don’t tell me you’re already burnt out. I had highest hopes for you out of the rest.”

You try not to smile at his comment. Him, the great and renowned Doctor Crane, the man whose papers you read throughout grad school, had high hopes for you. You brush your hair over your shoulder and look down at the table and say, “I’m alright.”

“How are you settling in?”

“Just fine, sir,” you gesture to the stack, “Doing some light reading?”

“Yes.”

You wait for him to expand on it but he doesn’t. “Okay.”  

Crane looks much better than he did last time you saw him, the only time you’d seen him up until now. His hair is slicked back slightly and dressed in a tawny suit with no creases marking it. He’s handsome in a strange way with his long, thin neck and slight frame. He’s almost delicate. In comparison, you look like a wreck with your shirt untucked from your skirt and your feet bare, and a run you think you have in your pantyhose going down your inner thigh but you haven’t stopped to check in the bathroom yet, you can just feel something off.

“Are you taking your lunch?”

“No. I was on my way back to my office and decided that coffee would be a benefit considering...” he pats the stack of files at his side. “So much to go through. Notes and observations and the like.”

“Research?”

“Yes. One of my subjects is on the edge of a major breakthrough. I’ve been waiting weeks for it.”

You can’t help the yawn that escapes you and for reasons unknown, you feel the need to apologize for it.

“Perhaps a coffee for you?” he offers.

“That’d be nice. Thank you.”

He deposits his files on your table, they land with a loud thump, pages spilling from the folders. He doesn’t mind, probably never does given the state of his office the last time you were there.

It’s odd seeing him doing something so mundane as filling a coffee filter with grounds. He’s always been a distant figure to you, just an abstract idea because you only knew him through his work. Seeing him do things regular people do is dizzying. Him making you coffee even more so. 

The doctors get up and leave. Eugene is one of them, you notice, and he stares at you before glancing at Crane.

The air is easier to breathe now that there are no conscious witnesses to this strange interaction with him. You don’t see this being a regular thing with him – taking the time to talk to people beneath him in position. The rumor mill is sure to be ablaze given that it was Eugene that saw you with him.

“You don’t have to worry, you know, your reputation isn’t at stake.” You regret it as soon as you say it.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment. Crane holds still, shoulders stiff. The nurse turns in her sleep. 

“And just why,” he starts, voice low and on edge, “would my reputation be at stake?” 

The coffee begins to drip out. 

He turns to face you, arms crossed over his chest, legs crossed at the ankle and leans back against the counter. You open your mouth and then close it. You don’t know how to phrase it without sounding presumptuous. It’s too late, you’re sure, you’ve already grabbed his attention by mentioning his reputation, you’re sure he won’t let it go any time soon.

You groan and drag your hands down your cheeks.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t… I met Doctor Carver that first day of orientation. She, uh, she said that you insisted on me getting a spot in the program and made a case for me, said she wasn’t really impressed by my answers in our interview. I don’t know, it’s just that, you seem to be the reason I’m here and you vouching for me, that reflects on you, and anything I may or may not do.”

“Do not sell yourself short,” he turns back to the coffee pot. “Though, I suppose a ‘thank you’ would be appreciated.”

You grin. So much praise, more than you suspect he ever gives in a single day, a week, a month! 

“Well, thank you, Doctor Crane.”

When the pot is full and the coffee poured, he asks for your preference and you see his stoicness break just a little, the slightest downward tug on his lips when you tell him your preference for light coffee. It’s gone as soon as it appeared. He pours the creamer, you can hear it, not see his hands work as his torso blocks your view. You hear the clink of a spoon against the ceramic. Once again, you are entranced by him.

He places the mug in front of you and still he stands.

“You can sit. Unless you have to go.”

He hesitates. You see his eyes shift back and forth over the room. And your heart breaks because you know what he’s looking for. He’s waiting for people to pop out at him, to laugh and mock, to rub it in that this is a joke because why would anyone invite him to sit with them, to eat with him. You know too well that cruelty.

“I don’t bite,” you make an X over your heart and smile, “Promise.”

“A minute or two wouldn’t hurt.” He pulls out the chair opposite from you and sits down. 

You nod. The mug has a swan on it, its wings unfolded like it’s about to take off into the sky. You wonder, briefly, just who it belonged to before it came to this break room. The coffee smells like heaven, it is better than the antiseptic smell of the hallways or the stench of the fire in the common room. You’ve never been so excited for a cup of coffee before.

It’s terrible.

You try not to grimace, try to school your expression like Crane, you don’t want to hurt his feelings even if you suspect that isn’t easy for anyone to do. The coffee is as light as it can get while still calling it coffee. Oh. The water. You remember what he said. It seems so long ago now. The pipes. You continue to sip your coffee even though it’s terrible and is not the kind of drink that’s an acquired taste.

He pushes the spilled papers back into their folders and when that’s done he fidgets with them. You don’t take him for a nervous man. He’s uncomfortable, you think.

You sit in silence, let him get used to your company. He doesn’t pick up his mug once. Jonathan Crane watches you in earnest like you’re the most fascinating thing here; and maybe you are, you are the newest thing in the break room. You wouldn’t mind the staring so much if it wasn’t in such a public spot. Anyone could walk in and that nurse could wake up at any time. How scandalous.

He fiddles with the pen clipped to one of the manila folders.

You finish your coffee before he speaks again.

“Any plans tonight, Rohl?”

You shake your head, “Not that I’m aware of. You?”

“I’ll be observing my subject tonight.”

You bite your tongue. Like you’re observing me?

“I hope it goes well.”

That brings about the end of the already brief conversation. He’s not as bad as everyone thinks he is, he’s just painfully out of touch with others which is ironic given his line of work.

The nurse wakes up and groans. You duck your head when you see her look around the room. Crane notices and looks over his shoulder.

“Until next time.”

He gets up and leaves just as the nurse pulls her shoes back on. His coffee, you notice, is untouched and left behind.

-

The day continues on. You don’t see him again.

-

You’re almost out the door of the breakroom, legs heavy and arms stiff, when Mariam catches you by an arm and tugs you into the small circle of doctors and nurses. Everyone speaks so easily to each other and it reminds you that you’re at the bottom of the hierarchy here. You’d never been good at making friends and you were jealous of those that could do so easily. You stand quietly though Mariam still has a grip on your arm.

Then as suddenly as you were pulled in, the group fractures and files out the door.

“C’mon! We’re all going out for dinner and we want you to come with.”

Your thoughts are of home, of taking a long, hot shower to help loosen your muscles and going straight to bed. It’s good, it’s comfortable. But you think of how lonely it is there with no one to greet you. You were a lonely child who grew into a lonely teenager who grew into a lonely adult. The cycle seems endless but a fate of your own decision and inaction – too scared, too shy to step one foot out the door when needed, it’s easier to feel safe and comfortable than to go out into the unknown. It’s tiring though. You don’t want to be lonely anymore. You’ve already taken one step in the right direction.

“Please?” 

There’s nothing better waiting for you in your apartment and after all, you just got paid.

-

It’s a nice restaurant, not too expensive, but you’re all packed into a booth because Eugene didn’t want to wait for a table. There’s not much room to move without bumping elbows with someone. Nobody seems to mind and as the night wears on, you mind it less and less. It’s easier than you thought it would be thanks to the help of a drink or two. You’re not at Arkham, you don’t have to be professional, you can be loud and crass and laugh freely here. The food is good and the company even better. Outside of the workplace, you find you like your coworkers more.

Thankfully, Eugene doesn’t mention the little moment he saw you having with Crane.

Mary Anne, a nurse you haven’t had the pleasure of working with one on one, is recounting a story, you can’t tell what of though, not with the objection of some of the other nurses and doctors that have worked at Arkham for years. They jeer and boo her but she just laughs and points around the table.

“You newbies better hear this.”

“Oh god, please shut her up, Elise!”

“I can’t hear this story again.”

One of the doctors finishes his new beer in one go.

You lean forward, mimicking Mariam across from you who just raises her eyebrows in amusement.

“Okay. So. When I first started, I had the overnight shift. Not a lot happens on the night shift after midnight. It’s me and an orderly doing our rounds, checking on the patients. Everyone is dead asleep. It’s nice and calm and then we hear this sound like a gurgling and groan. So, I take that boy by the arm, and we go down the hall to investigate and there it was! Some girl was walking down the hall. I ask her what she’s doing out of bed and the girl doesn’t answer me. I try to turn her around and my hand just passes right through her shoulder. She was pale as a sheet, cold as ice and when she turned around she had all the blood on her face like it was leaking out of her from every hole. And she just shrieks at me! Couldn’t sleep for a week after that and demanded I get taken off the night shift.”

“Well, did the orderly see the ghost?” Elise asks.

“Yes.”

“Where’s he at?”

“Quit the very next day.”

“Exactly! That’s how I know you’re full of it. It was just you and you got your superstitious ass scared by a shadow and all those movies you watch.”

It delves into a petty argument between everyone but you, content to listen and laugh as they debate the existence of ghosts. 

You were terrified of ghosts as a child. In your mind invisible hands were grabbing at you, pulling you under to their world, a half lived existence where neither food nor drink would satisfy, where they couldn’t feel the sun on their skin or the wind in their hair. You couldn’t bear the limbo of it. Your mother exasperated those fears with her own belief and contempt. 

You don’t believe in them anymore.

“You guys don’t know?” Mariam says.

“Know what?” Elise asks while laughing.

“This guy, Jason Blood, he owned the land before it belonged to the Arkhams and he was into the occult, real nut job. He would take people or the Gothamites would give them to Blood for payment and he’d perform exorcisms on them and—”

“Bullshit!” Eugene exclaims.

“—when that didn’t work he locked them in hanging cages, starved them until they would repent their sins and then take them down from their cages, one by one, and kill them to rid the world of evil spirits and purge their souls. Killed like fifty or so people.”

It’s silent while you absorb the new information. Maybe Crane was right, maybe Arkham really did sit over the mouth of hell. If the story is true, such great pain and sorrow must have leached into the ground, soaked all that blood up like rainwater. Add to it an asylum built in the late 19th century. There’s at least 150 years of history here and it couldn’t have been without its skeletons, without its own controversies and abuses. 

“You made that up.”

“I swear, I didn’t!”

“There is no way that’s real. Jason Blood… What the hell kind of name is that?”

-

Mariam, again, grabs you by the arm and pulls you aside while everyone else loads up into taxis or ambles off. “Are you going to be okay walking home?”

“Yes, mom. I only had one drink. Plus, I only live a few blocks away.” you place your hand over hers and squeeze it gently. “I have your number. I’ll text you when I’m home. Promise.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

You wait with her. The dispatch said it would be five minutes. She never loosens her grip on you.

“Eugene told me he saw you talking with Crane.”

“So?”

“So? No one is ever just talking with him. Everybody gets scared out of their minds when he bothers to show his face.”

“Oh, come on. He’s not so bad. Just blunt.”

“And rude.”

Her cab pulls up and you lead her in. You wave at her as the driver starts to pull out onto the street. You’re alone again, waiting in the warm light coming out of the restaurant windows.

You take the long way home. In truth, you weren’t ready to part with your coworkers. It was fun, you felt alive, like yourself again after hours of conversation. Life feels good and meaningful again. There’s something out there for you. 

Your apartment is only three or four blocks up the road, but you go the wrong direction, which really isn’t the wrong way, just a longer, more indirect way home. It’s one with a destination in mind. Not the one Mariam thinks you’re going. She would scold you. Gotham is dangerous, especially at night and when you’re alone. You heard the stories of the Batman. Just knowing someone is out there who cares about the city and its people makes you feel safer, a little more bold.

But even stories can’t take away the feeling of being devoured. You’re not used to city life, the tall buildings that seem to be all glass and the ongoing construction make you dizzy. All your life you lived in places that never had buildings taller than 10 stories, and even buildings of those heights were rare. The universities you’ve attended had all been in small towns where the main draw was the university, over half the population would be there just for school, Wal-Marts crowded with aimless college kids looking for something to do, coffee shops filled to the brim with study groups. There was not a single place you could feel alone growing up; the exception— your own home. 

There’s a park that you want to go to but never have the time to see. Right in the middle of Gotham CIty, a patch of pure greenery in a concrete jungle. 

The park is closed when you get there, technically, but the alcohol had fanned a spark of recklessness in you. You climbed over the gate with some ease. Only your pantyhose catching any repercussions for your actions.

You walk the paved path. It winds through the grass, separating the wooded area from open fields of grass

You miss home. The big green canopies of the trees, laying in the grass and letting the sun filter through the leaves, bespeckling you in its light. You miss a life where you didn’t have these obligations that filled your time. It was dizzying, hours spent with just yourself and the birds for company, where nothing could touch you. No worries. The green was all you needed.

This is different. 

Without the sun out, the wooded area is like a giant maw, dark and hungry, waiting for a wandering soul to seek it out so it can swallow you whole. You sit across from it on a park bench, watching back.

The trees rustle in the breeze, the only sound out here this deep in the park. They blot out the high rises from the sky and eclipse the city lights. It’s so dark out here, so quiet. Not even the walkway lamps are on. Only the stars in the sky – the ones that can cut through the light pollution – light your way. It’s peaceful. You close your eyes and just listen. 

Chittering. A hoarse whisper. Your name drifting through the stiffening air.

You look out into the open maw of the forest.

Red eyes stare back.

That last trance of inebriation is wiped out by sheer fear. You scramble from your seat and take off running, your lack of endurance no longer a problem with the shot of pure adrenaline pumping through you. You should know better, you do know better, but you look behind you. Its hulking presence behind you is just a shadow, there’s no details of the beast chasing you down.

You fall on the pavement and crawl over to the field, scrambling to stand as it slows down its approach. It’s taking pleasure in this, eating up your terror and savoring each bite until it can have everything. You gain traction and run again towards anything – another person or the gate that surrounds the park. You’re lucky not to fall again but you should have stayed on the path. 

There’s nothing but open field and you can see the city in the distance but you have no idea how far away it is, not without any lighting. The path led somewhere, it guaranteed you an exit not more than half a mile away. Nothing is certain here, only that  something is chasing you.

It’s still chittering behind you.

You don’t look behind you again, not until you reach the fence, hoping against hope that the weak fence would keep it in the park. It easily vaults the barrier between you, an unstoppable force driven by the need to devour. It reaches out to you, strokes its spindly finger down your cheek, lips stretching out into a smile, revealing crooked and pointed teeth ready to sink into your flesh and you close your eyes tight in anticipation for the inevitable strike. It says something in that hoarse whisper again.  The finger is gone and when you open your eyes, the beast is completely gone.

You can still feel it.

You can still feel its red eyes watching you as you hurry back to your apartment. You keep your head down, trying to ignore its presence like it will vanish if you don’t give it your attention. You should have gone straight home from the bar and maybe this terror wouldn’t be following you home, sniffing out your fear and playing with you. It pretends it’s not there, hiding in the shadows of alleys and up on rooftops but you know it is there and it knows you know.

Sanctuary!

The lobby’s yellow light shines out the glass doors like a beacon and you scurry up the steps, fling the door open and make a break for the staircase. The elevator is slow and by the time it comes you could already be dead.

The enclosed stairwell is all concrete, no carpeting to muffle your footsteps. Whatever was out there has followed you in. Your steps click and shuffle with each step up you take and each landing you hit. That beast knows exactly where you are going and will know exactly what floor you will step off on. It will follow you further into the building until it has you. 

The thing’s footsteps speed up just as you reach your floor. 

No, it’s only your footsteps you hear.

That thing isn’t following you, didn’t even make it through the glass doors.

You exhale.

You're safe. Your apartment is right there, just within reach, right down the hall. You will go inside and bolt the door and lock your bedroom door and hide beneath the covers. It will all be a bad dream in the morning, a stale memory that you can't make out beneath the fog of a hangover. 

Your hand searches. Fingers grasp at everything but your keys. Pens, coins, receipts, lipstick.

The elevator dings. Your head snaps up to look down the hallway. It stretches, longer and longer, and snaps right back into place so fast it makes you dizzy. You can feel your heartbeat in your chest and ears, blood rushing so fast you can’t hear.

The doors open.  

The beast. The phantom in your hotel room. The Scarecrow.

He hulks in the space, tall enough that he has to hunch his shoulders and tilt his head, that malicious grin stitched into the burlap sack moves. He’s going to eat you whole. 

Your fingers find purchase on your key ring and you yank them out, spilling the contents of your purse in your hurry. It doesn’t matter, not now, not when his hands grab the sides of the elevator and he propels himself forward into a sprint, arms stretched out to snatch you up and steal you away.

You manage to unlock your door, his fingers peeking through to grab at your arm and with all your might, you slam into the door and catch them between the door and the door jam. He howls. You open the door to let him pull back and you push your back against it and fumble with the lock.

It’s tempting to look out the peephole but you can only put your body through so much fear. You check the contents of your purse to see what you dropped. Everything important is still in there and your keys are still in your hand. There is no need to look to make sure the coast is clear.

You check your windows to be sure they are locked and lock yourself in your bedroom.

What did the scarecrow want from you? Was it even real? It had to have been. There’s no reason you would hallucinate like that. You kept an eye on your drinks the entire time, no one could have slipped anything in them without you noticing. It was too terrifying to be real. A creature of contradiction.

You slide into bed, still in your clothes and press yourself into the corner you mattress is in and pull the covers over your head. Nothing can hurt you here.

#jonathan crane x reader #jonathan crane x you #scarecrow x reader #scarecrow x you #the original crane and rohl interaction was MUCH more sarcastic and terse but i was like hm. no. lay the foundations for something kinder. #and more upsetting. #my writing #dc imagine #im transformed

[ikesenhell]

A Sun Long Gone, Chapter Nine

You can find all masterlists at the top of my page (AO3, Genshin Impact, Ikemen Sengoku, and Ikemen Vampire). NOTES: This work is 18+. THIS IS THE FINAL OFFICIAL CHAPTER (sans Epilogue). TW: IMPLIED SPOILERS FOR THE SUMERU ARCHON QUEST. IYKYK. Suicidal ideation, blood, pain, general distress, horror elements. The Cataclysm. Grief. Death. Unfair/unkind emotions.

Thank you for reading this. I hope it was satisfying, if painful. May love be a shield around you, too, even if you've forgotten.

---

If Dainsleif ever had the chance to ask Celestia a question (or whatever was actually responsible for creation and all life therein) and the wherewithal not to swing first, one of the first that came to mind was this: How was it that terrible things could happen so suddenly? What providence allowed for someone to wake up and behave as if they had a tomorrow when they did not? If fate was so assuredly written in the stars as the astrologers believed, why had they not descended to Khaenri’ah by the score, spreading news of the incoming calamity? Beware! Disaster looms! But by the time he ever considered this, his memory was already fragmented. 

This wasn’t all bad. Time and forgetfulness healed some wounds. He no longer woke in the middle of the night, breathless and drenched in sweat, plumes of smoke and red skies burning in his dreams. He no longer remembered with crystal clarity how Khaenri’ahns writhed in pain and twisted into shells of themselves, contorted and screaming–even when they no longer had the same voices to scream with. He no longer saw the ash and blood in the streets behind his closed eyes, or recalled how Torsten’s blood tasted when the man fell to the onslaught, or heard the bells chiming danger, danger, danger in his skull. And no longer could he remember when first he felt the sharp, agonizing, crushing pain of the curse. His voice had cracked from shrieking. That much was all he could say. 

The Cataclysm was over. The Cataclysm was over, and he remembered it only in pieces, and the Cataclysm was never over, never, never, never. Dainsleif woke with the same pain every morning; he walked the roads with it; he looked at his hands and feet and face and saw it reflected back at him. Nothing took it from him. No alcohol or time could stop that eternal agony. 

What stuck in his mind from that day was this: there was a moment where, once Dainsleif realized archons were present, he looked for Rukkhadevata. Was she there? Had Lord Alberich been right? Had all of his love and trust and faith meant nothing? The word despair meant nothing to him before that. How could this happen? But he looked, and he looked, and she wasn’t there, and the relief buoyed him enough to keep going. 

That relief was temporary.

There wasn’t much of his initial journey Dainsleif could remember either. Somehow he wound up in Mondstadt with Lumine, an outlander that he hadn’t known terribly closely before. They bonded on the road. She was searching for her twin in the wake of the Cataclysm; Dainsleif was searching for answers. There were a thousand trials and tribulations and together, they faced them all.

But not even Lumine learned what kept him up at night. 

Dainsleif didn’t wear the mushroom bangle anymore. He couldn’t bring himself to. It had only survived the Cataclysm with him because it was on his wrist at the time. Nothing else of his life before survived, just his uniform and this bangle. Everything else went up in flames. At night, he’d lay awake and turn it between his fingers, staring at every angle as if it would tell him the truth. Had Rukkhadevata known? There were rumors–rumors he refused to believe, couldn’t believe–that she had perished in the Cataclysm. How could that be? He hadn’t seen her. There was still a Dendro Archon, with no conceivable lapse in time. People said the new one was a child, but she’d told him about how she’d regressed into such a state herself after using a lot of power. There was no way she’d perished. It was just a misunderstanding. 

Maybe she was looking for him. Maybe she assumed he was dead. All that kept him from running to her as fast as the road allowed was crippling fear and bouts of paralyzing rage. Even if she hadn’t known, why had she done nothing? The other Archons knew enough to arrive. Surely she’d been warned even a second in advance. And if she truly wasn’t, why did she still serve as Archon? Was this not enough to damn the entirety of Celestia and her tyranny, condemn the gnosis and the gods and every other hateful part? Even if she were afraid for what might happen to Sumeru if she spoke out, did Khaenri’ah mean so little to her? 

Did he mean so little to her? Perhaps that was the true fear: that Rukkhadevata was the love of his life, and she considered him just a man she’d once loved. 

So it was with a queasy stomach and tense jaw that he approached Sumeru City once more, seven years since he last saw it. It was fall again, neither unseasonably warm or unseasonably cool (not like when he and Rukkhadevata walked among the gardens). The gate was different. A lot was different. Some old cafes and buildings had been torn down and replaced. The streets were repaved. But the layout was generally the same. 

So was the Akademiya. 

“Wow,” Lumine breathed at his side. Her gold eyes were huge. “It’s built into the tree?”

“Yes. It supports the entire city.”

“Incredible. That’s incredible. I wonder how in the world something like that grew. Do you think it was the power of the Dendro Archon?”

Dainsleif honestly didn’t know. He blinked up at the platforms to the Akademiya. Why had he never asked? “It seems probable. After all, I haven’t seen another of its size in Sumeru.”

The woman at his side nodded decisively. Before she could finish her next sentence–probably to suggest they find an inn to put their things and wash up from the road, or a cafe to eat–an almighty ruckus snatched their attention. 

“ Dainsleif! ”

No way . He knew that voice. Dainsleif stared, disbelieving, as a pair of golden ears bobbed and weaved through a crowd. Some poor passerby was shoved into a fruit stall. Takama–gold coin headband swaying, tail trailing behind her–didn’t stop or apologize. She broke into a flat sprint, aiming directly for him. 

“Dainsleif!” She screamed again. 

Did he laugh? Did he cry? He wanted to do both. He’d missed this wrecking ball of a woman. Before he could stop himself, Dainsleif opened his arms. Takama took a flying leap and latched around his chest. 

“You’re alive!” She was sobbing. “Thank you, Greater Lord, you’re alive –you’re alive! ”

What else could he do? He buried his face in her shoulder and tried to swallow the lump in his throat. How could he have predicted that she’d be one of his only friends left alive? Hugging her reminded him of nights of cards, and the Black Serpent Knights, and the drunken night at the tavern, and the smell of curry and jasmine tea, and raucous laughter as they all gave each other shit. It was a long time before Takama’s bawling dissolved into sniffles. He held her the whole while. Finally, she leaned back and cupped his face in her hands. 

“You look incredible,” she said, awed. “I swear you haven’t aged a day.”

Dainsleif didn’t have the heart to say why. That would’ve taken him past the point of tears. Instead, he forced a weak smile. “It’s nice to see you, Takama. Can I put you down?”

“Oh. Shit. Right, right.” 

Back on her own two feet, Takama rounded on Lumine, holding out a hand. “Hi. I’m Forest Ranger Takama. Who are you?”

To her credit, Lumine didn’t hesitate. She took the offered hand. “Lumine. I’m a friend of Dainsleif’s.”

“Well, any friend of Dainsleif’s is a friend of mine. Are…” A pause. Takama lowered her voice. “Are you also Khaenri’ahn?”

Lumine paused. “We both made it out together.”

Takama’s smile fell away. “I’m sorry. I don’t know everything that happened, but I’ve heard rumors. I’m so, so sorry. Can I ask a selfish question?”

He knew where this was going. Visions of a face bloodied almost beyond recognition flashed through his mind. Gently, Dainsleif intercepted. “Torsten died in the initial chaos. I’m sorry.”

Silence. The woman ducked her head and exhaled. “I was afraid of that. I thought so. It had been too long since there were any letters. I just… I hoped, you know?”

“Yeah,” Lumine offered gently. “Yeah. I understand. It’s difficult, not knowing.”

All at once, Dainsleif was suddenly afraid of what Takama might ask next. He’d never told Lumine about his trip to Sumeru. And Rukkhadevata? That was a secret heavily guarded within Khaenri’ah. Not even his own men had breathed a word about her. He wasn’t ready to explain himself or talk about that. Not yet. Without prelude, he touched Takama’s shoulder. “Listen, we need to get to an inn and find a room for the night. Shall you and I catch up over dinner?”

Lumine shot him a look. Takama did, too, though a different one. “Yeah. Let me show you the way. Obviously, the quarters you used aren’t available, but I know a decent place. Want to meet up at Puspa around dusk? Do you remember where it is?”

“Is it in the same place?”

“Yep. Hasn’t changed.”

“Then I remember.”

“Alright. Come on. Lumine, stick close. The streets get crowded.”

Oh, Sumeru City. Walking back into it was… complicated. His heart was full and heavy, comforted and throbbing with pain. Everywhere he looked was a new memory or a place lost to time. The cafe he and the men usually went to for breakfast was gone. A brand new restaurant stood in its place. One of the dining spaces on the hill was replaced by an Adventurer’s Guild. But vendors he still recognized hawked their wares, and Akademiya students and researchers still milled about in the same uniforms. The same green tiles decorated every roof. He could hear a production echo up the stairwell to the Grand Bazaar. At last, they arrived at a tavern. 

“Here.” She motioned at the door. “They usually have good rooms, though you might have to share one. I’ll see you around dusk?”

“Dusk, Puspa Cafe,” he confirmed. “I’ll be there.”

Takama offered Lumine a smile and wave, turning to vanish back into the crowds. The second she was out of sight, Lumine rounded on him. 

“I didn’t know you’d visited here before.”

How did he explain? The truth was simplest. Slowly, Dainsleif said, “Khaenri’ah and Sumeru had certain diplomatic and research ties. I was assigned to guard Lord Alberich on one of his initial visits to hammer out the details, and another when the nations agreed to let Khaenri’ah build a facility in the desert. Takama was one of the people who served as a guide.”

Lumine frowned. That didn’t explain why he’d hurried Takama along, Dainsleif knew. It also didn’t explain why he’d made arrangements to meet Takama for dinner alone. In all the time they’d journeyed together, he’d never requested such a thing. But if she were truly curious, she didn’t ask. Instead she yawned, stretched, and turned toward the tavern door. “Do you think they’ll have showers?”

“If times haven’t changed in Sumeru, it’s more likely there’s a bath.”

“Even better. I feel gross. Come on, let’s go. You don’t want to be smelly for your meetup.”

—

Puspa Cafe hadn’t changed much. There was a different fountain in the center now, and a different person took his order at the counter. Otherwise? The same tables and chairs greeted him. Takama was waiting in the same spot they’d always pulled up in, right beside a colored glass window. Pangs of anxiety rippled through his stomach. What if Rukkhadevata came in right now? Would he recognize her as a child? Wouldn’t that be strange for him to be fully grown and her so young? Uncertain but unwilling to be taken by surprise, he pulled up a chair where he could see the front door and settled in. Takama scooted a mug of chai to him and gave a weary smile. Her eyes were still puffy from crying. 

“I still can’t believe you’re alive.”

A thousand more cynical thoughts sprung to mind. In the end, he settled on, “Me either.”

“Like I said, I’ve heard rumors about what you all went through. If it was anything like the hell that unleashed up here…” A beat. She frowned and spun her own glass in her hands. “I’m sure you don’t want to talk about that. You’ve probably thought about it enough.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure. I’m sure you’re curious about everyone up here and all that. Abeni is–”

Cutting her off, Dainsleif went to the heart of things. “Rukkhadevata. It’s about Rukkhadevata. I heard a rumor that she reverted to a child’s form again.”

Silence. Takama stared at him, eyes darting back and forth between his, searching for something . Why wasn’t she talking? Why did she say nothing? Impatient, Dainsleif said, “She told me it happened before. That’s how I know about–”

“Dainsleif.” It was her turn to intercept the conversation. “She didn’t revert.”

No? A strange relief flooded him. He sat back in his chair. “Huh. I wonder where–”

Again, Takama interjected. Her voice was strangled and faint. “She’s dead, Dainsleif.”

No

The world stopped. Hadn’t it? How could the sun continue to rise and set on a Teyvat where there was no Khaenri’ah and no Rukkhadevata? His hands buzzed. Everything spun. Desperate for anything to ground him, he clenched weakly at the table.

“I’m so sorry,” she murmured. “I didn’t know you didn’t know.”

“I thought–” He couldn’t breathe. Gulping down air, Dainsleif tried again. “I thought that–I thought that didn’t make sense. It was a rumor. It didn’t make any sense. I–when?”

“The same day.” Takama took his hand in hers and squeezed, applying comforting pressure. He gripped at her fingers like a life line. “When Sumeru was attacked, she was sent to guard Irminsul. There were fears that whatever was happening would go after that, too. I don’t know all the details, but from what I understand, that was the case. She was killed there.”

Killed . In his mind, Dainsleif could see Rukkhadevata so clearly. Green eyes, long, white hair, hooked nose, bright smile, dark skin and a soothing voice. How could anyone kill her? How could anyone lay a finger on her? Being ripped apart would hurt less than the primal hatred and sorrow consuming him. All this time he’d laid awake at night, spiraling between fear and love and a thousand questions, and none of them had ever mattered. She’d died seven years ago, and he’d been so wrapped up in Khaenri’ah that he’d never even worried about her? 

A kinder, gentler part of him knew that he’d just not been able to accept the possibility of more grief. The rest of him, consumed by self-loathing, stomped it down. 

“What about the Dendro Archon?” He managed. “I thought–I thought there was a new one?”

“There is. She’s a child. We call her Lesser Lord Kusanali. Rukkhadevata is now known as the Greater Lord. She lives in the Sanctuary of Suresthana, under the care of the Sages. She appeared the day Rukkhadevata died, so we all thought the same thing you did at first.”

“They’re not the same? Are they sure?”

Takama shook her head. “They aren’t. We’re sure.”

A waitress arrived to serve them their food. She asked if they needed anything else; Takama hurriedly declined and shooed her away. Eating had never seemed so revolting. Dainsleif stared at the plate, too numb and nauseous to even take a bite. 

“You’re staying at the tavern I recommended, right?” Takama asked after a long while. He just nodded. “Uh, will your friend Lumine mind if you’re missing for a night?”

His voice emerged in a whisper. “Why?”

“Her apartment is still maintained. Only a few people have keys. One of them is Abeni. I just thought…” Hesitating only a moment, she plowed forward, “I thought you might want to stay there instead. You know. Process a bit, be on your own. Is that something you’d like?” After another beat, she eyed him warily. “Is that something I could trust you to do?”

Dainsleif wanted to laugh. If he could’ve killed himself, he would’ve already. But as for the rest… was it wise to stay in that apartment? Could he grapple with himself and all the unanswered questions alone? There was no way of knowing. 

But maybe–if even for a moment–that apartment would let him daydream. 

“Yes,” he said. “You could trust me.”

—

Lumine wasn’t in the room when he dropped in, so Dainsleif left a note before heading back out. Takama emerged around the road with someone beside her. Not even the night could keep him from recognizing the other woman. 

“Dainsleif,” Abeni breathed. Her afro was shot with silver. New wrinkles had appeared in the edges of her mouth. “I can’t believe it. It’s really you.”

“Good to see you, Abeni.” He tried to force a smile. It must’ve wobbled unconvincingly. The other woman took his hand in hers and squeezed. “I’m glad you’re alive. Is Jyoti?”

“Yes. She married a woman from Mondstadt. They live in some town out there now, but I hear from her occasionally. She’s doing well. Do you want me to write, send her news of you?”

Dainsleif shook his head. “No. Truthfully, I’m trying not to draw too much attention to myself. If she comes to visit and it comes up, you can tell her, but I’d like not to be written about.”

If either of them had questions, they didn’t voice them. They just nodded and motioned for him to follow. 

“Try to keep a low profile,” Abeni murmured. “No one is supposed to access her quarters except the sages anymore.”

Up, up, up the road they went. It was the same familiar walkway. Someone had replanted the gardens; different flowers grew in new arrangements. New water features bubbled merrily in the background. Chilly air brushed gently through his hair. At the midway point he stopped to take in the familiar view of the forest of glowing mushrooms, still so vivid in the dark. The women waited patiently until he’d had his fill. Around the corner they walked, and then—at last. A familiar doorway. 

There were no lights on. Darkened stained glass rippled in the moonlight. Abeni reached into her purse and produced a small silver key, turning the lock with a faint click . 

“Feel free to leave it open when you go,” she said. “I’ll come by tomorrow afternoon and lock it again. Okay?”

His mouth was desert dry. Somehow, he forced himself to nod. “Alright. Thank you.”

Once more she squeezed his hand. He squeezed back. Both she and Takama gave him weak, closed-mouth smiles, and walked away. 

For the first time since the Cataclysm, he was alone. For the first time in seven years, he was alone in front of Rukkhadevata’s doorway. Maybe he would turn the knob and discover it was all a nasty prank. Maybe she would be there on the couch, waiting for him with a smile and open arms. Perhaps that was someone’s idea of a joke. Yes. Maybe. But even as desperately as he hoped, Dainsleif knew that wasn’t the case. 

With trembling hands, he reached out and opened the door. 

Silvery light streamed into the living room. It smelled like dust. He stepped inside and shut the door behind him, and everything submerged in inky dark. Where was the damn lamp? Too afraid to fish around for one and risk knocking something over, he scrounged through his pockets and lit a match. The feeble light did the trick. He found one on a tiny couch table and lit the long-unused candle wick. 

All of the books were gone. That was the first thing he noticed: row upon row of empty shelves. Dainsleif stood and stared at them. Everything was clean, but signs of disuse were everywhere. Perfectly folded blankets lay on perfectly fluffed pillows. No shoes waited in the entryway. Not a single sunsettia or peach rest in the fruit bowl on the kitchen counter. On habit he removed his boots and stored them by the door. He couldn’t have the lamp illuminated for long–it ran the risk of someone seeing the light from the living room window, where there were no curtains–so he picked it up and carried it with him to the bedroom door. 

It was locked. Mystified, Dainsleif wiggled the latch. Abeni must’ve forgotten all about that. On a hunch, he felt around the door frame and located a tiny gold key. Perfect. The door gave way. Inhaling for strength, he stepped inside. 

Where the living room was perfect and sterile, the bedroom was not. All of her books were still here. Faint and stale though it was, the scent of oud and jasmine lingered. Cushions still lay haphazardly by the little vanity; a hairbrush was on the floor; notebooks were stacked on the nightstand. The bedsheets were tossed back, as if someone had gotten up and never thought to make it. A thick layer of dust coated everything. He flung the curtains shut to buy a measure of privacy, then set the lamp down. 

What was he supposed to do? For what felt like forever, Dainsleif stood, paralyzed, staring at her bed. Was she really not going to emerge? How did this room exist without her? Nothing felt right. Finally–buoyed by the need to do something –he went to the bathroom and found her washcloths under the sink. 

The moon was high in the sky by the time he finished cleaning. The sheets and pillows and floor cushions were shaken out into the tub and the surfaces wiped down. He even went through all of the shelves and dusted. It was easier than thinking. Dainsleif scrubbed and dusted and wiped everything down until it was perfect, then scrubbed at imaginary stains in bizarre places. If he stopped, he stopped being numb. If he wasn’t numb…

But soon enough, there was nothing left to clean. He washed all the cloths and hung them over the edge of the tub to dry, then hopped in the tub and rinsed himself. Pain coursed through his blood to the point of delirium. Still, he dragged himself out, dried off, blew out the lamp, and headed to the mattress. 

Well. This was it. Dainsleif stared at the bed. Had he ever gotten in first? Was there ever a time he hadn’t seen Rukkhadevata waiting, or flung her onto it himself? Not to his recollection. Uneasy, he sat heavily on the edge, folded his clothes, and–for the first time in years–popped on the mushroom bracelet. Rain began to pitter-patter on the roof outside, the only thing to cut through the agonizing silence around him. On habit, he reached up and rubbed at his shoulder, thumb catching on the scar. 

Right. The scar. Dainsleif worked a finger over every groove, bumped them over the tooth marks embossed in his skin. That had happened in this very room. He was so used to it that he sometimes forgot it was there. How could he forget? 

“Hey,” he announced to the empty room. “You were supposed to outlive me. You know that, right?”

No one replied. 

Sudden as a punch, Dainsleif bent double. Every tear he’d suppressed flooded free; the sorrow he’d swallowed ripped from his chest in a hard, agonized wail. She was gone. She was gone . She was gone, she was gone, she was gone. There were no words to articulate the cavern left in him. She was just gone , and he, her lesser half, was all that remained. 

He didn’t know how long he cried. Eventually he curled up in a ball on the bed and sobbed himself to sleep. 

—

“Hey!”

Dainsleif woke with a start. Or did he? He wasn’t entirely sure, not when a peculiar, round, green creature was standing on the bed. It had leaves as a hat and floated, staring at him with huge black eyes. He just stared back. 

“Hey,” it repeated. “Blue Mask Nara! Friend of Queen Aranyani! Wake up!”

What in the Abyss was happening? Maybe he was dreaming. Sluggish, he sat up with a grunt and tried to orient himself. “Queen who?”

“Queen Aranyani,” the creature repeated, and gave a little spin. Like that explained anything. “Leader of the Aranara and the Sumeru Nara!”

Right. This felt a little like reasoning with a toddler. Moving on, Dainsleif managed, “I’m sorry. Who are you?”

“Arama.” Once again, it did a spin. “And you are Blue Mask Nara! I’m here to take you to the special thing Queen Aranyani left for you!”

Dainsleif scrounged around in his memory and produced a single feeble recollection. Hadn’t Rukkhadevata mentioned Aranara once before? Didn’t they only show themselves to children? Who was this ‘Queen Aranyani’ it kept mentioning? But it seemed to know him–if only by a distinctive feature–so he reached for his shirt and pulled it on. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see! Arama will take you, Blue Mask Nara! I’ll use my Ararakalari and poof! We will be there. Come, come! Are you ready?”

“Will we come back here afterward?”

“Yes, yes. We will bring back Blue Mask Nara.”

It wasn’t as if his life could get much weirder. Buoyed by curiosity, Dainsleif nodded. “Alright then. Let’s go.”

Everything rippled. Shades of green shuddered through his vision and fluttered away. In an instant, they were standing before a truly massive, silver tree. The trunk twisted in an impossible shape. Pink leaves swayed under a red sky. He’d forgotten his boots; grass crunched under his bare feet as he stepped forward. Arama scuttled along. 

“Here!” He said. “Here is where Queen Aranyani said!”

Dainsleif glanced near the roots. There, almost hidden in some wildflowers, a silver object glinted. He knelt and freed it from the tangle of matted green. The moment it popped into his hand, his heart dropped into his stomach. 

It was the lotus bangle. 

At his touch, it flashed, then glowed green, then floated out of his hand. A bright light wobbled into shape on the grass. And then–

There she was. Rukkhadevata stepped forward. Her hair was pulled hastily back in a ponytail, her face and arms were smeared with soot and soil and blood, her clothes were stained. Still, she smiled. She smiled, and Dainsleif wanted to rip his heart out and hand it to her. 

“Rukkhadevata,” he choked, and reached for her. His hand passed right through hers. 

“I’m sorry, love,” she replied. “I thought you might do that, but this was all I could do. There wasn’t enough time to produce anything more solid.”

Crying. He was crying again. He could feel hot tears rolling down his cheeks. Dainsleif forced his hands to his side and shook his head. “Don’t apologize. I’m sure you did the best you could.”

“You survived.” There was so much awe in her voice. “I’m so glad. I’m so, so glad you survived, my love.”

Was this a shade of the past? Was it some kind of a simulation created by the power of the dendro gnosis? Dainsleif didn’t know and wasn’t willing to ask. He would take even a shade of her over her eternal silence. “I’m not so sure I’m glad,” he said with a derisive chuckle. “Every day, it hurts. I’m in pain, and I’m angry, and I miss you. I’ve spent seven years not knowing you were dead, and I wondered almost every day if you’d known what was going to happen, and–”

“I didn’t,” she said, soft as a petal. All those years of pent up rage at her dissolved to nothing. “I didn’t know anything.”

Through tears, he forced, “I believe you. What killed you here?”

Rukkhadevata reached for him. He couldn’t feel the hand skating along his cheek, but if he closed his eyes, he could pretend he did. “Do you trust me, love?”

“Yes.”

“Then trust me when I tell you that you don’t want to know. It will bring you no peace, only further pain. Besides, we have only so much time together. My power over this will soon end.”

Miserable, Dainsleif whispered, “Please don’t go.”

She, too, was crying now. “My darling, I am already gone.”

If ever he met Celestia, Dainsleif would ask (if he didn’t swing on sight and principle) how it was that such agony existed. Anything would hurt less. He would embrace the curse for ten thousand years if he could just feel her touch now. He forced himself to blink away the tears that blurred her face, intent on memorizing it one last time. “I love you.”

“And I love you,” she said. “I love you. And I love you. And I love you. And I love you. And even if you forget me–”

“I won’t,” he replied, resolute. 

“And even if you forget me,” she pressed again, more decisive this time, “I hope you feel how much I love you. I hope you feel it every day. I hope my love shields you, Dainsleif. I know you will step out into the world and fight for what is good, and what is right, and I will be there with you every step of the way. I hope my love can make your steps light. I hope it picks you up when you have fallen, and kisses your tears. I love you, Dainsleif, and even if you forget that, may you always feel it.”

The light shuddered. Heaving a desperate cry, he reached for her one more time. She kissed her fingertips, brushed them over his mouth, and then disappeared. 

—

Dainsleif woke up the next morning in Rukkhadevata’s bed with no memory of how they returned. Maybe it was a dream. Perhaps the Aranara and the vision were all tricks born from grief. With a groan, he clapped a hand over his swollen face and rubbed at sore eyes. The bangles jingled and collided with his nose. 

Wait. 

He launched himself upright. In the faint light creeping between the curtains, not one, but two bangles jangled on his wrist: a gold mushroom bracelet and a corresponding silver lotus one. 

—

Centuries wore on. 

Like an old house, his memory cracked, peeled, collapsed to dust. Only bits and pieces remained. Ironic. He distantly recalled talking about erosion with Rukkhadevata. How strange it was that he, not she, now dealt with its full repercussions. He could no longer fully recall all his travels with Lumine, nor their fall out, nor Khaenri’ah. Takama and Abeni and Jyoti and Torsten’s faces blurred in his mind. He couldn’t even place what Lord Alberich looked like until he spotted his descendent, Kaeya Alberich. The two looked very similar. It was really uncanny. He ran across Lumine’s twin, Aether, and shared what little he felt comfortable sharing. Everything ran in circles, it seemed. Hadn’t Rukkhadevata told him about something like that? What was the word, ‘samsara’? He didn’t remember that, either. 

All he knew was he couldn’t rest until the Abyss Order was defeated. Celestia and the Archons and the Abyss took everything from him, but that didn’t mean he could sit back and allow them to destroy everything else. Every time he sat to breathe, the bangles on his wrist would clink together under his armor and remind him of all he fought for. 

Yes. There would be no more red skies. There would be no more tragedy wrought by the hands of Celestia, nor despair. Dainsleif woke every morning, kissed his fingers, pressed it to the scar on his shoulder, and pressed on.

—

One morning, Dainsleif woke with the all-too-familiar sense that he’d forgotten something. 

This happened regularly now. It had scared him once. The feeling of your mind slipping away was terrifying, to be sure. But Dainsleif had this bone-deep certainty that something was pressing him on, guiding his hand and keeping him sure. It kept him sane when all else felt lost. 

He got up. Something jingled on his wrist. Confused, he lifted his arm, peeling the objects off. A gold bracelet with mushrooms on each opening and a matching silver one with lotuses were there. 

“Where did you come from?” he murmured. How bizarre. He wasn’t given to jewelry; centuries wandering and seeking out the Abyss Order hardly lent themselves to such frivolities. Still, here they were. They looked like something from Sumeru. When was the last time he’d visited? Why would he have picked them up? He struggled to place it. Had Takama bought them for him? A woman had given him them, right? Maybe a Sage? Didn’t he get one of these as they were leaving? An official had handed him these, right? Abyss take him, why was it so impossible to remember?

Well, nevermind. Dainsleif went to stow them in his pocket and thought better of it. There was the possibility that they’d get lost. If they were so important that he’d kept them on even in his sleep, he supposed they were important enough to keep there. He popped them back on, peeled himself out of his thin cot, and went to the river to wash up. 

It was a cool day in Sumeru. The rainforest smelled fresh and clear. Birds hopped from tree to tree, singing; leaves rustled loudly against one another. He peeled off his shirt and leaned forward over the river bank, scrubbing his face and arms and shoulders with clear water. He worked over his muscles, and–

His thumb caught on a strange ring on the soft skin near his neck. Dainsleif paused, running his fingers around and around the marks. Teeth? Was this scar caused by teeth? How? When? He lingered on the edge of the riverbank, willing himself to remember. There was no way it was a combat scar. No one would’ve gotten close enough to puncture his uniform. Besides, then he would have repairs on that spot, and that wasn’t the case. 

Whatever his mind didn’t know, his body did. As he touched the scar, his heart thumped hard in his chest. Peace like a blanket descended on his shoulders. Dainsleif shut his eyes and relished its warmth. The memory in his body felt like laughter in a hushed room; it felt like a kiss he couldn’t remember; it felt like being tangled up in the arms of a lover. Last of all–and strongest–it felt like someone waiting in the doorway for him. It felt like a shield around him. It felt like love, love, love, a Love he both did not remember and could never forget. He tilted back his head and breathed in deeply. 

“Alright,” he whispered to no one, to the vanished memory of someone he still loved, to whoever it was that the world had now forgotten. “You and me. We can do this. Til the end of the line, my love.”

Dainsleif dressed himself. He packed up his campsite, obscured any sign he was ever there, and headed out. The bracelets pressed against his skin from under his bracers, and it felt right.

#A Sun Long Gone #ASLG #Genshin Impact #Genshin Dainsleif #genshin rukkhadevata #Dainsleif x Rukkhadevata #Dainsleif fanfic #greater lord rukkhadevata #Rukkhadevata fanfic #my writing

[dreamingpichu]

I have nowhere to vent this besides here and Quotev so I'm confiding in this damned hellsite for this one.

I have the idea for an almost Junji Ito like short horror comic. I don't know exactly what I'd call it yet, but my beta title for it is 'There She Is'.

It's told from the first person perspective of an 18 year old woman, who explains that when she was younger she was a MASSIVE Supernatural fan, to the point where she would have a reoccurring dream where she was Sam and Dean's sister and she would help them out with hunter business sometimes.

She mentions that she's always been a pretty vivid dreamer, and that she always remembered her dreams. Though by now she's forgotten most of the old ones. Except for one.

The dream started like all of her other Supernatural dreams. Only this time, when she got to the investigation portion, suddenly everyone around her was gone. She was completely by herself, all the characters she was familiar with were gone and she was left in a completely unfamiliar location. As her dream self called for help, it wasn't long before she would run into...her. 'Her' being a tall woman with dark hair. She wears a frilly white dress, black mary janes, and white socks. But the traits that are most noticeable are on her face. Her eyes completely lack pupils or irises, instead having dark inky splotches, almost like a bug's compound eyes. Her mouth abnormally wide in a toothy, gummy smile. And all this woman did was stare at the protagonist until she woke up.

The protagonist would go on to describe how she'd so that woman constantly from then on. In windows, in mirrors, in photographs...But she never was really present. At least not physically.

It's revealed that the protagonist is explaining all of this to a therapist. She says she's never told anybody about this out of fear of being called crazy. After a while she had gotten used to seeing the woman, and she just became another part of the background. Just like she'd see trees, clouds, grass, and concrete, she'd see the woman. She says that she wouldn't mind medication. Even though she has gotten used to it, that doesn't exactly make it pleasant. Just like how the glare of the sun through your windshield may be normal, but that doesn't mean you want it to happen. The therapist says that might be possible, but they'd need to do some future evaluations beforehand, and her session is ended for the day.

The protagonist leaves the building and goes to get her bike, only to realize someone had cut her lock and stolen it. She picks up the cut bike lock and the left behind helmet and begins walking home instead. As she walks she notices tha the streets feel oddly deserted, and the feeling only gets stronger as she keeps going forward.

Until she comes across the street from her dream. Looking around she notices all the similar details, but before panic can set in she sees her. The woman. Only this time she's real. The woman starts laughing but none of her features or her body move with it. She moves in closer, again without really moving. She finally moves, bringing her arms up to the terrified protagonists face and pulls her into a kiss. The final shot of the protagonist is of her eye, rolling back into her skull before developing the same inky splotches.

It switches to a different girl, around 15 years old. She's walking home from school and listening to a horror podcast. She stops to take a selfie, but when she checks the picture after the fact.

She sees what was once our protagonist, now appearing like the woman she  had feared.

And that's the whole thing. I have no idea if I really want to turn this into an actual comic, but I'm genuinely considering it. It's probably the first time I have an entire story planned start to finish, even a short story. For once I actually have a middle to it haha. I'm going to try and grab some printer paper from somewhere in my school to start working on it.

#short horror story #author #junji ito #supernatural #it is 8:33 in the morning literally how #this is what little sleep and being gay does to a man

[thefandomlifechoseme]

Someone just drove the wrong way down our 1 way street

The pain

The anger

The outrage

The horror

And they just stopped as well in the middle of the road and I looked out of the window and it didn't even compute at first because nobody parks from the angle I'm sat at so I just kinda stared for a hot second in bafflement before my brain switched on long enough to realise that no, stopping in the middle of the road facing the wrong way is not a thing, actually

#hnnngggg #rhdhhdfhhd #why #parking #parking badly #wrong way #legit they just STOPPED