#blood mention

[catastrophic-crow]

if it's only a little, it dries crusty and flakes. (as long as it can dehydrate faster than it rots.) if it's a lot, if it stays damp, if the moisture doesn't evaporate and it's wet enough to support life? blood is nearly perfect for microbes. ideal, almost. nutrient slurry.

how long would you expect milk to last, in equivalent circumstances? it's like that.

it's one of those counterintuitive things people get a little squeamish about so it doesn't really make it into writing advice often, but the biology version of "writers have no idea how long 100 years is" has to be "writers have no idea how quickly blood goes completely rotten at room temperature"

[gallusrostromegalus]

The Van Has Officially Declared It Spooky Season

---

I've got my parent's van for the week and it seems determined to establish my status as The Local Cryptid by terrorizing an innocent 7-11 clerk.

...I might need to back up a bit.

My mother is an eminently sensible woman who knows herself well, and when The Plauge hit, she knew she'd need some sort of mentally and physically engaging craft project to keep herself from going insane and massacring the local zoning and water management boards (even if they have it coming). So she and Dad acquired a utility van and converted it into a camper van because while they love camping, they're past the age where their joints and immune systems will tolerate sleeping on the cold ground in a nylon tent.

They did a terrific job of it and my mom taught herself woodworking and carpentry and now the van has it's own cabinets, fold-away dining table, and removable queen-sized bed with memory foam mattress. My Dad was already a computer engineer, but he learned the dark magics of automotive software and electronics to install after-market backup cameras, a media player that would take a terabyte hard drive and a solar-powered battery and outlet so they could wake up and just turn on the kettle and griddle for breakfast without having to exit the van into a cold morning on an empty stomach.

Truly, the height of Camping Luxury.

My parents are both in their mid-seventies and my primary life goal is to be at least half as cool and hale as they are when I get old.

Anyway, they take it out at least a dozen times a year and it works fabulously, but, being as I am on good terms with my parents and also finishing the process of moving house, I've been borrowing it to move large and cumbersome objects that will not fit in the back of my equally lovely but minuscule Honda hatchback.

It's a Great Van. Very easy and comfortable to drive. Stunningly good MPG for it's size. The best cruise control I've ever had in a car.

It's just also. Quirky. Mischievous, even.

---

If this van has a fault its that it bears the unfortunate affliction that all lightly used white utility vans have in that the combination of an utter lack of branding features and the large dent/scrape I accidentally put on it while trying to escape a Denny's last Thanksgiving means that this vehicle is one addition of a Badly Spray-Painted "FREE CANDY" on the side away from being the sort of vehicle you see in an edgy horror movie.

It's got the same issue that Doberman Dogs have where they look like the sort of creature that likes to snack on toddler's faces whilst actually having personalities made of marshmallow fluff. This vehicle is unnecessarily menacing and I think nothing short of an airbrushed Epic Van Wizard will correct this. People see this van pull up and lean over and squint suspiciously at me when the driver's side door opens, and then look moderately confused when, instead of Charles Manson, a small, potato-shaped creature with neon purple hair and a statistically unlikely assortment of dogs emerges.

My own two dogs, Herschel the Hanukkah Goblin/Corgi and Charleston Chew The Taco Dumpster Dog, Do Not Like The Van. Even with the bed in it, they have a tendency to slide and roll around in the back, and both WILL chew through dog saftey belts or other attempts to secure them in there.

On the other hand, my house mate's dog, an exceptionally tall standard poodle whom we lovingly call "The Creature", loves the Van because SHE wears her doggy seat-belt with only mild complaining and gets to sit up in the passenger seat like A People.

Also like A People, The Creature likes to stand and walk around on her hind legs. It doesn't hurt her and it's entirely voluntary, but every so often I will feel a hand on my arm and instead of my husband or friend, it's a canine that's taller than I am on her hind legs who wants to stare at my face with soulful, concerned eyes. The Creature's favorite thing is that she is exactly the right height for me to hold her arm in Genteel Fashion and walk around the pet food or hardware store with her like I'm a count escorting a debutante around a royal ball.

---

As it stands, I am set to inherit this vehicle whenever my Honda gives up the ghost, and I fully intend to paint an Epic Van Wizard on it when that time comes.

The other peculiarity of The Van is that while Dad did manage to successfully install all his after-market electronics, not all the electronics get along. Sometimes, they fight for Dominance. The Terabyte Music Player and the Backup Camera have a particularly contentious relationship, and turning on the music has about a 25% chance of turning on the backup camera as well, and turning on the Backup Camera is equally likely to turn on the music.

Firthermore, The Van has a favorite song.

I am not kidding that Dad filled an entire terabyte hard drive with music and the software to sort it via the radio controls, but of all the Early Boomer Dad Rock (Kingston Trio over The Eagles) and Irish Folk and Symphonies and the entire discography of Weird Al Yankovic, The Van's favorite song- The one it picks to play as victory music every time it beats the Backup Camera at their weird electronic game of rock-paper-scissors -is The Liberty Bell March by John Phillip Sousa.

You all know this song already.

...but in case you've forgotten the tune:

Yeah.

The Van's favorite song is the goddamn Monty Python's Flying Circus Theme Music.

It does not play this song at a normal volume.

Every time I turn on the Backup Camera and it manages to turn the music player on as well, The Van insists on absolutely blasting this nonsense on at the maximum volume it's physically capable of producing, which I know is loud enough to be heard from the Denver International Airport's Pickup zone when they Van decided to start playing it from the economy lot about half a mile away.

Perhaps it's The Van's way of honoring the aesthetic sensibilities and sonic enthusiasm of Mr. Sousa.

...I can't help but wonder if the purpose of an Epic Van Wizard is to control this sort of faerie-like malarkey, and channel these chaotic energies into things like Spell of Don't Break Down In Nevada or Enchantment Of Always Have Good Parking.

---

So last Friday the 13th, I get a call from my friend and housemate, at said airport.

It's roughly 11PM at night, and I have already retired for the evening. I am in the exact minimum of clothing required to be a decent housemate and not scandalize the neighbors should I happen to walk by a window. My feet are up. There is a cat in my lap and fictional British people murdering each other in highly inventive fashion on the tv. -But my friend has returned from her friend's wedding,and either American or United Airlines has managed to lose her luggage, including, among other valuable possessions, the keys to her car. ...So she cannot just drive home as originally planned.

There are, as luck would have it, her spare set of keys not eight feet from me.

Being a good and decent person, I agree to bring the spare keys to her so she may get home before daybreak and not spend a semester's worth of tuition on an uber across the greater Denver traffic jam.

Being also that she Loves Activities, and it's her mom we're going to pick up, I elect to take along The Creature.

I am primarily focused on remembering how to get to the airport and not leaving my friend's spare keys on the counter, so I throw on a pair of flip-flops, step outside, remember that it's AUTUMN and my minimal evening attire is not sufficient thermal protection, step back in, grab the first coat in the closet I lay hands on, pull it on, check that I have her keys again and leave.

The trip to the airport is largely unremarkable, save that it becomes necessary for me to put on sunglasses to drive, despite it being nearly the witching hour and almost entirely darker than the inside of a cow.

It's necessary because this blissful darkness of night is violently punctured by a startling number of cars that seem to have installed miniaturized but no less powerful lighthouse bulbs in where their headlights ought to go so the oncoming traffic and sports cars that insist on tailgating me in the slow lane alike illuminate the road and my mirrors with the kind of radiance I'd normally associate with the arrival of a Seraphim.

I arrive at the distant highly discounted airport car lot where my housemate is waiting, deeply apologetic. It's nothing. I say. Once I see that your car starts up, I'm gonna go to that 7-11 across the way that I parked in front of, get a slurpee or something and I'll see you at home.

While she is retrieving her vehicle (an equally eccentric but much more stately Subaru that is old enough to be elected to congress) I rifle through the loose change in the glove box and discover that I have exactly $6.66 in small bills and coins. The Subaru, continuing it's long voyage into vehicular immortality, immediately starts up.

Upon her return, we all remember that my friend had all her camping gear in the backseat of the car and there is no room for The Creature to ride home with her parent, so I again assure her it's nothing, and will just take The Creature into the 7-11 with me. She is trained as a service animal and needs the practice after the plague.

I wave my friend off and turn to enter the 7-11.

I promptly trip over the jutting back bumper of The Van and fall, cartoonishly, face-first onto the sidewalk.

Fortunately, I have a lot of practice falling on my face, and have learned not to throw my hands out but instead cover my face, so my unexpected self-inflicted attempted curb-stomping lightly scrapes my hairline and nothing else -my sunglasses even stay in place- and I get up and resume my quest for a slurpee.

It's well known that the airport is a lawless place, and the 7-11 across from the discounted airport parking at the stroke of midnight is no exception.

I know it's the stroke of Midnight because there's one of those Audubon society bird-call clocks that makes bird noises, and my arrival is heralded by the twittering call of a Summer Tanager. I am almost charmed enough by the unusual choice of chronological device to excuse the exorbitant Airport-adjacent mark-up of Slurpee prices. I stand at the machine for some time, trying to decide on a size for the price and guess what the fuck "Blue Lighting Blast" is supposed to taste like.

The Creature is being Very Polite but is somewhat agitated, I assume because she *just* saw her mother for the first time in three days and then she LEFT with no explanation, so The Creature is on her hind legs, staring woefully into my eyes, asking to be escorted around the 7-11. Even though that's not what she's not supposed to be doing, there's nobody else in here, so I let her hang off my arm and discuss various Slurpee Flavor options with her.

We eventually decide on an experiment in which I try a Small Blue Lightning Blast, and discover it tastes a bit like licking a nintendo cartridge but in a pleasantly satisfying way.

I go up to pay and realize something is amiss.

The Cashier is a young man staring at me with wide eyes, one had over the register and the other wrapped up in his rosary.

I look down at myself.

In my haste to reunite my friend with her spare keys and service animal, I had left the house in the following accoutrements:

Flip Flops. Not matching. It's below freezing outside. That last part is not particularly odd footwear for the weather in for Colorado, but it's an important detail for the rest of the ensemble.

Assorted scrapes, bruises, cuts and welts on my arms and legs that come with doing outdoor work and living in a house with three dogs and a fully-clawed cat that all want to be in my lap all the time. It's cold out, so vasoconstriction has pulled the blood away from my skin, a trait that served my ancestors well during the last Ice Age, but leaves me with pale skin to contrast the various wounds and I look like a corpse that fell out of the back of a pickup truck.

The black Bootyshorts with "CRYPTID" painted in bright red gothic font across my ass, that @theshitpostcalligrapher gave me for my wedding present.

A peculiar but extremely comfortable garment that straddles the line between "Lacy Camisole" and "Industrial-Strength Sports Bra" like the Ever Given straddling the Suez Canal. It is also Bright Red. with black accents.

The Jacket I had grabbed out of the closet, which is in fact, a black Velour Dinner Jacket.

The Tokyo-Ghoul inspired reusable anti-covid mask a friend made me with the set of Coyote Teeth.

My sunglasses, which are shaped like a Halloween Bat. The lenses are the wings and the body is the nose bridge. It is ALSO bright red.

A Very Large and remarkably Humanoid Poodle that I have been audibly affectionately calling "Dear Creature" who is hanging off my arm like she's my Prom Date.

The Very Large and remarkably Humanoid Poodle is ALSO dressed up in a black Dog Sweater that has white bones printed on it to look like its an X-ray jacket showing off her skeleton.

I look like I am taking my Very Fancy Werewolf Girlfriend to a particularly casual Dinner Party for Vampires, but the thing that's really selling it and probably alarming the kid the most is the fun accessory I acquired in the parking lot not five minutes earlier:

The "Small Scrape At my Hairline" is actually a painless but PROFUSELY bleeding head wound that I had somehow entirely failed to notice covering my face, neck, decolletage and magnificent cleavage with blood like a Tarantino Film Extra.

This does explain why The Creature has been delicately trying to use her bodyweight to push me down onto the floor for the last ten minutes. So I don't injure myself while we wait for the paramedics she hoped this kid called to arrive, you see.

The Creature has such a High and Naive Opinion of humanity.

I decide this social situation is already fucked, and the only way out is through, and with haste, before I start dripping on the floor.

"Hi there!" I say cheerfully, to indicate this is a visually alarming but not terribly serious situation. "Just a Small Slurpee!"

The Cashier has entered the relevant code into the register before I finish the sentence. His gaze flicks off me just long enough to look at the total, and he grips his Rosary harder.

$6.66

"Oh cool! I have exact change!" I say, taking the money out of my as-yet-unsanguined pocket without looking and slap it down on the counter. "You have a good night and be safe out there!" I wave, leaving.

I get in The Van, mortified, buckle The Creature up, and as I make to leave, I have to put it in reverse, which automatically turns on the backup Camera.

It also turns on the music player.

I make eye contact with the cashier as the dulcet tones of John Phillip Sousa boom from the van hard enough to make the windshield and the windows of the 7-11 rattle for the nine-and-a-half seconds I have to wait to be able to turn the volume back down. Not knowing what else to to, I give him a thumbs up, and leave.

Anyway, now I know what my Future Van Wizard has got to be dressed like, and what their familiar is.

---

If you enjoyed this story, please consider donating to my Ko-Fi or Pre-ordering my Family Lore Funny Stories book on Patreon

[iwander12]

[mintytea-exe]

what a happy and fun episode !!

[omega-e123]

!! NSFW !!

Suggestive. Blood mention.

AKA: Intro to very self indulgent rut fic. You have been warned

In A Rut..

Prologue (HERE!) || Restraint || Indulgence || Adoration

Odd behavior.

There Shadow goes again, walking off. He’s been acting strange lately. At first Shadow was practically clinging on to you.

Normally he doesn’t initiate physical contact, but at home he’s been snuggling into you, holding your body down so you can’t leave him. Attempting to part ways results a grumbly hedgehog.

The kisses don’t stop coming either. Knuckles every time you hold hands. Cheeks and forehead whenever he has to leave, no matter how short of an absence. Even if he’s going to be right back.

Jealousy has also become a big thing. Talking to anyone Shadow deems as a “threat”, he’s looming behind you, head on your shoulder and hands on your hips.

The worst it got was on a date at a bar. Shadow left momentarily to get you a drink. When he returned, someone was flirting you up. Enraged, the glass completely shattered in his hand. It sure scared off that guy. You had to bring attention to the shards in his hand, because he wasn’t concerned at all about it. Instead, Shadow slammed some money on the table and took your hand with the non injured one and left.

Next thing you knew, he’s been keeping distance from you. Both physically and shortening the time you two hung out.

He’s stopped initiating all together. Any advances you made Shadow wouldn’t turn down, but he would abruptly stop or attempt to keep it short. Started wearing a mask around you too.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Something is wrong with him. Your smell alone has started making his head spin. Every fiber of his being is drawn to you. Seeing you forces his quills to stand up on end.

Is this what a heart attack feels like? The pounding drum that is his heart is deafening. There’s no room to think. The only thing on his mind was you.

It’s not like he hasn’t thought about you that way. Hell, it’s not like you two haven’t done the deed either; however, the intensity and frequency of these feelings have been cranked up to 100. It felt more primal.

The complete self restraint Shadow has to not pin you against the nearest wall, public or not, and shove his tongue down your throat is tearing him apart.

Such odd behavior was concerning. Swallowing every bit of ego and embarrassment, he turns to Rouge for answers.

Some help she was. That damn bat.

“Sorry, no can do. Sounds like a biological thing and not in the alien sense. I know you’ll hate to hear this but, try asking Sonic about it. You both are hedgehogs after all.”

“I think I would prefer skinning myself and be turned into a rug—“

She gives him a hard pat on the back, “Don’t say that. It wouldn’t be so bad~ I suppose you could ask Amy about it too… Or suffer! Your choice.”

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

What’s worse? Confronting Amy or Sonic?

That blue little shit would never let him live it down. Sonic could implode from hysterical laughter if Shadow told him about these thoughts.

Amy… It’s simply too TMI. While she is understanding and more open, what if she didn’t know anything.

Shadow’s instincts pull him towards the former option. Unfortunately for the hedgehog, he was semi right.

Sonic took a good minute turned away from Shadow. His hand clasped over his mouth and the other holding his stomach. Sonic reeling in his laughter and forcing not a sound to come out.

“Nono! Sorry! It’s cute!”

“Cute?” Shadow’s eyes narrow.

Sonic waves his hand, as if he’s fanning the comment away. “Never mind. Sometimes I forget you’re bioengineered. What you’re going through is a rut.”

“This better not be some kind of joke.”

Hands in the air, feigning surrender. “I’m not. You’ve probably never experienced it before because you ain’t got bitches you never had a partner. It’s the one time a year hormones go crazy. Some other Mobians also experience it too, like deer.”

Shadow’s massages his temples, processing the new information. “You’re telling me, it’s a biological signal that it is time to breed.”

“Odd way to put it but yeah, basically. Lasts about two months. What you do with that information is up to you. G’luck buddy” he gives Shadow a thumbs up and runs off.

Two whole months. Only about two and a half weeks have passed and already Shadow can’t stop thinking about you splayed on his bed begging for his touch.

[wolfertinger666]

it's kinda crazy how I wasn't supposed to exist,,, as a baby i was born with a blood disorder so I needed a blood transfusion but thankfully the doctors found a way to save my life without needing to use blood. although it's upsetting the reason why I never got the transfusion is because my mother's "religion" is against it and I could've actually died.

[whumperofworlds]

Me, coming out of the room covered in blood: You should see the other guy.

The other guy: *bound, gagged, beaten, and chained to the wall, crying*

[selineram3421]

*hides behind laptop*

⬅Prev: Part 1- Opposites

Spell Gone Wrong

Part 2- Devilish Human

Alastor X Reader

Alastor is trying a new spell but it's not right and something goes wrong.

Warnings ⚠

⚠ possessive Alastor, Human Alastor, time travel mentioned, Italics= thoughts, kisses, blood, cussing. ⚠

It's been weeks since the spell mess up, but Alastor still hasn't given up on it and continued tinkering around with some of the words in his book.

You don't know exactly what he's trying to do but as long as there isn't a huge mess it's fine.

The breeze outside is nice as you read your book out in the garden, the aroma of roses and daisies hit your nose every so often, and you have an umbrella next to your chair giving you shade.

An absolutely perfect peaceful afternoon, with the occasional sounds of nature.

Until it wasn't.

A big boom sounded from inside the house. You stood quickly and opened the back door, running into the house.

There was smoke everywhere, it made you cough and slow down in your stride as it was so dense. Barely able to take a few steps forward without worrying about hitting the furniture, you called out to your fiance.

"Alastor!?", you shouted and then coughed. "Are you alright? What happened-", you coughed again.

"I'm fine dear!", Alastor responded. "The damn spell went wrong again. Help me open the windows and doors!"

Both of you worked together and opened what you could to get the smoke out. You got a rag to help move the smoke along and Alastor summoned an electric fan, which did the trick.

Once it cleared most of the way, both of you saw a figure lying on the floor of the house.

"Ugh..", the figure groans and sits up, their back facing you as they lift a hand to rub the side of their head.

"Are you..alright?", you ask and take a step towards the person who suddenly appeared.

The figure turns to face you and Alastor groans in defeat.

"Again?", your fiancé sighs.

They are human, a very handsome one at that, and they back away slowly. Their hand moving around until it grabs onto a metal candle holder on the coffee table, swinging it in front of themselves and pointed at you.

"Where am I and what are you?", the human asks with a scowl.

"Hold on-", you start but Alastor stands in front of you.

"Now, now. We don't point a weapon at someone who's asking if you're alright.", the red deer demon scolds. "You'd think my human self would be a little more put together and wearing a smile."

"Human self?", you say surprised.

You met Alastor after death, so of course you've never seen him when he was alive. However, you didn't know that he was that attractive in life as well.

"That still doesn't answer my question sir.", human Alastor says.

"Put the candle stick down.", your fiance hisses out.

The two glare at each other and you roll your eyes. With a huff, you move out from behind your fiance and place a hand on the candle stick, lowering it down.

"As much as this is a shock to everyone, let's be civil about it. Ok?", you say and glance at the two before looking back at the human man. "You're in Hell. As crazy as this is going to sound, that-", you point at the Radio Demon. "-is demon you. And I am his fiancé."

"Demons?", he says and finally puts down the candle stick. "How did I get here? And how did I- he? How am I a demon here?"

"That would be my fault.", Alastor confesses. "I've been working on a spell but the results have not been satisfactory.. As for the demon part, well you'll find out in due time."

"It's no surprise if he's doing what you did in life.", you say. "This counts as time travel doesn't it?", you ask and look to your fiance. "What spell are you working on?"

"A difficult one darling.", is all the deer demon says before kissing your forehead.

Human Alastor looks away and takes in the interior of the house, finding pictures and art along the walls, with the occasional gun display. The furniture is mostly red and brown, like usual but he sees the decorative pillows and knows that must be the other demon's doing.

"If this is Hell, it's not too bad."

"Are you ok though? Did you hit your head?", you ask, attention back on human Alastor. "Please rest if you're not feeling well."

"I'm fi-"

"Just sit down.", Alastor says and pushes his human self to sit on the couch. "There isn't much you can do in Hell anyway since you're a human. So fragile."

You can see human Al-, hmm.. You can see Astor get annoyed by that last comment your fiance made.

"Alastor. Be. Nice.", you say and pull the red deer away, pushing him towards the back room. "Go and figure out a way to take him back to his time."

"Darling-", he starts.

"If you can't be nice then you won't get any kisses for a week!"

Reluctantly, the Radio Demon does as told and walks into the back room where he does his spells, giving you one last glance before closing the door behind himself.

You sigh and turn to look at Astor, finding him looking everywhere but at you.

"You ok there hun?", you ask.

"Forgive me but-ahem.", the human glances at you before looking away again. "I just can't imagine myself with someone as breathtaking as you."

You blush and wave it off.

"Geez. A charmer even in life, huh?", you laugh. "I'm nothing to look at really but thank you."

"Do I-? Does he not compliment you?", he asks suddenly.

You blink in surprise at the question.

"It's just, you seem to act like he doesn't but I apologize if I am being too rude with my question. It would be terrible if-", he begins to ramble.

"Slow down there.", you smile. "It's nice that you're worried but I'm treated very well. I mean, it is you.", you test the waters and pat his shoulder. "Though, why ask? I was told by my fiancé that he wasn't interested in anyone when alive.", you say.

"I don't get to meet you until after."

Is.. Is he flirting with me? You wonder and move your hand off of his shoulder.

Astor takes your hand before you can move it any farther and places a kiss on your knuckles.

"It's a shame that I don't get to have some time with you when alive."

Like deja vu, your fiancé rips you away from the house guest and holds you close.

"My love, you really must stick by my side when we have such guests over.", Alastor says with a sinister smile. "I still haven't forgotten what that blue bastard did."

Astor just smiles.

"Just telling your fiancé it's a shame we didn't meet sooner.", he says. "I can only imagine what fun we could of had together."

"Yes, though it is a shame, it seems that it was certainly needed. What a terrible flirt you are to my fiancé.", your fiancé gently guides your head and leads you into a kiss.

Astor frowns but then has a strange look in his eye.

"I'm surprised you aren't married to them yet. What's wrong? Not sure?", he grins.

You gasp as you break out of the kiss and glare at the human.

"Alastor-", you then state the rest of his full human name in anger. "How dare you imply such a thing! Do you even understand what you just said!?"

Before he can utter out another word, you turn and stomp off, slamming the back door behind you as you go back to the garden.

"I've forgotten what I fool I was.", Alastor sighs.

"Shit-", Astor stands to chase after you but is held back by his demon self.

"No use in going now. Let them have a moment to themselves.", the deer demon advises. "They are a force to be reckoned with."

Outside, you are upset and make your way over to the water fountain, snatching a hell daisy with a hiss as the thorns prick into your palms.

Sitting on the rim, you mutter curses as you rip petal after petal off of the flower and toss them into the water. You go back and forth doing this until you finally feel yourself start to calm down and your hand stings with all the bleeding scratches.

You walk back into the house after noticing it's getting a bit dark, using your dominant hand to open the door and holding the bleeding one in front of your chest.

When you walk in, you find Astor pacing before he stops and looks over at you.

"Dear, I just wanted to apolo-", he walks over quickly before noticing your hand. "Ah, you're bleeding."

"I'm fine.", you say and move around him to get the first aid kit.

He stops you by grabbing your wrist.

You turn to snap at him but then see the human worried.

"Please let me take care of it.", Astor pleads. "Please?"

"Fine.", you pull your wrist out of his hold and sit down on a stool near the kitchen counter. "There's a first aid kit under the kitchen sink."

He nods and quickly enters the kitchen, opening the bottom cabinet under the sink in search of the first aid kit.

He comes back not a second later and sets everything up to take care of the wounds.

Carefully taking your hand, Astor is gentle as he cleans the blood off. Apologizing when you hiss or squirm in your seat. Your hand is then wrapped up in gauze and he ties the end before tucking the extra bit under one of the folds, making it look neat.

"I must apologize again. I didn't think thoroughly about what I wanted to say. I just-", he sighs. "I'm just jealous that I-. That he has someone but I don't have anyone waiting for me back home.."

"Astor.", you start.

"Astor?", he looks up at you confused.

"Oh, I forgot. I've been calling you Astor in my head so I don't confuse you and my fiancé.", you explain. "Anyway, it was still very wrong of you to say but I can sympathize. It's not easy being alone."

He nods and looks away.

"Please be mindful of what you say hun.", you reach over and place a hand on his cheek, making him look at you agian. "But don't be sad too long. You do have someone waiting in the future. Ok? Keep smiling.", you smile.

With a soft smile, Astor nods and kisses the palm of your bandaged hand.

"Only for you."

Alastor shows up and shoves his human self away, wrapping his arms around you as Astor falls to the floor.

"Yes, yes. Be good and wait.", the red deer smiles cheekily and kisses your temple. "Satan knows you need to practice your patience."

All you do is sigh as Astor gets up and dusts himself off, glaring at his demon self.

"It would seem so."

Your fiancé sets things up to send his human self back and Astor helps him. The two grumble at each other but get the job done.

It's the same process as last time, but now with sun stones surrounding the calk circle.

Both of you watch as the human fades away.

"I swear if there's another Alastor that lays his hands on you-", your love says with a tone.

"Yes, I know. You'll do your worst.", you kiss his nose. "But it's nice to know that you love me in multiple shapes and forms."

Alastor smiles and pecks your lips.

"How could I not my darling? You're everything."

"Mhm..", you hum.

Then you remind him of something.

"No kisses for a week"

*screeches into the void*

~Seline, the person.

Part 3

Taglist@

@+in the comments+

ML II Alastor🎙 | SGW ChL✨

[cepheusgalaxy]

Classic: character compulsively washing their hands trying to get rid of blood stains that nobody but them can see, after having had to kill someone or watching someonde die in their arms, but the stains won't go away.

[the-broken-pen]

Hey hey

Could you perhaps write a snippet where the building hero is in, gets bombed? Its bombed as an assassination attempt to get them, however the people in that building die and hero, succumbed to their injuries couldn't save everyone of them. At last they watched the last ambulance left without them, even as they called for help

Villians villa is just few kilometres away

Thankfu hero's legs aren't broken

They begin walking

The problem? Vil is way to composed and prim and perfect to let all of hero's blood get on their expensive carpets and fabrics. They could even be mad at the hero for reddening their porch if they hero stood their asking for bandages. What now? And the fight the two had yesterday that ended with "never see me again" and "don't ever talk to me"s.....vil was stopping hero from attending the event the building....

Will vil help them? They can just ask for bandages and leave.

What hero doesn't know: vil would literally destroy the world for hero, and there's no way in hell are they leaving hero on their doorstep.

(Anon you were cooking with this ask, thank you!)

The hero realized the building was going to explode a split second before it did, which wasn’t enough time to do anything other than brace.

They tensed, and there was a horrible screeching of metal and brick, followed by a deafening silence that covered them more completely than the rubble did.

The hero coughed once, weakly, pain rocketing through their chest, and shoved a piece of concrete off themself.

From somewhere else in the building, a soft, terrified wail began, broken around desperate sobs.

The hero coughed again, hand rising to their ribs. They didn’t have the energy to be surprised when their fingers came back coated in blood and dust. They grimaced at it, struggling to their feet–

And oh, god. That hurt.

The hero had a surgery once, the kind that resulted in bandages and a care regime and a set of stitches, and when they had woken up in the recovery unit, it had felt sort of like this. A moment of loopy half-awareness, and then a pain that had knocked the breath out of them, hands clenching into the sheets as a nurse tried to figure out if they needed more medication. 

This was worse. Their vision swam, and they blinked it back with a hiss.

Because someone, somewhere in the wreckage, was crying. And if one person was crying, it meant there was someone who survived. Which meant it was likely there were other survivors–ones too hurt to make any noise, ones knocked unconscious, ones still too shocked to do anything other than lay there–and it was the hero’s job to find them.

It took them far too long to locate the source of the crying. Longer to dig them out, vision going white as the person slammed into the hero’s chest in some facsimile of a terrified hug.

“You’re okay,” they managed, voice like gravel. “It’s okay. I’m going to get you out, and you’re going to be just fine. Were you with anyone?”

And then again, and again, and again.

The hero panted, hands on their knees as their body fought them in an attempt to just collapse onto the concrete below. They just–they just needed a minute. Just one, maybe, and then they could–

This time, the hero wasn’t even aware of it before it happened.

The remains of the building shook, then disintegrated into itself in a plume of dust and rock. The hero shielded their eyes with one hand, blinking against the onslaught.

What little air they had managed to get stuttered out of their lungs in something close to a sob. They had done this enough times to know there wasn’t anyone in that building left alive. 

They sagged down against the nearest thing–more rubble, maybe? They didn’t know–and this time when they rested a hand on their side, there was a considerably larger amount of blood.

“That’s…not great,” they said, and their fingers blurred in front of them slightly. There was an ambulance right there. Just a couple feet away. They had already helped most of the survivors, so maybe it would be okay for the hero to–

A paramedic rounded the back of the ambulance, and the hero lifted a hand, reaching–

“Please, wait, I think–I think,” it hurt coming out of their mouth, “help. Please I need–” they trailed off as the paramedic took the step up into the ambulance.

And closed the door behind them.

The hero wasn’t even that surprised when the ambulance began to drive away.

“Help,” they finished weakly, then sucked a breath in through their nose.

They were supposed to be good at this kind of thing. Surviving, no, thriving in catastrophe. A pillar of light. The one with the plan. 

The kind of being that didn’t beg for help on the ground.

The hero wasn’t entirely sure how they managed to get themselves back to standing. It was as easy as that–one moment they were on the ground, gravel embedded in their knees, and the next they were up and shaking but they were up.

“If I stay here, I’ll die,” they murmured. They had hoped maybe the threat would keep their legs from buckling again. It didn’t.

They weren’t near any place that could be trusted. There wasn’t a safe clinic for heroes on this side of the city, and even if there was, the hero wouldn’t trust them. Couldn’t afford to.

But as for near…the hero swallowed the nausea as it rose in their throat. There was one place they could go. One person they could go to.

Four miles. They could do four. There was no other option.

Where the hero had had some blurry recollection, or at least, a good guess of how they got to standing, they had absolutely no clue how they made it onto the villain’s porch. They managed a blink, retching slightly as they stared at the villain’s wavering door, then had to freeze just to bite down the pain that had come from the gagging.

They tried to knock and ended up collapsing against the villain’s door, knees giving out entirely as their fingers scrabbled for purchase and left behind smeared bloody marks on the wood.

They weren’t entirely sure how that happened either, or how long it took the villain to answer the door. Just that it hurt—so, so much, it hurt so–and that they managed to shove themself back into some semblance of standing right before the villain pulled the door open.

The villain’s face did a sort of spasming thing as soon as they saw the hero, jaw dropping slightly in what the hero could only really read as shock.

There was a very considerable amount of blood on the door. They were cold.

“I–” the hero tried, but they weren’t really sure where they had been going with that sentence, and after yesterday and the screaming and the fight the villain probably didn’t want to see them at all, didn’t want to ever see their face again, so–their mind blanked. “I got blood on your door.”

They tried to gesture towards it, but that hurt, so their hand simply twitched slightly from where it hung by their side.

They glanced down at their feet, because they didn’t want to see what the villain’s face was doing, especially if what it was doing was anything resembling anger.

“Oh.” There was blood at the hero’s feet. “And on your porch, too, I guess.”

They looked up at the villain, but they were still staring at them, brow furrowed, hand clenching on the doorframe.

“I’m sorry.”

There was a very faint quiver of tears when they said it, and the hero knew better than to hope the villain didn’t catch it. 

Were they saying sorry for the porch or the door or yesterday–

“Holy shit,” the villain finally breathed, and it sounded like it had been punched out of them. The hero froze, panic rising in their chest.

“I’m sorry,” the hero blurted out, stammering. “I’m–I’m so sorry, I’ll go, just–could I maybe have some bandages? Just–just one, maybe, please? I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” they said uselessly, head swimming. They couldn’t even remember what they were doing here. The villain was perfect in every sense of the word, stoic and proper and collected in a way the hero would never be; a marble statue brought to life. The idea of them letting the hero–the personification of a train wreck in motion–in to bleed all over the villain’s soft carpet and nice shoes and cause irreparable damage to their very expensive house was almost laughable. 

If they had had the breath to laugh.

More of the hero’s blood dripped onto the slats of the porch, and they stepped back. “I’m sorry–”

The villain reached for them, and the hero flinched, taking it for the dismissal it was–

The hero blinked, and it stuck for a moment too long as the world tilted, and when they pried their eyes open again the villain was staring at them with something the hero was too out of it with pain and possibly delirium to identify. Their gaze drifted back to the blood smeared on the door, and the villain’s grip tightened on the hero’s bicep–when had they grabbed the hero’s bicep?–until the hero’s gaze returned to theirs.

The villain said something, but there was a roaring that had started up in the hero’s ears. They seemed to take the uncomprehending blink the hero gave them in return for an answer anyways, and guided them down until they were both sitting on the cool wood. A tug, and the hero was resting against their own propped up knees, villain’s hand still firm on their arm.

“How much blood did you lose?”

It was like screaming underwater, the hero reasoned. Or through a mirror. But they heard it nonetheless, and that was their villain, and even in hatred and war they would always answer them.

“Was ‘supposed to be counting?” If they had any more energy–or maybe slightly more blood–in their body, the slur to their own words would have been concerning.

The villain’s lips pursed into a thin line, and the hero felt them begin to run an assessing hand over their injuries, cataloguing them, brow furrowing further with every second.

“M’sorry,” they managed, tongue thick. The villain didn’t pause.

“For what?”

“Bleeding on your door,” they managed. The villain stopped them from raising their head from their knees. “And your–porch.”

“I don’t give a shit about either of those things,” the villain said, simply, easily. Like it was nothing. Like they didn’t feel the weight of it as they threw it into the air.

The villain sat back on their heels, clearly having learned what they wanted from the hero’s injuries.

When the hero didn’t immediately look at them, the villain grabbed their chin, gently turning it until the hero faced them.

“How far did you walk,” they said slowly, and the hero had never been more grateful for anything in their life.

“Four miles,” the hero said, and they couldn’t hear their own voice above the roaring, but the villain obviously could from the way their eyes darkened.

The hero wanted no part in making the villain angry again–I never want to see you again, do you hear me? If you ever try to talk to me again I will kill the both of us, I promise you that–, but when they attempted to push themselves up to leave, the only thing they managed was a piteous whine and a stab of pain so intense they forgot to breathe.

“Idiot,” the villain hissed. But oddly, the hero didn’t sense any anger coming from the villain.

They blinked–too long, again–and found themselves in the villain’s arms as they walked through the house. Their head lolled back onto the villain’s shoulder, and the villain glanced down as if–to make sure the hero was okay. That they were conscious, and breathing.

Oh.

Oh.

The villain wasn’t angry.

They were afraid. For the hero.

Which didn’t make any sense, because–

I never want to see you again–

“You’re mad at me,” the hero reasoned, and it came out half strangled and petulant. The villain looked down at them, and the hero caught the tiniest flinch in their jaw.

“I’m not mad at you.”

“That’s not what you said yesterday,” the hero whispered, and the villain flinched.

“I wanted to stop this from happening.” The villain settled them onto a bathroom counter, lights flickering on as the hero leaned back against the mirror. Blood began to dry, sticky, between their fingers.

The hero’s mouth went dry, and it caught in their throat when they tried to swallow it.

“You could have just left me there.” Their voice only shook a little bit, but the villain’s head still snapped up from where they had been digging through a drawer.

“What?”

“On the porch,” the hero clarified, clearing their throat. The lump didn’t go away, and they had begun shaking at some point, and they couldn’t stop. “If you didn’t want to deal with me you could have just left me there–”

The villain’s face had darkened into something the hero almost didn’t recognize. 

“I would burn the world for you, and you think I would leave you to die on my porch?”

“You said you didn’t want this to happen.”

“No, that’s not–” the villain rubbed a hand over their brow, and the hero winced at the blood it left behind. “No. No, that’s not what I meant. I was trying to keep you from going to that stupid event and getting hurt. I knew it was going to blow.”

“I would have gone anyway.”

The villain stilled. “I thought maybe if you never wanted to see me again, and you knew I was there…”

“I would,” the hero repeated. “Have gone anyway.”

The hero watched as the villain’s face rippled through a dozen emotions, settling onto something unidentifiable.

“Why?”

“Because you were there,” the hero said easily, shrugging one shoulder. Because when it came to the villain, it really was that easy. They could scream, and shout, and hold a knife to the hero’s throat, and the hero would still follow them into hell. That was their villain.

The villain looked like the hero had stabbed them, face draining of color. Their fingers went white around the edge of the counter, as if it was the only thing keeping them upright.

“What,” the villain’s voice was hoarse.

“I went because I was hoping you would be there,” the hero said honestly

“Stop,” the villain raised a hand between them, a shield, voice breaking. They sucked in a breath, then another, like they were trying to keep themself from breaking down onto the tile.

“You would have gone to the event no matter what, just to see me,” the villain said slowly, and the hero nodded

“Yes.”

“Even though I screamed at you?”

“Yes.”

“And told you I hated you.”

“Villain, please–”

“Now you know,” the villain interrupted, voice incredibly soft. “Why I would have never left you on that porch.”

The hero forgot to breathe for a moment, tongue going numb in their mouth. The villain couldn’t mean–

They blinked for a moment too long, and then the villain was standing between the hero’s knees, hand on their chest.

“You love me,” the hero said a moment later.

“Ruinously,” the villain agreed.

“So you–”

“I was trying to save your life,” the villain’s hands were gentle as they began to patch up the hero’s side. “And now I’m saving your life in a new and unanticipated way. But there is nothing you could ever do to stop me from saving your life.”

The hero’s heart clenched. 

“Really?”

The villain caught their chin, eyes boring into the hero’s. They brushed a piece of hair off the side of the hero’s face.

“Really.”

The hero sighed, and the villain caught them as they slumped.

“I thought you hated me,” the hero said, and they hated how raw they sounded. The villain made a choked little noise.

“I’m so sorry.”

The hero sniffed.

“Don’t do it again.”

The villain simply hummed, and smoothed the ends of a bandage down against the hero’s abdomen. The hero could feel their hands shaking.

You scared me.

A second later, their hands settled on either side of the hero’s head, and the villain rested their face into the hero’s hair. They pressed a kiss to the hero’s temple, tension easing from their shoulders.

I’m sorry.

The hero clutched the front of the villain’s shirt between their hands, drawing them closer. The villain went willingly, loose limbed with affection and the rapid draining of terror from their system.

“I would have never left you on that porch.”

The hero had never believed anyone more.

[biteytiefling]

So I had an idea and it won’t leave me alone so I’m going to post about it if anyone wants to continue this prompt please do

so starting this off with the fact of ghost hunger exist, they feed off of emotions and ectoplasm. This is for regular ghosts though for halfas though they require emotions, ectoplasm, and living meat/ fresh blood because of this all halfas have the air of an apex predator and all halfas are the children of life and death and they all become morally gray because of it also halfas are capable of Shapeshifting

Finally having enough of the GIW Danny and a de aged Dan(10) and elly(5) decide to lay low in Gotham for a while, while plotting how to take down the GIW and run across someone that they instinctually know is their older brother they’re very sickly older brother who calls himself killer croc they decided to stay with him and teach him how to live as a halfa and he teaches them how to live in Gotham they all try to avoid the bats while wreaking havoc

Gotham City and the bats are in alarm as killer croc has found his shapeshifter siblings and they are all causing havoc as they help out rogues and disappearing talons ( taking them to the ghost zone ) and making sure to cause extra destruction in government buildings ( because petty) and even stealing things from museums and private collections ( ghost artifacts ) and the bats are in confusion as they try to catch them ( all the Shapeshifting forms that the bats have seen are dinos, gator person, and Merfolk, I think that Danny Dan and elly would stick to more scaly forms ) 

[tomriddlehyperfixataion]

The Diary of Tom Riddle- Diary! Tom Riddle x Reader - P5

pairing: Tom riddle x Fem reader

warnings: Horcruxes, Manipulation, Tom being Tom, side effects of being possessed, bleeding from the nose.

summary: 16-year-old (y/n) finds a mysterious black book on the floor of after it slips out of Ginny Weasleys caldron, curious, she picks it up and keeps it-which leads to one thing after another and discovers the book is far more than it seems.

-Part 1- -Part 2- -Part 3- -Part 4- -Part 6-

=

(y/n) hadn’t talked to Tom for a while now, too scared to even open the diary. How had he done that?? How had a personality enchantment pulled her into its host?? Where it had a whole Hogwarts available to it??

Deep down-so deep she wasn’t even aware of it-she knew there was something more about Tom Riddle’s diary.

She stuffed the diary back into her trunk, refusing to even look at it.

Christmas was coming along now, and (y/n) didn’t know if she wanted to go back home for the holidays or stay at Hogwarts. She looked out the window of transfiguration class, her cheek on her palm as she watched the snow fall outside.

She should probably go back home, to get away from the craziness of the ‘chamber of secrets’ fiasco, if just to give her some peace of mind, and maybe some proper sleep.

She sighed, rubbing her eyes and looking down at her notebook. It was just her plain notebook; one she’d bought in Hogsmeade right after Tom had pulled her into his diary. She didn’t know how he’d done that, how he’d pulled her into his enchantment. Logically-that shouldn’t be possible, personality enchantments were just…personality enchantments, they shouldn’t be able to create their own realms-or pull others into what they perceived.

She licked her lip, rubbing her face as her head ached. She’d researched more about personality enchantments multiple times now, and not one of them said anything about the enchantments being able to be…more human, to have their own realms or be…real.

Tom felt too real.

She jolted as Professor McGonagall ended the lesson, telling everyone that the signup sheet for staying at the castle for the holidays had to be signed by the end of the week if one wished to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas and New Year's.

(y/n) sighed, packing her books and heading back to her dorm room, she needed a nap.

She tossed her bag onto the floor and flopped onto her bed, burying her face in her pillow and clutching it, sighing deeply.

A nagging at the back of her mind told her to look at the diary.

She ignored it for several minutes before it became too much and she practically leaped off her bed, throwing open her trunk after dragging it out from under her bed and grabbing the diary. Grabbing it felt like welcoming home an old friend, like something missing was back in place.

She ignored that, opening the diary, reading through her notes that Tom had rewritten-but she got to the most recent ones, and they were gone-replaced with new sentences.

From Tom.

‘(y/n)?’

‘(y/n) It’s been days, I know I scared you, but you can’t ignore me forever.’

‘(y/n) Please, don’t leave me alone.’

‘(y/n).’

‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that; I didn’t mean to scare you. Please talk to me again.’

‘I won't do it again. Just’ a series of frustrated scribbles then lined the page before the next sentence.

‘Merlin just talk to me.’

‘I’m sorry.’

(y/n) stared at the words for what felt like forever, she didn’t know whether or respond or to put the diary back into her trunk and ignore him…it…him.

(y/n) closed the diary and dropped onto her bed, burying her face in her hands. She didn’t even know what was going on anymore, Tom-the diary-was just a personality enchantment-that’s what he said he was when she first wrote to him, and yet he seemed so…real, like he wasn’t just an enchantment.

Like someone’s very soul-their very being-was put into the diary.

But that was impossible, wasn’t it?

…

She was going back home for Christmas.

-

She didn’t bring the diary with her, instead locking it way in her bedside table drawer, though she felt the constant nagging need to grab it and write to Tom. She ignored that nag and it slowly went away the further the train traveled away from Hogwarts.

She was welcomed at Kings Cross station by her dad and her stepmom, and her brother-who was visiting for the holidays-her dad giving her a big warm hug, which she happily returned, she’d needed a good dad hug. “How’s school been sweetie?” her dad asked, his hand in hers as they walked to the car.

“Good, it’s…been dramatic I suppose,” (y/n) responded lightly, not knowing if her parents were aware of what was happening at the school.

“What sorta dramatics?” her brother asked and (y/n) shrugged, unsure of how to explain it.

“The usual stuff,” she said instead, her brother taking her trunk and loading into the car. “Teenagers, classes, boys.”

“Boys? Oh, don’t tell me my daughter has a boy at her heels? I’ve dreaded this day,” her dad joked, holding his hand to his chest as he pretended to faint, her stepmom laughing as (y/n) smiled tiredly.

“Not really, just…a particular boy, he’s…weird, I guess.” (y/n) muttered and her dad could tell she didn’t want to talk about it, even though her brother was bugging her about it, poking at her arm to spill more about her ‘mystery boy’.

“Leave her be Justin, she’s had a long trip back from the school-let’s get some dinner.” Her dad said, kissing her forehead before they all got into the car and her dad drove to her favorite restaurant.

-

Christmas had been very nice, her family had hosted the (last name) family Christmas party this year and she got to see all her extended family from that side, playing loads of muggle games with her cousins and bouncing her newest baby cousin on her knee as she listened to her great grand aunts and grand aunts chatter away. One asked if she had a boyfriend, and with a flush of her cheeks-thinking of Tom’s face and touch when he’d pulled her into the diary-shook her head.

“I’m not looking for one,” she said shyly, and thankfully her cousin came to her rescue-taking her son back and (y/n) quickly escaped into the kitchen, where her dad was making the finishing touches to the ham.

“Hi sweetie,” her dad said, distracted, as he brushed the glazed honey onto the ham while she hugged him from behind, and then helped him hold the ham slices apart so he could brush the glaze easier onto the ham.

She stayed silent while her dad worked, and when he put the brush and metal bowl aside, she tugged at his sleeve. He turned to her; his brows furrowed gently. “What’s wrong sweetie?” he asked, able to tell when she felt a bit…down.

“…Can I have a hug?” she asked quietly, really needing a dad hug, and instantly her dad's arms wrapped around her, pulling her into his familiar warmth, smelling of cologne and dandruff shampoo. She held him tightly, burying her face in his shoulder, letting out a deep sigh.

“what’s wrong sweetie?” her dad asked again, rubbing her back and she squished her cheek into him, wondering how to word the whole…Tom situation.

“There's this…boy,” (y/n) began and her dads grip on her tightened and he took her aside into the den. They sat down on the couch in front of the TV, and she tucked herself into her dad’s side-just like she’d done since she was young. “he’s…unusual, uhm, he’s tutoring me in defense against the dark arts, cause our current teacher is…just a buffoon.”

Her dad hummed, letting her know he was listening, rubbing her arm as his other hand rested on his lap. “Anyway-he was tutoring me, a few weeks back now and he uh…got really close.” Her father's grip on her arm tightened, his brow furrowing.

“Do I need to have a conversation with this boy (y/n)? Or send Justin?” her dad asked and (y/n) snorted, shaking her head, smiling gently.

“No, it’s okay-i…didn’t really mind it, I know you don’t wanna hear that but…it just-kinda scared me-I guess, I’ve never been that close to a boy before-not in…the way we were,” she looked up at her dad and huffed, smiling a bit “nothing happened dad, he was just all up next to me,” (y/n) said, giggling at the end as her dad just looked a bit green at the gills.

He sighed dramatically, putting his hand to his chest. “Oh good, I was worried I might get grandchildren early.” (y/n) squealed/laughed and smacked at her dad, who laughed heartily, before shaking her head.

“Daaad…anyway, uhm-I’ve been avoiding him since then, and…he sent me notes-apologizing, for scaring me-and that he didn’t mean to. And…I dunno what to do.” (y/n) continued softly, looking down at her hands as they were clenched together in her lap, chewing on her lip in thought.

“Do you think he genuinely meant his apology?” her dad asked and (y/n) shrugged.

“Uhm-well, he’s quite…hard to read, doesn’t…show his emotions a lot.” (y/n) murmured, bringing her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around her legs, resting her chin on her knees.

“Were you expecting him to apologize?” Her dad asked and (y/n) thought about it for a moment, then shook her head.

“I…I hadn’t, he also kinda…begged me to talk to him again?” (y/n) said, remembering what Tom had written to her in the diary. ‘Please talk to me again.’

…she needed to do more research about personality enchantments, after all-maybe they could feel emotions? Since they were an imprint of someone's self into a book or object.

She remembered accidentally tearing a bit of the paper of the diary and Tom had reacted to it, as if he really felt it.

Perhaps Tom was more…real than she’d presumed.

“(y/n)?” her dad asked, and she turned, realizing he’d been talking this down. She smiled at him and wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tight.

“Thanks daddy, I think I got it figured out-thank you for listening.” She said softly and he hummed, hugging her back tightly and kissing her forehead as she pulled away and stood up from the couch.

“You’re welcome sweetie, now let's get back to the party before anyone looks for us,” (y/n) nodded and held his sleeve as they left the den to go back through the house.

-

Thankfully during Christmas-she’d slept pretty good, probably because she knew home was safe and that there wasn’t a chance of being petrified by some-monster.

Returning to Hogwarts felt oddly suffocating, probably due to the…monster thing, and the fact that she was going to…talk to Tom again.

She slid open her drawer and took out the diary, opening it to find it completely blank. She frowned, rubbing her thumb against the blank first page. Odd…maybe he thought she’d abandoned him and erased all the notes he’d rewritten for her.

She swallowed harshly, and grabbed her quill-opening her ink well and dipping the tip, before pressing it to the page.

"I kinda needed those notes Tom.”

Her written words stayed there for a very long minute, before they sunk into the page and Tom’s words quickly appeared.

‘(y/n)?’

“yeah…hi.”

‘Where have you been?’

‘I thought you abandoned me?’

“I’m-“

(y/n) paused in her writing, should she apologize? Should she explain why she hadn’t written back to him?

“Im sorry. I got overwhelmed.”

“scared. I hadn’t expected you to do that, I didn’t know you could do that.”

‘I'm sorry, I hadn’t meant to do that, I’d only meant to properly tutor you, I apologize for any confusion I caused within you, I should’ve told you, asked you, before I pulled you into my diary.’

(y/n) stared at his apology for a long moment, her quill hanging limply in the curve of her hand, before she sighed, dipping her quill again.

“that would’ve been appreciated…how’d you even do that anyway?”

‘It’s complicated, because I’ve been enchanted into the diary for so long, and I, or my original self, enchanted his personality into his diary with the intent to make me as real as possible, and I suppose that included giving me a subspace that reflected Hogwarts. With time, the magic of the enchantment solidified and I’m practically as real as you are.’

“that…sounds not super complicated actually, you explained that pretty well.”

‘I may have been figuring out how to explain it to you since you stopped writing.’

Huh…that was kinda…sweet? Maybe? (y/n) sighed, shaking her head, leaning back on her bed, her back pressing against the headboard. She really didn’t know what to think anymore.

‘(y/n)?’

Oh, right.

“im still here,”

‘Do you forgive me? Or at least aren’t mad at me anymore?’

“I was never mad, just…freaked out, its not every day a personality enchantment can pull you into their space, ya know?”

‘True, I do apologize again, and I won’t do it again.’

‘At least without not asking you first.’

(y/n) sighed, rubbing her forehead, a streak of ink coating her cheek.

“I’d appreciate that, thank you Tom”

‘Thank you, (y/n), for talking to me again.’

‘I know I was quite irritated with you when we first began speaking, well writing, but I’ve grown fond of you.’

“thanks, you’re also quite entertaining for a diary of a nerd :D”

‘I’m not rewriting your notes anymore.’

“Jerk.”

‘Witch.’

-

Harry Potter and Ron Weasley poked their heads around the corner of the hallway Filch had stormed away from, instantly seeing what he’d been complaining about-there was water everywhere, reflecting the scarlet words that had long dried on the wall. They could hear Moaning Myrtle’s wailing from down the hall.

“Now whats up with her?” said Ron, scrunching his nose as their shoes waded in what he hoped was sink water.

“Let’s go and see,” said Harry, the two lifting their robes as they stepped through the inch-high water. Harry pushed open the door-squinting at the slight ringing in his ears-and then his eyes went wide, seeing a girl, much older than him and Ron, hunched over one of the sinks, blood mixing with the sink water as it dripped from her face.

Ron gasped as Harry rushed forward, his hand landing on the girls back, she turned to him, her gaze unfocused as Myrtle continued to moan-now realizing she was yelling for help.

“Hey, little Potter-mind if you grab a teacher for me? I don’t feel good,” the girl said weakly, her eyes rolling to the back of her head as she passed out, nearly hitting the sink as she fell back.

“Ron go get Madam Pomfrey! Now!” Harry yelped, kneeling next to the 6th-year Slytherin girl, his hands shaking a bit as he patted her face-staining his skin with the blood that poured from her nose.

Ron ran out of the bathroom quicker than Harry had ever seen him, the two no longer caring for how wet their robes were.

Soon Madam Pomfrey and two professors were collecting the girl, named (y/n), from the floor of the bathroom, quickly taking her to the hospital wing. At the same time, Harry saw a black leather bound on the floor, blood-streaked on the edge of the pages. He picked it up, shaking it out and turning it over in his hands.

“Tom Marvolo Riddle,” Harry said under his breath, ignoring the way his ears were ringing and the way his scar itched.

-end of p5-

im so glad you guys are liking this storyyyy!!! and now we're getting to the good shit, buckle up chuckle fucks!

taglist!!!!

@dracosslxt4eva @dream-your-own-way @slaggylemon

@slytherinbackintomyroom @starryhiraeth @larallott

@kayytt-2 @chimchoom

[tlirswriting]

Martian: 

adj. Belonging or relating to the planet or people of Mars 

> In the year 2280, a young man stands in front of his bathroom mirror and runs a hand through his hair, interspersed with delicate tendrils, glowing faintly blue at the tips. 

> He hesitates for a moment, scissors in hand, before grabbing a section of hair and chopping it off, white-hot pain shooting down his spine. Unclenching his fist, he drops a chunk of dark hair in his sink, along with a few writhing sensory organs similar to catfish whiskers. Biting his tongue, he repeats the process around his head, shaking and nauseous by the time it's done. He opens his eyes, and he looks mostly Human. 

> His name is Atlas, and he is dying. 

> Atlas struggles against the artificial gravity to step into the shower without his joint braces on, grabbing onto a thick metal bar to steady himself and sinking down to a small plastic stool. The water sputters on, rinsing the blood dripping from his scalp. 

Welcome to life on Mars

[traumasurvivors]

Feeling the effects of trauma is a normal response to a traumatic experience! It’s kind of like how it’s a normal response to bleed after you fall and scrape your knee.

[onenicebugperday]

@pyrohorse submitted: A sweet little lady having a meal for her babies! Also a horse of some variety. No need for ID just wanted to share.

I hope she enjoyed her meal and didn't leave too itchy a bite mark! Really nice horse also

[wolfertinger666]

I have a polar bear t girl oc who drinks blood and eats various meats and organs I should draw her again