#NO SELF CONTROL FOR TW

[lover-of-mine]

[creative-clawmarks]

It doesn't matter if you aren't hungry. The parasite demands a predator.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

KO-FI

[uncanny-tranny]

Whenever people who are entrenched in diet culture talk about how terrible chemicals are, I just want to whip out this:

[woozi]

SEVENTEEN's general leader

[cloversnstrawberries]

platonic!yandere!alastor & 1950s!teen!gn!reader ! ! [chap. one]

series masterlist !

description; You know where you were, and there was no kidding yourself on it. After taking in your surroundings, you stood from where you'd woken up and headed out of the patch of stinging nettle. You didn't know what your plan was, but it definitely wasn't to get stalked and subsequently chased by a very tall, inhuman deer-man.

additional notes; woo!! this chapter introduces alastor, but it's pretty much just at the end. reader does not have a good time. have you ever been stung by a stinging nettle? i haven't, but i saw my brother get stung on his leg by one and. and it's such a funny yet terrifying sight to see a 6'1 20 y/o scream like a banshee and run around like a mad man because he brushed up against a plant. it's not fun (he told me so himself). i hope you enjoy, i, once again, had a lot of fun writing this!! there might be typos to begin with, but i'm usually much better at catching them after publishing fics (i don't know how it works D:) so i'll probably be coming in and out to fix them :]]

warnings; general terror, anxiety, isolation, lots of religious references (enough to be tagged)/mentions of sunday school, mentions of death + death of friends, grief, reader is terrified for their life, gratuitous use of symbolism done by yours truly, being 'hunted', Alastor is referred to an 'it' (this will change in the next chapter when he introduces himself), and let me know if i missed any major ones !! :D

w/c; 3.0k

You just sat there for a while, looking around. There was no trace of whatever had killed you, whether you’d succumbed to the blood or the unspecified brain injury you definitely sustained-- there was no lingering lightheadedness or nausea.

Physically, you felt… fine. Your mouth felt crowded to the point of discomfort, your hands felt quite heavy because of the claws now adorning the ends of them--

And you’re pretty sure you’d landed on your tail. Yes, you have a tail. At first, you couldn't believe, that you'd fall down into hell and suddenly gain a tail; but you’d shifted around and pulled the large, furry mass from where it’d been pinned underneath you.

There was no beating around the bush with it, you had a tail now; and you were pretty damn accepting of it.

…Or you were just too tired to care. Not physically so, but mentally. You could hardly believe it, that in such a short amount of time, so much had changed.

One moment, you’d been happily hanging out with your friends, and the next you were in a car accident, hunted down the spoiled brat that caused it (because God knows he would’ve gotten away with it on account of his filthy rich folks) and slaughtered him.

With that in mind, you completely understood why exactly you were in hell, surrounded by a bunch of stinging nettles-- you looked down to your left, having felt something brush against your hand. It didn’t feel like stinging nettle at all.

When you looked down, you saw a small patch of 4 Zinnias. One was yellow, another orange, then a hot pink, and the last a bright cherry red.

You don’t know what it was about those flowers, but something stirred deep in your in response. Those were their colors, you’d realized. And maybe it was just one big coincidence, a fluke that the yellow was the exact shame shade of the cardigan Lorraine had been wearing. Or that the orange reminded you of Rudy’s carrot-top hair, or that the hot pink was exactly the color of Marnie’s cat eye-framed glasses—

Or that the red was awfully too close to the color of Matty’s Chevy convertible that he’d so lovingly named “Sheila”.

It was silly that spotting the flowers was what got you to stand, to finally get off your ass and leave the field you’d woken up in. But no matter how silly the reasoning was, at least you finally stood, right?

You considered being slow with it-- it'd be leagues safer then just yanking yourself upright and immediately heading out. But you weren't really thinking clearly on that end-- you just wanted away from the flowers.

It was stupid. It was stupid, the unease you felt because of those-- but something in the back of your mind reminded you about unit you'd done in home economics the year prior.

You don't know why it was required by the curriculum to learn how to pick just the right flowers for a gift (in the case of the boys in the class), or to decorate your home with (regarding the girls, which you thought was ridiculous that there was a separation between the two, but you could do nothing about it). You thought it was a little silly, but your teacher at least tried to make it entertaining.

She included a mini-history lesson, something that brought back some of the history parts of the etiquette unit done the previous semester. The Victorian language of flowers,

You couldn't remember what zinnia's represented, but you don't remember it being anything good. You think it's something relating to grief, and at that point you put a hard stop to anymore prying into the subject.

When you stood, you stumbled a bit. For a split second, fear shot through you-- were you still affected by the brain injury? did that carry over, and you just hadn't noticed until you stood suddenly?-- but those fears were replaced with annoyance at what you figured out to be the actual cause.

Weight distribution and whatnot, you weren't used to your ears being on top of your head instead of the sides-- so that messed with your balance just as much (or perhaps even more) than having to readjust for the added weight of your tail.

Luckily, you caught yourself before tripping face first into the stinging nettle right next to you. You'd put your foot down quick, just a hair away from brushing up against the plant.

"Shit!" You tried not to swear too often, but you felt like it was appropriate for the situation. You were quick to take a few steps back, relieved that you hadn't touched the plant.

One time, when you and your friends had been at sleepaway camp right before the start of freshman year, you and your friends had came across a patch of stinging nettle, smaller than the one you stood in now-- but still pretty sizable.

Rudy, ever the class clown, said he bet 10 bucks that he would jump into the nettle. Matty tried to discourage him, and Marnie had already preemptively turned her gaze away and covered her ears, readying for when he'd start screaming his head off (and boy, did he scream).

Lorraine was always the smartest, most level headed of the group. Though, at that point, she wasn't as used to Rudy's antics as the rest of you were; she took him up on the bet, thinking it'd make her an easy 10 dollars. That Rudy would chicken out.

He took off his shirt and jumped into the patch. It was awful, he'd jumped up almost immediately and started running like a bat out of hell-- he screamed so loud and so blood-curdlingly that camp counselors barreled to where your group was, afraid that someone had broken a leg or something of the sort.

When they got one look at the angry red welts on Rudy's back, they rolled their eyes-- you're sure they'd encountered more than a few risk takers that'd done close to same thing as Rudy had.

Rudy was always one to play up things for the laughs-- but that was one of the few times you were absolutely certain he wasn't doing anything to make it seem worse. It looked awful.

You weren't too keen on trying it for yourself, thank you very much. Eyeing the plant wearily, you made sure to steer as clear as possible of it as much as possible.

While you'd been sitting, you'd noticed a path right near where your head had been laying. You turned that way, and looked at it-- real closely, this time around.

It was pretty narrow, all things considered, but it was doable. It stretched on pretty far, but-- and this might be perspective, but it didn't seem that way-- it looked like it gradually widened about half a mile down.

Sure, it wasn't ideal, but this was hell, after all. You'd take what you could get, and you really didn't want to stay in this patch for any longer. You didn't know if hell had a day/night cycle, but if it did, and it turned to night-- you're sure that wouldn't spell anything but trouble for you.

Honestly, you could've probably walked straight forward-- like a normal person-- but for some reason, that still felt too close for comfort.

You felt something brush against your leg, and it didn't hurt-- but you didn't know how fast a nettle's sting settles in, so you snapped your head down and--

Huh.

Your tail-- which, you knew that, realistically speaking, it would move. Considering it's just another limb-- was swinging in agitation, and you hadn't meant to do it.

With a frown, you came up with a quick solution. You scooped it up with one arm and held it close to your chest with both. Then, not wanting to waste another second in this open field, you turned sideways and started cautiously making your way down the path, being painfully careful as to where you put your feet, or if you felt even a teensy bit off balance.

By the time you got to where the path widened-- thank God, you thought; even though He definitely had nothing to do with this strike of unexpected luck-- you took a chance and turned, no longer feeling the need to move sideways.

Most of the time, your eyes were focused whole-heartedly on the ground. Tracking where your feet were, if the path started narrowing again-- all of that fun stuff. But you made sure to look up a couple times, and look behind you as well. Just to be careful.

You don't know how long you'd been walking for. It must've been a while, probably a couple miles-- the sky was getting darker (and you mentally noted that hell did in fact have a day/night cycle. isn't that just swell?) and your feet were starting to hurt.

It felt like a miracle, that right as you started to get a little reckless with your footing-- hunger, exhaustion, and discomfort being one of the main sources of you being less and less cautious as the trek through the field wore on and on and on-- the end of the path was within sight,

However, it was a forest. Not a smart idea to go into-- even if it was day, the large trees would probably block any light from filtering through the leaves. You were certain it'd be awful in the dark, and all you had was the clothes on your back.

It was getting cold-- which surprised you. The temperature before was far from pleasant, it was what you'd expect from hell more or less. Scorching, to put it lightly; but it didn't affect you too badly-- maybe on account of your new biology made to better suit Hell's climate--

But it was cooling down, and it was cooling down fast. A shiver ran up your spine, a soft breeze turning into raging, cold wind that seemed to blast you from every which way.

In Sunday school, they didn't talk about hell much; it scared the kids, the idea that them, or a loved one, could go to such an awful place. It was a necessary evil when it came to discussing anything relating to God, however.

This... hell, it had to be hell-- felt worse then what you'd learn about. You've been here for hours, and have encountered not one person. Not one thing, nothing but plants and the fear of expectation.

This can't be all there is, rang out in your mind. It was terrifying, that hell seemed so similar to your time alive. A day/night cycle, temperatures that changed (even if it was from uncomfortably hot to uncomfortably cold).

As you thought about it more, you decided that maybe this was hell, your own personal one. You'd lived your life as someone who held friends and family in high regard-- you much preferred a night in than out, always opting for a cinema over a drive-in movie; but bending to your friend's wills if they so demanded.

To be stuck out here, in an unfamiliar field where there was no sign of someone-- something else, no trace that there had ever really been anyone else-- with by far one of your least favorite-- if not the least favorite-- plant being all your eye could see.

When you made it to the edge of the forest-- a nice little 'peace zone' between the nettles behind you and the foreboding, dark forest ahead of you, where there was just grass. Nothing more, nothing less-- you contemplated not going in.

Maybe... Maybe instead of a one-size fits all fire-and-brimstone, closed in with a bleeding stone ceiling and chains hanging down, the sound of screaming, tormented and damned souls being the only thing you could hear-- it was much more... personalized.

That seemed so, so much scarier than anything you learned in Sunday school. If you got a choice, you think you'd pick the other, only because it'd be predictable. You'd know what to expect.

And now, and you stand in front of the daunting forest ahead-- you find yourself torn between two worlds. On one hand, you can just stay here in this field. It's safer, if only by a little-- because you've been here for the past however-many hours, and not much had happened (save for a few close calls with the nettles you were carefully skirting around),

Still, staying out in the open didn't bode well in your mind. Going into the forest wasn't any better, it was just as scary as the nettle patch-- except for the fact that it was far more unfamiliar.

You must've stood there for at least 10, maybe even 20, minutes before finally making your decision. It was getting colder and colder-- you looked behind you, and despite how freezing it'd become, there was no frost covering the plants behind you.

Right. So, no 'hell freezing over' kind of situation. The temperature was just always set 100, whether that be in one direction or the other. Fine-- that's fine, i can deal with that you told yourself, crossing your arms over your chest to try and conserve what warmth you can,

Before stepping into the forest. The path had let right to an opening, a trail leading through the woods as well. You had full intention to follow it the whole way through, not wanting to stray off if possible.

You kept looking behind you, seeing the dim moonlight coming from the entrance growing further and further away-- when it was no longer visible, you swallowed hard and focused your gaze ahead.

This was fine.

You can deal with this.

This is just dandy, swell-- amazing! You're fine, you're okay. You aren't hurt, there's nothing behind you, there's nothing watching you, nothing hunting you despite what the deep-seeded prey drive in the back of your head tried to tell you--!

Snap!

You tried your best to not look back, but it was getting harder and harder as the moments went by. There no other noise, save for crickets chirping, and fireflies buzzing by (though, they didn't look like any fireflies you'd seen before, not while alive), and your own footsteps and shallow breathing.

Then, you stopped dead in your tracks. There was a fork in the path-- one leading down a steep hill, the other turning sharply into a more densely populated part of the forest. It was impossible to see all the way down the hill, or through the trees.

You stalled, not a smart choice, but... you didn't know what to do. The hairs on the back of your neck stood straight up, posture becoming more hunched as the cold feeling of dread curled in your gut and refused to leave you alone.

It went quiet.

Entirely so.

No crickets chirping, no fireflies buzzing, no wind rustling the trees-- nothing. Your ears began to ring oh-so suddenly, and you flinched. Clapping your hands over your ears, childishly hoping that'd fix-- or at least help-- the ringing in your ears, that was getting so loud you felt your brain starting to rattle in your skull,

You squeezed your eyes shut, pushing and pushing and pushing your hands harder and harder against your ears, and at some point, it seemed like you were trying to crush your skull into pieces out of pure desperation. Desperation for the ringing to just stop already!

Just when you felt your head was about to explode-- or implode, maybe; considering how much pressure you were putting on it-- the ringing stopped.

A hand was on your shoulder, but you didn't feel it settle there. You don't know long it'd been there-- it's a hand, you know that much. It was large, and clawed, and bony-- it didn't feel like a person's hand, so much as it felt like the hand of a monster. The kind that you'd ask your mom to check under your bed for as a small child,

Before you could properly react, besides the way your blood seemed to turn to solid ice in that second of realization and your eyes flying open, another hand-- just like the one on your shoulder, grabbed one of your wrists-- delicately, almost gentle, but a hidden threat lied beneath it-- and pulled it from your ear.

"Hello, my dea--!"

You turned around, and all you needed to get you rushing past the- the creature, the man(?) that stood before you was to realize just how tall it was, the antlers adorning it's head, it's red eyes that seemed to glow all on their own--

and oh.

oh god, those teeth, bared in what you assume was meant to be a friendly smile, but got horribly twisted upon execution-- it's mouth could be considered more of a maw then anything,

Before it could get another word, before it could even finish its damn sentence, you ripped your hand from it's grip-- it was loose, easy to pull your wrist from its clawed hands--

And swerved around it, taking off the way you came. You didn't dare look back, your tail trashed wildly with anxiety-- surely getting sticks and leaves and burrs stuck in it all the while, but you didn't care about that right now,

All you cared about was getting away from whatever the hell had just approached you.

A foolish, almost naive part of you assumed it wouldn't follow you. That it wasn't that interested in you, or that it'd already got its fun from spooking you like a flighty rabbit.

The laugh that seemed to trail after you, seemed to worm into your very head and make itself a nice, cozy little home right in the back of your mind-- told you otherwise.

It dawned on you, maybe a little too late, that this was probably its intention. To get you to run, run like a rabbit being chased by a hunter-- knowing that if it turned around, if it looked back for even a second; it'd be staring down the barrel of a shotgun, one held by a man with a trigger finger when it came to things like rabbits.

You were being hunted.

Pretty fitting for your first night in hell, isn't it?

tag list !

@diffidentphantom

[please comment or DM me if you'd liked to be added to the tag list! ^^]

[radio-writes]

I'll go with:

"You win"

"Why should I stay?"

"And what will you do? Run from me?"

It Seems the Devil and I Walked Hand in Hand

300 Followers Event

Warnings: Forced cannibalism, gore, murder, stockholm syndrome

Tags: Alastor x reader, GN reader, yandare, reader goes insane, dead dove do not eat

MDNI

A humid breeze blew through your hair, the putrid stench of Hell carried with it. Somewhere in the distance, something—whatever it may be this time—exploded, prompting usual screams of terror.

But your heart fluttered, eyes fixated on your friend next to you. You sat side by side with them, on a random hilltop the two of you stumbled upon. It was quiet, but barely out of the chaos of the main pentagram. 

"What? What is it?" They laughed as they finally called you out on your staring.

You almost swooned as their warm brown eyes met yours. "You just have the prettiest set of eyes in all of Hell, that's all."

You had been so proud of that. So happy about how smooth you were at the delivery. Giddy about the blush that crept onto your friend's face.

The same warm brown eyes—Hell's prettiest, as Alastor so kindly reminded you—stared back at you now. 

Unseeing.

Without its owner's head anywhere near.

On a plate placed before you.

Your blood felt like ice as you hung your head low. Unable to think. Unable to feel. Unable to breathe, maybe, you weren't really sure anymore.

"Afraid I might have gotten carried away, dear. I was absolutely starving since you stood me up on our lunch meeting." Alastor's tone was as bright and cheerful as it always was—you could almost argue that it was even happier now. "Of course, I did save you their eyes. I knew how much you just loved them."

He continued on, sighing and swooning about this and that. How it had been a while since he had such a satisfying meal. How it was all thanks to you for leading him to it. How he can't wait to meet more of your friends—if you ever managed to make any after the show he put on for you.

But you sat still, mind unable to comprehend what actually sat in front of you. Alastor might as well have been talking from three rooms away for all you heard from him. His voice almost sounding like it came from underwater, barely able to pierce through the fog in your head.

It was only when the demon who sat across from you stabbed a fork through an eyeball on your plate, did your senses come back. Like a flipped switch, you could hear well again, in time to hear the disgusting squish of the organ, blood and fluids spilling as it was stabbed.

"Don't let it go cold now, my dear. I went through so much trouble to get them intact and still warm for you." Alastor smiled as he sat across you.

One of his elbows rested on the table, hand cradling his cheek as you met his gaze. The gleeful, cold red eyes sickened you much more than the gore he held up. He raised the fork to you. Your friend's eye at the end of it. "Say Aaah~"

You pressed your lips together. Whether to resist the cruel torture, or to keep the bile from coming out, you were unsure. 

Like a stubborn child, you shook your head, arms pushing against the table to get up from your seat. Alastor was behind you in seconds, dissolving and rematerializing through shadows faster than you could blink.

"Nuh uh, dearest. We don't waste good food in this Hotel. What would the papers say if they find out we throw away such scarce resource?" He pressed his body against the back of your chair, securing you back at the table with an easy push.

He leaned over your shoulder, long arms reached around you. You stared as his clawed hands planted themselves on the table in front of you, caging you in, framing that horrid plate.

You felt his breath by your ear, that horribly familiar static prickled your skin, before you heard him speak. "You know, I'm starting to think you like how your friends taste."

You swallowed against your dry throat, eyes wide. Every breath you took was shallow as you tried to shake your head only to be met with a mocking laugh.

"No? Come now, why lie, my dear? It's only us here." Alastor leaned closer over you. The heat of his body inescapable. "This is the third friend this month. Even a child would have learned by now." 

"I'm all you need, darling. Everyone else is just cattle." His voice distorted as he spoke, a threat, a promise, you knew from experience that he'd deliver on.

Faintly you could feel the weight of metal around your neck. It wasn't physically there, no. After all, it's been a while since you've given him a reason to summon that chain. But it never really ever felt absent, specially at times like this.

You sighed in resignation, and braced yourself for that familiar horrible taste. Your hands clenched into fists on your lap—a sight that delighted the demon behind you.

"You win." You said softly. Numbly, you parted your lips, mind wandering away as you let Alastor slide the fork into your slack mouth. You ignored what it was you were chewing, letting your body function through the motions as you fought to keep your thoughts else were. 

You felt a large hand pat your head, bringing you back to the present in time to hear Alastor's praise. "What a good pet you make, my dear."

The plate before you was empty now, Alastor's looming figure having retreated away from your shaking one, back in his seat in front of you.

The horrible rotten taste still lingered in your mouth, but you didn't bother to ask for something to wash it away. You simply stood up, ready to run to your room and force yourself to throw up—again.

"Hm? Running from me now, are we?" Alastor's brows raised as he watched you. "Not that you can, I own you, after all." 

You suspected his words were less of a reminder for you, and more on just him loving to say them.

"And why should I stay?" Your words seemed argumentative, but your tone and the hunch of your shoulders were anything but. "I've already finished my punishment."

"I would say it was more of a treat, really. You have no idea how much I wanted to eat those." He laughed, not really minding that you just stared back blankly at him.

"Besides, you've yet to pay me back for leaving me waiting at Rosie's. So come, sit." An invitation to most, an order to you.

So sat you did. You ignored the smudges of blood on the plate still in front of you. You ignored the bitter taste the that lingered in your mouth. You ignored the growing numbness spreading from your chest to the rest of your limbs.

You ignored yourself.

Mindlessly, you nodded along to whatever gossip Alastor had, almost immediately, began sharing with you.

Alastor's hold on you had tightened in the past few months. Not only had he pulled you away from the people at the hotel—you were apparently terribly ill, contagious, but fine under his care—but he had also confiscated your phone and TV.

The window in your room was also simply magicked away. He didn't want you getting any funny ideas of leaving him again, after all.

At first you were fine with it. You had a few books in your room, anyway. But after the first two weeks, you've already finished most of them.

Still, they kept you entertained for a little longer after that; you didn't really mind rereading them—for the fourth time, you think.

But then you had that fight with Alastor. You had asked for your phone back, desperate to know what was going on outside your room. Desperate to listen to your music. Desperate to hear another voice aside from your own.

Alastor merely waved off your concern. He let you keep his radio after all. You could simply listen to him. He talked about current events, and played music, and broadcasted all sorts of screams voices. You didn't need anything else.

He didn't quite take it nicely when you had spat that it wasn't enough.

In the fray that followed, your books were lost. Torn to shreds in seconds.

But no matter, you had thought. You still had some paper, a pencil, some paint. While you weren't the best artist around, you doodled the hours away, anyway. Coloring, sketching, filling out every plain, empty gap on the papers you had.

You were quickly running out of material, though. You'd repeatedly ask Alastor to get you more paper, another pencil, even an eraser, every time he came by. But all he kept saying was that he forgot to fetch some, and that he will surely do so next time.

You were always disappointed, but knew better than to start another fight. You didn't want to risk destroying what little paint you had left, after all.

You had began to doodle on your walls. Counting the little details on the wallpaper, even each and crack along your way. You had drawn everything you ever knew existed; from characters you used to liked when you were alive to a freaking sock on the floor. 

The friends he made you eat.

Hastily covered with a drawing of a deer.

By his next visit, Alastor was appalled by the state of your room. He didn't quite appreciate your vandalism. He promptly snapped his fingers and the walls were replaced. Your drawings gone, the wallpaper gone, even the cracks were gone. It was now just a smooth red surface. 

He had taken away the paint, not that there was much left at that point. You thought it was fair anyway, considering you did draw on the walls like an irresponsible child.

You tried cleaning too, just to keep your mind going, your body moving. But no, no, no. Alastor couldn't have his dear friend, and a valued hotel guest, doing such menial labor. 

He easily cleaned the room for you, not a speck of dust left. Barely any furniture left too—he had found them tacky, apparently.

At that point all you had to look forward to were Alastor's visits. Constant, they were. He insisted he brought you your food personally, of course.

You had been suspicious about what he was feeding you, even once outright questioning what you were eating.

He had laughed. "Unless you made any new friends from this room, I can assure you, you aren't eating any sinners, my dear."

You weren't sure how much his assurance was worth, but food was one of the only two things you actually had here. You didn't feel like giving that up, too.

You hated him. Hated him for keeping you here. Hated him for ignoring all your pleas to be let out.

You hated him, but still found yourself jumping from your bed as soon as you heard the door handle rattle. 

You hated him, but him coming to visit meant you had something to do.

The radio by your bed, and Alastor's frequent visits were all you had left.

The isolation was driving you insane, broken only whenever Alastor wanted to.

Alastor was driving you insane, but without him you were completely isolated.

Your sanity felt like a candle burning at both ends, melting far too fast for you to keep it together. You didn't know anymore which torture you preferred. Alastor's presence or absence?

At least, that was a few weeks back.

Because it wasn't like you needed to choose now.

Your food had been appearing on your side table every meal time, instead of coming in carried by the familiar demon.

The radio beside you had been silent for a long while now. Not one terrified scream, not one jazzy tune, not even empty static. 

And of course, Alastor himself hadn't come in to see you in weeks.

You think it's been weeks, at least. He took the clock with him last time he cleaned.

No, there was no need to pick your poison anymore. Alastor had chosen for you.

At first, you had been bitter. How dare he ignore you—or did he forget about you? God, no, he wouldn't. Right? —how dare he not even check in to see if you were even still alive.

How dare he not visit.

And then, you were worried. It was one thing for him not to pop in on you, another thing entirely to miss his shows. He'd never miss an opportunity to broadcast fear over Pride Ring, but your radio had been quiet this whole time. What was keeping him, then? Was he hurt? Was he okay?

Then, and you think it was the worst of them all, you started to miss him. From the moment you woke from restless slumber, your eyes fixated on the door handle, begging it to turn. Your chest ached, praying to hear his silly staticy voice again, even if it was just senseless gossip.

You felt like screaming, begging, pounding on the door for him to visit you. But you knew he wouldn't like that. No, if the others in the hotel found out, Alastor would likely never visit you ever again. 

So you kept to your bed. Your days spent glaring down at the door in desperation, switching only to the radio to do the same, for hours on end. Every little shift you made, the sheets moving under you, felt so deafeningly loud in the empty room.

It was almost maddening.

"My dear, I have a task for you." Alastor's cheery voice spoke up by your ear.

Your eyes snapped open, greeted by the sight of the demon leaning over your head.

"Nothing too difficult, just a little grocery shopping." He continued on as if he hadn't left you to rot.

You didn't care, nor did you register what his words meant. No, the first thing your body jumped to, your mind went to, was that Alastor was here.

"Al!" The glee in your voice unrestricted as you pushed your sheets away and threw your arms around him. The relief, the absolute refreshment, of feeling another warm body against you again was almost heavenly.

A soft hand patted at your shoulder as he awkwardly stayed there. "Well, good morning to you too, sweetheart." He laughed.

You sat up, eyes wide as you leaned away and took him in. Unmistakably, a very welcomed sight.

He told you about the chore he needed done, truly very simple. Just a literal grocery list. But you held onto every word, every charming staticy syllable falling from his lips as if he was preaching your religion. 

You were determined to memorize it all, not just to complete the task but to simply engrave his voice in your head.

You were so thankful to finally hear something other than your creaky bed. To finally be having a conversation again. To feel human.

It hadn't even click for you that you will finally be heading out.

You were quick in getting the task done, determined to get back to Alastor as fast as you could.

You hadn't notice how your skin thawed in the outside heat compared to the icy room you've been locked in. You hadn't paid mind to everyone's greetings around you. You didn't care for all the flashing lights, and tasty smells, and loud music and laughter and screams around you as finished you little assignment.

You wanted to get things done so you could be by the familiar demon again. His presence almost felt like a drug you've been deprived off for so long, that it physically irked you to be away.

And that's how it was from then on.

You were given a new room at the hotel. Alastor had replaced all the books he destroyed because he just felt so guilty. He had also finally remembered to buy you all those papers and art supplies you asked him to get you. And he had even returned your phone and television to you.

Not that you cared for any of those. You've spent most of your time in Alastor's room anyway, unable to stand a second without hearing his voice. 

You'd cling onto every word he'd say, attentive, obsessed.

Your eye would twitch every time he'd mention someone, anyone. Part of you irritated that he had spent time with someone else other than you. Even more so that he cared enough to remember their name. To say their name.

Soon you not only clung onto his words, but onto him as well. Unable to stand that others spent time with him when you could not. You'd miss meals, miss sleep, drop whatever you were doing to follow him wherever he went. To stay by Alastor's side. 

When he forbade you from doing so, you would follow in secret, or have your own little ways to spy on him. To know what he was doing.

The few times you were away from your owner's side, you could be found standing over a dead sinner. Maybe someone who touched him, maybe someone he mentioned, maybe someone who simply glanced at him for far too long for your liking. Regardless, they were all equally deserving of death in your eyes. How dare they.

Alastor knew of these, of course. And while he was quickly growing suffocated by your constant overbearing presence, he hadn't really bothered to say much.

He still preferred this—this grotesque reflection of his own affections for you—over your defiant little attitude before.

His last straw, however, was now. When you stood over yet another sinner. The light gone from their eyes as you still, repeatedly, shot at their corpse.

The green chain appeared in his clenched fist for the first time in a long while. The collar snapped shut around your neck, but you hadn't even noticed until he gave it a harsh yank.

You were pulled to the side, stumbling over the body by your feet. You looked up, confused, to see Alastor snarling down at you.

"I needed him alive, dear." He said, his annoyance barely kept under control.

"He touched you." You merely replied, as if it was the worst offense, worst sin, in Hell.

"Because we were making a deal, you stupid pest!" Alastor hissed through his teeth, but you merely blinked at him as if you didn't see his point still.

You stood up straighter, keeping your eyes on him. Always on him.

He was so beautiful, so perfect. Everything you needed.

Why had you ever wanted to find anyone more?

"But he still held your hand."

"I'll touch who I want to touch. Do not forget who holds the leash here." His eyes narrowed, chain pulling taught between you.

You smiled at him, loving the way his voice sounded when he was getting angry. It rarely happened now considering how good you were for him, but oh, did it sound like music to you.

Your hands lifted to softly run your hands through the chain by your neck. "You do, of course. I don't question that."

"I need you, Al." You added, soft, almost loving expression on your face as your adored his furious red eyes. "And while I can't force you to stay with me, alone. I can simply just get rid of everyone else. I can be your only one, if I'm the only one left."

"So you've finally flew off the handle, dearest?" His question seemed genuine, not at all in jest.

But you laughed anyway, as if it was the funniest thing ever. "And what if I have?" You grinned at him. "What will you do? Run from me?"

Your fingers gripped the chain suddenly, yanking yourself forward, closer to him. You feel his pull against the chain as well, not to bring you close but simply to keep hold of it. To keep hold of his control over you.

Your eyes lowered, admiring him from up close now. The flicker of uncertainty in his eyes was new, and you couldn't wait to see more new things from him now that you're so devastatingly devoted to him.

"You own me, remember? I'm here forever."

[veinsfullofstars]

🤖 Kirbtober 2024 Day 10: Mechanical 🤖

(ID: Kirby series fanart of Susie proudly showing off the company’s newest security guard, Mecha Knight, who hangs limp and unconscious from several support cables suspended from above, his metal-grafted wings held aloft, his new horns and missile-launcher pauldrons gleaming under a single spotlight, his six-pronged beam sword gripped firmly in one hand and alight with a fiery pink glow. END ID.)

“It’s our newest model! Top-of-the-line in company defense! Complete with all the latest security updates, bug fixes, and almost no resistance-based crashes to date!”

Previous Day | Next Day | Prompt List (made by @/paintpanic)

Started on 09/11/24, finished on 09/12/24. | Kirbtober 2023 Comp

[marswritesstuff]

piercings & polyamory

a/n: i know this is totally out of my usual niche but when inspiration hits after literal months you gotta take advantage of it yk yk

content: nico di angelo x will solace x reader, they/them reader, reader is a hermes kid

warnings: vague description of a home done piercing, piercer knows what they’re doing but is not licensed

- nico di angelo is as close to a professional piercer that camp has.

- nico himself is covered in piercings- it seems every body part of his that can be is covered in black and silver, and tiny accents of gold.

- you are, by far, nico’s favorite “customer.”

- he always loves piercing will, but there’s something about the way you wring your hands while he marks out the piercing, something about the way his sheets bunch up in your fists when he pushes the needle through.

- nico gives you five piercings over the course of two years.

- will sits in for number four- it’s not uncommon for him to hang around the hades cabin.

- after it’s done, after nico carefully slides the jewelry into your lip and you grab his hands and thank him profusely, after you press a few drachmas into his hands despite his insistence that he doesn’t charge and close the door behind you, will rounds on nico immediately.

- “you like them!”

- nico knew that, of course, he wasn’t that emotionally unaware.

- however, whenever he imagined his boyfriend finding out about the secret he thought he’d hid so well, he’d never imagined the joy currently in will’s voice.

- nico met his boyfriend’s eyes slowly.

- “is that… okay?”

- will looked surprised for a second before sitting down next to nico.

- “neeks- did we- did we never have this conversation? wait, ok- nico,” will grabbed both of nico’s hands in his. “hi. i’m your boyfriend. i’m polyamorous. do you have something to tell me?”

———

- while you were showing off your new nico-piercing to your cabinmates, the door to the hermes cabin banged open.

- will solace entered, calling your name, and your cabinmates (the traitors) laughed and pushed you towards him.

- your heart sped up- you’d been nervous about will sitting in on the piercing, because you always felt like your suppressed crush on the son of hades was so much clearer when you were sat in his bed, pliable underneath his hands.

- it was in the same way that your feelings for will felt like they were being dragged out of your chest and right onto your face when he softly sings to you in the infirmary after you’re injured.

- will led you to an abandoned corner of the yard, where nico stood waiting for both of you.

- nico started talking as soon as you came to a standstill, not giving you a chance to get a word in.

- “ok, i don’t wanna give you the wrong impression. you don’t have to answer right now, and if you say no, it doesn’t change anything, i’ll keep piercing you just like anyone else, but-” nico gently grabbed will’s hand. “i like you. like, romantically. and will likes you too, also romantically. and we wanna know if… you’d go out with us?”

- will just nodded along, letting nico dominate the conversation.

- that… hadn’t been what you were expecting.

- it wasn’t like the possibility of polyamory with the two had never crossed your mind - it had crossed your mind a lot - but only ever as a fantasy! you had never expected it to become an actual possibility.

- but you weren’t gonna let such a good opportunity pass you by- “yeah! of- of course i’d want that!”

- will’s face broke into a grin, and nico had a small smile.

- “cool,” nico muttered, pink slowly creeping up his cheeks.

- will chuckled and grabbed your hand with his free one. “yeah, cool! now, how about dinner? the three of us?”

[bookwyrminspiration]

Does Keefe smoke weed?

I don't think he smokes on account of unpleasant associations with fire (plus lung health), BUT! He has set a precedent of irresponsible behavior regarding drugs (fathomlethes, sedatives, etc.)

so what i'm saying is he downs edibles like fruit snacks

[r-truth]

[backpackingspace]

Psst want some some angst?

Odysseus with flowers woven into his hair, around his wrist, his ankles/ his neck/. Odysseus with his hair oiled and his skin scrubbed clean.

Calypso forces him into the bath. Forces him into clean clothes makes it so that he cannot move protest or breath while she brushes his hair. The flowers won't come off, even when he claws at his skin making himself bleed, even when he yanks chunks of his hair out trying to dislodge the pretty blossoms. Calypso heals him anyway makes his skin flawless, regrows his hair. She likes him looking pretty, likes him looking like he's loving life. Won't allow anything from the outside world to touch them, even if that's odysseus himself.

After all, she can't have anyone thinking she doesn't look after her beloved mortal. She's heard how the other gods treats their pets, how rough they are. But she's different. See how well odysseus is taken care of? And why would he even want to think about anything else when /shes/ right here. So what if he's a little resistant to the idea right now? Odysseus, the poor thing, is battered and traumatized it's natural that he'd be a little confused. One day he'll snap out of it and thank her. She just knows it.

[maskt]

every time someone around me makes a joke about "big back behavior" i genuinely get so mad i see red. it does nothing but shame people and their bodies. just stfu be a decent person PLEASE!!!!! get on tumblr and look at how furries lovingly draw and paint and render fat bodies. how can people fall into the mindset that fatness is something to fear.

[lilianade-comics]

When your daughter melts sometimes,,,,

Been thinking about Cheese Melt again. In my head, it's an AU that begins in KS and carries out the rest of the series. Vlad completely retains his personality, the only difference is he's REALLY attached to Danielle and he finds himself in increasingly domestic situations because of that.

His attachment to Danielle isn't necessarily full blown parenthood right away, either. Vlad is a froot loop who convinced himself only a "perfect" clone of Danny would make him happy, but he's also gloriously stupid & lonely and Danielle is incredibly adorable. So he goes through stages of being in complete denial:

Stage 1: Vlad considers this female clone to be completely disposable.

Stage 2: Vlad's new pawn smiled at him once and is now a "remarkably successful prototype" and he decides to keep her around "for a while" as an "experiment."

Stage 3: Time passes and suddenly Vlad is flippantly telling Danny that Danielle is a "valuable asset worth protecting."

Stage 4: "If my baby melts I'm killing myself."

[vagueconfusion]

A different angle of this moment from last nights ritual (though missing III's fist pump).

Sacred moment captured by samusarann on tiktok.

[fallenwhumpee]

Leader has to fight with their possessed team and ends up heavily injuried by their loved one

You have good taste, anon. Please enjoy <3

"It's alright."

• Masterlist •

Warnings: Sci-fi elements, mind control, knife, self-sacrifice, open ending.

Leader didn't believe in fate. With millions of people making countless choices every day, how could anything be predetermined? Yet, sometimes, things felt destined.

In interviews, worst-case scenarios, or intense debriefings, Leader was always asked the same question: Would they fight their own team if it ever came to that?

Their answer was always the same: a determined yes.

It was Leader's biggest lie, and they didn't know how to cover it up.

The question was asked so often that Leader became convinced it would happen eventually. So, when it finally did, they couldn't tell if it was fate or if they had jinxed themselves.

When Leader first pulled the blueprints for the mission, they had to take a leap of faith. They had to believe their team's minds were strong enough to withstand any... outer forces. There was no way to know who would stand and who would fall, but their team was the most stubborn one. If they couldn't pull off the mission, no one could.

"I don't like this," Right Hand muttered.

"Stop being a doomster. We'll finally get Whumper. They'll be immobilized in that machine," Youngest chirped.

"That's what worries me. If Whumper is accepting such risks, the machine must be strong. What if..."

"I will deal with the 'what ifs'," Leader cut in. "But only if you want the mission. This can either put us at number one on the list or..."

"Or put KIA next to our names," Right Hand grumbled.

"You have so little faith in us," Teammate hummed.

"We should vote on this. As usual, I won't join. Now, who wants to go?" Leader ended the discussion.

Youngest, Teammate, and Tech outnumbered Right Hand and Medic.

Leader nodded, hiding their unease behind a mask of determination. The vote was decided, and there was no turning back now.

"Get ready," Leader commanded, glancing at their watch. "We leave in one hour."

The hour passed in a blur. Leader wasn't a pessimistic person, but they struggled to stay positive. The team gathered when they were checking the plan for the fifth time, their minds set.

They were going into the nest.

As they approached the target location, an abandoned industrial complex, the atmosphere grew tense. Right Hand glanced at Leader, worry etched on their face. Leader hated to see them like that. With a frown present, their friend looked older, more tired.

"Leader, are you sure about this?" they asked quietly.

Leader took a deep breath." Do you ask what I believe or what I think?"

Right Hand didn't answer.

A light headache began making itself known as they stood before the door. Their only advantage was their unexpected arrival, but when they stepped in, Whumper would be aware. The nest was almost like an extension of Whumper, which worried Leader to no end. But as long as they eliminated the enemy systematically, they would be fine.

So they began fighting. Leader gave order to use firearms first. If one of them got out of control, close combat would give them some time. A bullet wouldn't. Luckily, they avoided any loss when they took out the guards. Youngest began complaining about a headache, but it was only that, complaints.

When they took down the second wave, Tech wanted a break. Leader sent them back to the vehicle, not taking any risks. They could feel their own thoughts weighting down but still coherent and intact.

They didn't think of any other possibilities. Fear was the last thing they needed.

They cleared the base slowly, reaching to the heart of the complex. Leader was tired but standing, just like the others. And if they were so close to the machine and only getting a moderate headache, victory was theirs.

"I was expecting you," Whumper's almost mechanical voice sent a shiver down to Leader's spine. "You never fail to amuse me, Leader. Did you truly believe my power was limited to my people?"

Leader marched forward, banging through the last doors. There was Whumper, sitting in a giant machine, defenceless.

"This ends here. Now," Leader muttered to themselves. They cautiously stepped closer, the rest of the team rushing in after them.

"Enjoy your gift."

The machine grew louder.

Leader turned back immediately, about to shout their team leave, but pain, sharp and sudden, took over their thoughts. They whimpered, their vision so bright and empty, their face warm and knees aching. They didn't know how long it took, but they were in their knees once they opened their eyes, their nose bleeding.

The team was on the floor.

Leader quickly scrambled back to their feet, rushing over the closest one— Medic. But before Leader could shake them awake, Medic's eyes opened, empty.

"No," Leader forced out. The team slowly got back to their feet, movements stiff and unnatural. Leader didn't want to believe that was real.

But Medic's punch to their jaw was very, very real. Leader stumbled, their face throbbing. They wiped the blood on their nose, directly rushing for Whumper. They couldn't afford being sentimental.

Leader returned Medic's punch, knocking them out. They caught Right Hand's arm coming from their blind side— Leader didnt knoe if they felt proud that their friend was ysing a move they taught or horrified that they were the target. They twisted that arm slightly, but they failed to make the knife drop since they couldn't risk breaking Right Hand's arm.

Youngest caught Leader's waist, Teammate jumping on them. Leader struggled to stay upright but managed to dodge the knife that whipped the air. They walked backwards, slamming the two hanging on them to the wall. Their own body weight was enough to knock the duo, but Right Hand charged on them.

If Leader pulled aside, Right Hand would kill Teammate.

So Leader let it come. They didn't look down, they couldn't. But they pushed Right Hand back, ignoring the blooded knife falling.

Leader ran to Whumper, pulling the knife  from their belt and aimed Whumper's heart. They outran Right Hand somehow, and within a matter of seconds, the machine shut down, Whumper's tense body falling to the floor.

Leader staggered, pain flaring at their side. They gasped, their vision darkening  for a moment.

It was over.

Right Hand catched Leader before they hit the floor— or after, Leader couldn't follow. They could only take a sharp breath and close their eyes against the growing pain, consuming their thoughts.

"Leader— oh my, Leader I-I," Right Hand stuttered, or Leader heard only a part of it.

Leader forced their eyes to part, relaxing after seeing those eyes with tears. "It's alright," Leader muttered, their blooded hand reaching to Right Hand's face. "You didn't do it."

Whose blood was it? Whumper's? Their?

No, that wasn't important. As long as it wasn't from one of their teammates.

"Don't, uh. Just..." Right Hand searched for something. They tucked a fabric in Leader's hand, guiding Leader to press it somewhere between Leader's ribs and stomach. "Keep the pressure, okay. I— I will wake up the team and get you home."

"Don't... don't like bring o-ordered around," Leaded chuckled, but it hurt. They had to bite their lip to stop a scream.

"I know," Right Hand forced a smile and propped them against the machine. "I know."

Leader let out a grunt, not wanting to worry Right Hand more than they were, but also failing to keep the pain in. They tried to focus, but breathing was getting harder and harder.

Right Hand turned their back hesitantly, going to get the others back to their feet, starting with Medic.

Leader managed a faint smile, maintaining pressure despite their fading strength. After making sure that Right Hand wasn't panicking, they allowed their eyes to close for a moment. The team was safe, Whumper was gone. Nothing else mattered.

[sknnysblog]

I can’t control my life so I control my eating.