demonhuntersuggestion

[demonhuntersuggestion]

Good afternoon to autistic witches, vampires older than America, pyromaniacs, writers, people who do blood magic, tea enthusiasts, depressed librarians, ex-boyfriends, nonbinary people with three-letter names, people recovering from trauma, southerners, amnesiacs, abuse survivors, wonderland enthusiasts, people who dress up for everything, demon-hunters, polyamorous people, glasses-wearers, people who have killed, people who have come back to life, and ghosts at large!

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The woods are lovely, dark and deep 🍃🍂

[demonhuntersuggestion]

Aurelio inhaled. Exhaled.

Pulled the trigger. Bang, his rifle sounded, and the demon dropped dead. 

He breathed. Inhale. Three little demon heads turned to look at him The ugly little fucker had friends.

Exhale. He pulled back the bolt and loaded in a fresh round. Fluidly, unconsciously. It was muscle memory by now; he’d been doing this for years. Several years. 

Don’t need to be a demon killer to handle a gun.

His dad taught him how to use them--back when he was the man’s only daughter and his dad liked her a little better because she still could’ve become something respectable when she grew up. 

Aurelio learned how to shoot hunting rabbits. Tiny little shits, harmless, but hard enough to hit that it was so satisfying whenever he managed to pop one. Dad taught him how to skin and cook them, too--because what’s more badass than hunting and eating your own dinner? Hell yeah.

Hunting was in his blood. Shooting was in his blood. He didn’t even need Azzy’s help with it. 

Bang. Bang. Bang. 

Three little demon heads popped in a row. 

Ha. Rabbits. Look at me now, dad. Get fucked. 

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The first thing he felt was cold pavement against his cheek. 

“Whatthefuuuuuuck?” he whispered.

Something responded, You were finally coming to.

Aurelio cracked open an eye, taking in his surroundings. “Why are we in the basement?” 

Had to drop your body before you were fully conscious. 

“You couldn’t have dropped me in a bed or something?”

He didn’t get a reply. 

“Alright, fine.”

Aurelio groaned, struggling up to his feet. Or, more accurately, his knees. Standing would take a little longer to get back into. 

By some miracle, he wasn’t feeling any pain anymore--just intensely lethargic. Almost like he hadn’t moved in-

“How long was I out?” 

A month or two. I don’t know exactly. 

“You don’t know?” 

You’ll find the passage of time feels different when you’re immortal. Aurelio could almost feel the snarky glare. 

“Fine, fair enough.” Aurelio stretched. Started to get some feeling back in his body. 

“So... I miss anything interesting?” 

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((oof))

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why is this so fucking funny to me

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Is this a mood or what

[demonhuntersuggestion]

His are the dark, lonely places of the world; the hidden reaches of the forest, the decrepit and abandoned houses, havens made safe by weary souls and determined runaways.

Hers are the warm houses, the gentle hearthfires, and the caretakers who stoked them, breathing comfort and safety into a well-loved home.

His are the lost, alone and forgotten, those who need a patron to watch over them, and keep them safe.

Hers are the homely, the loved, the enchanted. Those who built homes from houses and weaved safety and love into their magics.

Pray to him for solace, safety and aid. Pray to her for comfort, magic and a place to call “home.”

Pray to them both, if you will, for they will hear your call, and they will always answer.

Together.

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He kneels in front of it. “Where is the writer?”

He enters, but there's something... different, about him. Something off. Something wrong -- not that she'd notice. (~demonhunter)

The second he takes a step into the dark room it’s clear that, something happened. Claw marks liter the floor. The silence that fills the room is the kind of silence before something pounces from the dark. Though in this case, it’s unclear if any life remains in this usually quaint house.

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Me writing a very niche au, that caters to mostly me(and possibly eight other people)

[demonhuntersuggestion]

i walk into starbucks and order a pumpkin spice latte with 13 shots of espresso. i tell the barista that i intend to transcend humanity and become a god. i ask for no whip cream