#this is almost like. lovecraftian horror | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wanted-game-if · 3 months

Text

Wanted Game is a cowboy fantasy with some lovecraftian horror interactive fiction game

You wake up in the middle of nowhere, the sun blistering hot

no food,

no water,

and probably the most concerning thing of all you don't remember anything not your name, not where you are and not what you look like

You are found by a gang of outlaws the leader (or who you assume the leader to be) takes you captive but then offers you a deal you can't possibly pass up but things smell fishy.. they are outlaws who are there for their selfish reasons how can you truly trust them;

especially when they all seem to know something about you even though you have a mask stuck to your face they aren’t willing to tell what they know about you

no matter how close you get or how many tricks you try

• A customizable Mc though physical customization is somwhat limited until later in the story.

• Paint/design the mask and thought out the story their will be some options that will affect your mask

• Romance 10 of the charaters 7 main ones and 3 youll just have to figure out, one of the secret romances is a poly route with Oscar, got commitment issues or just looking for fun theres a large aray of flings along the road so dont you worry

• Doom or help the jobs succeed with your choices

• Grow relationships with the rest of the gang {{and even the group of bounty hunters chasing after you and the gang}}

• When not doing jobs entertain your self with a hobby or work on your skills

Oscar || He/They || 24 || 5’3

Growing up in the gang most would probably assume Oscar is mean, greedy, selfish but if given the chance you would find a soft caring man with a love for literature almost always with a book when he is not scouting or helping his ma with sewing up clothes the gang tend to wreck

Emile || Xe/Xem || 27 || 5’10

Oscars older brother Emile is very protective of Xyrs little brother emile is known to sleep around and be a massive flirt but never actually letting anyone be anything to Xem then a pretty face Xe can fool around with. sometimes you catch Xem staring at you with a expression you don’t quite understand

Louis || He/Him || 30 || 6’2

A very quiet man always tending to the horses or making wood sculptures hes very quiet keeping to himself not because of anything distrustful or rude he seems to just like being alone he is always looking to help out with jobs as long as he can keep his distance with people

Boss || He/Him || 58.. || 6’0

{{ Attracted to anyone but must be close to them emotionally before he does anything sexual in nature }}

A very talkative older man with alot of elegance for a outlaw he always has plans brewing though his number one goal is keeping the gang safe. He tends to be overprotective of everyone and can be a very hotheaded man its very easy to press his buttons

Ares || he/they/she || 28 || 5’11

Growing up in high society Ares learnt to be a very charismatic and social fellow most people would call her a charming, gentle, kind person but if you peer close enough through their wall you will soon learn that she is not at all what she appears and she has a more nasty complex towards commoners, rich folk and especially outlaws

Clara || She/Her || 40 || 5’5

Clara a sweet older lady recently joined up with the gang temporarily to help get funds to get her home but something about her story doesn’t add up, she seems like she wouldn’t hurt a fly so many dismiss her but some ought remember she is still an outlaw no matter how sweet she seems

Adelaide || She/Her || 37 || 4’9

Adelaide is the best with all things traps, distractions and explosives she cant be a bit much always adding a flare to everything and talking so fast you only barely understand she isn’t very observant when it comes to body language and tone so don’t expect her you realize your emotions straight away. she is also Boss’s Niece

T} ??? || he/him || 35 || 6’0 || Poly route with Oscar

“They are so utterly perfect for him I’m jealous of them but i also want them aswell how selfish my heart is”

S} ??? || They/Them || 29 || 5’8

“In darkness she is the one stray ray of light that kisses my face”

J} ??? || they prefer just to be called by their name || 33 || 6’5

“Its against my job, my morals,my life so tell me why it feels so right”

||Demo:TBA || Pinterest || Art Acc ||

Sorry for any misspellings or weird way i worded things

311 notes · View notes

starleska · 1 year

Note

Hello again!! I'm the anon from before (and I'm glad to hear you had a nice time yesterday!!!), and here's what I wrote.. I've been thinking a lot about the 'Wally eats with his eyes' idea, as many have been !!! I'm not sure how to warn for what this exactly so feel free to tag it with whatever you deem necessary. Wally just. Likes you a lot lol. i guess this is a little silly but i had a good time writing it haha

You are having a staring contest with your friend Wally.

You can't quite remember who started this, or why. Just that Wally had wanted to draw somewhere outside and you tagged along with him, until you were sitting somewhere in a field of flowers around the Neighbourhood.

Wally simply returns your gaze, unblinking, his hands folded over on top of his sketchbook. You think this has lasted long enough. What you want to do is crack a smile or a joke, but you find that your muscles are frozen stiff, and your tongue is so, so heavy.

His pupils expand.

You're supposed to panic about being this frozen up. Moving shouldn't be so difficult. But it's like your body feels like even stressing out about this is too much effort. You feel warm. Your eyelids tremble with the effort to blink. There is no movement, though your eyes don't burn either. You've held them open for so long that the world starts to gray out around you.

His pupils expand.

Wally leans his head to the side, little by little. You mirror his movements without thinking. The tips of your fingers are tingling, your feet feel numb as if fallen asleep. He smiles at you even more than usual. You think that this makes you happy. His lips part slowly, as if to speak, and-

"Hiya, guys!" Eddie calls out from the path to your right.

Your body jolts in surprise, and the spell is broken. By the time you whip your head around to look, Eddie has already continued his delivery route without waiting for a response.

Your returned awareness feels like breaking the surface after almost drowning. A weight disappears from your body, and you practically double over, gasping for air. Your shoulders are shaking, your eyes wide. When you squeeze them shut, it burns. You feel tired like you never have before.

"That was good," Wally says. For a moment, you are hesitant to turn your head back and look at him. You want to hide from his eyes. But you snuff that thought out as soon as it pops up, because that's just silly. You must've eaten something wrong, or have caught a cold. What else could explain this.

You look at Wally. He looks normal, and his eyes upon

"W-what did you say?"

"I asked: Are you feeling good?" Wally speaks even slower than he otherwise would, but his smile is as wide as ever. "You don't look good, friend."

"I don't… I'm a little out of it," you force out a laugh. "I think I'm getting sick."

Wally leans forward.

"You'll be okay," he says, and puts a hand on your knee. "Let's sit here until you feel better."

!!!!!! anon!!!! anon do you know how good this is?!?! oh my gosh!!!! 😭😭😭😭😭 honey, i cannot express how much i adore this fic. it's such a wonderful blend of terror and intimacy, so frightening and claustrophobic yet warm and safe in a way you can't understand...ugh, i'm in love 🥴 your descriptions are so vivid - i could really feel Your panic and nausea. some real Lovecraftian horror stuff going on in here. and oh my God the little detail of him saying, 'That was good' and then switching to 'Are you feeling good?' absolute chills!!! 😱😱 if you feel comfortable enough, you should absolutely post your writing somewhere!! you've got such a talent for writing, Wally in particular, and i'd love to read more of your stuff should you be inclined. i'll definitely be taking some tips from this awesome little fic going forward 😉 thank you so much for sharing 🥰

#all you eye-horror/hypno fans are gonna have a blast with this one wow #wally darling x reader #wally darling #welcome home #welcome home arg #wally darling x you #starleskasks #tw: scopophobia

2K notes · View notes

bloodybellycomb · 3 months

Text

The horror genre is a fantastic litmus test for seeing the overall fears and anxieties of specific eras, like how the invasion of the body snatchers highlighted the red scare of secret communist spies in the 1970s.

With that in mind, I think that the late 2010s and early 2020s have seen a massive rise in something I call "bureaucratic horror", in which the horror stems from working a dead-end office job that treats people like disposable cogs in a corporate machine, with the business itself so large and domineering, that it seems like a Lovecraftian, cosmic horror monster to those forced to work within its domain.

With the middle-class shrinking, office jobs have become emblematic of an almost bygone era. Office jobs are boring and tedious and very few people would dream of becoming an office worker. However, for decades, these jobs offered a type of stable, comfortable, job security that is becoming unfathomable for most young people. Office jobs are viewed as dredge work, which characters harbor open disdain for but there is an inability to quit, due to the allure of a consistent income.

Bureaucratic horror plays on the tension that stems from the resentment and hatred for office jobs, while also dangling a monetary reward just out of reach, and thus these stories portray workplaces as bastions of horrifying scenarios in which the characters must play their part in this capitalist system, no matter what, and that's terrifying.

#the magnus protocol #tmagp #control #severance #horror #theres def more but those are the biggest ones i think #ive connected the dots #ive connected them #birdy chirps

86 notes · View notes

solaraurora · 2 months

Text

can I talk about my love for Alastor please? omg I love this psycho cannibal enigmatic eldritch demon deer so much! & he is just damn fine! 🖤❤️

his demon form is beautiful glorious lovecraftian cosmic horror perfection!

also I just love all the mysteries & theories surrounding him. we know for a fact his soul is chained to someone because he also made a deal, but WHO? this little moment here where we can see ethereal threads sown throughout his perpetual smile, I love the idea that his grin is literally stitched on by dark magic. like he can't let anyone know that he's actually so miserable but also whoever owns his soul will not let him speak about it. his seven year disappearence which strangely coincides with Lilith's disappearence & the idea she captured him to look after Charlie. how he managed to obtain so much power taking out the strongest of overlords. I really need season 2 to focus on his lore. he's such a fascinating character.

his breakdown here after almost dying for the hotel, realizing he's not invincible, & lamenting about how he needs to break free from his deal. he lost because he wasn't fighting for love he was fighting for personal gain. the thought of getting attached to people & dying for them terrifies him. I really wanted to give a hug. he was freaking out so badly & sounded so depressed.

I love his friendships with Niffty & Rosie more than anything. I choose to believe the theory he doesn't own Niffty's soul she's just a little weirdo short queen who likes him & he just lets her accompany him & has grown fond of her. & he's so comfortable with letting Rosie show him any affection. he really adores them both.

& I do ship with him with Charlie. I know Alastor is asexual/aromantic which is cool, & Charlie is with Vaggie l so I'm fine with them not being canon but... dammit they have the most fire chemistry & a wonderful dynamic. like she's his little princess, & he's going out of his way to help & support her just cuz & doesn't undermine her abilities. & Charlie knows she can't fully trust him but she definitely sees something in him that hasn't been completely enveloped in darkness yet. & I just love the thought of Alastor having real love for someone & being romantic & affectionate while he's such a deranged dark entity. I like demons in love.

his mic is a source of his power & he willingly handed it to her without a second thought. like he really trusted her with it. he knows she would never break it. he wanted to give her a voice.

Alastor sometimes shows that he's capable of caring about people (obviously not just anyone), showing affection, & even liking people to a somewhat degree. I think he genuinely adores Charlie, he has such a soft spot for Niffty & Rosie, & we know he loved his mother very much when he was alive. he also definitely developed an attachment to the hotel as he implied to Niffty & during his lament. but at the same time he's not capable of caring or affection or love not cuz he's aroace but because he's such a fucking murderous psychopath. I'm not naive I do believe that maybe he will betray her because of his deal & whoever is keeping his soul. at the end of the day he's still a sadistic insidious lunatic conniving & murdering his way to higher power.

but if that happens hopefully Charlie can reach him & help free him from his chains & unthread his everlasting grin, maybe with her love for him. I want Alastor to feel real love & know he's not alone.

#hazbin hotel #alastor #radio demon #niffty #rosie #charlie morningstar #charlotte morningstar #charlastor #radiobelle #lilith #lilith morningstar #eve #roo #lucifer #lucifer morningstar #i love my little cannibal demon

146 notes · View notes

lizardsfromspace · 10 months

Text

On the note of early creepypasta, shout out to the Holders, the proto-SCP Foundation in that it was the first thing to fill the niche of "big collaborative horror story about weird artifacts". The set up was always "In any city, in any country, go to any mental institution or halfway house you can get yourself to. When you reach the front desk, ask to visit someone who calls himself "The Holder of the [word]" instead of containment procedures

Reading over it now you kinda get why the SCP Foundation became bigger, though. Both have set formats, but SCPs are more freeform. A statue that kills you when you aren't looking, a vending machine vending interdimensional snacks, living Origami dragons in a magic box, a infinite IKEA, and a humanphobic Lovecraftian terror writing messages on a window are all equally SCPs. But every Holder is more or less the same. You go to the same place to go find a cursed artifact. If you bring them together the world will end. I once tried to read them all in a row and got bored since so many are essentially the same, and there's not really room to imagine something weirder given the strict format (though there are format-breaking ones here and there, my fave was one from the POV of the person at the desk who tells them where the Holder is). So many are basically "this one you read before, but edgier" and it's way more repetitive than reading over even the earliest SCPs

The other thing with the Holders lore-wise is like. Why are people seeking them. Almost every artifact gives you a fate worse than death but a lot of them don't have like...a benefit, any kind of Faustian boon you get at the cost of the horrible fate. How do they even know what's in each one if they're unavoidably fatal

Also I first experienced The Holders via this old website that combines it with a list of "Easter eggs" & excerpts from "Myths Over Miami" and that's their ideal form tbh

#creepypasta

213 notes · View notes

wryderz · 2 months

Text

if you stay, i would even wait all night

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Robin jolted in her bed, heart pounding. She hadn’t been asleep—Christ, who could sleep after everything that happened— but had instead been staring up at the ceiling, trying to think about anything other than the events of the past week. Her bedside lamp dimly illuminated her room with a warm light. However, this did nothing to quell the tight, tense panic that had settled into Robin’s body, even after the figurative storm.

Tap. Tap.

There it was again, that noise. She couldn’t convince herself that it was just a stray tree branch or a nocturnal animal, no. She sat up, reaching for the kitchen knife that she had placed on her dresser. Flattening her body against the wall, she peeked out the window that faced the street.

TAP!

Something small, blunt, and round hit her window, and Robin flinched, pulling away from the glass in an involuntary response. Now her hands were really shaking, trembling in the lamplight glinting off of the knife. Shit, she thought to herself. Shit. She could handle everything—the Russians, the Mind Flayer—but that was when she had Steve. And the eleven-year-old with superpowers. And, well, everybody else.

But now she was alone. She looked out the window again, praying that it had just been a trick of her mind. A figure stood outside of her window, only partially illuminated by the streetlight, face hidden. Panic flooded her mind. Was it the Russian government? Maybe they sent someone to kill her, to threaten her or finally silence her once and for all. Or maybe it was another person who’d gotten… mind-flayed. The image of a Lovecraftian horror breaking into her room, tendrils drilling, ripping into her flesh, flashed briefly in her mind. She shook her head, and looked at the figure again. She was so, so screwed. She opened the latch to her window, making sure that the silhouette of the knife in her hand was fully visible.

"Who are you? What do you want?" she called out to the street as quietly as possible, so as to not wake her parents. She tried to make her voice tough, angry, but it quavered on want, her fear betraying her. Her voice, uncertain and small, echoed back to her, mocking her.

To her surprise, the voice that answered was deeply familiar.

"It’s Steve," came the answer. "Uh, Harrington?" The fact that he had to specify amused Robin, and the corner of her mouth lifted into a small smile. She didn’t realise it, but it was the first time she had smiled all week.

"What are you doing here?"

"I…" he was silent for a moment. "Can I come up?"

Robin hesitated. It could be a trap. But she still had her knife with her, and it wouldn’t hurt…

"Yeah, okay," she said, her guard lowering at his warm voice.

He clambered up the side of the house expertly, as he had done so many times before, and pulled himself up through the window in one swift motion. His hair was tousled from the feat, reminiscent of a scene from Romeo and Juliet, ironic considering the circumstances.

"Wow," he said, breathless, after catching a glance of the knife in Robin’s hand. “You really did stock up.” Robin could tell that he was trying to lighten the mood in a way of explaining his situation. She could’ve joked in return, but instead, she set the knife down and hugged him fiercely. Steve relaxed at her touch, hugging her back almost desperately. As if he hadn’t touched anyone since everything that had happened. His breaths felt uneven and heavy, as if he were on the verge of tears.

"I just," he said with a shaky breath, "didn’t know what else to do. I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t sleep, I—"

"Hey," she said, holding him tighter. "It’s okay. Me neither." They stayed like this for a good long while, just embracing and feeling a blanket of relief at the other’s presence.

"You scared me at first, you know," Robin said, after they had released each other and were laying next to each other on the bed. "I thought you were, like, another Russian agent. Or one of the Mind Flayer’s cronies.

"Yeah, sorry," Steve laughed. "I just thought it’d be weird if I came and knocked on your door. Like, all, 'Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Buckley! It’s past midnight, but can I see your daughter?'" Robin snorted, but she wasn’t in the mood for jokes.

"It all just doesn’t feel... real, you know?" she said.

"I know," he said.

"I feel like I’ll never be able to sleep again. I jump at everything. The shadows on the wall, the sound of a car passing-"

"About that," Steve said. "I was wondering… can I…?" He looked at her hesitantly, not wanting to verbalise his request. His eyes were filled with an empty feeling of abandonment, of loss, of hopelessness that wrenched Robin’s heart. In the warm light, a purple bruise now stood out like a stamp on his cheekbone, and Robin reached up to touch it tenderly. Steve didn’t flinch away, but instead leaned into her touch.

"You’re staying here tonight. Every night, if you want," she said with a finality. Steve’s eyes flooded with relief.

"Thank you," he whispered, voice barely audible. Robin turned to clamber onto her bed, fixing the sheets and fluffing up the pillows. As she laid onto the mattress, Steve stood to look at her.

Awkwardly, he said, "Uh, I can just sleep on the ground, if you want. If you have an extra pillow-"

"Get up here, dumbass," she said affectionately, grabbing his arm and pulling him to the bed. "I wasn’t making my bed for nothing." He slowly clambered onto the bed, as if he was afraid of making Robin uncomfortable.

"It’s gonna be okay, you know," she murmured, her eyes locking with his in the dim light.

"I know."

#steve and robin #steve & robin #platonic stobin #stobin friendship #platonic soulmates stobin #stobin fic #steve and robin fic #stranger things #stranger things fic #stobin now and forever #one shot

67 notes · View notes

smallraindrops-blog · 2 years

Text

Falling Sand

Word count: 1k

Morpheus x GN!reader (light, pre-relationship)

Fandom: the sandman

Summary: reader haven’t slept in a while.

Warnings: no beta, some possible spoilers, non-canon

Notes: some people collect stamps, k-pop stars or lovecraftian horrors. I collect gods of sleep appearly. Still watching the show but this idea wouldn’t leave me alone.

Enjoy!

Now with Part Two!

You haven’t slept in days when he found you.

At first you weren’t sure what you were looking at. It was a man but the way he carried himself, the icy stare he gave you as you slowly rose from your overflowing desk. You could actually feel the bags under your eyes.

Sleep was but a dream. One you gave up freely. And this beautiful man, whoever he might be, was no man. When you were a child you saw the painting by Alexandre Cabanel, of the fallen angel. And Michaelanglo’s David. Their perfect beauty was flawed and ugly compared to the being in front of you.

“I’ve been looking for you. you were surprisingly hard to find.” He said, his voice low. You chuckled, amused for a reason not even you understood.

“Oh?” You waved toward your kitchen, toward the nectar that awaited you in the coffeemaker. “Well, come along.” You didn’t bother to check to see if he followed you.

You weren’t convinced that you weren’t imagining him anyway.

You luckily found some clean mugs in the dishwasher and promptly got to work for your caffeine fix. Your guest glanced around the messy kitchen then to a very messy kitchen table. His mouth- his entirely too pink, entirely too distracting mouth- was pursed in disapproval.

You tore your eyes away from his beauty, blinked heavily as you watched the coffee maker. You might be sleeping at your desk, he was simply too lovely to be real.

“Well, do you want to tell me why you are here, darling?” You asked then grimaced when you realized you used a pet name. You sounded just like your mother or that old landlady.

“You haven’t been sleeping.” He said as the smell of coffee filled the space. You waited for him to say more but he didn’t.

You sighed, realizing he wasn’t going to be easy to talk to. Nor did you know his name.

“Darl- no, please tell me you got a name.” You said, pouring the steaming hot coffee into the mugs. One of them had a chip in the rim so you kept that one for yourself. You did have some manners after all.

Finally, he spoke that rich voice of his. “Morpheus. Some call me Dream.”

“Well, you are pretty enough to be a dream.” The words slipped out but you shook your head, already trying to take them back. “Sorry. Forget I said that. Haven’t been sleeping.”

“Yes, I know. That is why I am here.”

You eyed the sugar, and only added a little bit but went heavy for the cream. Something about Morpheus told you he was a cream man.

You placed the mug in front of him and took a deep sip of your own drink with a happy sigh.

Then you made yourself look at Morpheus. He really was beautiful, like a greek god come to life and you wished you could paint with oil because anything else would be an insult.

To his credit, he took the drink but didn’t take a sip. Oh well more for you later. You told yourself very firmly you didn’t notice how slender and graceful his hands looked around the mug.

“You know that doesn’t tell me anything. Why should you care about some rando’s sleep schedule?” you asked, rubbing a thumb along the mug’s rim.

“Anyone else would be dead by now. You don’t even have the sickness, you are choosing to do this.” Morpheus said in a perplexed tone. His mouth almost in a pout and you resisted the urge to reach over and press a thumb on that tempting mouth of his.

You blinked, taking in his words. Then you gave him a easy shrug, “I need to understand exactly what my patients are going through. Otherwise what use am I?”

“Not going to be much use when sleep deprived or dead.” Morpheus repiled tartly. He sounded just like a frustrated partner or parent.

You laughed, taking another sip before sitting down in the chair. For some reason, your whole body felt heavy. Like something warm and soft was dragging you down. For a moment, you thought of lovers tangled together in sleep warm blankets and moonlight.

“I do plan to sleep at some point but…” you frowned, realizing you lost your train of thoughts. They slipped away from you, like sand between fingers. “I…”

A hand landed on yours, warmed by the coffee and untangled your fingers from the mug’s handle. You made a protesting sound but words failed you. You tried to pull away but your whole body was slumping, giving into the weight.

Morpheus shushed you, wrapping an arm around your waist. “Come along now.” His voice had changed. The timber of it was still rich but now it was lulling. Hypnotic.

“You need to sleep. You are doing good work, it would be a shame if something happens to that mind of yours.” Morpheus said, guiding you to your bedroom. You shook your head, and slurred out.“Jerk.”

Morpheus actually chuckled, deep and quiet and you liked that sound way too much.

You don’t remember falling into your bed. What you did remember was how Morpheus actually pulled up the blanket around your chin, of slim fingers running once though your hair. Your eyes closed but you weren’t sleeping yet. Rather you existed for a moment between the waking world and dream world. Painfully aware of your mind even as you lose hold of your body.

“Sleep, mortal. Your duties await you.” Morpheus said gently. You tried to resist for a little bit longer.

“Will I get to see you again?” You slurred out. You thought you sounded like a child. You wondered if Morpheus would agree. It hasn't been a full hour since you met this being but you already wanted to know his thoughts on this, on everything, on you.

“Sleep.” He ordered, his rich voice still gentle.

And with a quiet sigh, you gave in, letting the weight pull you under like quicksand. You thought you felt fingertips against your forehead but you were already too far gone.

You slept.

#The sandman #netflix the sandman #morpheus #morpheus x y/n #morpheus x reader

1K notes · View notes

whereserpentswalk · 9 months

Text

Is there any work out there that's eldrich but not horror? Worlds which are vast and unknowable, where there are creatures beyond human knowledge that are compleatly alien to us, and whose lives don't surround us, but where that information isn't seen as something inherently disturbing. When I learn about ancient humans having compleatly diffrent cultures, or animals with almost alien biology, or the vastness of the universe, horror isn't the main thing that comes to mind. Imagine a setting that was filled with truly eldrich beings, creatures and things that were nothing like us, beings of vast and unknowable power, alien creatures who are nothing like us in any way, and not have those beings be seen as something inherently horrific.

Imagine a story where the characters are walking through a long forgotten temple to a being too powerful to even know they exist. But that's just part of the world. It's not important for whatever the characters are doing for them to care about something not caring about them. Whatever they're there for isn't impeded by the apathy of the gods.

A lot of Lovecraftian horror assumes a very WASPy position. But if you're not from that background, there's no reason to assume those conclusions. This isn't to try and cancel lovecraftian horror, or even say that you can't enjoy Lovecraft's work, just that there can be more then horror to the unknown.

Mabye there are cities underground, built by beings that looked and thought nothing like us. And mabye those things are beautiful. And mabye the world is a better place because it has things that are diffrent. Mabye the heros of science fiction and fantasy don't need to see the world being bigger then themselves and things they're familiar with as something inherently horrifying.

#lovecrafian #lovecraft #cthulhu #cthulu #cosmic horror #cosmic #eldrichcore #eldrich horror #eldritch #worldbuilding #writing #writeblr #my thougts

159 notes · View notes

ctheathy · 6 months

Note

HAII IS IT OKAY IF I COULD ASK 4 A FAKER SKY WITH A SILLY FEM READER WHO KINDA REALLY LIKES KISSING HER IN HER 'MASKED OFF' FORM??

IDKW I JUST FEEL LIKE THAT FORM DESERVES LOVE ASWELL <33

Faker Sky w/ Reader who likes giving her smooches in her ‘mask off’ form

Faker Sky x Reader

Fluff Headcanons

Short Concept

Author's note: I really appreciate the uniqueness of this request <3 This form of hers doesn't get as much appreciation as she should, indeed ...

[Gender-neutral Darling|Female Darling|Male Darling]

Faker Sky/Reader [Romantic]

Potential ⚠️TWs⚠️ :

Nuh uh~ you have the WRONG post

Let's get straight to the point. The fact that you even have the guts to be around her in that form warms her heart like never before. For a long time Sky had felt to keep on her disguise around you, making her time spend in her true form as minimised as possible. A habit she gained especially after many were to run away screaming by just seeing a singular glimpse of her real form. She's still rather careless among the topic of exposing the true looks of a Lovecraftian Horror when it comes to others, but she noticeably becomes a bit more shy and perhaps even nervous showing this form to you; not wanting to scare you off with her inhuman features, no matter how sincere it makes her feel when she shifts into her truest form.

As soon as she knows you're not going to ditch her for the horrors of her true form, she'd become a whole lot more comfortable showcasing her appearance around you. She'd especially do so in order to hold you up without breaking a sweat, wanting to keep you as close as she can. But something she wouldn't expect was your intimate pecks to even increase when she's keeps the shape to her sincere species instead of the impersonation of Sky. And something that should be mentioned is that every time you gently connect your lips with her frame, she always seems to let out this tiny, soft purr ... Almost on instinct, even. You'll have her melting into a puddle and headbutting you.

Though she holds more animalistic mannerisms when in this form, Faker Sky is always still as gentle with you as it gets. You'll notice how she gets especially clingy whenever you give her a tiny kiss. Faker Sky practically starts behaving like a touch starved cat at that rate. She holds onto you and absolutely will not allow you to roam free for the next two hours, as in saying ‘If I want cuddles, I will get cuddles’. This shape of hers also happens to be a lot higher in strength and taller in height, making it easy for her to just keep you in your place. Despite her attempts to keep her touches soft, her embraces can be a teensy tiny bit suffocating due to her tighter grasp on you, feeling as if she is protecting you from the outside world. For sure giving it a sense of security aswell.

Long story short, if you're going out if your way to smooch her when she's roaming around in her actual configuration; you're going to have to deal with a cuddly and touchy Faker Sky for the rest of the day, no exceptions. She'd indirectly beg by continuing to rub her horns into your face, not stopping unless if you give her the attention she wants. You make her feel safer in her own skin and more open to embracing her true form instead of hiding it. She'd let out these little growls and continue allowing these purring noises to escape from her throat, which would usually only be audible when happy and among a comforting position.

And you ... you do know how to make her happy~

#faker sky x reader #fnf sky #fnf faker sky #sky x reader #skyverse #sky #skyverse mod #fnf x reader #fnf mod #faker sky #friday night funkin #friday night funkin x reader #sky anon

66 notes · View notes

baby-xemnas · 1 month

Note

Who’s the most jealous type of the captain/first mate trios?

from most to least

kid (insecure and easily pissed off in general)

zoro (insecure and overprotective but also knows luffy gets in everybodys face so he is Almost used to it. almost)

killer (he is Overprotective. would curb stomp a mob character for sending kid vibes~ however he finds great amusement in how flustered and pissy kid gets at strawhat's aggressive friendliness. he is an exception tho theres nothing to be jealous about)

law (he is never under threat because bepo is of little interest to most randos However trip to zou Really tested him with how much attention bepo got...law was very calm and cool about it (jk everybody but bepo noticed his barely contained sour mood)

luffy (hitting his "there are reasons to be jealous" point is like dvd screensaver logo hitting a corner - rare and random. i Could put him in number 1 if I could imagine it to happen more often but no, hes too easy going and safe in knowing he is the center of zoros universe. but when by a crazy chance luffy thinks of someone having The Fucking AUDACITY to think they can take His zoro - he is very scary. i think it happened like 2-3 times the whole time they known each other and zoro got so turned on by luffys sudden terrifying possessiveness he considered turning into a hoe just to provoke it again. he didnt of course because happy luffy is still his most favorite luffy...)

bepo (in my head he doesnt let himself consider jealousy because if he does he will turn into a black hole of insecurity, suck into himself and simply perish. thought of being challenged is so terrifying he blocked it out of his mind like a character in a lovecraftian horror)

#anonymous #lawbepo #luzo #kidkiller

43 notes · View notes

theehorsepusssy · 2 months

Text

True Horsepussy Fact

I love cheese melted on almost everything. My favorite meal is leftovers topped with any cheese and microwaved for 60 seconds.

I have also very recently discovered my tolerance to lactose has become zero. Ever since I've gone back to being a cheesemonger, I've been doubled over in pain and it sounds like some kind of lovecraftian horror in my intestines.

#I would eat the shit out of Altoona Style Pizza #I always forget to eat a lactaid pill before I eat

26 notes · View notes

thekingofwinterblog · 2 months

Text

They dug too greedily and too deep

One line that has always bothered me from Tolkien's legendarium, is Gandalf's condemnation of the actions of the Longbeard Dwarves of Khazad-Dum, later known as Moria.

Moria was the grandest city in the history of middle earth, and not by a small margin either, a marvel unlile any other, creates by hard work, dedication, and industrious spirit. And unlike so, so many other great treasures and places in Tolkien's legendarium, there was no harm here. Nature was not destroyed, natural beauty was not despoiled, other people did not suffer for Durin's Folk to prosper.

Almost everywhere else, when tolkien critiques a place or people, he very clearly lays out the big failing underpinning of the society that led to its fall, decline or conflict.

The leaders and people of Gondolin refused to leave their beloved city, even when it had been long foretold that they would need to leave it, and so everyone but 800 died there along with the wonder of that hidden vale.

Their great hubris was a prioriticing beauty and home over their own kind, living people, who's very existence and lives was far, far more valuable, important and beautiful than Gondolin ever was.

Gondor's decline was in large part because it's numenorean population stopped focusing on the next generation, the future that actually mattered, in favor of venerating ancestors who were long since in the grave.

Same as gondolin, only replace their love for their material city, with their ancestors.

The humans, elves and dwarfs at Erebor almost murder each other because their leaders are all too proud to make a peaceful negotiation and sharing of the spoils, and would rather kill each other than give have to give anything beyond what they themselves has deemed as "enough".

This is a clear cut example of how greed almost led to complete catastrophy.

What happened to Moria though, at the surface doesnt seem to fit this.

They dug, and dug, and dug, until they awakened Durin's bane... But Durin's Bane was not a natural part of the misty Mountains. He was an intruder who came here long ago.

Yet the way Gandalf described the doom of their civilization as something that would always come if they went down, down Into the mountain, he makes it sound like this was always going to be the outcome.

From a logical perspectice it makes sense... But from a moral one? At the surface, the dwarves going down, rather than east, west, north or south, or up, doesnt seem like it should be any different. The motivation was the same, and if there was a natural sin or hubris for that, their greed would not be all that different if they went in any of the other directions. And yet endlessly going down was different somehow.

A moral failing that just like Gonfolin prioriticing their stone over their people, or Turin's pride and vainglory leading to the fall of Nargothrond, would lead their civilization to ruin.

The question of course, is why? Why was going down deemed a moral failing of the Dwarves by Gandalf and by extension Tolkien?

Well, the answer comes if you look at moria from the side, because if so, you realize the dwarves were tempting fate long, long before they ever stumbled unto Durin's bane.

Durin's bridge spans over an enormous chasm, so deep that the Dwarves have never reached the bottom, and down there at the bottom is an enormous subteranean cavern and lake.

And in this lake, and in the caverns directly around it, there are things. Nightmarish things, so terrifying, that two Maia, upon reaching this place, rather than finish their battle here, instead flee the place in terror, and make their way back to Khazad-Dum.

That on it's own speaks volumes of what sort of horrors these creatures must have been, but it goes beyond that.

The way Gandalf describes them, and the way he refuses to even talk about them in depth in the light of the sun brings to mind some lovecraftian horrors that lurks in the depths of the earth, where they gnaw at the very roots of the world.

And what little we do know of what these creatures must have been further emphasizes this, for they are clearly describes as Older than Sauron.

This all on it's own gives us a good idea of what these things are, for there is only one, single creature in the legendarium who seems to fit that bill, and she is definitly an eldrich abomination.

Ungoliant, the enormous spider abomination from the first age sticks out like a sore thumb, having powers that are completely outside of the usual magic system of the world, but far more disturbingly, she is described as coming "from the void" aka the primeal outer space as the most likely of her origins, and she crept into the world after it was made.

She, and she alone is the only creature other than Eru himself that fits the bill of "Older than Sauron" for Sauron was there at the worlds creation, but the void was from before even that.

It is very likely then, that Ungoliath was one of these "nameless things" whose kin, now during the third age delved beneath the world.

And there is more that suggests this to be the case. For Unholiath before she vanished from recorded history was last seen in a place in Beleriand called Nan Dungortheb, the valley of dreadful death, where in the mountains above the valley, she bred forth a race of monstrous, giant spiders, such as Shelob.

But she and her spawn was not the only ones who lived here. For along with these monstrosities, there lived men here. Clans of mysterious renegade men, who carved altars to strange, heathen, nameless gods, who were neither the Valar nor Morgoth, and who's very laughter from the mists, brought fear and terror, even into the likes of Turin Turambar.

And to further seal that there is a definite connection here, the northern part of the valley, and the mountains where these terrifying spiders and men dwelt, was one of the few olaces to survive the war of wrath, by the far the largest landmass that survived of Beleriand, when it sunk into the sea... As if some greater power ensured it would remain standing.

Today it is the island of Tol Fuin.

And for all we know, both the spiders, and the men who worshipped these terrible "gods" still live there.

In my opinion, it is probably an underground tunnel and cave system on this island, that if you go down, down, down far enough, and keep going, slowly, but surely, you will find your ways to the caverns beneath Khazad-Dum, and in ages past, when the Balrog of Morgoth fled the war of wrath, it was this passage he used to find a deep, deep hole to hid in, where the Valar could not find him. He has to have gotten there somewhere, and clearly there is a connection between the island and the things beneath Moria.

But with all of this in mind, with these horrible creatures under Khazad-Dum, why was it such a cardinal sin for the Dwarfs to dig deeper?

It was a horrific danger yes, and clearly it was an absolutely terrible idea, regardless of wheter or not there was a Balrog, but why was it it a moral sin where they should have known better?

Well, rhe answer comes if you take another look at the map. From Gandalf's description, one would assume that the great lake was miles, and miles and miles and miles beneath the lowest point the dwarves ever dug.

Theyre not though. That well that Pippin threw a rock down? It goes WAY deeper than where the abyss ends. And it was down beneath that well, that the Balrog seemes to have been when the fellowship came.

Allow me to repeat that. There was a well established, and probably old well in Moria, that went ALLLLL the the way down to these caverns where these nameless things roamed.

Then if we trace the route Gandalf and the Balrog made back to Khazad Dum, we don't know exactly where the two different carved systems of passages interconnected, but interconnect they did, and if that side passage that leads to the Redhorn Lodes is anything to go by, this was probably a very well known and used part of Moria.

Which, if that's true, it it completely changes the ballgame.

Because if so, the dwarves didn't just crack a wall one day, and then accidentally awaken a balrog. No, they dug down, down, down, until they stumbled unto these strange tunnels that were no their own... And kept going anyway, interconnecting them, delving deper, exploring, regardless of the fact that at some point, some Dwarves MUST have stumbled on to the creatures that lived here.

And yet they kept going. They found these tunnels leqding to eldrich abominations, and rather than sealing them, and going the opposite way, they just kept going, following the Mithril lodes down, down, down into the depths, down to the mountain roots, heedless of the obvious danger, all in the search of more and more Mithril... Right up until they awoke something that would follow them back up through the tunnels, they themselves made.

They dug much too greedily... and far, FAR too deep. No they kept digging, long, long , long after the point they should have stopped, the point where all signs and common sense would have told them to go back and never go this way again.

That was the sin of Khazad-Dum. That was their greed and folly, and blinded by greed, they ignored all sense and wisdom in the pursuit of Mithril beyond down the level that was their birthright, beyond the mountain's depths and into the roots of the world, where nameless horrors lie... And one of these horrors followed them home.

#tolkien's legendarium #lord of the rings #moria #khazad dum #khazad dûm #balrog #durin's bane #meta #theory #nameless things #ungoliant

31 notes · View notes

inkykeiji · 9 months

Note

Mint green with flawless Tomura

prompt: mint green series: flawless au warnings: reader likes mint chocolate chip ice cream, hints of a toxic relationship words: 510

“I don’t know how you can eat that,” you say, nose scrunching up. “My teeth hurt just looking at it.”

“Don’t look at it, then,” he snaps, the lines of his lips dyed a syrupy cyan, confection liquified by the heat of his mouth.

But you just can’t help it, the monstrosity on a sugared cone continually drawing your eye no matter how hard you try to ignore it, looming in your peripheral vision like some sort of Lovecraftian horror.

It’s three scoops tall, with funfetti birthday cake as it’s base, speckled with colourful sprinkles and ribbons of icing running through the vanilla cream, followed by bubblegum cotton candy, pink rippled with teal, and topped with cookie monster; a heaping scoop of blue ice cream, laden with chunks of cookie dough and topped with a slice of a chocolate chip cookie, stuck in the cream.

It’s a cavity waiting to happen. It’s several cavities waiting to happen, and you wince reactively, features twisting in phantom pain, teeth stinging. His tongue slithers from between his gooey lips, slick muscle tainted some nightmarish colour, and curls vindictively around his ice cream, gathering a mountainous glob and chewing it, a responding hiss inhaled through your clenched teeth.

“You’re just weak,” Tomura continues, eyes narrowed. “And I don’t know how you can eat that.”

Ruby eyes stare pointedly at the drops of mint green ice cream dribbling over your knuckles, the icy treat melting rapidly in the July sun.

“It really isn’t that bad,” your tongue darts out to lick at the dollops of sugar smeared across your fingers, doing little in the way of cleaning it up, saliva watering it down to a translucent turquoise, sticky and shimmering, pooling in the gaps of your fingers.

“It really is that bad, and I can’t believe I’m dating a psychopath.”

“A psychopath?”

“Only psychos eat mint chip ice cream,” he reasons simply, shrugging a shoulder. “No sane person enjoys mint in their chocolate.”

Bubbles of incredulous laughter barrel up your throat, warm and tingling as they pop on your tongue, and he joins in, chuckling, his gaze mollifying beneath your amusement. His teeth are stained blue from the artificial dye, giving his smile an almost uncanny characteristic to it, eerie and wolfish.

“Oh? And is that a fact?”

“It is a fact,” he confirms. “Ask Kurogiri.”

You can’t help but giggle again at how direly serious he is, as if Kurogiri truly is the end-all, be-all wealth of knowledge in this life, his information gospel, his words final. You suppose in Tomura’s world, he is.

It’s cute, in Tomura’s trademark endearingly entitled kind of way, that he’s so staunchly confident in his statements; so sure that he’s correct, so sure that his custodian would confirm the validity of his claims in an instant.

“A sugar fiend and a psychopath,” you sigh wistfully, resting your head on his shoulder. “What a pair we make.”

“Could be worse.”

“Worse? How?”

“We could both like mint chip.”

“Oh, yeah. Then we’d be real menaces to society.”

authors note: tomu definitely refuses to kiss you until you have, as he so eloquently put it, rid your mouth of that horrid mint flavour, shoving various different candies and sodas at you in a desperate attempt to eradicate the offensive taste.

#shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x you #shigaraki tomura x reader #shigaraki tomura x you #a quick short one!!!! super cute!!!! love flawless tomu so much #hope ur having a fab tuesday anon bb #stay safe n drink water!#flawless universe #inky.bb #clari gets mail

77 notes · View notes

tinyvesselhearts · 1 year

Text

What Fear Does to People (Egon x You)

It's Chapter 8 of my series Thing Is but can be read as a standalone.

Rating: Mature (descriptions of violence) Pairing: Egon Spengler x You (no Y/N) Others: "Platonic" bed-sharing, pre-relationship, gentle touching, hurt/comfort, ghosthunting, Lovecraftian monsters, Ray's recovering from a bust and he's not currently at the station

(also: a reference to GB game. If you know, you know)

It’s roughly 2 a.m. when it starts.

Egon wakes up with a shiver. He’s freezing. A gust of wind runs through his clothes and that in itself is enough to put him on guard. Thing is, all the windows are closed, both of you are covered with quilts and there’s no tangible cause for the cold. No rational excuse, unless…

With mounting suspicion, he takes a look around. It’s pitch black and he can barely make out the edges of Ray’s empty cot. Warmth of the linen seems to hit him all at once, stark contrast to what he’s just felt on his skin. Disconcerting. Eerie, maybe— but he’s calm nonetheless. This is how those entities operate. The Collective: all kinds of eldritch horrors. They’re playing hide- and- seek until their victims can’t keep their wits about them anymore and he— as a devoted scientist and a Ghostbuster (yes, the very same)— is here to teach a lesson.

You’re unabashedly curled up against his side. Safe, unbothered, sound asleep. The attacker must be considering you innocuous enough, likely due to your comparative vulnerability, and is focused on Egon. Perfect. He lays his head back but doesn’t close his eyes— he’s vigilant— alert— ready.

The thing about Collective Unconscious is that despite being aware of its modus operandi, human brain is pretty pathetic in comparison. Its innate susceptibility to fear, specifically. During his years of Psychology, Egon would repeatedly hear that fear and love were the strongest of all human instincts, as they made the whole body receptive and focused in an instant. Later he’d find out that’s true about fear. He has no first- hand data on the latter— he supposes due to the troubled relationship with his parents— but Peter and Ray have done enough stupid things out of affection to confirm the thesis. Since Venkman’s incident with the tank a few years back, Egon hasn’t questioned love or its impact on a subject’s decision- making process. Or common sense. Or mating choices, just to be clear.

With that in mind, Egon knows what to expect. Diminished control of his body. Flinches. Unconditioned reflexes. He is determined to distinguish between real, physical stimuli and paranoia- induced ploys. A moment to cool off, analyze and conclude before acting on impulses. That’s the plan. Right. It’s easy in theory.

A distant bang echoes in the garage. It resembles a metal tool— a wrench, maybe?— but the sound is followed by nothing else, so Egon decides it’s nothing but a figment of imagination. Until—

“What was it?”

He leans back. He can’t see your face properly but enough to notice your eyes are open.

“…Oh. You’ve heard it too?”

“It’s not like… Ray got discharged in the middle of the night and sauntered back here, is it?”

There’s another loud bang. Nobody moves but both of you are very much awake.

Egon finally speaks.

“I’ll check it.”

“Uh, okay, okay”, you whisper. “What do I do?”

“Stay here and try to sleep. I’ll handle it.”

“…what?”

“Don’t argue. There’s no time. I’ll take care of whatever that is. I’m a professional, listen to me and I’ll make sure you’re safe. That’s what I’m here for.”

“Yes, but the Ghostbusters are a team. Now you’re on your own. I’m not leaving you! What if—”

“No time”, he mutters, putting the proton pack on. “Stay here. You were so tired you almost passed out on the couch. Do I need to remind you that you put my shirt on backwards?”

“My mom says it’s good fortune!”

“I’m serious”, he states and switches the backpack on. “Eldritch horrors are different than regular spirits. They harm both physically and emotionally. Lack of proper rest weakens the cognitive functions and you may be a real, tangible danger to yourself— and to me. Especially if you’re not familiar with their strategy.”

Egon slides into a pair of slippers. It’s not the perfect job attire but it’ll have to do— he stupidly left his combat boots in the locker downstairs. Maybe when he slides down to the garage, he’ll manage to change.

He takes the final look at you because you’re awfully quiet. Exhausted and hopeless, he guesses. He’d appreciate some backup but the boys aren’t here and you’re in no position to fill the role now. When you ignored his precaution the last time (while fully capable and well- rested), you ended up wounded in his lab. What you’re facing here can do much, much more damage.

Egon briefly considers escorting you out of the premises altogether—just in case— but then, how could he ensure your safety if the spirit decides to leave after you?

His chest is heavy when he speaks.

“If anything suspicious happens in this room, call me immediately. Shout, if you have to.”

“Okay.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Alright”, he shoots you a look. “Stay here.”

You nod. It’s weak, devoid of conviction and Egon wants to emphasize how crucial it is for you to stay— but another loud bang comes from the reception area and there’s no time to waste.

Egon turns around and scuttles towards the pole. He slides down. Lands with a loud thump, doubled by the flip- flops and takes a slow, cautious look around.

He’s quick to spot the source of the noise: it’s a loose pipe lying on the floor. It might not be currently moving but it sure as heck was just a moment ago— Ray doesn’t leave spare parts scattered around the floor. He has his secret dirty stash for that.

Egon takes a long, wary look around. Nothing’s moving, except for gentle flow of a dirty cloth drying on the heater. He pulls out the PKE meter and glances at the readings. Whatever this thing is, it’s here. It may be invisible but it’s here. Lurking. Leering. Hidden in the shadow, a predator on the hunt. Any moment now.

He doesn’t even manage to slide the device back into the pocket when a slimy tentacle shoots at him.

It’s massive. Heavy and slick. Whatever creature it belongs to, it must be huge and, uh, incredibly unusual. The dissonance is almost incomprehensible: to see a wet, marine limb which acts very much alive here— in the garage of New York’s finest— in a place devoid of water (well, save for a tap).

Egon screams. He drops the PKE meter and reaches for the charged rod. A proton stream lashes outwards with full power but before it catches the giant limb, it’s already gone— slithered into the shadows, shrouded in shade.

A few things to note right away: one, the ghost is huge. Two, it’s unlike any other they’ve seen before. Three, the sheer amount of mucus suggests a healthy dose of Marsh genes. Four, it’s out of sight and apparently good at staying there. Right. All Egon has to do is pretend to be unsuspecting, so that the ghost—

“Yeah, so I’ve done some thinking and I can’t do this.”

He whips his head around. There you are: in his crumpled shirt still inside- out, peeking through the hole in the ceiling. You’re in the middle of putting on your socks.

He can’t with you. He can’t.

“What did I tell you? Don’t come down here!”

“Oops?”

“No”, he yells. “I told you to STAY! Stay! How many times—”

“Sure, and pretend your screaming flows like a nursery rhyme.”

You clutch the pole with both hands, pull yourself close and slide down. Egon curses under his breath. Shite. Shite. Of course you wouldn’t listen. Psychology classes pop up in his mind again— the most powerful instincts— the things people do for fear…

“I’m here now. Poof. Too late”, you say. “Whatever happens is on me.”

He stifles a groan. It’s a lost cause. The stairs are at the opposite end of the garage. Escorting you there would take way too long and expose you to a stealthy attack and— well, he doesn’t suppose forcing you to climb the pole is on the table.

“Alright”, he decides. “Grab the pack.”

You manage to put it on yourself. He helps you to switch it on. You huff, smile and turn to him.

“Which trap?”

“Regular.”

“On it!”

You dash towards Ecto- 1. Just as Egon suspected: the enormous tentacle emerges from the shadow and aims.

Egon shoots. The proton stream reaches the ghost this time. The current wraps around its shape. The ectoplasmic limb wrestles and yanks but he holds it in place: it’s your turn to capture it before it rips the shackle.

“Now!”

You slide the contraption right under the ghost. Set the pedal. Step. Open. Wait.

Intense glow fills the room. Egon navigates the tentacle downwards but for some inexplicable reason the trap doesn’t seem to swallow its prey. It tries— sucks some ectoplasmic residue, hoovers up some of its slime— but the monster doesn’t get pulled in, as if it was… attached to something?

A roar echoes through the garage and everything happens at once: the trap closes, proton stream breaks and the ghost dissipates again.

You’re the first to whisper.

“…Is it…?”

“No”, Egon exhales. “It’s around here somewhere.”

“So… The trap didn’t work? Why?”

“Apparently it’s not just a ghost. It must be a complex being with some sort of material form. We may need to overpower it in a more… traditional sense.”

“Chain? Wires? Chandelier? Forget- me rod? A random hydraulic pipe of oblivion?”

Your flowery language is both a blessing and a curse. That translates into a perfect bait. Keep talking.

“So you’re opting for brute force?” Egon asks and that’s all it takes.

“Uh, I thought you were suggesting. I’d try another approach. If that guy is a marine cephalopod he may have a hard time adjusting to open air. Maybe dragging it out of the drainage will do the trick, right? Instead of streaming it, we could—"

Your mouth is still open when the giant tentacle shoots in your general direction. You let out a loud shriek and manage to evade— albeit barely— and even though Egon assumed using you as a lure would be the practical choice, he, for once, can’t stand the sight of it.

The proton rod won’t help any. Hitting you is a real threat— and it’s way more dangerous for you than the ghost. He’s about to resort to brute force but the monster steps out of the shadows and Egon can’t believe his eyes.

It’s human.

Oh, that makes things significantly easier.

He reaches into his pocket, pulls out a tiny bottle and charges.

A hit from behind may be cheap but it works every time. Egon swings the uncharged proton rod right into the creature’s head. It squeals, unwraps the tentacles protruding from its sleeve, then snarls and shakes its head. Egon has a few seconds to take in the entire picture: three gargantuan ectoplasmic limbs (a developing ghostly sickness?) have taken over the poor guy’s left arm. He seems dazed: his eyes are foggy, droll seeps through his teeth and for a split second Egon wonders if there’s any spiritual cancerous disease he’s failed to discover.

The hybrid lifts its arms and aims at you again, full force. Before you have the chance to scream, Egon slides right in front of you, pushes you aside and splashes some of the bottle’s contents on the monster’s face.

It howls and retracts.

“…What is that?!” You manage.

“An old trick. Handy when possessed individuals fail to be cooperative.”

Egon spots the dirty cloth still hanging on the heater. It should be dry enough. Easy to soak. Perfect.

He dashes for it, grabs it and presses it against the bottle, pouring a decent amount of the liquid on it. Heavy drops of the potent solution spill around. Tiny wet lines trickle down his gloves. He takes a deep breath, holds it and looks at the monster. It snarls. Then charges.

Egon isn’t a great fighter but he dodges just fine. He slides under the tentacles, turns around and hops on the hybrid’s back. It screeches— then stops— wet, throaty sounds stifled by the rug in Egon’s hand. He clutches the monster’s throat, squeezes it with an elbow and turns to you.

“A common tranquilizer. Learnt it during my coroner years”, he grunts, pressing the pad into its face. “You might want to find something to tie him with.”

You’re awfully quiet, staring at him blankly— but you nod. There’s a spare, long chain in Ray’s stash (nobody knows what he uses it for) so you take it and approach the scuffle with apprehension. The hybrid’s movements slow down but it’s still trying to break out of Egon’s unrelenting clutch.

“Thank you”, he says, composed as ever. “You’re doing great.”

It takes a few more seconds. The monster’s muscles eventually give in and it slides down on the floor. Its arms loosen. Eyes close. Its head hits the garage floor.

For a long moment nobody moves.

“Yo”, you whisper. Egon looks at you, then at the limp body beneath him and takes a step back.

“Sedated. Perfect.”

“What now?”

“Let’s tie it up.”

Egon reaches for the chain you’re holding. He wraps the creatures torso (making it extra tight and unnecessarily confusing around the arms— safety first) and you take care of its legs. The constraint turns out pretty solid and, most importantly, impossible to slip through by the tentacles. Once you make sure it’s sealed, each of you grabs a loose end of the chain and proceed to drag the dead weight across the floor.

It’s not exactly Buckingham Palace level of service anyway— not like you owe anybody standards— but when the monster’s back slams against a concrete pillar, you flinch.

“Oh no!— Oh dear, it hurt him—”

“It’s just tried to kill you. You do understand that, right?”

“Sort of”, you groan. “I really wanted it to warm up to us. We’ve sort of killed our chances at cooperation.”

“Don’t worry. It isn’t capable of drawing conclusions in this state.”

Egon pulls the chain and ties the creature around the pillar in an ungallant knot. It’s not his proudest work but a staple of initiative nonetheless. Links are sealed. Hostage is secured. It’s all under control.

He’s still focused on triple- checking the locks when you speak.

“Egon, why did you…?” You rub your hands together. ��You… It was dangerous. Reckless. You don’t do reckless, Egon Spengler. Overcomplicated, yes, way too optimized, yes. But this, whatever you were thinking, was almost careless! You… You could’ve—”

He looks upwards. You seem anxious but you’re alive and well. He doesn’t understand.

“I could’ve what?”

“Well, I mean, you stuck your neck out for me. It could’ve been bad”, you gulp. ‘You could’ve been hurt.”

“I wasn’t though, was I?”

Egon’s at a loss. He watches you closely. You’re both okay and that’s all that matters. It’s not the first time he’s done something stupid out of fear— ah, fear, the bypass of rational thought— the Psychology classes again…

You stay silent for a moment, then sigh.

“I’ll call Peter.”

“Yes. No. Wait.” He frowns, takes off his gloves and approaches you. “Check- up first.”

“…This again? Seriously?!” You huff. “It’s, like, the third time this week! If something happened, I’d tell you immediately. I’m fine, Egon! I’m fine, you should be focused on yourself, you’re the one who went berserk for some reason I can’t wrap my head around—"

No bruises, no scratches. He touches your face, looks you in the eyes.

“It’s a precaution. I’ll make it quick. Tell me if anything hurts.”

His fingers skim over your features— cheeks, nose, forehead, temples. Your voice catches. Breath gets shuddered, eyes go frantic and cheeks are still awfully warm but it’s a natural response. Egon’s expected that much. His thumb runs across your lip, even though it looks untouched and there’s no justifiable reason to examine it closely. He just… can’t resist. Nor does he want to, really. There’s still room for excuses which get half- woven in his head but their seams are loose and each sentence falls apart before it leaves his mouth.

Egon knows he lingers too long. Needs to pull back. He doesn’t understand why his body won’t listen.

The tip of his thumb rests at the corner of your lips, then moves on to another gentle caress. Then again. And again, until you sigh. Warm breath tickles his skin. He tries it once more to check if you allow him— and you do— more than that— you melt into the touch, heat radiating from your skin, breathing deep— receptive, indulgent, responsive.

This is… inebriating.

“…You seem okay”, he concludes. “No injuries?”

“No. You?”

“None”, he says, letting his hands hang loose again. “I’ll run a few tests. Call Venkman, tell him we’ve got a subject. He should come immediately.”

“Okay. But tell me what’s going on.”

“…We’ve just caught an anomaly. As I said.”

“Not that. I see you. I notice things”, you say cautiously but he makes sure his face is as blank as ever. “You’re usually so collected. What happened?”

Egon doesn’t think it needs explanation. It’s obvious. Should be, at least. He frowns and says:

“I don’t want my friends to get hurt.”

“…After Ray?”

He nods.

A pair of soft hands brush against his jaw and in a moment— before he’s able to fully process what’s happening— his face dips down, guided by the delicate touch and you gently place your lips near his chin.

It’s a simple gesture. Gentle touch. A shadow of a kiss, lighter than Dana’s, nothing more than a brush of hot skin but— Lord, help him— he shivers— it’s so much more— it’s everything— it’s overwhelming.

“Ray is fine”, you whisper, looking at him again. “You’ll see him tomorrow, remember? It’s almost over.”

“…Again, please.”

“You’ll see him tomorrow...”

“No. Not this, the…”

It takes you a second but you get it and breathe out a laugh. Brush his jaw again, then wrap your hands around his neck and pull him into a tight hug.

Oh. Oh.

His arms tentatively reach for your back and once they’re there— recognize the texture of his shirt (outlining your shape in a way he declines to register)— and he lets down his guard a bit. Tightens his grasp. Sinks into the moment. He lets his hands really feel you for the first time since the both of you’ve started accepting proximity and it frightens him beyond belief— it’s soft, welcoming, disarming and pure— so his eyes close, stiff muscles let go— anxiety abates— he’s out of breath— but all you do is hold him close, no doubt, no shame. You’re as open and affectionate as ever, a salve for his mind, a missing link. You fit right here. He’s never known a feeling like this, not even with his family.

That’s something new: his fear for your life instigates a soothing response. Highly unusual. He’ll have to write it down for future reference.

“Could we include this into the list of things we do? Under… particular circumstances, of course?”

“Sure. Whenever you need it.”

You stay like that for a moment. It’s quiet and dark. Egon relishes every breath tickling the nape of his neck, every slight fidget against his chest, every movement— and when you finally take a step back, his chest feels almost hollow. As if it’s just tasted peace and had to let go.

“You should also add a point in which you listen to me in case of immediate danger”, he says. “In a bold, red, permanent marker, preferably.”

You smile. It’s playful. Cheeky. Beautiful. Whatever anxiety you’d felt a moment ago, evaporated.

“I did cooperate, doofus! You won’t find a more flexible squire than myself.”

“Flexible tends to mean obedient”, he raises an eyebrow. “When I say you fall back, you do.”

“When you require assistance, I help! That’s literally in my agreement. I signed the paper, you have no say in this, Spengler.”

“Spenglers are a team. And, when faced with danger, have to be unanimous.”

“You’re right!” You give him your finger guns and turn to the reception desk. “See? We’ve just agreed and it’s that easy!”

He smirks.

“Call Venkman.”

“Ai, ai, Sir!”

He watches you pick up the phone and dial Peter’s number. A few beeps later your voice fades into a mumble of funny noises.

When he turns towards the hybrid, he notices another curious thing: the tentacles seem to deflate and seep into a bile of ectoplasmic goo.

He must take a sample immediately. Ray is going to love this.

#ghostbusters #egon spengler x reader #egon spengler #egon spengler x you #fanfiction #egon spengler imagines #self insert #ghostbusters fanfiction #ao3 #harold ramis #self ship #self indulgent #happy easter

112 notes · View notes