#but i narrowed it down to 3 i've played before and 1 i really really wanna play

[hauntedtrait]

🌿 ⚔️👊 🏴‍☠️

top left: Serenity | firbolg, circle of spores druid top right: Gethin Wolf-killer | aasimar, devotion paladin/blood-hunter bottom left: Sigrid Stormbringer | half-elf, storm herald barbarian bottom right: Korrin Silverstrand | air genasi, drunken soul monk

[twizzie-lairs]

My Darling, My Honey

Alastor X Fem!Reader (Part 11)

Have a nice big chapter/part for the weekend! :D

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 |

Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11

Part 11:

Did.. did Charlie just say... Alastor?

You felt someone poke your face, multiple times, all at once, "Hey, Hey, miss bandage face, you good?"

You blink rapidly, being pulled out of your stupor and laugh awkwardly, "Ah haha, uh yeah. Yup, I'm good... Haha, thanks Angel.."

Angel just squints at you, not convinced of your act at all but just sighs and says, "Alright, whatever you say, weirdo.." and then returns back to chatting with Husk.

Vaggie, who was sitting next to you struck up a conversation, "Are you really sure you're okay to be up and around already? You look like you saw a ghost or something."

You briefly glanced at the radio that was sitting on the mantle on the wall before returning your attention to Vaggie, "Yeah, being up was much better than sitting doing nothing, I thought I was going to waste away if I didn't do something."

Vaggie sighs and nods her head, "I know the feeling."

"And.. I swear I thought I heard Charlie mention the name Al-"

"Alastor! You're back! We have a new guest staying at the hotel! Come say hi!" Charlie shot out of her seat as soon as she saw Alastor's shadows start to manifest, signaling his return.

You felt your blood run cold as your suspicions were confirmed. Yes, she just said Alastor. How common could that name be down here? This is just a coincidence, surely- Of all names!

"My, my dear Charlie, you seem quite excited! I haven't seen you bouncing off the walls like this in ages!" Alastor chuckles as he allows Charlie to practically drag him over by the wrist to the group.

He sounds like a radio host...

Your breath starts to quicken as Charlie guides him over to you, his aura feels so oppressive, unlike any Overlord you had ever met before... But what made your hair really stand on the back of your neck was the static noise that filled the air as he got closer. You felt your eyes shake and your gut sink in your stomach.

What was this feeling?

You gulp and look up, eyes wide, looking like a deer in headlights as you make eye contact with this "Alastor".

"Go on! Introduce yourself!" You felt Charlie nudge you excitedly, in an attempt to nudge you out of your frozen state.

On his face, a large, creepy grin/smile- (if you could even call it that) grew even larger on his face - a feat you didn't even know was possible. You felt like you should be scared but then... It dawned on you.

That feeling in your gut dissipated instantly and it felt like a weight got suddenly lifted off your chest.

This was Alastor. This was your Alastor.

Tears start rolling down your face uncontrollably as your body is racked with sobs.

"Heyyy! Hey! It's okay, (y/n)! I know Al can be a wee bit intimidating sometimes but I promise he's not a bad guy! Well... mostly.. haha..." Charlie trails off with a nervous chuckle as she scrambles around the lobby to find you some tissues to dry your tears.

Upon hearing your name said out loud, a loud record scratch filled the air.

"Haha... ha...Charlie, dearest! My, you'd think the years are catching up to me! Was that some sort of joke? Why, I didn't know you wanted to become a comedian! Did you say.. (y/n)? That must be a mistake. I've only ever known one person by that name and they surely couldn't have ended up in Hell of all places!" Alastor chuckles, the laugh track coming from his staff warping as he hovers over Charlie with an intimidating aura- thinking she was playing some sort of sick joke on him.

Charlie whips around to see Alastor up in her face and then she scrambles back, "Woah! What? Alastor! Gods, no, why would I joke about our new guest? That would go against everything i'm trying to do here!"

Alastor's gaze darts over to you, "You see, I think this '(y/n)' and I need to have a chat..." His eyes narrow as he makes quotation marks with his fingers as he says your name.

He walks towards you and grabs your wrist with force, finger like claws starting to dig into your arm- despite protest from Charlie and Vaggie to let you go- to stop harassing their new guest because you were still quite injured and fragile. Even Angel and Husk got up from their seats at the bar after hearing the commotion in the lounge and started yelling at him to stop hurting you because it was very apparent that you were in pain with how rough he was handling you.

Then, with a snap, he teleports you and himself up to his radio tower- away from all the commotion.

Alastor slams the door shut with a fury that you've never seen before, and locks it to make sure you won't even try to make a feeble attempt at an escape.

He was powerful. Alastor knew he didn't really need to lock the door because with his power, he could vaporize you before you even thought of making a dash for the door. He did it as an intimidation tactic because he knew the fear it instilled in his prey.

Now, walking towards you, he pointed his staff at your chest, and leaned in close to your face. Strange static and symbols fill the air as he and his antlers grow in size, towering over you.

"Now... who are you really? You get one chance to make a feeble excuse before I kill you and broadcast your screams for all of Hell to hear, for making a mockery of my dear (y/n) by taking the name of my beloved and masquerading around Hell- thinking you can show up here like this to try and mess with ME- tHe RaDiO DEMON."

You see dark shadows and tentacle-like masses appear, and you stumble backward until your back hits a wall, never breaking eye contact with him- your lip quivering in fear.

"I.. But- It... is me...hun... I missed you so much..." You whisper with a somber smile that's quickly warped into an ugly crying face. The unrelenting tears keep rolling down your face, and your left hand reaches up towards his even more demonically altered form that towers over you in a desperate attempt to get him to recognize you.

Before you can touch his face, one of his hands snatches your wrist and pulls it closer to himself to examine the sparkle that caught his eye as you started to reach out to him, roughly jostling you and lifting you up in the air by your wrist as a result.

You wince briefly at the pain in your wrist and shoulder joints as he examines your hand when you remember you were wearing your ring. You never took it off all these years.

You could hear his breath hitch just ever so slightly over the static as he gently put you down and let your feet touch the floor again.

Alastor realized that the ring on your left ring finger was the exact one he had gotten for you- the one he put on your ring finger right before he buried you right the night you were brutally assaulted and murdered back when he was alive.

He slowly morphed back into his "normal" form. (Normal for Hell, that is, this was an entirely new look for him from what you remembered when he was alive).

The shock dawning on him that it really was you was apparent as he took a few steps back, still holding your hand. He looked at you in disbelief, the look of pure shock was just like how you had looked at him initially in the lobby.

Then suddenly, he pulled you into a warm embrace, "My dearest... I am so sorry for hurting you. My darling... whatever are you doing here? Someone like you doesn't belong here!"

Now, holding your face in both of his hands, he wiped your tears with the most gentle expression on his face, a stark contrast from the nightmarish demonic one just a moment ago. and you could almost swear you could see the slightest traces of a misty look in his eyes as he held you.

His claw-like fingers slightly dug into your face, but not enough to hurt, as he examined your new appearance, his gaze turning from soft into a hardened expression once again. Almost snarling, he began to ask you again, "Tell me, darling, tell me the name of the gods forsaken angel bastard that cast you down from Heaven. I will find a way to make them pay. I'll make them ALL pay for this... NO ONE will ever harm you again..." The strange symbols and glitchy auras were threatening to come out again.

You sniffled, still trying to calm down your tears, which immediately made him halt in his tracks and turn his attention back to you at this moment.

You looked at the ground, and you knew you couldn't avoid this conversation forever, "Hun... I... Before we met... there was something I never told you-" Before you could finish, you felt your legs start to wobble underneath you- the adrenaline was starting to fade and you were starting to feel some of the pain from your previous injuries come back to you.

"Please, my love, take a seat first." He guided you to a set of a table and two chairs. Ever the gentleman, he pulled your chair out for you and helped made sure you were alright before he sat down across the table from you.

You put your hands on the table, a signal he immediately picked up on as a sign to envelop your hands in his. You looked at him in the eyes with a look of shame that scrunched up your face as you prepared to tell him the truth, "Alastor, hun... I never went to Heaven..."

You swore you heard another record scratch before a quiet hum of static filled the air again. Alastor chuckled, "Oh my dear, never lost your sense of humor, I see!"

A look of even deeper shame washes over your face as you break eye contact with him and stare at his hands that held your's on the table, "It's true. Alastor..." You sigh deeply, feeling an aching pain in your chest, not only from your injuries but also from the mental anguish you were dealing with as you shakily begin to explain everything about your past. Your shitty family and messed-up inlaws. Your narcissistic, unloving, and abusive ex-husband that you killed.

You painstakingly revealed every single minute detail. You told him everything.

-> Part 12

Tag List:

@mysticwitchcraftco @lil-bexie @lonely-burger @cherry-cola-100 @angelxx7 @mariaclarade-la-cruz1 @avitute @justhellacesome @mcrtrashfan @spookysisters

[nicka-nell]

Getting interrupted during sexy time

Pairing: Osamu x, Ushijima x, Iwaizumi x reader

Warning: fluff, slightly nsfw, mdni, 18+

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

You are in Osamu's and Atsumu's apartment. Atsumu is at his training and you are alone with Osamu. 

Due to the construction of his onigiri store, you've hardly had any time to spend together in the last few weeks. So you were all the happier to be finally back in his powerful arms. Even if he smells of paint, sweat and food. 

"Samu, I love you, but you really stink," you say as he holds you tight in his arms and can't help but laugh. 

"Sorry, I should probably go take a shower and then we can watch a movie in bed and..." he grins mischievously at you, watching you raise your eyebrow. You know exactly what he has in mind. And it's definitely not watching a movie in bed. "We could just take a shower together. I'll help you soap up and..." you say playfully and feel Osamu's hands move from your waist down to your legs. He lifts you up without hesitation and walks towards the bathroom. "Your plan sounds much better, baby." 

It's not long before Osamu rips the clothes off your body, takes his off just as quickly and throws them into a corner, just to pull you into the shower. "Shit baby, did I tell you that you're the best for telling us to make sure we had a big floor-level shower when we bought the apartment?" Osamu says between your passionate kisses, before closing the shower curtain and turning on the water. 

Your kisses get wilder and wilder. His hands press you against the cool tiles of the shower when you suddenly hear the door to the bathroom open.

"Oi Samu, m'back. Sorry if I'm disturbing ya, but I have to piss so bad. I must have drunk 2 liters of water during training." Says Atsumu who rushes into the bathroom and opens the toilet lid and starts emptying his bladder. "Oh shiiiit, that's so fuckin' good," Atsumu sighs as you stare wide-eyed and angry at Osamu, who narrows his eyes in frustration. 

"Are ya fuckin' serious, Tsumu? I'm taking a shower!" grumbles Osamu. But Atsumu doesn't seem to care. "So what? Should I pee in our plants or what? We're twins. I've seen yer dick more often as a child than yer sweet wifey." Atsumu replies before pulling his pants back up. 

You hope so much that he just disappears quickly and you can hit Osamu for not locking the door. 

"Gosh.... When you're done, go. For fucks sake just go. Just because we're twins doesn't mean ya have to hold my hand while I shower." Osamu says annoyed. Atsumu however, just sighs and is about to leave before he turns around again. "Then just lock up next time. Oh and... by the way, hi, favorite sister-in-law." You don't have to see it to know that Atsumu is looking towards the shower curtain with a big grin on his silly face before he leaves the bathroom. 

Embarrassed, you slap your hands over your face. "Shit, he's seen the clothes," you say, knowing full well that he'll be teasing you for months. You're probably not even thinking about sex now. 

Ushijima is not someone who would sleep with you in the wildest or riskiest places. On the opposite, that kind of intimacy takes place in the bedroom. Well, maybe occasionally in the kitchen when he's watching you prepare his food and just looking sexy. 

So it's not really common for the two of you to be caught by anyone. Actually…

It's a normal evening like any other when you walk into the bedroom to Ushijima, who is already in bed. You snuggle under the covers with him and lean against him while he sets his alarm for tomorrow on his cell phone. 

You caress his bare abs, feel yourself wanting more than just to go to sleep and start playing with the waistband of his trunks. 

"Honey, I have to get up early tomorrow," Ushijima interrupts you, putting down his phone and looking at you with his rather monotone gaze, but you recognize a small smile. 

"We don't have to prolong it artificially..." you say playfully and sit down on his pelvis.

Ushijima says nothing more. Instead his hands automatically move to your hips, gripping them tightly while his gaze becomes increasingly hungry. 

He watches you as you take off your top, your bare breasts visible, as you sit on him in just your panties. 

You lift your pelvis, pulling slowly on your panties to pull them down slightly and tease Ushijima a little as he grabs you and switches positions. Now you're lying on your back, Ushijima in front of you before he quickly pulls the panties off your legs. "You said we wouldn't drag it out unnecessarily," he says in a low voice before he takes off his trunks and bends over you. "Do we need lube?" "Hell no, just start." you say greedily. 

Ushijima does as you command and starts thrusting into you, lifting your pelvis slightly upwards and looking deep into your eyes. "Mhh baby yes." you moan, enjoying this moment when suddenly his cell phone rings next to you on the bedside cabinet. 

You both look at his cell phones briefly. Tendou Satori....

Seriously... now? "Toshi, baby, you can call Satori back later," you say as you feel his thrusts slow down a bit. 

"But what if it's important?" he asks. "If you stop now, that will be the last time we have sex," you say angrily as you pant.

"Then I won't stop... but then try not to be too loud," he says suddenly, leaning forward towards you and moving his hips more aggressively again as he reaches for his cell phone and clicks accept. 

He turns the cell phone to loudspeaker, puts it next to you and buries his head in your neck. 

"Hey, Satori, are you okay?" Ushijima tries to say as neutrally as possible while he's balls-deep inside you. You try to shut down your moans, finding the situation surprisingly arousing. Probably because you've never done anything so 'risky' before. 

"Hahahaha Ushiwaka did you really just answer the phone while you were sleeping with your wife? Ui ui ui you really have a lot to learn. I only know stuff like having sex while talking to someone on the phone from a filthy manga. But well, next time pay attention to whether you're being called by video call or by normal call. Your camera is on." Tendou laughs in his usual crazy way as you both get wide-eyed and look at the phone next to you, which reflects Ushijima's naked upper body. 

Ushijima hastily grabs the cell phone and presses the hang-up button with the words "I'll call you back." 

Sighing, he leans his head against your chest, and while you take it with humor and can't suppress your laughter, Ushijima will certainly never do anything else when you two get intimate. 

Iwaizumi and you are visiting Oikawa in Argentina with your friends and have booked a two-week vacation. You are all staying in a hotel. Everyone has their own room, but of course you and Iwaizumi share one.

During the first week you have already done a lot with your friends and you have once again realized how annoying Oikawa can sometimes be. He was always teasing you two "lovebirds". Of course, he always meant it sweetly, but today you were happy to be alone with Iwaizumi in your hotel room in the evening and to go to dinner with him in the hotel restaurant. Alone!

Freshly showered, you come out of the bathroom and are about to go to the wardrobe to pick out an outfit for the evening when you can't take your eyes off Iwaizumi. 

Iwaizumi is already an attractive man. But what makes him even more attractive than he already is? Right when he stands in front of the mirror in his suit trousers and a shirt and rolls up his shirt sleeves to show off his muscular forearms. 

"Oh baby, you're playing a dangerous game," you say in a seductive voice as you walk towards him, still with your towel wrapped around you. 

Iwaizumi turns to you, eyeing you with a grin. "I'm playing a dangerous game? Says the one who comes out of the shower looking so sexy," says Iwaizumi, and pulls you close to give you a kiss. 

You push him away with a giggle and look at him sheepishly. "The towel is still slightly wet... you're ruining your clothes," you say, pulling his shirt back into place. 

"You know... we've been traveling all week... what do you say we order the food up here today? Room service? Then we'll have a bit of time to burn off a few... calories beforehand? What do you think?" Iwaizumi whispers in your ear as he pulls you close again and starts kissing your neck. 

How can you say no to this offer? You think to yourself, already feeling the warmth rising to your head. With a pleasant murmur, you agree before moving your hands from his collar to the buttons of his shirt, opening them bit by bit to touch his abs with your fingertips. 

"Let me just order room service. For in an hour?" he asks as he gently starts kissing your neck up to your shoulder blade. He pulls on your towel before it falls to the floor and he pushes you onto the bed behind you. 

"Sounds good." you say, biting your lip as Iwaizumi eyes you hungrily. He takes a deep breath before forcing himself to concentrate on the phone call for just a moment longer. 

While he calls room service and orders dinner, you sit upright on the bed and start undoing the belt of his pants, pulling them down, including his boxer briefs. 

The call is over in seconds when Iwaizumi quickly takes off his open shirt and leans forward, grasping your face with his hands and pushing you back down onto the bed. "Oh baby, you don't know how much I want you right now," he moans with a deep voice. 

You don't want to wait any longer either and wrap your legs around his hips. 

You kiss passionately, his hands caress your body as if you hadn't seen each other for months and it doesn't take long before you give in to your lust completely. 

Iwaizumi knows exactly what you like, how he has to move so that you moan for him in the most beautiful tones and, as expected, it doesn't stop at just one round. 

You're like new lovers who can't keep their hands off each other, while you've already forgotten the number of orgasms or how many rounds this is now. The fourth?

"God baby I love you." moans Iwaizumi, on the verge of cumming, when suddenly someone knocks on the door. You both flinch. Out of breath, you look up at him. 

"It must be room service with the food," you say as your chest heaves up and down, your legs already trembling from all the heights.  "Yes... wait, stay there, I'll take care of it." Iwaizumi says, a little exhausted by now, sweat glistening on his body. He carefully detaches himself from you, gives you another gentle kiss on the forehead before grabbing a bathrobe from the closet and wrapping it around himself before heading for the door. "Coming..." he says, opening the door just a crack to take the food so that the hotel employee doesn't see your naked body lying in bed. 

However, it is not the hotel employee standing in the doorway. It is Oikawa, Matsukawa and Yahaba. Oikawa happily pulls the door open and is about to enter the room with the words "Let's eat together! We've got pizza and drinks!" when the three men see you in bed with and how you quickly try to cover your body with the sheets and before they can say anything, Iwaizumi throws them out of the hotel room and slams the door. "I really don't need your face here right now, Shittykawa! Get out of here!" 

The second week of vacation you all planned together was a mixture of awkward eye contact and teasing from the others. 

A vacation with friends is no longer on your list for a long time. 

[beomiracles]

「 GREED 」

DREAM RECALL your kind heart often led you down dangerous paths. So when there's a knock on your door and you find a beautiful man in dire need of your help, who are you to turn him down? Even if it may cost you your life.

pairings vampire!taehyun x afab!human reader warnings minor character death, descriptions of violence, descriptions of injury, DUB-CON (taehyun compels reader), blood drinking, oral (f. rec), vaginal fingering, unprotected sex, orgasm denial, breast play, marking, choking, manhandling, slight dumbification?, taehyun refers to reader only as 'human', prey/predator dynamics. please let me know if I missed any !!

wc -> 6.5k

#serene adds ✎... ahem the literal bible of warnings...anyway! guys I lowkey really like this one, it's my first ever vampire fic, which is crazy because I'm a diehard vampire fan (name any show/movie/book and I will know of it) so I'm surprised that I've managed to go this long without writing one. I really didn't intend for it to get this long and um like 1/3 is just smut... happy reading ! :3

The radio of your old car made a bruising noise before giving up completely, your last bit of civilization diminishing to nothing. Sighing you glance toward your GPS, but even that seemed futile. “I guess it’s just you and me now, Lola”, you state as you peer at your dog in the rear view mirror. 

Ahead, the narrow road made for a bumpy ride as you dwelled deeper into the forest. Surrounding you were pine trees, standing tall and proud, looming over you in an almost menacing way, as if to say; you are not welcome here. With both your phone and radio cut off, you were beginning to think that maybe there lay something in the unspoken words of the trees. This was no place for humans, yet you recognized the way the road turned, if ever so slightly, not to mention the familiar large stone that you had climbed so many times before. 

Soon the small cottage comes into view, and it was just as you had remembered it, save for the overgrown lawn that reaches its way through the old wooden planks of the porch. Your vehicle comes to a stop and as you step outside, the earthy smell of the forest greets you. Lola, on the other hand, sems skeptical; she fuzzes for a moment before finally getting out as you opened the trunk for her. “Oh don’t be so quick to judge it, you haven’t even seen the inside yet”, you give your dog a few pats before retrieving your large bag from the car. 

The old wooden steps creak under your weight as you make your way toward the front door. Rust had formed around the lock and it took more than a few tries to get the darned thing opened. With the push of your shoulder, the old door finally budges and you step inside. Nostalgia immediately fills your senses, it smells stuffy and old yet exactly like your childhood. The many summers you had spent cooped up in the small house, plenty of your drawings remaining on the wallpapered walls. 

It had been years since the passing of your parents, years since the house became yours, and years since anyone had even bothered to acknowledge its existence. In a way, you supposed you felt bad for the place, yet you hadn’t been able to come here without the painful memories of your parents flooding your mind. Not up until recently had you felt ready, ready to return here and remember the good things, the good memories. You wanted this house to remain a happy place for you. 

“Well it could definitely use a sweep, what’d you say, Lola?” The dog lets out a gruff of agreement as she noses at the dust covered sofa with a displeased look. Most of the place had been drowned in layers upon layers of dust and spiderwebs, you were certain that all kinds of animals lingered around the old building, seeking shelter from the harsh conditions the outside world provided. 

You spend the rest of the day cleaning, going through old photographs and personal belongings of both you and your parents. The downs of being an only child you supposed, not having anyone to share your grief with. It would’ve been nice to not be completely alone in the mess that your parents left, from arranging their funeral to selling their house back in the city. The project that was this cabin had all become too much, and thus you had put it off, admittedly for longer than you had originally intended. Though now that you were finally getting around to it, it was with a light heart rather than a heavy. 

By nightfall you had finished off practically all of the first floor. Flopping down on the now very much clean couch, you let out a tired sigh. Lola was sleeping peacefully on the carpet nearby and you leaned to give her a few pats before reaching for your phone. The device had been in and out of signal throughout the day, you figured you could try your luck with a call. 

Bringing it up to your ear, your phone rings, once, twice, three times before there’s a shift in the audio. “Hello?” The voice of your friend calls out on the other line and a small sigh of relief escapes your lips. “Jjunie? Hii, it’s me! Can you hear me?” You ask as there’s a small disturbance in the quality of the call. 

“Dimples?” he asks and you giggle, “who else?” Yeonjun lets out a huff of air and you hear the rustling of his mattress as he sits up, “I’ve been texting you like crazy, where have you been all day?” he questions, a tone of fake hurt lingering in his words. “I know”, you mumble as you pick at your cuticle, “I’ve barely had any service all day, it’s a miracle that this call even went through.” 

“I guess you’re really living that outdoor mindfulness life now huh?” he teases and you could’ve sworn that you heard the shit eating grin on his face. “Ha-ha”, you muse, “careful or I’ll make you spend the next week here with me. You could use a detox from that phone of yours.” Your friend snorts, “as if. My followers need me.” You roll your eyes, “you sure it’s not the other way around?” you ask to which Yeonjun responds with a row of profanities. 

Aside from a few break ups here and there the call runs smoothly and you’re relieved to be having a conversation with another human being for the first time today. After about twenty minutes of catching up, the subject suddenly shifts as Yeonjun’s voice grows wary. “You’ve heard about the stuff that’s been happening right?” 

You frown, "No? What stuff?” On the other side of the line, Yeonjun hesitates. “Well c’mon and tell me”, you press as you sit up a little straighter. Drawing in a long sigh, he then exhales, “well there’s been, bodies…” “Bodies?” you repeat, “you mean like…?” — “Dead bodies, yeah.” 

A small silence lingers in the air as you process the words of your friend. “Hikers”, he then adds and you gnaw on your bottom lip. “Well there’s plenty of good hiking trails around”, you mumble. It wasn’t unusual for people to try their luck up in this forest, during your summers spent here you had seen plenty of tents indicating someone’s stay. “Some are quite dangerous though and-” —- “That’s not why they died.” Yeonjun interrupts with a solemn voice and you feel your throat go dry. 

“Right…” you murmur as your gaze flickers toward Lola, “then how did they die?” Once more, your friend on the other line hesitates. “Please, Jjunie, I need to know, and I don’t exactly have any other way of finding out, other than going out there myself.” Outside of your window, the forest seemed darker than it had all those years ago; something bad had happened here. 

“They think it was an animal of some kind…” Yeonjun whispers and suddenly you feel a slight glimmer of hope. “Jjunie, trust me I’ve encountered plenty of-” — “This one’s different, Dimples.” Your friend interrupts you again, though his voice is now uncertain, “this thing, it’s smarter, it…it lures its way inside.” 

You swallow, “what do you mean?” Though you weren’t certain that you wanted to know. “It…the bodies, they never left their tents. It came to them.” The silence that follows is palpable and a shiver runs down your spine, despite the fact that you were covered head to toe in blankets. 

That night, you barely got any sleep. Your mind kept shifting back toward your conversation with Yeonjun as your gaze flickered to the window. You got up to close the curtains, but it did little to help the uncanny feeling seeping through your veins. Lola seemed to notice it too, she barely made a move to go outside, if only to use the bathroom. As three days passed, your phone refused to work and you became increasingly paranoid. 

By your fourth night at the cabin a heavy storm rolled around. This would also mark your fourth night without any signal whatsoever, the events of the outside world remaining unknown to you. The thunder roared outside, and if it wasn’t for Lola’s sensitive hearing, you probably would have missed the light knock to your front door. 

The persistent barking of your dog turns your attention toward said door, “what is it, Lola?” you ask to which your dog lets out a small whine. There’s a brief pause and for a moment everything is quiet, even the merciless storm outside seemed to hold its breath. Another knock against the old wood sends your heartbeat into a small spiral. You knew better than to open the door for just any stranger, besides, what business did another human being have in the middle of this forest? Unless… They were a hiker. 

Soon a raspy voice echoes out from the other side of the door. “P-please…please help me...” Your eyes widened, were they hurt, had something happened, and why were they alone? “Are you hurt?” you question as you get up and slowly inch toward the door, Lola trails behind you worriedly. 

It takes a moment before the voice replies, ragged breaths and soft grunts are all that can be heard. “...yes.” Their answer makes you hesitate, there was something uncanny about the voice, it felt almost strained. Upon noticing your evident doubt the voice pleads to you once more. “Please, please let me in. It hurts…” The voice morphs from a quiet plea into one of sheer desperation. 

“Who hurt you?” you ask, still wary as you keep one hand on the doorknob. Behind you, Lola whines in protest as she pulls her tail between her legs. The person on the other side of the door draws in a sharp breath, “I…I don’t know, it…I couldn’t see it clearly but it’ll come back I’m certain.. Please, please let me in!” it begs. 

Suddenly, you recall your last conversation with Yeonjun, about the animal preying on hikers. Could this be another of its victims? Whoever was on the other side of the door were in dire need of your help. With one final deep breath you unlock it and turn the handle. 

On your doorstep, you find a young man, slightly hunched over as he maintains a tight grip on his left arm. His breathing is labored and his clothes torn. It is not until he glances up at you, a hesitant yet hopeful look on his face that you finally see him. He was beautiful. Big dark eyes stare up at your own, his skin was smooth and perfect, yet sickly pale, you supposed it had to do with being out in this weather. 

“Oh my goodness…” you quietly mumble as you take in the state of the man. “Come in.” 

Upon urging him inside and shutting the door tightly behind you, you guide him to sit on one of the chairs by the dining table. The man thanks you over and over for your kindness as you rush to get him a warm blanket. “What’s your name?” you wonder as you place the quilt over his shoulders. He silently thanks you before replying, “Taehyun.” 

Just when you’re about to tell him your own, Lola emits a loud bark as she growls toward the man. Taehyun gives her a questioning glance but doesn’t seem to pay her any further attention. “Lola! Quit that!” you scold, embarrassed over your dog's odd behavior. “She isn’t usually like this, I don’t know what’s gotten into her…” you apologize as you swat the dog away with your hand. 

Taehyun gives you a small smile, “it’s alright, I’m certainly not the most pleasant thing to gaze upon at this given moment.” You thought his statement to be debatable as your eyes trail across his well built frame; stopping as they reach the large gash on his left arm. “Oh my, your…your arm”, you exclaim as you watch the way blood trickles from the fresh wound. Following your horrified gaze, Taehyun winces as he flexes his arm slightly. 

“Stay here, I’ll get you something for the pain!” You say as you scurry out of the kitchen and to your bedroom where you kept most of your essential supplies. Thankfully you had thought to bring along a medical kit, in case of an emergency like this. Though you were rather unsure if your meek bandage and lacking surgical skills would do much good to the large gash on his arm. Before exiting, you make sure to shut Lola in, not wanting her to cause yet another scene, she whines in protest as you do but you pay it little mind. 

Hastily, you return to the kitchen, and as you set the medkit down you begin rummaging through it. “I should have some kind of disinfectant here..” you mumble without lifting your gaze. It wasn’t until you went to check on the severity of his injuries once more that you froze in your tracks. The once large wound on his arm was…gone. You frown, “what…but I could’ve sworn…” 

The quiet chuckle emitting from the man before you makes your blood run cold as you lift your gaze to meet his. Taehyun’s once pleading eyes were now peering at you in an almost predatorial way as he studied your perplexed expression. “But I…” your words fall short as Taehyun suddenly rises from the chair, without taking his gaze off of you, he reaches a hand up to his neck, it makes a cracking sound as he tilts his head to the side, a small sigh escaping his lips. 

“You humans are far too kind.” His voice is low and as he takes a step forward, you immediately falter backward. The back of your legs hit the table behind you and you wince as you fumble to move around it. “Inviting just anyone into your home like that.” Taehyun’s eyes never leave you as a smirk etches its way to his lips. “My, your gullibleness is quite endearing.” 

You cast a quick glance around the old kitchen, your gaze falling on one of the larger knives. All you had to do was move one step to the right, reach out and… Taehyun’s eyes follow your own and he cocks an eyebrow. “I admire your plan of strategy, but a mere human’s tool will bring little harm to my kind.” 

His kind? Just what exactly was this man. You swallow a gulp as your gaze flickers between him and the knife, your heartbeat working overtime as you grasp for a decision. Despite his words you end up reaching for the knife, grabbing it tightly with both hands, you aim it toward the intruding man. “What do you want from me?” you grit out as you steady your feet against the wooden floor. 

Taehyun inhales slowly, letting his eyes flutter closed for a brief moment; as if savoring a pleasant scent. When he opens them again they’re a swirling pool of crimson. “Now you’re asking the right questions”, his voice lingers with desire as he slowly makes his way around the dining table. 

Like a deer in headlights you immediately dart in the opposite direction. Tumbling out of your kitchen and into the open spaced living room. Behind you, Taehyun laughs, an almost sinister laugh. Frantically you search for anything to shield yourself with. Settling on one of the armchairs in the corner, you quickly dip behind it. With your knees to your chest and back pressed against the soft cushion; you cover your mouth with your free hand, the other maintaining a tight grip on the knife. 

The wooden floor creaks beneath him as Taehyun slowly emerges from the kitchen. “Your determination to live is surely fascinating” he muses, the sound of his voice only becoming louder as he slowly approaches your corner. “Foolish human, you forget that I can hear the delectable sound of your heart beating from miles away.” 

Biting down on your hand, you will the tears away as you screw your eyes shut. “The human’s weak body gives them away before they even become aware of the dangers surrounding them.” The sounds of his footsteps come to a stop and you hold your breath, you don’t dare open your eyes, prolonging the moment for as long as possible. 

It is not until you feel his cold breath on your face that they snap open. The smirk plastered on his beautiful face as he watches you with much intrigue is enough for you to finally act. Your arm works faster than your brain as you swing the knife toward him. Taehyun lets out a faint hiss as he pulls back, thick red liquid seeps from the small cut on his cheek and his expression soon turns from smug into a scowl. 

Seizing your opportunity, you scramble to your feet as you dart for your bedroom. Though you barely make it 10ft before something hard crashes into you from behind. With inhumane speed Taehyun slams you up against the nearest wall. A cold hand wraps around your neck as he lifts you without much trouble. 

Your feet kick at the wall behind you as your body trashes against his grip. With his free hand, Taehyun wipes the blood from his cheek, the wound closing up before your eyes. In your haste you realize that you’ve lost your knife, your only hope. Letting out a huff of air, Taehyun’s gaze locks onto yours, “the others did not struggle this much”, he mutters. 

The others? As realization slowly seeps in, your eyes widen — it wasn’t an animal that had killed all those hikers. It was him. His tight grip on your neck restricts your intake of air and you barely manage to gasp out the word, “y-you..” Taehyun tilts his head to the side, a glimmer of curiosity flashing before his eyes. The grip on your neck falters, if only for a moment, as he lets you regain your breath in order to continue. 

“It was you. You killed all those people”, you splutter as your chest rises and falls in a heavy manner. He smirks, and from this close you’re able to make out the sharp fangs that prod against his bottom lip. “I see I have earned myself quite a reputation amongst your kind”, he comments before leaning in closer, eyes glinting with intrigue, “pray tell, what else have you heard of me?” 

You part your lips to reply before you stop yourself. As Yeonjun’s words ring in your ears you suddenly realize your mistake. “It lures its way inside. They never left their tents. It came to them.” He had come to you, he had knocked on your door and you had let him in. You hadn’t even left your house and the next time you would it would be in a body bag. 

Everything aligned, the pale skin, his inhumane strength and speed, his ability to heal, the crimson eyes, his fangs. He was a vampire and you had willingly invited him inside your house, ultimately signing your own death. 

“I let you in…” you whisper, disbelief evident across your face. “Ah, you are finally connecting the dots”, he mumbles, “I must admit you differ from the rest.” Cold fingers trace the outline of your face before trailing down your collarbone. His touch causes shivers to ripple through your body and Taehyun’s smirk grows. “Had I not been so insatiably hungry right now, I might have kept you around for a bit.” 

His gaze shifts from your mortified expression down to your neck. Contradicting to his previous tight hold on you, he now gently brushes along the exposed veins. “This forest has been vacant for weeks, I thought my last meal here had long since passed.” He brings a strand of your hair to his nose, inhaling the scent. 

“But then came you. And you smell absolutely divine.” His voice is low as his eyes flicker back to yours once more. Horrified, you shake your head as you push against his chest, your meek attempts at breaking free drew a breathy laugh from him. 

“Let us not struggle now.” The once feathery touch along your neck is replaced by a harsh and cold hand against your chin as he holds your face in place. And as your eyes come level with his own, you suddenly find it hard to look away. Dark pools of crimson pull you in, entrancing you as Taehyun mutters something under his breath. You know that it is wrong, but the longer you stare into his eyes the more you feel like giving yourself to him. Despite every instinct in you screaming for you to shut your eyes and pull back, you instead find yourself going limp in his grasp. 

“Much better”, he whispers as he loosens his hold on your chin. Your feet softly hit the ground again and you glance up at him. Somewhere in the back of your head, the urge to run still exists. But you don’t move, you stay unblinking as you gaze at him with a clouded expression. “You humans are almost beautiful when you don’t fret”, he mumbles as his cold fingers brush your hair back to expose your neck fully. 

His tongue drags across one of his fangs as he eyes the skin of your neck with anticipation. “Don’t worry, your sacrifice will not go to waste”, he assures as he leans in to press his cold lips against your warm skin. The feeling of his sharp fangs piercing the flesh of your neck causes your body to feel as if it were on fire. Yet all but a soft gasp is what leaves your lips at the intrusion. 

Everything hurt and you wanted nothing more than to push him off, pry his teeth from your weakening body. But your limbs felt strangely heavy, unable to move, your vision threatens to give out as your knees wobble. What was going on, why weren’t you doing anything? Taehyun groans against your skin, his hands harshly tugging at your hips to keep you in place.

Soon the burning sensation faded before it morphed into something dangerously similar to pleasure. Your body felt tingly, sensitive, every gulp of blood he took sent minor shock waves surging through you and you let out a small sigh at the feeling. To think that this was how you were to die, as nothing more but the next meal of a hungry creature, and in your last moments you found pleasure in it? The thought alone was enough to have your eyes drooping shut.  

Realization slowly creeps its way into your foggy mind — you were actually going to die. No one was coming to save you, you were all alone and this was how your last moments would play out? It was hard to feel any emotion, your mind far too clouded to even keep your eyes open, but if you could feel something, you supposed it would be despair. 

Teetering on the edge of unconsciousness, you accept your lowly fate. Just as the darkness is about to consume you, everything suddenly stops. Was death really nothing? Was there no heaven, no hell? Just darkness? It takes you a moment to realize that you are in fact not dead, and that Taehyun has pulled himself away from your neck.  

Slowly, your eyes regain focus as you look at him, confused. You were certain that he was going to kill you, did he really intend to prolong your inevitable death, to make you suffer further? You thought him to be cruel but this was far worse than you had imagined. 

His eyes remain a dark crimson as they fixate on you, but they had lost their sharp edge, he no longer looked as if he was eyeing his next meal, but rather his gaze held something akin to desire. Taehyun’s tongue swipes across his lips, coated in your rich blood as he savors the remnants of it. His breath is shallow, though you wondered if vampires ever really became out of breath. 

“You taste…” he trails off, eyes fixating on the puncturers he’d previously caused on your neck, “...unlike any human I’ve ever had before.” He almost looked to be at a loss for words as he stared at you, you weren’t sure if it was a good or a bad thing, and you couldn’t find yourself to care. Your body felt weak, numb and not like your own anymore. Perhaps death had been the easy way out from your current situation. 

As his cold fingers brush along your exposed collarbone, your gaze flickers back up to his once more. The movements of your own limbs still felt restricted by the unknown force caused by Taehyun, and even if they weren’t, you were sure that your body wouldn’t be able to maintain an upright position, much less run away from the creature before you. 

“I wonder if the rest of you taste just as divine”, he murmurs. His peering gaze suddenly shifts toward your lips and before you have time to question his intentions further, he crashes his lips against your own. 

At first you remain unmoving, unblinking, Taehyun pays your unenthusiastic response little mind as he kisses you hungrily. The faint metallic taste of your own blood lingers on his tongue as he pushes it inside your mouth and your nose turns up in slight disgust. Suddenly your body jolts to life once more, as if the spell in which he had put you under was lifted the moment his lips pressed against your own. 

With newfound strength you push against his cold and hard chest in a desperate attempt to break free. Your fighting hands are met by his own as Taehyun pins them to your sides before taking the liberty to explore all of your body. Cold hands wandering beneath your loose t-shirt, earning him a small whimper from you. 

You can’t help the moan that escapes from your lips as his fingers rub over your perked nipples, squeezing the soft flesh of your breasts. His touch felt oddly enticing and your body suddenly craved more, a lot more. But as his lips found your neck, the memories of what had previously taken place, flashes before your eyes and suddenly it feels as if those sharp fangs pierced your skin all over again. You become dangerously aware of what is about to happen as one of Taehyun’s hands tug at the hem of your shorts and you immediately try to twist your body away from his invasive touch. 

“No! Wait- stop!” you shriek as your hands work to pry him off of you. There’s a brief pause as Taehyun once again pulls his lips from your neck. He doesn’t say anything as he looks at you, an impassive expression pending across his face. You swallow, “this- I, what’s happening? This isn’t…” The words fall from your lips in a hasty manner as you struggle to form coherent thoughts, afraid that he would grow impatient at your antics and just kill you off. Finally you settle on, “I don’t understand.” 

Taehyun looks at you as he cocks an eyebrow, an insatiable hunger swirling behind his eyes. “You do not understand the act of indulging in one's sexual desires?” He wonders as he studies you with a mix of apprehension and disbelief. Your mouth falls open as you blink, “...I, of course I do but…” 

“Then you must understand that a vampire’s hunger exceeds beyond just his thirst for blood”, he murmurs as his gaze returns to your lips. “You are a very pretty human.” He breathes, cold fingers trail along your chest, pushing your shirt up to reveal your soft stomach. His eyes twinkle in anticipation, “there are other ways for you to satiate me.” 

With that statement, he reconnects your lips in a kiss filled with yearning. You don’t have any time to react before you feel your feet lift from the ground. The surge that forms in your stomach at his rapid movements remind you of that when a roller coaster drops. Your back hits the soft cushion of the sofa as Taehyun swiftly takes place above you, his arms caging you in.  

With one harsh tug, he pulls your shirt up to reveal your breasts. The cool air causes goosebumps to bloom on your skin, Taehyun trails his fingers over the small bumps as his lips attach around one of your nipples. Sharp fangs graze over your sensitive skin and you shiver in a fear mixed arousal. “I can hear your blood rushing”, he groans against your breast before moving on to the next one, leaving red marks that would soon blossom into purple. Tongue swirling over the sensitive bud, he elicits a small moan from you. 

In a tantalizing slow manner he moves down your stomach, inhaling your scent before stopping above the hem of your shorts. He looks up at you, with that same expression that had terrified you not long ago, he looked ready to eat you whole. “Are you scared, human?” he asks, fingers dipping inside the waistband of your pajama shorts. Your gaze flickers between his hand and his eyes, you swallow, “no.” 

Taehyun smirks, “liar.” Without warning he pulls both your panties and shorts down, a small shriek leaving your lips at the action as your thighs instinctively squeeze together. “There is little point in denying me”, he grunts as his hand easily finds its way between your sealed legs. Upon reaching your already wet cunt, Taehyun’s smirk grows, “and in denying yourself.” You bite your lip, unable to hide the fact that his lips on your own had spurred you on further than you’d liked to. 

“My, are you pretty”, he mumbles as his crimson eyes fixate on the way his fingers glide against your folds. His subtle comment has blood rushing to your face and had it not been for the way your core ached to be touched, you would’ve probably even been embarrassed at the remark. Squirming beneath him, your hips buck in an attempt to seek any kind of relief. Taehyun’s gaze snaps to your face, “you humans are far too greedy”, he snarls, “never satisfied with what they have, you always want more.” 

Your back arches off the cushion as he pushes two fingers inside of you. “Is that what you want?” He curls his fingers, brushing them against that small bundle of nerves that never failed to make you go cross eyed whenever you pleasured yourself. “To be ruined to bits by a vampire, reduced to nothing at my mercy?”

You meekly nod, struggling to keep your eyes open at the intense waves of pleasure that overflow your senses. Taehyun huffs, “I knew that your kind was pathetic, but this sure takes the price.” His words barely register, you’re too lost in the way his fingers move inside of you, thumb pressing up against your clit in a menacing way. 

When he suddenly pulls his hand away, you cry out in displeasure as your eyes shoot open in search of his. You find him already looking at you intently, his gaze unwavering as he watches the steady rise and fall of your chest, the way blood rushes beneath your skin, listening to the supple beating of your heart. 

His hand glides across the soft flesh of your thighs, “I need to taste you again”, he says, his voice strained and hoarse as his stare drops to your glistening folds. Before you have the time to register his words, his head is between your legs and you let out a small yelp at the feel of his cold breath hovering over your sensitive cunt. 

The idea of him, his mouth, his fangs, so close to such a sensitive part of you was terrifying in itself, yet you couldn’t find it in you to push him away. A low groan rumbles from deep within his chest as Taehyun drags his tongue along your slit, leaving you gasping as your nails dig into the cushion of the sofa. 

He pulls back for a moment, his eyes never leaving your core as he licks his lips, as if he focused entirely on the taste of you. Then, without warning he dives back in and your thigh twitches as his lips latch onto your clit. Hungrily, he sucks and laps at your cunt and you wondered how this man had been close to killing you just moments prior. 

Pathetic whines leave your lips as his tongue pushes inside of you, the tip of his nose rubbing against your clit. The harsh grip of his hands holds your thighs down as they threaten to close around his head. Moans and pleas fall from your lips but he pays them little mind, too focused on the way you taste, the way your body reacts to his touch. 

Your stomach draws into knots as you feel your orgasm approaching. Taehyun lets out a sound of contentment as he feels you clench around his tongue. “F-fuck…I’m..” your words are swallowed by the whine that leaves you as he pulls his head from between your legs, robbing you of the high that was just within your reach. 

“Again, you humans are consumed by your greed”, he tsk’s as he watches the way you squirm, pathetically chasing after your desired orgasm. He leans back on his knees as one of his hands frees his cock from his pants. “Patience”, he grunts as his pale hand glides along his shaft, “comes naturally when living for centuries. You humans only live to see a fragment of what I experience, yet you greedily take and take.” 

You swallow as your eyes shift from his intense gaze toward the hand wrapped around his cock. Like the rest of him, it was beautiful, flushed at the tip and slick with precum that spilled from the slit. Your cunt throbbed at the sight and you bit your lip in anticipation. Above you, Taehyun’s expression turns into a sneer, “do not think that I am here to fulfill your bottomless greed, human.” A small gasp leaves your lips as you feel the head of his cock pushing against your folds. 

With one harsh thrust, he buries himself deep inside of you, drawing a small shriek from you at the burning intrusion. Taehyun lets out a groan of satisfaction as his lips return to suck at the mark on your neck, the still fresh wound causing a throbbing pain to flare through your body, mixing with the feel of his cock deep inside of you. 

He moves slowly, taking his time to feel the way your body wrapped around him. The warmth of something so full of life entangled with the very epitome of death. The rapid beating of your heart against his unmoving one filling his senses. Your mind feels hazy and that familiar feeling of pleasure you had felt when he drained you of blood returned. With each slow thrust you felt him graze along every inch of you, the tip of his cock caressing the bundle of nerves that had you clenching around him. You had never felt so full before. 

His lips reconnect with yours, the taste of blood completely gone and now replaced by the remnants of your own fluids. And while it was certainly not something you had let previous partners do, it somehow felt right with him. Your hands loosen their grip on the cushion as they move across his body; the body you had longed to touch since he first appeared on your doorstep. 

Taehyun inhales against your lips as your warm fingers wander beneath his shirt and over his cold chest. Perhaps he was right, perhaps you were greedy, even on the brink of death you had let your desires consume you. But did it really matter? Your life was bound to end anyway. Once more, just once, you would let yourself be greedy. 

His hands glide across your body, squeezing and groping at every part of flesh he could access, relishing in how alive you felt, how your blood pulsated under his hands. Your legs move on their own, wrapping around his waist as you drew him in closer, making him groan into your mouth. 

He breaks the kiss to look at you, watching your eyes roll back in pleasure as your lips part in a silent moan. Cold fingers dig into your cheeks as he keeps your head in place. “Foolish human”, he grunts, “I could kill you right now.” His thumb pulls your bottom lip down, “either you are too dumb to even comprehend the danger of your situation, or you’re just too fucking desperate to care.” 

Without warning he pushes his thumb inside your mouth, you respond eagerly by swirling your tongue around it. “Considering the way your pussy so desperately sucks me in, I would assume the latter”, he sneers before pulling his thumb from your mouth, smearing your saliva across your lips and cheek. 

His thrusts grow ragged as he presses his lips against yours. You know that he’s close, and you were too, if only you could… Your hand slides between your bodies and down your stomach, but before reaching where you need it the most, cold fingers wrap around your wrist. “Stupid human”, Taehyun groans as yanks your hand away. 

The whine that escapes your lips is soon replaced by a soft gasp as his fingers circle your clit. Your legs around his waist tremble as you finish around his cock, a cry of pleasure emitting from deep within your throat as your nails dig into his arms whilst you continuously clench around him. 

Taehyun’s lips travel down your neck, licking over the previous bruises he’d left before hovering above the sensitive bite marks. You’ve barely come down from your high when you feel his hips stutter, the warm liquid that shoots up inside of you makes you completely unguarded for when his fangs re-pierce your neck.

The shock only lasts a moment as Taehyun rocks his hips into you, all the while he takes gulp after gulp of your blood. As you lay there panting, you think that you might just actually die, but then you feel him pull back, the sensation of his fangs withdrawing makes you shiver. 

His tongue drags across the punctures, licking up the very last droplet of blood before he leans back to look at you. Despite everything, you still thought he was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen. Even as thick blood coated his lips and chin, his uncanny and red eyes peering at you; contrasting his sickly pale skin, you found yourself in awe. 

Taehyun’s gaze shifts from your neck to your eyes, no matter how hard you tried; you couldn’t possibly decipher a single thought going through his head. “Perhaps there is more to you than just your pretty face, human”, he murmurs as his tongue swipes across his lips. 

“I intend to keep you.”

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[thenyoumightaswellwrestleangels]

Is it death who comes knocking? (is it a curse to always know?)

Day 1 of The Long Halloween - event masterlist here

pairing: damian wayne x reader (gender neutral)

length: 7.5k

genre: horror, fluff kinda, hurt/comfort

warnings: mothman damian, crime scenes, lots of vague / symbolic mentions of death, this is kinda a monsterfucker fic but it's sfw as always, reader gets a little stressy a little hysterical

a/n: daaaaaay one I hope we all like it <3 kiss kiss enjoy

"What are you staring at? Come on, move along -"

"What, am I not allowed to gawk?" you snap, making the young police officer in front of you freeze and blink owlishly. "God knows everyone else is." He glances around at your words, letting his eyes flick frantically over the growing crowds that surround the crime scene as the police lights bathe their stricken faces in red, then blue, and then red again.

The officer keeps speaking, trying his best to bark orders and demand that everyone move along and find something else to do other than stand and stare and poke around a crime scene. But you're not particularly listening anymore. Your head, instead, tips back so that you can look up at the night sky and the towering buildings of Gotham.

A shadow flickers somewhere overhead, as black as the darkened sky. You wonder, for just a moment, if it's him.

The Mothman.

"Go on, really," the officer's defeated sigh makes you snap your head back down to look at him. He arches a brow wearily and, after glancing around to confirm that most of the crowd is still gathered, you narrow your eyes at him. "Get lost."

"I'm just standing here," you press. "Just like everybody else."

"No," he crossed his arms. "I've seen you before. Anytime, anywhere some freak accident happens, anytime somebody dies, you're always here, nosing around." You take a step back at his words, pressing your lips together in annoyance. "Maybe," he says pointedly. "Maybe we should bring you in for questioning."

"For a freak accident?" you quip back. "Incredible use of police resources." You hope that he doesn't notice the way that you sweat at his comment, hope that he can't see the way that your heart hammers and lurches as you spin on your heel and march away, knocking shoulders with people in the crowd.

You hope that he can't see the flickering shadow overhead, and hear the faint sound of wings beating over the breeze.

The Mothman. 

If you ask anyone, he's a myth, a scary story that you tell when you're out in the dark with your friends and you want to give them a good fright.

He's the omen of death, it's believed, and if you see him, you're sure to die. When tragedy is about to strike, when death is about to reign down, the Mothman will appear on the scene, dark and wild and ready to see it through.

As you begin the long walk back to your apartment, you shove your hands into your pockets to ward off the oncoming chill of night, watching as your breath fogs out in front of your face. Flashes of the crime scene that you'd just left play over and over in your mind, the accident and the death and the Mothman, large and looming and deadly as he stares. 

You were so sure… you were so sure that this time, you'd get there quick enough, that this time you'd stop him from killing again. 

You go to step out onto a crosswalk, but an oncoming car honks and the sound makes you jerk back as you blink, stepping back onto the safety of the sidewalk as you shake your head and squeeze your eyes shut.

As if it will help.

As if anything will make you stop seeing the things that you see.

They're visions, you suppose - nightmares of the creature and his killings, vivid, painful flashes and glimpses of the myth and the havoc that he wreaks. 

But the nightmares keep coming true and there's nothing that you can do to stop them. There is never anything that you can do to stop them. You're always just a bit too late, just a minute too slow.

It's crazy, you tell yourself. It's a coincidence. But you keep your lips pressed firmly together, even now as you cautiously peer both ways before hastening across the busy Gotham streets, your feet surer and quicker than the rest of you has ever been. You keep your mouth shut, because the threat of being thrown somewhere like Arkham is too real and terrifying for you to do anything other than spend your days scrambling, running and running and running and falling just short of anything.

You keep your mouth shut, even at night when the visions creep up and you find yourself plagued with images of things that haven't happened yet - deaths that are soon to occur.

And in every one of these visions, it's the Mothman who appears to carry out the killing. You're sure of it. It's always him.

As you step back into your apartment, flicking on the dull, yellow-hued light and standing in the silent entryway with windswept hair and frozen fingers, you think that surely… surely next time you'll get there fast enough. Next time you'll save a life.

But when you wake the next morning, there have been no visions. No twisting and turning agony, no spiralling panic and gasping, sweating fear. There's just… nothing. 

And when you wake the next day, there's nothing. 

And the day after that, and after that, and after that. Just… nothing. You think, sort of hesitantly, like a prey animal spotting food in a trap, that perhaps you've found some sort of freedom. Perhaps you've found a way out.

But then you wake, one day, when the sun is just barely cresting over the horizon and beginning to spill golden light onto the twisted, frantic city below, and your heart hammers in your chest as your lungs burn. Images of the dreams that you'd had, of the twisted visions that haunted you come to the surface, flashing through your mind over and over and -

And you grip your blanket with one hand while the other flies over your mouth so that you can muffle your own panicked breathing, so that you can smother any sound that you make. 

Because this vision was different. This time… this time you saw him, with clawed hands and feathered wings, climbing through your open window and stepping onto your faded, wooden floors. This time, the Mothman is in your home, and he is going to come to kill you, you're sure.

It's a panicked sort of thing, the way that you rip the blankets off of your frame so that you can launch out of bed and stumble into your living room to reach for the open window. You think frantically back to the visions and remember only the window, wide open like a maw, and spilled water on the hardwood floor, as if something was knocked over on his way in.

This has to be the window, you think to yourself as you slam it shut, locking the latch roughly. This has to be it, you think as you glance at the vase of flowers on the window ledge, the water reflecting the early morning light and shining through the glass.

And then surely, you think as you step back, twisting your hands nervously in front of you, surely he can't get in. Surely death cannot come for me today.

But perhaps you should've learned, by now, that not even you can stop death.

The way that you creep back to your bedroom is careful, and you stop in every other room to close and latch the windows shut - just as a precaution, just as a final safeguard.

The tension that sits in your shoulders and keeps your body taut has begun to ease a bit, and you've begun to feel like you can breathe again for the first time all morning, when you step back into the doorway of your bedroom.

That's when you see it. Your bedroom window has been opened, and the glass of water on your nightstand, right next to the window, has been knocked over, spilling onto the hardwood floor.

So it's then that you realize… you'd gotten the window wrong. He slinks through the shadows, you know, only appearing right before the death. If you'd just stayed in your room… he never would've just climbed into your home right in front of you.

Your hands begin to tremble and your breath freezes in your lungs as you realize that you only thought that you were closing him out, while you were really just letting him in.

And then it really hits you. 

There's something in your home, and it's here to kill you. 

You stand, frozen, your breath stuttering in and out as you stare at the open window and the cool morning breeze that wafts in, blowing your curtains out into billowing waves. You stand and you wait and you consider all of the places he could be hiding, all of the ways that he could climb out of the shadows and drain the life from you.

But time ticks by… seconds into minutes and nothing… happens. There's no sight of him, no noise of him. It's like he's not even really there. You begin to think, in a rather hysterical sort of way, that perhaps you really have just gone crazy, perhaps there's never been anything here at all. 

When your doorbell rings and the sound echoes shrilly through your home, it's enough to make you jump, your heart clenching painfully as you spin around to peer down your hallway and eye your front door. It's not real, you think. He's not real. You go to step out of your bedroom, chanting the mantra over and over in your head, but it's not quite loud enough to distract from the noise that can be heard from somewhere behind you - a rustling, soft sort of thing. 

By the time you've spun around to face the window again, it's been… shut. The window's shut and your glass is placed carefully back in its rightful place on your nightstand. And you swear… you swear that you see a blur of bluish-black feathers zipping away out of the corner of your eye.

The days begin to crawl on after that, the city curling in on itself and crushing you in a way that it never has before. You start sleeping with your windows locked, of course, circling the interior of your home day after day to make sure that every latch is secure and every curtain is drawn. But try as you might, there is nowhere for you to run from the visions, and they morph into spiralling images of his large, clawed hands tapping and scraping at the glass of your windows, begging to be let in. 

"Look, you really can't be here," the officer's voice is dull in your mind, somewhere far off and vacant.

"Hm?" you acknowledge as you crane your neck to look past him, staring at the yellow tape circling the newest crime scene in a tangled maze-like pattern. 

"Just… go home. You shouldn't see this. No one should." That makes you pause, makes you look at the officer and blink and stare until he sighs and wanders off.

No one should have to see this, you think, his words ringing through your mind. But you do see it, nonetheless. 

Go home, he says, the weight of it all echoing through you. How could you? When the Mothman haunts your dreams and threatens to claw his way into your home at night? You see it still, every time that you close your eyes  - countless swirling images of him in your apartment. They confuse you, and it makes you groan and rub your temples with your fingers as the officer glances back at you where you stand on the sidewalk, ever the onlooker, ever the bystander.

This accident… you'd seen this one too, of course. And you'd seen him, the Mothman. It's the same every time. He appears in your visions, looming like a towering symbol, and then someone dies. Every time. Every time except…

You clear your throat, rubbing a hand over the back of your neck as you stare out through the city, the moon beginning to arch high in the night sky as stars blink in and out overhead. 

These visions of the two of you are different. He never kills you, he never hurts you. He comes into your home, time and time again, but it's… gentle. A vicious, clawed hand smoothing delicately over your cheek. Lips pressed against your forehead. His wings wrapping around you as he pulls you close. The two of you in your bed and he -

A car honks somewhere near you, another one of Gotham's near-constant scuffles as tires swerve down the darkened, busy street. It's enough to make you jump, though, ripping you from the daydream that you'd found yourself in.

"Are you alright?"

"What?" you snap, flinching as you find the young officer standing next to you again.

"You look flushed," he points out. "It's like - are you blushing?"

"No!" you all but shout. "I'm going home." He might have responded to you, then. He may have shouted after you, some comment about how that's what he's been trying to get you to do the whole time. But you're not listening, too busy stomping away as images of the hulking, feathered creature plague your mind.

It's that night, of course, that you get a new vision. It's just as confusing as they always are, a tangled mess of images and objects jumbling together in your mind. You catch glimpses of your window - and you're sure that it really is the living room now. You see his clawed, feathered hand slamming against the glass of a window pane. You see the broken shards and the opening that's left behind. You see… a trail of blood on some of the sharp edges and you know that it must be yours.

Fortunately, it's Gotham, so it's not really out of the ordinary to want to install metal bars on your window. When you stumble out of bed just as the sun is beginning to climb up beyond the impossible wall of fog, it's with the intent of sealing your apartment off, closing your home off from the outside world. 

The city outside has begun to crush you, and you realize it, in a far-off, unfazed kind of way, when you begin installing bars onto the windows in your home. It's a cursed, entangled sort of place, and you can feel it start to ensnare you, getting tighter and tighter and tighter. 

First, it's your bedroom that's sealed off, then your kitchen, then your bathroom. One by one, every opening that you have to something beyond yourself is closed off, shut out, put away, until it's nothing but you and the nightfall and the large, looming presence of your living room window.

Easy to buy, yes, but difficult to install, you realize, as you struggle to wield the hefty metal. It shouldn't be a surprise, really, that one of the bars slips from your grasp and topples into the window. You should've seen it coming, you think ruefully, as you lunge to catch it just a moment too late, watching as it shatters through the glass, instead. 

But there's a panic in you now, as the cold night air comes swirling into your home, the window now a gaping maw letting in the city outside and below. You scramble a bit, the alarm of it all making you hazy as you reach for the metal bar, missing it to instead cut your palm on the broken glass of the window. 

You find yourself reeling, then, as you stare at the jagged edge that's now glistening with your blood, as you look down to your palm, oozing red and dripping down your arm and onto your floor, and you realize that this is what you'd seen in your vision.

But it's then that you hear it - that eerie, familiar tapping and scratching at the glass. The air freezes a bit more, it feels, as your breath catches in your lungs and your heart stutters. There's a part of you that thinks that perhaps, if you don't look up, it won't be real.

So it's against your better judgement, then, that you lift your head in a slow, shaky movement, letting your eyes trail up and up and up until -

Until you're faced with a huge, feathered hand, blackened claws curling around the broken glass and reaching into your home from the opening that you'd created. Night has truly fallen outside, rendering the world invisible as it's shrouded in darkness. You can't see him, can't make out anything other than the hand stretching out from the impossibly endless night. 

But the lamp on your living room end table flickers out a dull, yellow light, illuminating your figure for him. You may not be able to see him, but he can see you, and he reaches with a sharp, curling movement toward you. 

It hits you again, in that moment, terrified as you are. In all of your efforts to keep him away, you've let the Mothman right into your home. The further you pushed, the clearer the way in became.

There's some sort of commotion on the road below, then, it seems - some kind of accident, most likely, as there are shouts and honking horns and screeching tires. The noise of it all jerks you into action, makes you jerk back and stumble away as blood drips down your arm and your vision swims with panic. 

But it makes the Mothman startle, too, it would appear, as he pulls his arm back to slam his hand against the glass, just like he had in your vision. By the time you've scrambled forward to stare out the window, he's just… gone. 

You peer down towards the street from your window and see some sort of situation on the road below, people already gathered around what you're sure has to be a body lying on the sidewalk as police sirens wail in the distance.

It hits you, then, like a cold, dead hand clamping down on your heart. You brought the Mothman here. You gave him a reason to be here, and surely he's killed again right here because of you. The thought makes your knees buckle, and you slide down toward your floor until you're sitting on the cold hardwood as the epiphany of it all slams into you. 

No matter what you do, no matter where you go, he finds you. All of the effort that you're putting into keeping him away, all of the walls you're building up and the defences that you're crafting - you seem to actually just be bringing him closer. Somehow, in this twisted, tangled city, you've found a way to spiral around each other endlessly, your hands around each other's throats and doom carved into each other's hearts.

Instead of you haunting him, he's haunting you, now. You can't fight it. You can't stop it. You can't change fate. So you decide, as you sit on your floor with your palm oozing blood and the sounds of Gotham's chaos rolling in through your broken window - you decide, then, that you'll just run away. Surely, you think. Surely, there's only so far that he can chase you. 

"Look, really, are you alright?" the officer speaking to you squints at you a bit, eyeing you through the haze of dusk as the sun sets on another accident, another crime scene, another death. "Are you… ok?" 

You're trying to listen to him, really, you're trying to nod and smile and tell him that everything's fine. You want everything to be fine. But the problem is the vision that you'd woken up with, the one that had left you gasping and gripping your chest and tearing at your hair. 

It was a vision of him, of the young, green officer in front of you who'd spent these past months watching you spiral into nothing. You'd seen him, in vague, spinning flashes, getting into his car and driving home late into the night.

You'd seen the collision somewhere downtown, on one of the large main roads. You'd seen his car, crumpled and smoking as sirens wailed in the distance.

You'd seen him die, you're sure of it. 

"There's been an accident," you blurt out, and he raises his brows and glances around.

"Yes," he says slowly. "I know. That's… why we're here. You don't need to be, though."

"No, I -" you pause, searching frantically for something to say, some kind of lifeline to grab onto in this endless, gnawing place. "I mean - a different one. I hear that, uh, a couple of the main roads have been blocked off. Horrible traffic, it would take forever to get through."

"Oh," he says slowly, his hands a bit outstretched towards you, as if he's afraid that you'll suddenly keel over from whatever's afflicting you, whatever is giving you those shifting, panicked eyes and making you shuffle on your feet. "What, in this area?"

"Hm?"

"The accident," he reminds patiently.

"Yes!" you say, snapping your fingers. "Yea, uh, right… right up in, uh, that direction." He turns to follow your pointed finger, glancing down the street as you clear your throat and look at him expectantly.

"Huh," he says, a bit of understanding dawning on him. "Another Tim Drake problem, then."

"What?" 

"Drake. You know, he's that guy everyone around here talks about. More money than morals, works near here."

"I don't know what you're talking about," you say bluntly before you bite your tongue, cursing yourself as the shadows spiral overhead and the city leers at you, the buildings closing in around you. 

"That… must have been what the accident was about, right?" the officer continues, suspicion creeping back into his voice. "You know… you know they say he's trying to find a way to bring back the dead."

"Beg your pardon?" you ask weakly.

"Yea," he responds easily, and you can tell from the sigh in his voice that he doesn't actually believe it. They never do. "He's a real mad scientist."

"You can't," you falter. "That's impossible. What's dead… stays dead."

"Apparently not," he quips back, but at your ashen face and swaying posture, he places a gentle hand onto your shoulder. "Hey, I'm - I'm only joking. He just causes a lot of problems for us, is all."

"Right," you respond shortly, forcing out a laugh that has his concern growing. "It's just, uh, it's just a normal accident up there tonight. Car crash, I heard. You know."

"Hm," he shrugs, pulling his hand away from you to cross his arms over his chest. "Yea, there's a few too many of those these days."

"I just think that, uh," you continue on, your eyes darting around the street, glancing at the towering buildings that loom high up above you. You rub a hand over your forehead roughly when you catch, or you think you catch the flickering shadow of a wing out of the corner of your eye. "I just think that the bridge is a better route to take tonight. If, you know, you - I mean… it's - it's the way that I'll be going… because of, uh, the accident, remember?"

"No," he says gently, his voice slow and a bit halting as he watches you with concern. "I… I don't remember that, because I don't even know… well… uh, thank you. You, um, you be careful out there, alright? Get home safely."

"Hey," you laugh, a hysterical sort of thing as a shadow flashes overhead and you duck a bit. "You be careful, you know?"

"What?" he asks, the bewilderment creeping up on him a bit too much, the unease of it all crawling up his arms and beginning to wrap around his throat as the city curls inward and casts darkness onto the two of you and the sun dips far enough below the horizon that its precious light is lost once more. "No, I - do you need a ride home?"

"No!" you all but shout. "No, sorry, uh, no, my car is just parked around the corner… and I'm leaving now." You spin around at that, walking swiftly down the winding, cracked sidewalk until you find your car, all but ripping open the door to climb in as the officer watches, bewilderment and concern carved onto his face. 

You're not sure how long you sit in your car after that, your hands gripping the steering wheel as you place your forehead against your knuckles and force deep breaths in and out of your lungs. Time drips on and you see, out of the corner of your eye, the city continues to darken as night wears on and the crime scene is wrapped up, police leaving in flashes of blue and red and blue again. 

But you've done it this time, you're sure. You've been quicker, you've been smarter. You've cheated death of another victim - held back the Mothman, if only for a single night. 

It makes sense to you, of course, for you to take the bridge home, yourself. The threat of the Mothman is an ever-present weight bearing down on your shoulders and you can feel yourself scrambling, like a prey animal finally caught in a trap, to try to get away from him. With the memories of your visions still rolling through your mind endlessly, it feels only right to finally settle yourself in the driver's seat and begin to turn away, away from the main roads and the locations of your nightmares and the looming, hulking, shadow of the Mothman.

Surely, you think. Surely, this time, I'll rewrite fate just enough to make it matter. Surely, this time, something will change.

There's a sort of anguish in you, then, when you arrive at the bridge and have to slam on your brakes and bring your car to a screeching halt. It's a misery that burns you, that crawls up your throat and strangles you as the tangled web of the city closes in further. 

The police are already there, illuminating the depths of the night with their lights as they circle a car crash. It's a cop car, in fact, that's part of the collision, crumpled and smoking and warped under the endless darkness of night. 

And it's his car, that lovely young officer that you'd spoken to so many times. It's his licence plate, as clear as it had been in your visions. 

Sirens wail through the foggy air and water rushes under the bridge and your heart hammers so loudly that you swear to god it could beat out of your chest in a minute. 

Beyond the accident, beyond the cars and the police that swarm the scene, beyond the death that permeates the air and rots the ground beneath you… beyond all of that stands the Mothman, huge and terrifying and staring straight at you. 

No one else can see him, you assume - the idea that you'd toyed with for so long finally coming to life. No one can see him but you. He stands still, unmoving, unbreathing, unflinching, his feet solid on the dark asphalt as his wings spread so wide that they brush against the sides of the bridge.

He stands, like an omen of death, like a symbol of your neverending failures, and he stares at you with glowing, yellow, unblinking eyes. 

An officer knocks on your car window and you scream, a short, shrieking noise until you snap your head around to look at him and sigh. He says something as he shines his flashlight into your car, but you just shake your head and roll down the window.

"Pardon?" you ask, your voice cracking. You're not looking at him, though. Your eyes are still trained, instead, on the presence of the Mothman, the mass of black feathers and razor-sharp claws and bright, yellow eyes boring into you. 

"You've got to move along," the officer repeats. "We're trying to get the ambulances through here, those drivers need medical attention."

"Medical attention?" you all but shout, ripping your eyes away from the Mothman to stare at the cop who's leaning down to talk through your window. "They're alive?"

"Yes…" he says slowly. "It wasn't a terrible accident. But - please, we really need you to move along. If you need to cross the bridge, that's fine. Just go now and go quickly, will you?" When you look ahead of you again, the Mothman is still there, standing like a statue guarding the tightrope between life and death.

It doesn't make sense, you think as you roll up your window without another word, driving ever so slowly past the officer and across the bridge. It doesn't make sense. If he's not here to kill someone else, then who…

Your hands grip the steering wheel tightly enough that the leather creeks as you pass the scene of the accident, staring at the creature right ahead of you the entire time. You're going slowly, practically crawling over the bridge as the Mothman stares down at you, still unmoving. 

It's not until you're close enough to almost hit him that he finally shifts ever so slowly, stepping to the side so that he can watch as you drive past him. You don't look, of course, your breath stuttering as you keep your head facing forward, knowing that his yellow eyes are fixed on you as you drive past. When his wings, still outstretched and menacing, scrape their feathers across the side of your car, you suck in a shaky breath and wonder what it's like to die.

But nothing… happens. You drive on, over the bridge and away from the scene, and the Mothman simply stares, fixed in his spot, as you disappear down the winding, twisting road. Here, on the outskirts of Gotham, the large manor houses loom over you as the city retreats behind you and disappears in the thick, foggy night and the rolling tides of the water. It's greener here, trees sprouting up into forests in tangled, maze-like patterns, and there's something in you that makes you take a sharp turn, heading toward the woods. 

He's been following you, you know, trailing after you this entire time. You catch glimpses of him out of the corner of your eye as you drive, seeing the flicker of his shadow overhead, hearing the flutter of his feathered wings. It makes a sort of desperation begin to swirl in you, a panic begin to fester in your mind as you begin to drive into the shadowed forest.

When the trees are too densely packed for your car, you merely park and throw open your door, stumbling as you continue on foot. Any other time, any other person would say that this is crazy, that you're some poor, lost soul stumbling to their death, likely to freeze or starve somewhere in the woods after straying too far from home. 

But you've been far too lost for far too long to stop now, and running away, you're beginning to realize, might be all that you really know how to do. 

Perhaps you shouldn't be surprised, really, that you run directly into the creature, somewhere deep in the depths of this impossible forest. Perhaps coming face-to-face with him really was always going to happen, and none of the erratic twists and turns you took could have ever prevented it.

Perhaps, you think as he stands in front of you, huge and terrifying and dark as the night, his eyes shining in the haze, perhaps there is really nothing that you can do against fate.

You think that maybe you should run, maybe you should try endlessly to scramble away from this… to defy the inevitable. You're shifting on your feet, bracing yourself to bolt away from him, when he speaks, and the sound makes you freeze. 

"You cannot run from this any more than I can," he says clearly, and his voice is a low, smooth rumble. You stare at him, eyes wide as the air leaves your lungs in a punched-out gasp, and he continues. "That is the curse. You cannot run, you cannot hide… you cannot break it."

"Who are you?" you ask weakly.

"You know what I am," is his only response.

"Who are you?" you repeat, your voice louder this time as you step forward. He blinks, his yellow eyes glowing through the night, as you squint at him. "Or is your only name Death?"

"I… am not death," he says slowly, a frown tugging on his lips as you continue to walk toward him. When you get close enough and crane your head back to look up at him, you can even see his face under all of the feathers and shadows, and he looks… he looks almost human underneath it all. "My name is Damian… and I am nothing more than an omen."

You're not sure what possesses you to reach up, leaning onto your toes so that you can reach for his face, brushing feathers away until you can see him clearly. Smooth skin and downturned lips, furrowed brows and his eyes, his bright yellow eyes staring at you through the darkness. 

"An omen?" you repeat questioningly. He hums in affirmation, his knees slightly bent and his shoulders and back hunched so that you can let one of your hands smooth across his face. 

"I see them, these deaths," he continues in his low, rumbling voice. "I watch, but I cannot change. You… you understand this, do you not?" You huff out a surprised breath at his words, jerking back like you've just remembered yourself and stumbling to create distance between the two of you. He straightens at your actions, watching you carefully as you twist your hands together and feel, as if for the first time, the biting cold of the night. 

"You're killing those people," you say harshly, but he merely stares.

"I am not… any more than you are."

"What?" you say, and you feel the air freeze in your lungs. "I'm not - I didn't kill anyone. I just - I keep seeing it and I'm… I'm trying to stop it, I'm trying to save people but I don't -"

"You are not responsible," he speaks over you, and you swear that you hear an exasperated sigh from somewhere deep within him. "That is our curse… you must watch, but you cannot change. It does not ever change."

"Then why…" you falter, searching frantically for some sort of answer, some sort of way out of this tangled snare. "Why were you there? Why are you here?"

"I am an omen," he repeats. "Where death trails through, I am to appear."

"That's it?" you say weakly. "You just… you stand and you watch? Over and over again?"

"You…" he says slowly, "would understand that, I think." You laugh at that, a high-pitched, hysterical sort of noise that makes a bird somewhere nearby squawk.

"Yea, uh, I guess - I guess I would," you say as you rub a hand over your forehead in a harsh way, squeezing your eyes shut. You try to breathe deeply for a moment, try desperately to move the freezing air through your lungs, but there's something in you that's strangling you, that's tugging at your heart and making it beat strangely in your chest.

You're just starting to consider that maybe you really should just be thrown into Arkham when a hand, huge and clawed and ever so gentle, wraps around your wrist and brings your palm away from your face. When you look up at him with wide eyes, he's staring down at you, hunched over so that he can be close to your face.

"Why are you hunting me like this?" you ask quietly, your voice a tired whisper. His brows furrow together and he frowns again.

"I'm… courting you."

"…Pardon?"

"We understand each other, I think," he explains, straightening to look down at you while he keeps his fingers wrapped loosely around your wrist. His wings arc out behind him, blocking out the moon and the small sliver of brightness that it had blessed you with. 

"I don't… think we do," you respond hesitantly, but he just shakes his head.

"It is a curse, this life… to see but not speak, watch but not move. It is… lonely, this life. It is lonely to be us."

"So what, we…" you let your eyes dart around as his words wrap around you and make your head spin. "We just… I don't know, what, we're not alone when we're together, I suppose?"

"It is true," he says simply. "We are not alone in this place… you are not alone with me by your side."

"I thought you were trying to kill me!" you shout, pulling your arm away from his grip. He lets you, much to your shock, making a low, panicked sort of sound when he can't loosen his grip fast enough and his claws scrape against his skin. Your hand's already bandaged from the incident with your broken window, and now long, angry, red lines curl across your skin from him. 

"I have never killed anyone," he says quickly - firmly. "I have not."

"I thought -," but you cut yourself off, burying your face into your hands to let out choppy, shuttering breaths. The creature makes another pained, whining sort of sound and when you peek between your fingers, he's kneeling in front of you so that you're face-to-face, and his eyes… his eyes look so human as he stares at you with agony.

"I would never hurt you," he says firmly, but then his eyes glance down at the scrapes on your hand and he shrinks back. "Not - not on purpose. I would never lay a hand on you like that." You take a deep, shaky breath and look at him, your breath coming out in foggy gasps from the cold.

"What were you doing on the bridge tonight, then?" you ask firmly. "Why didn't that cop die?"

"I was not there for him," he says simply, frowning at you. "I was there for you."

"Then why did I see it? I saw him die -"

"Did you?" the creature cuts you off gently. "Or did you just… see him crash?"

"Well, I -," you falter, squeezing your eyes shut for a moment as if to try to see the visions again before looking at Damian once more. "I… the visions are always of death. Always except for that one and -"

"And?" he prompts. You just press your lips together, flashes of your visions with Damian running through your mind. 

"How can you think that something like this could ever work?" you ask tiredly, a weak distraction as you let your forehead thump against his feathered shoulder and revel in the warmth that radiates from him. He rumbles somewhere deep in his chest and he spreads his wings further to wrap around the two of you, cocooning you in heat and darkness as his eyes bathe you in a yellow glow. 

"Is there a reason why it should not?" he asks in return, letting one of his hands find your waist while the other lifts to your cheek so that he can stroke a knuckle across your skin. You huff a bit at his easy demeanour, but with your eyes closed all that you can think of are those visions.

"I - I've seen you," you admit.

"You have?" he asks mildly.

"Yes. I've seen you - us. I've seen…" but you trail off, thankful that the darkness can hide the heat raging in your cheeks.

"You're blushing, beloved," he points out, though, and you curse yourself for not thinking that of course he can see through the impossible darkness of the night. 

"Shut up," you respond quickly.

"Not… death visions, then, I suppose?" he asks, and your eyes narrow at the playful, near-smug way that he speaks. 

"Not quite," you grit out. 

"Well, that is delightful, is it not?" he says smoothly, his voice keeping that deep, low, rumble as he leans back to look at you more clearly. "That you've accepted me?"

"I have not," you say stubbornly, but you bury your face into his feathers again, hiding your face from view while he laughs. 

"Well, that is alright," he says soothingly, brushing a hand over the back of your head. "Is this a rejection? If it is not, I'll keep trying." You grumble something under your breath, turning his words over and over and over in your mind. Would it be so bad, you think, to not be alone?

"It's… it's not. It's not a rejection," you say weakly, and when you lift your head to look at him once more, you learn that monsters can still smile. 

It's several months later, past the time of year when the cold fully sets in, and then even further past when it begins to thaw - it's then, when the ground shifts as warmth rolls in and fog begins to get muggy and sticks to your skin, that you find yourself curled up on a little fold out chair on your fire escape. You're sitting with your legs propped up on the chair with the rest of you so that you can lean your chin on your knee and stare up at the stars, at the endless pricks of light that sit just beyond the reach of this terrible, cursed city. 

It's been one of those nights, where the visions just won't leave and they wrap around you and squeeze until you're tossing and turning and gasping for breath. It's one of those nights where you wonder why it's you who's cursed, why it's you who feels so caught in the tangled thread of life and death that runs through this city. 

It's one of those nights where you think, rather desperately, that there must be some way to change what you are and what's laid out ahead of you. 

But it is a bit different already, you suppose, as a fluttering shadow stretches overhead and you glance up to see the outstretched wings of the Mothman as he swoops and dives through the darkened night sky.

It is different, because there's a new routine that you and Damian have now, where you catch each other when one of you stumbles and falls. 

It is different, if for nothing other than the fact that neither of you face death alone. 

"What's wrong, my love?" Damian's voice rings down from somewhere above you, deep and smooth as you feel the warm night air swirling while his wings beat. He's rather graceful as he lands, perched on the railing of your fire escape, the weight of him making the metal groan and creak underneath him.

"What are you doing here?" you quip, but there's no real bite in your voice as you stand and lean into him, letting him wrap an arm around your waist while you press a gentle kiss to his lips. 

"Can't you sleep?" he asks in lieu of answering. When you sigh heavily and shake your head, a frown tugs at his lips and his yellow eyes blink down at you.

"Not tonight," you answer quietly, and you shrink in on yourself just a bit. The action is enough to make an empathetic whine sound from his chest before he wraps you fully in his arms and lifts you off of your feet.

"I'll stay with you," he says simply, but you huff a bit in his arms as he settles where you'd been sitting before, letting you curl into his lap while he wraps his wings around the two of you, sealing you into a little hold of safety against the looming horror of the city beyond the two of you. 

"Damian, you don't have to…" you trail off, and he looks at you pointedly when you sink into the warmth of his embrace, relaxing in his hold. 

"But why wouldn't I?" he asks simply. You do nothing but squirm and shrug a bit, toying with some of the feathers that cover his chest. 

"Isn't there somewhere else to be?" you ask quietly. A laugh rumbles from him as you press your face into his neck and bury your hands into the soft, bluish-black feathers. 

"Like where?" he asks, a hint of mirth in his voice. "Out there? Staring death in the face? What a thing to do when I have you right here." He says it so simply, always. And you suppose that, really, he's right.

Sometimes life, you suppose, just… is what it is. Sometimes there is no fighting what you are. But why do it alone? Why not do it right here, in the arms of a monster who's learned how to love?

[loveswrites]

Pumpkins Please Billy Loomis x Stu Marcher x reader

Pumpkins Please Billy x Reader x Stu

Word count: 1397

Time it Took me: 1 hours 30 mins

To my loves: It was so obvious that stu and billy would win for our celebration of 300 followers! I wrote it that same night so I've had it in my drafts for 6 days now. I was thinking if I should wait till the poll ended but we reached over 300 followers before it even did, So here you go loves! Enjoy! Thank you for the support. It makes me so happy you guys enjoy my writing as it is all I want to do in life.

Love <3

“I wanna carve a pumpkin.” You pouted.

“Why don’t we just crave someone up instead.” Billy smirked playing with the tip of his knife. 

“I already have the pumpkins at my house. You wanna carve em here or there?” Stu said dropping himself on the bed making you and Billy shake with the bed. 

“You didn’t tell me you bought pumpkins.” Billy said, narrowing his eyes at Stu.

“Do I have to tell you everything?” Stu laughed out.

“Yes.” You and Billy said in unison. 

Stu started to laugh but slowly stopped when he realized you and Billy were not joking. 

“I just thought I should have them at the house since you know it is halloween. You know our favorite holiday.” Stu said, looking in between you and Billy.

“It’s not my favorite holiday mine is-”

“Christmas.” The two boys groaned, making you smile.

“The moment September 1st came along you were running around here yelling out ‘It’s christmas!’” Billy mocked you but you could see the slight smile in his cheeks as he recalled the memory. 

“It’s a lovely holiday, what can I say?” You smiled rubbing your socks together. 

Billy stroked the sides of your waist with his knife sending a shiver down your spine. He did this often. To both you and Stu. Still would often get cut most of the time cause he'd always laugh or move too much. But you trusted Billy to never leave a mark on you and he never did. Never has. 

Billy had three favorite things. His knives. His girl. And his best friend.

“Do we have to go to school tomorrow?” You questioned as Stu rubbed your legs while he stared up at the ceiling.

“You wanna skip again? Something on your mind, pretty girl?” Stu questioned. 

“Is someone bothering you? I can handle that, you know.” Billy said with stern eyes as he watched you respond.

“No no none of that I’m fine and no ones bothering me. I just don’t want to go and talk to people you know?” You said, stressed by the thought of even being in that building. 

“When do your parents get back in town?” Billy asked, putting his knife on your nightstand after taking one last long drag against your skin that sent tingles throughout your body.

Your parents had left for a business trip so you invited your two boyfriends to keep you company because why not? They weren’t doing anything before you called anyways.

“Sometime next week. It might get extended depending on some things. They told me I could go with them as always but I wanted to stay.” You said snuggling into Billy’s side.

“I would’ve left. No school and a free trip as a replacement sounds fun right about now.” Stu said, making you smile knowing that he wouldn’t just leave. He’d make sure that you and Billy were able to come as well. No matter if he wanted to admit it or not Stu couldn’t live without Billy nor you. 

Looking up at Billy who had his eyes closed you know he couldn’t live without you or Stu also. He wouldn’t admit it but he shows his love in crazy ways. Rather that’s spray painting the sides of buildings to pulling pranks on literally anybody to actual crimes. Billy has killed for you and Stu. If someone hurt one of you two you either never saw them again or saw them in the news the next day. Same if it was reversed with Stu but Stu doesn’t really clean his tracks very well so it’s mostly just Billy. 

You wondered if loving them made you a bad person. You wondered if keeping their victims a secret made you a murder. You wondered if not feeling a drop of remorse made it seem like you have the knife in your hand. 

But at the end of the day you didn’t really care because at the end of these dark sad thoughts all you saw was Billy and Stu. The two crazy boys who were in love with you. The two boys who showed you the world and would kill anyone who got in the way of your happy fairytale. You just prayed that they wouldn’t be the one to ruin your love story. 

You woke up the next morning feeling relaxed and refreshed. This made you just up and check the time. 1:24 pm. Shit you thought I missed damn near all of school. Rubbing your eyes you noticed that your bed was empty. Where did they go? Getting out of your bed you walked downstairs. Hearing voices, you followed them to the kitchen.

“Dumbass! the butter goes first, did you not read the box?” Billy snapped hitting Stu in the back of his head with said box. 

“You didn’t say that!” Stu said, trying to defend himself as he wiped his cheek leaving some flour in its place making you smile. 

“Maybe if you looked at the box I wouldn’t have to say it!” Billy fussed back. Stu opened his mouth to say something but that's when you decided to make yourself known.

“So are you two gonna bicker all day or tell me what you're doing?” You questioned walking fully into the kitchen.

“Baking you some cookies. Again..” Stu said, making you frown your eyebrows.

“Again?” You questioned.

“Stu burned the first batch.” Billy said, rolling his eyes.

“I did not! They just cooked a little bit longer than the rest.” Stu finished.

“Burnt.” You and Billy said in unison. That was happening a lot more often than usual. 

“We just wanted to do something nice for you before you woke up.” Stu said sneezing all over the batter when he rubbed flour on his face.

“What the fuck Stu!” Billy yelled while you just turned your nose up at the fact that he just sneezed on the batter.

“It’s fine. I’m not hungry. Like at all. I just wanna carve pumpkins okay? That’s it.” You said shifting your eyes between Billy and Stu.

“I’ll go get the pumpkins then.” Stu said starting to move, making you and Billy scream out ‘No!’.

“No! I’ll do it,  just stay here.” Billy said, shaking his head as he walked past you but not before giving you your ‘morning kiss’.

“You keep touching me I’m gonna throw pumpkin guts all over you.” You yelled out. Stu’s elbow kept touching yours as he attempted to show you how to carve your pumpkin.

“I’m trying to help you! You're doing it all wrong, trust me I do pumpkins.” Stu stated as if he was some kind of Pumpkin master.

“You do pumpkins?” You laughed out, tightening the grip on the knife in your hand.

“Shut up if I did you’d be jealous of the pumpkin.” Stu said, rolling his eyes. 

“As if, Who wants to sleep with you?” You questioned going back to cutting your pumpkin.

“You!” Stu said laughing as if that was the funniest thing in the world.

“Only on holidays.. Billy gets Monday through friday.” You said poking your tongue out at Stu to which he leaned in and bit your tongue making you jump back squealing in surprise. 

“Good thing Halloween is coming up.” Stu grinned. 

“Billy, he bit me!” You pointed at Stu with the knife in your hand. Billy pointed down to your pumpkin that was hanging on for dear life. 

“You need help, you keep cutting it like that there's not gonna be any pumpkin left.” Billy said, smirking, making Stu laugh.

“Shut up, it's perfectly fine.” You said going back to cutting pieces of the pumpkin.

“As if.” Stu snickered, earning a handful of pumpkin guts to the face.

“Hey!” Stu yelled out. 

“That’s what you get your lucky I didn’t throw the whole pumpkin!” You yelled.

“What pumpkin?!” Stu yelled back making you gasp.

“Billy!” You yelled.

“God.” Billy said, holding his head in his hands still with the knife in his hand. All he could hear was you two fighting with each other

He was in for a long bumpy ride if he wanted to be with you two forever. But watching the two of the most important people in his life bicker made him realize that he would kill any bump in that road to make them happy.  

[danpuff-ao3]

Thanks for the tag @cindle-writes!

"Self-rec time! What are your favorite five fics that you've written and why? After replying to this ask, feel free to pass on to five other writers to spread the love. 💗"

Tagging: @perverse-idyll @writcraft @lizzy0305 @ripeteeth @lqtraintracks @threadbearao3 and whoever else might want to play!

It was hard to narrow down, as I've written well over 100 fics in my time (most available on AO3, but I still have some secrets). This has been good to look at and think about in light of my recent writerly struggles. Gave me a nice reminder of what I love and what I've accomplished.

1.) Contempt | Devotion

I'm counting them together, since they're the same story from different perspectives. Nothing will ever top them for me. They are THE Snarry story for me. They've been my OTP for 20+ years, and those works are years and years of dedication (and devotion, ha) to this ship. It's all the feelings I've ever had about them. It's the version of them, as individuals and together, that most resonates with me.

It is, as I often say, the story of my soul. I ripped these words out of my teeth, out of my bones, and wrote them with my blood. It was an agonizing process, and one I would do again and again, because I could not be more proud of anything, and it still amazes me that I created this story. That I finally pulled it out of my soul and put it to words. All of the passion I have for them, all of my history with this ship, all of it is right there.

(Also shoutout to the other little ficlets in the series; this version of Snarry will always have my heart.)

2.) Collateral Damage

While Contempt is the Snarry of my dreams, Collateral Damage is the DRON of my dreams.

Draco and Ron are my secondary OTP, and while I could write and rewrite Snarry to death, I have a hard time revisiting Dron as the main relationship, because I feel like I put everything I had for them into this one story.

The fic is written in Draco's POV, which I loved and was such a treat. I loved exploring Draco and Ron as individuals, and as a couple, and considering them more than I ever had before. It was fun playing with some real enemies-to-lovers, and seeing it become something really passionate and loving and fun (but also angsty, because I'm ME, hello).

It's a tale of revenge and insecurity, and fooling yourself while you try to fool others. I tried to really love on Draco and Ron both, while also diving into their respective flaws, and while I already loved them, writing this fic made me love them all the more.

3.) The Curse of Anteros

Another Snarry, of course. This one is such a love story, in some ways, though there's plenty of questionable (objectionable) content there. But for me, that made it all the more romantic, this sort of love conquers all, even in the worst of scenarios. My boys survived toxicity, and a curse, and life.

It's also a concept I've played with for quite some time, inspired by a Charmed episode (which was itself inspired by a film called Ladyhawke). It was a fun exercise in watching them grow, and watching time move on, with their connection unchanged. The story spans decades, and really, I'm not sure I've written anything more romantic!

Also features art by my dear friend @mrviran which is phenomenal and I am still totally awed by what they created for this story!! It was fun inventing a creature together, too <3

4.) A Matter of Time

Another Snarry which also holds a special place in my heart. It was a unique experience of trying new things. For one, it was alternating POV, which I don't normally care for; for me it's hard to maintain flow along with maintaining character voices. But ALSO it was told in reverse chronological order, which I'd been dying to try! Also...the angst. I love it.

And the END!!!! The end kills me and I love it. </3

5.) Cruel Summer

I waffled with choosing 5, because I felt like it should be Orange Blossoms, and I think part of me was scared to put this one on the list. You know...devastating and dead dovey as it is. It's a Sirry fic, one that I'd been cooking up in my noggin' for a few years.

I wanted to play with a darker side to Sirry, and portraying a very unhealthy and troubling relationship which really only felt natural with all that Harry and Sirius had been through. I wanted to do them and the concept justice, which I really think I did, and I'm really proud of how it came out. There's more story to tell...the real story, I think, will be the aftermath, but we'll see if it ever actually comes to fruition. In the meantime, I really love this story, awful as the content is.

[fallenwhumpee]

Heyyy so I've got 2 prompts in my head, neither is really whump but like hey.

1. Two friends on opposite sides of a fight. Like born to be friemds forced to be enemies. So like the 'good' friend manages to capture the 'bad' friend and has orders from his higher ups to torture him and he really doesn't want to so like they talk, the captured guy does still get pretty beat up cuz like he gets it, until his team comes in to save him. And they're lile lets catch up soon, k? Like i wanna explore the emotional side of this cuz like forced by duty.

2. Second in command plays into bait willingly but the team doesn't know that and thinks they were being reckless but it was all planned. His leader was down, along with his sister like figure, and their second main fighter was busy protecting them so he buys time by letting the enemy capture him and have their way with him. Anything can work, drugging, sedation, restraints (pretty please), injuries, whatever you heart pleases.

Ps. How have you been? Enjoy your time off <3

~🐈‍⬛💜

Im well, just looking for ways to be productive here too while slowly getting my works done.

Both are amazing prompts anon! Please have my try for the first one <3

Loyalty

• Masterlist •

Warnings: Mentioned torture, nosebleed, self-sacrifice.

Right Hand was shaking as they walked down the narrow stairs, their boss following right after them. They knew in that they were starting to seem off. They had to prove that they were loyal again. It was also the truth and what they wanted. They needed their team, and they needed to be in this side of the conflict.

But more than that, they loved their former captain, and now it was threatening their loyalty to their team.

What hurt them the most was that Whumpee didn't need to be their enemy. They were playing the necessary evil, and it was the agency's doing. Whumpee was once again paying the price for the flow of things.

Right Hand stumbled, their boss catching them from their collar to prevent them from falling.

"Your mind is somewhere else," Boss commented. "It's not like you. But you should get yourself together before we get to the cell. We wouldn't want a bad impression."

"Yessir," Right Hand answered automatically.

"I can trust you down here, can't I?"

"You can, and you should, sir. I don't think I've ever betrayed to your trust," Right Hand pulled themselves together.

"You did not. But I knew you had an unfortunate history."

Unfortunate, they held back a bitter chuckle. Unfortunate for Whumpee. They were stripped of their rank and team and pit into a position they didn't wish for. Just like Right Hand, only remained one from the former team, thrown into the opposite position. Right Hand could be considered even lucky. At least they weren't shouldering more than they could.

They walked in silence, their steps synchronised as if they had been at each other's side for years. It was wrong because Right Hand's place was Whumpee's side. Being like this was foreign and just... wrong.

Right Hand stopped when Boss put a hand to their shoulder. They slowly raised their gaze and met with Whumpee. They had to hold their breath, not to gasp at the sight of Whumpee's still form hanging from the ceiling by arms, hair damp and sticking to their sweaty pale skin as blood slowly dripped down from their nose.

"Extract as much information as you can before their minions find this place," Boss said to their ear. Right Hand nodded, again a fixed response to orders.

"I will come back to see your progress, but I should report something first. Have fun," Boss chirped before leaving. The tone froze Right Hand, causing their stomach to flip.

"Finally a familiar face," Whumpee whispered. The voice Right Hand once received orders that could make one tremble was now reduced to a weak croak. "The agency must've made a good cleanup."

"How can you be so calm?!" Right Hand snapped. They got into the cell quickly, releasing Whumpee's arms. They had to catch Whumpee from falling like a rag doll, the weight their arms support a lot less than they expected.

"It's good to see you too. But I wish it had been in better circumstances," Whumpee smiled as they held their nose, moving a little to lean back to the wall of the cell. They looked Right Hand with so much affection that Right Hand had to suppress their anger.

"I really don't know how anyone didn't notice yet," Right Hand kneeled next to them, their eyes asking for permission to check Whumpee. "You're not really subtle with your stubbornness to do the bare minimum to look bad or make your minions mess up the plans purposefully."

Whumpee shrugged. "I'm too busy to run a monopoly over the resources to be evil," they said with a fake offended voice. Then they chuckled slightly, trying their best to give an assuring smile.

Right Hand searched for any injuries, but it seemed that no one took a risk by leaving Whumpee to bleed. Right Hand was grateful for it, but the bruises and scars were worrying, along with the thought of what could be under the heavy bandages on Whumpee's torso and legs.

"I can't do what they wish from me," Right Hand confessed without dragging it any further. "I can't... I can't do what they did."

"But you'll have to, sooner or later. Don't feel bad about it. I know you don't... mean it," Whumpee answered, reaching to Right Hand's hand. Both of their hands were hard and calloused, causing the other's to itch a little, but it didn't matter. What mattered was Right Hand had to torture Whumpee.

"Leader," they whispered, their mouth having a bitter taste as they voice the name now buried into classified filed. Right Hand didn't have the strength to ask for forgiveness, and Whumpee's real name between their lips was the only way they could beg for it.

"Don't," Whumpee almsot choked out. "Don't do this to both of us. Don't think me as... as what I am."

As what I am.

Whumpee was still the same person under this disguise, and it was making Right Hand's work impossible. Because Right Hand's loyalty first belonged to Whumpee, and Whumpee truly did nothing to betray that trust.

"One would think we are the bad guys here," they chuckled bitterly, the hypocrisy of the whole situation catching up on them.

"Nothing is inheritly good or inheritly bad. At least what you do has more benefits," Whumpee reminded. Right Hand's shoulders tensed, slowly accepting the inevitable outcome.

"When will you stop sacrificing yourself?" Right Hand asked instead. They heard the distant sound of door opening. Whumpee must have heard, too, because they got to a kneeling position, head down as they pushed their nose harshly, making it bleed again.

It took Right Hand's all will not to react to that.

"I see talking didn't went well," Boss opened the cell door, leaning on the frame. "Please continue with what you were doing."

"Please obey your master little puppet," Whumpee mocked. Right Hand sighed, the tired sound easily could be mistaken as frustration. They caught Whumpee from their collar, slamming them to the wall. Whumpee went limb for a second but collected themselves a little as Right Hand let them stand on their feet, their eyes finding Boss.

Right Hand had never seen Whumpee look this arrogant before.

And Whumpee laughed. Boss pushed Right Hand aside and took Whumpee themselves, throwing the unmoving body to the opposite wall. Right Hand had to hold back a yelp as Whumpee cried with the impact.

"I would make you regret your every action, your betrayal, if so many villains weren't trying to save you or kill you themselves as we speak," Boss snarled. "But I guess I should now settle for your former underling torturing you after you already gone a round by professionals."

"You will be my neighbour in hell," Whumpee smirked.

Right Hand's mind immediately translated, I will see you later.

Boss motioned them to leave, so obeyed. By the time Rught Hand's team got out, a small group of villains were coming towards the hideout.

[pearl-kite]

Hi I know this is out of nowhere and sorry if you answered it before. Also totally ok if you don’t want to answer

But your blog got me super interested in the redacted asmr thing

I did some research and you seem to know a lot about so do you know if there’s any like, chronological order I should watch them?

Love your blog!

Absolutely no worries! I like getting stuff to respond to, it's the opposite of a bother <3

So Redacted Audio, formerly Redacted ASMR, is a channel on youtube with a, quite frankly, massive amount of audio, and since it's been running for over 4 years now it can be a LOT to sort through. Fortunately, he's done a really good job curating and organizing playlists for the different speaker-characters.

Everything is within the same universe, and many of the characters have interacted with each other. The context is that the location is a fictional city named Dahlia set somewhere in California, which is a "cornerstone" city for magical society. The best way to get a solid rundown on magic and the setting is to listen through the Freelancer Season 1 playlist.

This one is already arranged in chronological order* and also has the benefit of giving a sampler of sorts for a wider variety of speakers. One thing to be aware of ahead of time: While this was actively being published, Erik hadn't decided who the listener-character (nicknamed Freelancer) would be romancing, so it starts off with a lot of potential toward all of them except Caelum. As it went, there were polls in the discord server that he used to run, and popular consensus eventually narrowed it down to Gavin. The first time I listened was after all of that, and I was more fond of Damien, but I'm personally pleased with Gavin now, and this playlist has been one of my favorites to just revisit if I'm bored.

*Well, mostly. There was a point where the channel got a strike for some of the audios being too spicy and he removed and/or edited some of them to try to avoid being demonetized. The first Gavin audio is one of the ones that got edited, and #3 on the playlist accidentally got relocated. It's been a long time, but I think it was originally after what's now #6, the second Caelum audio.

Aside from that one as a good introduction to the channel as a whole, there are some "main" characters that have had the most attention.

One is a group of wolf shifters: David, the current head of the pack (Chronological for his listener. A lot of people aren't super fond of the earliest ones for him, #3-5, because the character evolved a bit and they aren't really representative any longer) Asher, his second Milo, another pack member, which is absolutely underselling him, he's one of my favorites

There are a couple of vampires: Vincent, the OG for the channel Sam, a common favorite who's listener is a member of David's pack

While most of the playlists are specific to character, there are a few thematic ones as well, all of which are chronological within themselves. Now, chronology with respect to each other can start to get a bit confusing, because of how long it's taken for some of them to play out.

If you want to get a feel for the characters before worrying too much about timeline, I'd listen through most playlists as they're arranged with one main caveat:

When you hit the audios titled Inversion, give those a pause until you've listened to more speakers. Inversion was a huge crossover he did that has 10+ speakers involved.

A personal favorite has been Vega. I'm actually super not fond of the first audio he's in, which is also in the Freelance list, so I skip that one when I relisten. The first one in this list is that one with the Freelancer, but the second and onward has a demon listener nicknamed Warden. We just got an update on his story today/last night and I've been a little unwell about it 🙃

I am realizing I could go on and on and on and I kind of have, so I'm going to stop there. Hopefully that's enough to dip your toes in. I'll gladly help out with any follow-up questions, too :3

[writingquestionsanswered]

ADHD & Starting a New WIP

Anonymous asked: i've been using chatgpt to avoid clogging your inbox, but it wasn't much helpful since it sent me in loops. I remember you writing about having ADHD which is why I felt you were qualified to answer this.

Please never worry about clogging my inbox... I'll get to everything in time. ♥ And yes, I do have ADHD, so here goes...

I have a problem that is more relevant to my autism/adhd: choice paralysis and indecisiveness. It is impacting my writing too much. No matter what advice I read, nothing is helping. I can't come up with/decide on a plot. I don't have a "feeling" like I used to anymore to just go with something. My brain HAS to explore EVERY option before deciding. There's just too much power in creating a story, and I don't think I can handle it. Do you have any tips to handle this indecisiveness and just actually do something? Do you mind sharing your own process when you start a brand new WIP and the only characterisation you have is "This is John, he wants to be a writer" and nothing else?

[Ask was edited for length...]

Dealing with Indecisiveness and Competing Ideas

Step 1 - Get Everything Out - Start with a brainstorming session and get all the ideas out on paper. All of those "explore every option" ideas... write them all down. Write down ideas until you can't think of anything else to write.

Step 2 - Take Stock - Next, count up all your ideas and organize them if need be... for example, if some of the ideas are related to character but others are related to setting, group them into their specific groups. Then, count up how many ideas you have in each group. Like, 17 character ideas, 10 world ideas, 4 plot ideas.

Step 3 - Eliminate by Half - I find it very helpful to eliminate my ideas by half just as a disciplinary means of keeping things in check. So, I would need to eliminate 7 or 8 character ideas, 5 world ideas, and 2 plot ideas. This is hard but it has to be hard. The point is to force yourself to not overthink it. Set a timer for a minute if you have to and say that you have to circle 8 character ideas before the timer goes off. Any ideas that aren't circled by the time the buzzer goes off will not be considered. Again, it's harsh, but for me it works.

Step 4 - Save the Ideas You Eliminate - This is KEY. Having a notebook or document where you save discarded ideas makes it easier to eliminate them because you don't feel like you're throwing them out. You're just saving them for later to be recycled for future projects.

Step 5 - Play Around a Bit - Look at your remaining ideas... let's say the 8 character ideas... is there anything you can discard right off the top? Are there any ideas that thrill you more than the others? Can any ideas be combined somehow? Can any of these ideas easily be fleshed out a little further?

Step 6 - Eliminate by Half Again and Again- The idea above is to try to condense things by combining ideas and/or seeing which ideas speak to you and which really don't. Take those 8 character ideas and narrow them down to 4. Set the timer again if you have to. Then, do it again until you have only two ideas.

Step 7 - Look at Pros/Cons - Now it comes down to picking between two ideas. Do a pro/con list for each. Does one idea thrill you more? Is one idea more fleshed out? Does one idea require more research? Does one idea feel too close to a previous story? Once you have a pro/con list for each idea, you can see which idea is probably better. And, once again, the idea that isn't used goes into the document to be saved for later.

Starting a Brand New WIP with ADHD

My process is always a little bit different, but I do usually start with a brainstorming session where I just write down all the random ideas I have. From there, I narrow things down (using the above method) to just the ideas I want to move forward with, then I usually free write a general summary of the story as I see it playing out in that moment. Depending on the idea, this can be just a couple vague paragraphs or it can be pages of detailed events. Either way, having some idea of the beginning to end story is important. Once I know the needs of the story, I can start to think more about the characters and their needs based on the story. This is where it's pretty essential to understand things like Plot Driven vs Character Driven Stories, Understanding Goals and Conflict, Basic Story Structure, and How to Move a Story Forward. The more I know about the needs of my story (the story conflict, my character's goal, who or what stands against them, etc.) the easier it is to flesh out the story. I'm a planner, so from there I will usually draw out a general timeline and a scene list, but some writers may find it easier to just start writing from here.

Three of the biggest game changers for me--which honestly I still struggle with sometimes--are:

-- Setting up a routine: having a specific time, place, and duration to write. Even if it's sitting on my bed for ten minutes in the morning to write. Just having something set makes a difference.

-- Eliminating Distractions: no phone, no TV, no music with lyrics, no internet, nothing that will draw my attention away from writing.

-- Good Vibes Only: I'm not a fan of toxic positivity, but negativity and self-criticism will surely take the wind out of your writing sails. I try to give myself small, reachable goals, but if I don't reach them or don't feel like writing on a given day, I don't beat myself up about it. Instead, I try to find something fun to do that's related to my story, like saving pictures for a mood board or auditioning songs for a playlist. That positive reinforcement (and sense of accomplishment for moving the needle forward in some way) keeps writing from becoming something I dread, and that positivity will hopefully follow me into the next day and help me to write.

I hope that helps!!! ♥

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

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[grahamfolgersdeliciousnotebooks]

20 questions for fic writers

[EDIT: sorry if you got a notification that you were tagged in this post even though I didn't tag you. Tumblr's being weird about this one.]

Tagged by @cirrus-grey - thank you! (Also, sorry this took me like three months to do, executive dysfunction is a hell of a thing)

1. How many works do you have on Ao3?

33

2. What’s your total Ao3 word count?

197,768

3. What fandoms do you write for?

The only fandom I've written for as an adult has been the Magnus Archives (and I actually have a lot of thoughts on why tma was sort of a perfect storm for getting me back into creating and consuming fanfic, but I'll spare you for now). There are a couple other fandoms I wrote for when I was in middle school back in the fanfic(.)net days, but some things are better left in the past.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Say You Love Me (Learn to Lie)

I'll take "A Flagrant Misuse of Beholding Powers" for 200

stay with me, hold my hand

Come, my dear, and be a part of my home

please, hurry, leave me, I can't breathe (please don't say you love me)

5. Do you respond to comments?

Sometimes. I really want to get more consistent about it, but my executive dysfunction makes it hard. My big problem now is that it feels weird to go back and respond to comments I got months ago, but it also feels rude to respond to more recent comments without ever responding to those older ones, so I'm feeling kind of stuck. One day, though, my ADHD will be properly medicated and I will get back to responding to every comment I get.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Angst is one of those things that I love to read but don't always think to write, so pretty much all of my fics have happy endings atm. The only ones that can really be said to have angsty endings are the pre-Unknowing and safehouse fics where the knowledge of what will happen next in canon makes any ending automatically bittersweet. With that in mind, let's go with Hold My Hand When My Courage Fails, because I DO think a pre-Unknowing kiss makes season 4 angstier.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Like I said, I write almost entirely happy endings, so it's hard to narrow this one down. I'm gonna go with Say You Love Me (Learn to Lie) because I threw in the completely unnecessary (but still necessary to me) detail that Sasha survives the Prentiss incident at the end of that one.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

No! I've been very lucky on that front.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I haven't, though I might someday. As an ace person (somewhere in the sex-nuetral/sex-averse realm) I don't feel super confident in my ability to write good smut. It's really intimidating, but I'd love to try some day.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Not really? The only thing I've written that could be crossover is my fic where Jonathan Sims competes on Jeopardy!, but I'm not really sure that counts.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not that I know of.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No.

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

My AO3 history should make it clear I'm pretty fond of Jonmartin, but I'm also a big Griddlehark (tlt) fan.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I've started a tma fic that's essentially a Marple AU (with Gertrude as the Miss Marple surrogate) that plays with the idea of sleuth-as-Beholding-avatar, but it's very tricky to blend all the plot threads I want to include together into one cohesive mystery, so I don't know if it will ever get finished.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I'll be honest, I don't think I'm a very good judge of my own writing, especially my strengths. It's not that I think I'm a bad writer necessarily, but I really struggle to pinpoint any one thing that I do well - especially because for every aspect of my writing I like, I can point to five writers in the same fandom who do that much better. Right now I'm just glad I'm getting stuff written at all.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I worry that my characterizations tend to be pretty thin. I also struggle in juggling more than a few characters at a time, and sometimes I will omit characters who logically should be in a fic just because I can't think of anything for them to do.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I don't have anything against it. I could see people running into problems if they write dialogue in a language they themselves don't speak (relying on Google translate, for instance) but in general I don't see anything wrong with it.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

The Uglies series by Scott Westerfield, back when I was in middle school.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

Don't make me choose!

I might have to go with Say You Love Me (Learn to Lie) because that was the most fun I've ever had writing and publishing a fic - the response to that one was really great, and since that was one of the only times I actually managed a consistent release schedule, it felt really nice having that to look forward to every Tuesday.

But SYLM(LTL) was my answer for like half of these questions, so I'll also throw out Cut My Hair and Changed My Face (I'm Learning How to Forget That Place). I did a pretty terrible job of tagging that one and it didn't get a lot of hits, but it's one of my favorites. I love s4 Jmart angst, I love Jon & Daisy's s4 friendship, and I frankly can't believe it took me so long to write a fic combining the two.

[sailing-through-hawkins]

Part 1 ✧ Part 2 ✧ Part 3 of Harrington Charms Hellfire ✧ Part 4 ✧ AO3

Last time was the start of a pattern, Eddie's sure of it. The first time was fine, that was just Steve working his Family Video magic on Gareth to get some movie recommendations. Then that time with Jeff and Trey and Steve and going to some fancy record store to search for Dolly Parton and Prince and Tears for Fears and fucking hell nothing is sacred around Steve Harrington anymore.

It's like he has this halo, this fucking charisma bubble that makes everyone in the vicinity willing to fall at their feet for him. It's stupid because he's just a dork with a car and like, seven kids. One of whom is a butthead. He gets it from Steve, Eddie concludes, Dustin was a butthead way before Eddie took him in and it's all Steve's fault.

Hell, Eddie's just arrived at a Corroded Coffin band session and the first thing Frank asks him is "Hey, where's Harrington?"

And it's ridiculous, because it's been only a month since Steve has started joining in on their sessions, which means he's only been inside of Gareth's garage like four times. And yeah, Eddie's always happy to have him around but apparently, so is everyone else in the garage.

Eddie grits his teeth and tilts his head with what Jeff calls his 'maniac smile'. "Why it's great to see you too, Frank! I've been having a fine day, thank you for fucking asking. How have you been? How's the old guitar case?"

Frank holds his case closer to his chest protectively, rolling his eyes as if Eddie was nothing more than a yipping dog. "Yeah, yeah, good to see you, all that shit. Is Harrington here?"

"Wouldn't know," Eddie pushes his shoulders up in a forceful shrug, flopping down to the sofa and thrumming his fingers on the polished material. Feels nice. "I came by myself today."

And there's a second of pure silence before -

"What?!"

"What did you do?"

"No shit, he's not coming today?"

Remember what Eddie said a while back about having a breakdown about his life now? Yeah, looks like he's one dropped fork away from losing his entire shit so. That's fun.

"Since when do you guys even want him here?" Eddie spits, eyeing the three of them. There's literally no reason for this weird interrogation, Steve was busy doing his hero-shit and Eddie convinced him he could make it to the session by himself no problem, just come by later Stevie, nobody would hold it against you when you're literally saving babies and shit. "I thought he was just a glorified asshole who peaked in high school, hm?"

"Well, he was," Gareth defends, tossing up a drumstick and catching it again. Nervous habit, usually reserved for suggesting an idea Eddie is absolutely going to hate but still agree to, because it's still a fucking good idea, damn it. "Besides, you should be happy we're all finally getting along!"

"Oh, I am delighted, Gareth!" Eddie waves his hands up, ignoring the pinch of stretched skin across his upper body. Fuck, may need to check on that later. "I am fucking delighted that you, all of you, who have sworn that they'd feel nothing but disdain for the guy who literally saved my life, are suddenly all really into spending time with him! That doesn't sound suspicious at all!"

Jeff's eyebrows shoot up and he plops himself next to Eddie on the sofa, nudging their shoulders together. Fuck, his wounds are stinging. "You think we're, what, tricking Steve into thinking we like him?"

"Oh, you like him, do you?" Eddie narrows his eyes, the something ugly, now something beastly under his skin snarling, lurking near the surface. "Color me surprised when it's taken me months to even get you guys to let him drop me off here without biting at his ankles."

"It did not take months," Gareth huffs. "We just asked -"

"Demanded."

"- asked him not to stick around while we play. Not for the first time! We've told the freshmen no, more than once!"

"Yeah because they're freshmen," Eddie throws his hands up again, fuck his torso, he doesn't need it anyways. "Look, sorry if I'm a little bit suspicious, but he - he's a really good friend, okay? I just don't want him getting hurt. Not by you guys."

Another moment of silence.

"Have a little faith in us, Eddie," Jeff says with a sigh, standing up from his seat. He picks up his guitar and starts strumming, nodding along to the rhythm. "We're freaks, not complete dicks. Steve is...a good guy, we wouldn't do that to him."

And it hits him right there. They're just getting along with Steve - finally - because it's Steve. Everyone likes Steve, even people who don't like Steve like Steve, it's like a law of the universe. Hell, Eddie's even suspected Tommy H.'s...fixation for the King may have been something other than just liking, a not-so-platonic something, and that suspicion only got stronger after their weird friendship-break-up-this-is-my-new-king-thing.

"Gareth! Your friend is here!" Gareth's Mom giggles, fucking giggles, the door to the garage opening and revealing none other than the very man of the hour. A post-school-supply Steve. His tells are obvious, from the pen marks on his arm (happens everytime, and apparently by several different children who like trying to connect his moles, lucky little shits) to the shine in his eyes from a day of productivity. Damn him.

Steve turns to Gareth's Mom with that winning smile and gives her a nod as he walks in. "Thanks again, Mrs -"

"Oh please, Steve, I've already told you to just call me Olivia!" Gareth's Mom, who Eddie has never called anything other than Gareth's Mom, laughs and shakes the lunchbox in her hands. "Lord knows you've given us enough baked goods to drop the formalities."

Steve laughs again, god, he even has Gareth's Mom wrapped around his finger, doesn't he? "Thanks, Olivia. I'll be sure to bring that carrot cake over next time, promise."

And with a giggly farewell, Gareth's Mom closes the door behind her. Steve spins around to see the entire band staring at him, because where else would they look?

"You're on thin fucking ice, dude," Gareth points his drumstick at Steve with a ferocity Eddie usually sees reserved for the darkest of foes. "I told you to stop flirting with my mom already."

"Sorry, Gary," Steve shrugs as he plops down on the sofa next to Eddie. "But I think she might be the one -"

"Fuck you!" Gareth throws his drumstick at Steve, who just completely loses it and fuck, his laugh is too infectious. Eddie wonders if the thing in his chest is purring at that smile or growling at the idea of Steve genuinely flirting with Gareth's Mom. Not because she's Gareth's Mom, which - no, actually, just say it's because it's Gareth's Mom, that's weird.

The session goes by well, Eddie doesn't participate much outside of listening and suggesting tune changes or lyrics or anything really. He's just trying to keep the warmth of Steve's thigh against his own off his mind. It's been an hour since they sat down and even when everyone else has gone off to the bathroom, kitchen or wherever, Steve hasn't left Eddie's side for a moment. Seems to even...enjoy it, with the way he's smiling at Eddie. Damn him.

"So," Eddie nudges his thigh, which is definitely the exact opposite of ignoring but at least his wounds don't - nope, yeah, still stings, fuck. "The whole band was asking when you were coming, you know. You, Steve Harrington, managed to get the freakiest misfits of Hawkins all looking forward to your arrival."

Steve rubs the back of his neck, stroking along those two moles under his jawline that make excellent targets for - well. Not important. "Oh, that - that's nice, that they want me around now," he laughs and damn him. "I was worried cause I really like hanging out with them, y'know? Not to mention I don't have to think about them chasing me away from you now."

God damn him, that smooth fucker.

"You don't have to worry about that, Stevie." Eddie clears his throat, tapping his pinkie finger on his belt chain and if it also taps against Steve's thigh, well. That's nobody's business. "Even if they locked me up in a tower and threw away a key, I'd still find a way to you."

Shit, shit, shit, that's hitting too close to the heart, what the hell happened to definitely not love?!

"Oh," Steve says quietly, fuck fuck shit damn it Munson fuck, and then gives Eddie the most blinding smile in the world. Like - it's like someone used sunbeams trailing through a window on a spring morning as paint, all to paint the pretty picture of a golden, smiling, beautiful Steve Harrington. "That's really - thanks, Eds. I just - I guess I just want them to like me since they're like - they're your friends. And they're important to you."

And Eddie thinks about that for a second. Steve, against all odds, went ahead and made friends with the freaks because they're important to Eddie. And this was before he started coming to the band sessions, hell it was probably only a little bit after he started dropping Eddie off to them considering Gareth's current love of Grease of all things.

"You're important to me too," Eddie murmurs, the sting of his torso blurring away even as he turns to face Steve fully. This is it, this is the moment. "You carried me out of hell, Steve. I'd follow you back if you asked me to."

Nobody says anything. Then -

"Harrington!"

Whatever Steve was going to say (the beast purrs, howls, whines at his flushed cheeks, pushing out from inside Eddie's chest like it wants to curl up against Steve's instead), he's cut off by a grinning Frank. Steve quickly turns to smile at him (snarls, anger, fight) with a "Hey man."

And that's when Frank drops a magazine right in Steve's lap, smugly crossing his arms. Eddie tries not to glare at him because they were definitely having a moment but it's cool, everything's cool. "I've found it."

"No way," Steve's eyes widen at the magazine and he's laughing in disbelief, flicking through it with a wide grin. "What the fuck, Frankie, where'd - how'd - what the fuck?!"

"I have my ways," Frank says with his typical "I am a man of many secrets" smile that is currently driving Eddie up the wall because what the shit, Frank? "That is the correct one, then?"

"Yeah dude!" Steve nods and he's looking at Frank in awe and just -

"What exactly is this little surprise?" Eddie leans in closer, curling an arm up around Steve's shoulders and resting their heads together so he can have a peek at the magazine on Steve's lap. Obviously the most efficient method. And now Eddie can clearly see - "Wait, is that Star Trek?"

"A Trek 'zine by none other than one Gale Parker to be precise," Frank sits on Steve's other side, pointing out to one of the pages that has Steve so transfixed. "Took me a while, but this bit with the Tribbles sounded identical to your description so..."

"Dude," Steve is shaking his head and laughing, his eyes never leaving the page. "This is amazing. I didn't even - holy shit, I can't believe you just found it, based off nothing!"

"What d'you mean, based off nothing?" Eddie  is a little, just a little tired of being left out of the loop like this. Not the first time and probably, much to his own irk, won't be the last. But it's fine, it's cool, it's - "And why are you so excited over a nerdy magazine? You told me you never watched Star Trek?!"

Steve has the gall to look sheepish at that and bite at the inside of his lips, oh damn him. "I may have - okay so I technically haven't watched any of it now, I just...used to? Sometimes. When I was a kid."

"You -" Eddie inhales and mentally pats himself on the back for not screeching, Gareth's Mom would definitely not appreciate that. "You used to watch Star Trek?"

"I had a nanny," Steve says and Eddie nods because of course he did. He had tons of nannies because the Harringtons were assholes who didn't know how to appreciate any of their hired help, but Steve told him that in confidence so. Not the time. "She was super into Star Trek, would put it on every time it aired or like, she'd bring over the tapes she had. The Tribbles episode was my favourite, I always wanted to pet one but couldn't reach through the screen." He laughs and Eddie thinks, sunbeams, golden, warmth.

"You seem like a Tribbles kid," Eddie offers as if he has any idea what he's talking about. Steve smiles at him and looks back down to the magazine, which actually is a lot more worn than Eddie gave it credit for. The pages aren't glossy but reflect the light in a dim kinda way, not super polished. The page Steve's thumb is stroking has some kind of illustration of the big macho Captain with a slash across his shirt-chest-area and uh...huh. Mhm.

"When dad found out, he got pissed and sent her packing. She snuck me a package before she left and it was this," Steve holds up the magazine. "A magazine that her sister made and sent a copy to her. She gave it to me and I held on to it for years but...y'know how it is," Steve laughs, a bitter thing that makes the beast croon and whine. "Nothing stays hidden forever."

Eddie doesn't know how to respond to that. It sounds like one of those phrases Steve and Robin would share with each other, some kind of little inside secret that no one else could fathom, just the pair of them and their knowing glances. Eddie doesn't know what should stay hidden between them, that's the whole point of hiding, but he thinks, sometimes, it's just another fundamental gear to their machine. Just another piece of the puzzle that makes up the Hawkins' Heroes.

Yeah.

Heroes.

"But you fucking found the exact issue," Steve grins up at Frank, breaking apart the sombre mood like smashing an oar into a flying demon. No subtlety but god, does it work. "I just - holy shit, dude, you're like Sherlock Holmes or something."

Frank preens at that, because of course he does. Eddie's still got a lot of questions like, since when did Frank and Steve talk about Star Trek and did Frank offer to find a very localised fan-made product from Steve's childhood and what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck but apparently none of those questions matter right now because the beast in Eddie's chest is snarling and his wounds are ripping his insides out and -

"Eddie! Come on, man, stay with me!"

Blinking the spots out of his eyes, Eddie finds, right in front of him, Steve's big and beautiful face with concern etched into his brow. Warm palms cup his jawline and Eddie leans into the touch, heartbeat running faster than he ever could, than he ever has.

"Eds?" Steve calls him quietly, voice like a soothing balm over the shrapnel of his torso. "You with me?"

"'M always with you, Stevie," Eddie grins, or he thinks he does. He's probably not doing a very good job if Frank's pale face is anything to go by. "Ow, that hurts."

Steve takes his hand away from Eddie's waist where it was poking at his very tender wound. "Sorry, I - wait, has it been hurting this whole time? God, that's why you were wincing, you little shit. Gary," - And that's weird because Eddie definitely does not remember Gareth being here two seconds ago - "Got a medical kit somewhere 'round here?"

When he starts lifting up Eddie's shirt, it finally hits that oh shit, hang on, no. Eddie quickly grasps Steve's wrists and pull them away from his waist but the guy just isn't budging, damn his arms. "Wait, wait, wait, Stevie, I'm good, I'm good!"

"Liar," Steve glares at him and damn him for being so pretty when he does. "You just blanked out for a whole thirty seconds! Why didn't you tell me it was a bad day!"

"Because it wasn't!" Eddie's trying not to sound hysterical but the aggression that Steve's very clearly holding back in his trembling fists, which are still gripping Eddie's shirt fucking hell, is scrambling Eddie's brain to the point all he hears is a cartoonish wolf-whistle-and-howl on loop. "I swear, Stevie, I was fine until now! I am fine, I'm good!"

Steve stops pushing against Eddie's hands but still manages to lock him up with a swallow and worried eyes. "You swear? You're not just saying that?"

And fuck, Eddie will never be able to resist those eyes. The day he does is the same day Jane/El/Ellie (because Jane apparently is only one of her names and it still confuses the fuck out of him but he's supportive because fuck the man, have a fuckton of names!) swears off Eggos. "Swear on my hair, it's not that bad."

Does he totally understand Steve's need to know people's wellbeing, to make sure they're gonna be alright again, honest and just in the way he is? Kind of, in an abstract way, but sometimes Eddie thinks it goes a lot deeper than the little pond he sees the bottom of. He thinks that pond is just the first step, a false start that makes you think you know everything you need to about Steve. In fact, he thinks he'd need to cast Water Breathing on himself just to go that far into Steve's everything and understand him, at his core, the way Robin does effortlessly.

Because the way Steve's looking at him right now? Big eyes marred by a furrowed brow, jaw tense like he's clenching his own lungs, hand resting on Eddie's thigh like he's using a lifeline?

That's something Eddie doesn't think he'll ever understand.

"I'm okay, Steve," he says, trying his damnedest not to wince as he pats Steve's cheek. "I'm okay."

The beautiful, golden, bleeding heart of a guy in front of him takes in a shuddering breath and lets go of his shirt to rub at his eyes. He lets out a bark of a laugh (the beast barks back, keening and weeping as if mourning the loss of the sunbeam's warmth) and flops his head onto the sofa, face covered by his hands.

"Uh," Gareth clears his throat, shuffling on his feet with a little box of bandaids and Vaseline (oh he is absolutely getting teased for that later) in his hands. "Should I put this back or -?"

"No," Steve takes in a breath and sits up, spine hardened and strong against the weight of what Eddie thinks might be the whole world. Steve smiles at Gareth and takes the box, putting in on the sofa space between him and woah, there is like barely any space, Steve's knee is practically shoving its way behind Eddie's back. Well, there's a thought - "Thanks, Gareth. I'll just do a quick check and drop him home."

"But -"

"I will do a quick check," Steve says pleasantly, eyes ablaze with gold and fire and a decided lack of choice for Eddie. "And if it's bad, I'm going to drop you home where you will stay in bed or on the couch, your choice, while I call Wayne and let him know what's up."

"Stevie -"

"And you are going to be good," Steve continues in that pleasant tone, lifting up Eddie's shirt and gently stroking his thumb across Eddie's bat bites like they're something holy, oh fuck. "And let me take care of you, right Eds?"

Don't look at his face, don't think about his voice, do NOT think about him calling Eddie a good boy, don't do it Munson, hold strong, hold fucking strong -

"Eddie."

"Yes sir!" Eddie squeaks when Steve's palm warms Eddie's hip, squeezing just enough that Eddie may have to recite the entire Players Handbook just to keep calm. It's not very effective. "Yup, that's me, Good Boy Eddie, that's what they call me."

Fucking hell.

Frank is doubled over behind Steve, gripping his own arms as his shoulders shake like he's laugh - oh fuck him. Gareth is absolutely holding in his laughter with the way his fist is practically shoved into his mouth, fuck him. At least Jeff has the decency to share Eddie's shame and hides his face in his hands and oh no, he's laughing too isn't he, oh fuck him come on.

"Looks like it's not too bad," Steve concludes, sitting upright and away from Eddie's immediate space (come back, the beast whines, come back and let me hold you). "No tears, no inflamed parts, no gut reactions to me poking, you might really be fine."

"Told you," Eddie says weakly, flipping a subtle bird to the silent guffawing band that banes his existence. "All good."

"Yeah, you're good." Steve lets out a chuckle, patting Eddie's head before settling back into the sofa with a stretch. Wow, for someone who's back and front have been torn to shreds by a horrific alternate dimension and its goons...Steve's back sure does arch, it sure does. "Thanks for the kit, Gary, sorry for the whole - y'know."

"Eh," Gareth shrugs, taking back the kit with a smarmy look that Eddie does not like. "'S alright. Quick question though, you always tuck Eddie in or is that a new Harrington Habit?"

"I thought we agreed Harrington Habits are not gonna be a thing," Steve rolls his eyes.

"And," Jeff says as if Steve didn't say a word (do they have inside jokes now? What's a Harrington Habit?), flopping an arm over Gareth's shoulders with a bastardly smirk. "Is it Eddie-exclusive or can we get some precious nurse Steve time?"

And that gets Steve's cheeks blooming a bright pink, the beast gnawing on Eddie's ribcage like it just needs an excuse to rip, tear, bite. "Shut it, Jeffrey."

"Ooh, a full name, someone's in the dog house," Frank laughed, slapping a hand on Steve's shoulder.

The beast wants to hiss, bite, snarl -

Eddie shakes his head with a sigh and claps his hands. "Alright, alright, are we gonna practice or are we just gonna torture poor Stevie all day?"

Frank snorts but his face quickly turns innocent when Eddie snaps his head around to glare, the bastard.

"I vote for practice," Steve raises his hand weakly and oh fuck, Eddie's in fucking love isn't he.

"Alright, alright," Jeff chuckles, shoving Gareth towards his drums (finally, some good fucking roughhousing) and picking up his own guitar. "We got another half an hour in us, let's put it to good use."

Steve's pink fades away but his face is still flushed by a smile as he hollers them on, Eddie joining along when Frank manages to get the perfect build-up for Gareth to try out a solo and yeah. Yeah, this is good, this is -

This is home.

Just one more part planned for this! can't say when it'll be out but hope you all enjoyed this regardless ^^

if anyone else had wanted to be tagged but wasn't or if i accidentally tagged someone wrongly, my apologies tag list: @ramyayaya @alienace @5pac3g1r7 @emly03 @tell-me-a-secret-a-nice-one @maya-custodios-dionach @elliegrey2803

[angel-inrealtime]

F1c Prompts verse - perfectly balanced

A/N: I have a bunch of little bits in this verse I've decided I'm going to tidy up and post because I love them actually.

“Your birthday is the third of March?” Daniel asks, one eyebrow so far up his forehead you want to make a joke about it flying off, or getting stuck like that, or something equally inane. (You don’t make one about him not knowing your birthday, because it was before you met this year, and it’s the kind of thing he’d feel genuinely bad about).

“Yeah.” You roll over in your bed, see he’s looking at the Polaroids on your desk, track pants slung low on his hips as he raises your favourite coffee mug to his mouth. God he’s so hot. (And he’s been at your place often enough to know which cupboard your mug’s in, and where the AeroPress is).

“I used to...” You shake your head, grinning ruefully at the memory. “I liked that my birthday was a like a balanced equation. 3 by 3 equals 9 by 1. Little nerd.”

To your delight, it makes him laugh (though you’ve learned by now it isn’t hard), sunshine bright like the morning light through the curtains in your Camden flat. You’ll admit it’s nice, to earn enough for a place to yourself now, even if it’s only small.

“Something in that I reckon.” He says once he stops laughing, puts the pictures back in the pile with the others you haven’t hung yet.

“What’s that?” You ask, distracted with the play of his muscles.

“Threes.” He answers. “Like, that was the house we lived in when I was a kid. Then they gave it to me in karting. So I kept it.”

“Oh, spooky.” You tease him, letting the sheets slip lower on your chest (hope he’ll take the invitation).

“Why were you sad, on your birthday?”

You see him notice the bedcovers have slipped down, but he seems content to let the embers burn a little longer before they’re stoked again.

“What makes you say that?” You know as soon as you say it that it’s not enough to throw him off, voice too carefully light.

He raises an eyebrow. “Because you look sad? In the pictures?”

You shrug. “Ah just...it was fine, really. Just my...Raf, my ex, he said he’d be there, and he...was not, so.”

Daniel narrows his eyes. “That’s so rude.” He seems almost affronted.

“Hence why he is an ex.” You let the sheet fall all the way to your waist, no interest in talking about Raf with Daniel, now or ever, actually.

“Good.” He says decisively, before a wicked little grin curls around his pretty mouth. “Now,” he puts the coffee mug down on your desk. “Where were we?”

Daniel walks on his knees towards you on the bed, boxes you in with his arms on either side of your head. His mouth tastes like coffee when he kisses you, one big hand squeezing the soft skin on your chest.

[hottpinkpenguin]

Joel Miller X Fem!Reader - Last of Us - Part 3

A/N:. read part 1 here! read part 2 here! Taglist: @midgetpottermills @casssiopeia @flyingmushroomss @amethystwonders11 @hiphopdancer101universe @kiszkawagnerwhore @littleshadow17 @rh1nestonecowg1rl @alm0501 @ch4rcuterie

Warnings: dark themes; post-apocalyptic dystopia; death of reader's minor child; probably a lot of non-canon details since I've never played the game; not proofread; spoilers if you haven't seen the show/played the gameWord Count: 2089 Abbreviations: QZ = quarantine zone; FDRA "Fedra" = Federal Disaster Response Agency

----

“It was nice waking up on your couch without a concussion.” 

Joel grunted in response as he poured a cup of coffee. He made it dark and bitter, just the way you liked it. 

He sipped on the liquid, wincing as it burned his tongue, but kept drinking. It took the edge off his pounding headache. When it was clear he wasn’t going to say something, you spoke. Again.

“Thank you. For yesterday. With Dirk.” 

Joel nodded vaguely in your direction, taking another sip of coffee.

“No problem.” 

More silence.

“How’d you know where I was anyway?” 

“Lucky guess.” Same bullshit line he’d given you last night.

“And why were you guessing my whereabouts?” 

Joel looked up at you with a heavy sigh. A shadow passed behind his eyes. 

“Call it a sixth sense for your well-being.”

He sounded sarcastic and bitter. You were trying to thank him, but he was acting like you were accusing him.

“OK… well… thank you.”

“You said that already.”

Sarcastic, bitter, and now he was irritated. You narrowed your eyes in disbelief. 

“You go to all this trouble to rescue me from Dirk and now we can’t talk?” 

You winced at how desperate the question sounded. Joel avoided your eyes, leaning against the counter. 

“What’s there to talk about? You were in trouble, I helped. You’ve thanked me, twice in fact. We’re even.” 

“Except we’re not even,” you shot back. “This is the second time you’ve helped me.” 

“First time doesn’t count. I concussed you, after all.” His response was quick: he’d thought about this. 

You chewed on your lip as you considered your next move. The two of you were faced off in the kitchen like you were getting ready for a boxing match. Why did a simple thank you feel like it was turning into a fight?

“OK, fine, first one’s a wash. This one isn’t. Let me make it up to you.” 

“That’s not necessary,” he replied quickly, shaking his head. 

“It absolutely is. Damnit Joel, can’t you just let me do something for you?” 

His nostrils flared. You were wearing him down.

“What’d you have in mind?” His tone was flat, but there was curiosity in his eyes. Maybe even a glimmer of hope. 

“Well. To be honest, I hadn’t gotten that far. So, you could say I’m taking suggestions.” 

It was bold, much bolder than you felt. You wondered if Joel could hear the unspoken suggestions between your words. It had been years since you’d tried to flirt with anybody, and you felt terribly unpracticed and a bit silly. 

He looked up at you, that strange mix of emptiness and curiosity shifting in his dark eyes. Flickers of other emotions danced in his gaze, but they were gone before you could give them a name. The mask of indifferent irritation he wore around you slipped momentarily, and for the first time you felt like you were really seeing him. 

He looked exhausted, you realized. The crisp white of his uncharacteristically clean t-shirt accentuated the dark bags under his eyes. His hair was still mussed from sleep, and his shoulders sagged as he leaned back against the counter. Something in you longed to reach out and touch him. Lift a little of whatever invisible weight was on his back. You looked at him, really looked at him, and you saw him looking back at you. You wondered what he saw - if you looked half as gutted as you felt. You wondered if he liked what he saw. Suddenly feeling embarrassed and self-conscious, you dropped your eyes for a moment, a warm flush staining your cheeks.

When your eyes jumped back up to meet his, everything was different. Joel was still looking in your direction, but he was looking through you this time. The vulnerability dissolved on his face, leaving behind those empty eyes and that hard, cold expression.

“Best way you can repay me is stay out of trouble. That’s all I need. That, and some peace and quiet.” He turned away to refill his half-drunk coffee.

The same metaphorical door he’d slammed in your face after your concussion. It hurt more this time. You’d shared something, you knew you had. Whatever had happened on that frozen playground, you’d seen a piece of Joel that you were desperate to get back to. 

“You’re kicking me out again.” Not a question. An observation. 

“Guess so.” Joel didn’t turn towards you. 

You nodded, his dismissal crystal clear. You left your mug on the counter, even as a thousand questions and accusations tried to claw their way out of your throat. You closed the door behind you harder than you needed to and made sure he could hear you walk down the dingy hallway without a stuttering step. You hoped Joel drowned in the sound of his own loneliness. 

*****

Warmer weather came in the next few months. It thawed the frost-bitten ground, but didn’t thaw the burn in your chest when you thought of Joel. He’d vanished like a ghost after your last encounter. You and Joel didn’t run in the same circles in the QZ anyways, but you knew of him enough to know that he was gone. No trace, no sign of him. Like he’d never even existed. 

And the fact that his absence bothered you drove you absolutely fucking insane. 

With everything you’d lost, everyone you’d lost, you couldn’t forgive yourself for being so bent out of shape over a guy you’d shared maybe six dozen words with. Joel wasn’t anything to you except a coincidence. Sure, he’d bailed you out of a tight spot with Dirk (who had been mysteriously well-behaved since then, you’d noted). But beyond that? He’d treated you like a nuisance, a thorn that needed to be plucked out of his thumb. 

So why on Earth were you still hoping you’d run into him around every corner? Why did the floor feel like it dropped out from underneath you when you wondered if something had happened to him? Why were you taking more and more risks, hoping that somehow his “sixth sense for your well-being” would summon him to your side?

That was the question you were asking yourself as you plastered yourself to the QZ wall as the floodlight swooped by you, scanning the darkness of the open city for hordes of infected. Beside you, your smuggling partner Marlene gave the signal to move out. You followed her lead, crouching low to avoid being spotted by the FDRA agents on post at the entry gate. Anyone with half a brain and an intact survival instinct would be trying to get through that gate, yet here you were, following a half-crazed militant and her ragtag bunch of zealots into the lightless dystopian wasteland. You knew why they were doing this: “for the cause”. The Fireflies - Marlene’s dogmatic pro-democracy, anti-FDRA militia - were so principled they were almost boring. 

But you? You were doing it because Joel had left you too restless to live with. You were doing this because of him. 

“See that bus up ahead?” Marlene’s whisper was almost too low to hear, but you followed her gaze to the broken down school bus she pointed to. It was leaning precariously to one side, its front left tire completely deflated and the front end buried in a ditch on the side of what had once been a road. The back door was open, but you couldn’t see inside. Lord knows what was inside.

You nodded, catching her meaning. If you could all get into the bus and crawl to the other end, you’d be out of the sight of the FDRA agents and free to head due east into the open city. 

“On my mark.” Marlene peered around the edge of the half-bombed out wall you were all crouching behind. She raised a hand in the air, hovering as she watched the FDRA guards. The sounds of distant talking and a truck engine starting were the only sounds in the chilly late April night. 

Marlene’s hand twitched rapidly, two fingers pointing like beacons towards the bus. You took off, trusting her and trusting your feet to get you there without complication. The heavy pack on your back fought your momentum and the gun belt around your waist made it difficult to move quietly. A few of Marlene’s men beat you to the bus, disappearing into the darkened interior ahead of you. For half a second, you hesitated outside, listening for the sound of screams or the unmistakable clicking of an infected rustling to life. When you didn’t hear anything, you threw yourself in behind them, dragging yourself as quickly as you could while staying silent across the corrugated steel floor of the bus. 

“Get up, you’ll move faster.” Damian, Marlene’s number two. You didn’t like him, but you couldn’t argue with results: the guy had made more trips over the wall into the open city and back than anyone else in the Fireflies. 

You followed Damian and another guy you recognized but didn’t know down the center aisle of the bus. The seats were mostly empty, some of them cut open with the stuffing busting out. You pointedly avoided inspecting a child-sized mass slumped sideways against the wall of the bus in the frontmost seat. 

Damian crouched at the top of the three stairs that lead out of the front of the bus. You heard the scuffles of the other Fireflies filing in behind you. The bus creaked ominously under the group’s weight. 

“All here,” Marlene called up softly from the back. Damian nodded, pulling the lever to open the bus doors. They swung open with a rusted shriek. You all froze, ducking your heads below the sight line of the FDRA floodlight. Thankfully, no one on the QZ wall seemed to have heard. After a few tense breaths, Damian led the group out of the open bus door. 

Obscured by an overturned car, you were able to stand up to your full height as you followed the others down a steep embankment to a semi-cleared road below. Your eyes tracked east, away from the fading twilight on the opposite horizon. The barely visible skeletons of Boston’s downtown rose up from the landscape like broken teeth a few miles away from you. The open city. 

It was your fourth trip outside the walls, all of them within the last two weeks. You’d met Marlene only a couple days after your last run-in with Joel. You didn’t care much for the Fireflies’ propagandized mission statement, but you were game for anything with an adrenaline kick these days. And the open city sure gave you that, and some. 

“Alright everyone, you know the drill. Eyes open, mouths shut. We move fast and quiet. There’s a package waiting for us at the outpost. A live package.”

Live? 

Your raised eyebrows caught Marlene’s attention. She nodded, confirming the unspoken question in your eyes. You weren’t collecting contraband this trip; you were collecting a human. 

“Woah woah, what the hell? Wait just a minute. A person? We’re picking up a person?” A red-headed guy you thought was named Steve spoke up from the back of the group. 

Marlene pursed her lips.

“Yes.” 

Her response sent a jolt of energy through the group. More than a few grumbled disapprovingly at the news. The rest of you stayed silent, waiting for orders. Personally, you didn’t care what it was you were picking up, you just wanted to get the show on the road. Staying in one place too long in the open city - and this close to the QZ - was asking for trouble. 

“Nah, that’s bullshit, Marlene. We didn’t sign up for this!” Steve’s opposition earned a few murmurs of agreement. 

“If you want to go back, be my guest. This is your last chance.” Something about the challenge in Marlene’s voice tamped out the rumbling dissent with ease. Only Steve groused to himself as she took one final appraising glance around the group. 

“Good. We’ve got until sun up to get out and get back, so we need to work fast. It’s a sixteen mile round trip, and there’s plenty of shit out there that’ll slow us down.” 

It was the line Marlene usually ended her “pep talks” in before they set out on a mission. Each of the four times you’d come out here with her, she’d ended with that sentiment. So far, you hadn’t seen any live infected, at least not any close enough to bother with. Something in your gut told you that tonight would be different…

*read part 4

let me know if you want to be tagged in future chapters! ty to everyone showing this series so much love! <3

[pygmi-cygni]

idk if this counts as a request, but I loved your post on starting, and I was wondering if you had any advice for one step before a writing session (i.e., going from the staring-at-the-wall phase to sitting down in front of some sort of screen and opening the right document). It sounds silly, but that's where I'm at right now; I've figured out how to handle a blank page most of the time, once I'm there, but I'm having trouble getting to that point. Is this something you deal with, and if so, do you have any tips for handling it?

i'm gonna assume you mean the like outlining/drafting stage? like not 'writing' the story but just like making scene outlines and stuff? that's what I'll answer but if it's wrong pls send me a follow up and i'll fix it lmao

outlining is a very person-to-person thing because it fits the story and the style and the blah de blah de blah.

but...here are some basic templates you could build off of and make your own.

the 3 act outline. divide your story into 3 'acts'.

Act 1: set-up and exposition - in the Hobbit, for example, this act would be like the arrival of the dwarves, the setup of the journey, and the beginning of the journey.

This act looks different for every story. you can pick where this act ends, but it usually transitions into the second act right before a point of major conflict or the beginning of rising tension. this act includes the inciting incident and the first 'turning point'.

Act 2: confrontation - the beginning of the intense stuff. In the Hunger Games, this would look like the beginning of the Games, where Katniss is first realizing how dangerous it is, maybe the first time she gets seriously injured. it ends with the 'darkest moment', when the characters feel all is lost and they need a win.

Act 3: resolution - The final act contains the climax, the plot twist, and the fallout. it's the final battle, then any last obstructions to peace, and then the clean-up of everybody going home, wounds being bandaged, the end yayyy.

Personally, I think 3 acts is too vague, so I do 7 acts, which is basically 3 acts divided into two (plus one) to narrow down the different phases. You can absolutely mix it up depending on the story; really big intense stories might benefit from more detailed outlining just to keep the facts straight, whereas smaller stories might not need it.

play around, find what works. if you hate an outlining process, don't use it. don't butcher your story to fit it, just find something that works.

Here are some other misc tips for setting up a writing space:

keep a fact sheet handy. just basic things to remember, if you have a hard time with remembering setting locations (me cough cough) draw up a lil map to keep it straight.

a goal checklist for the part/chapter. write out generally where you want the story to go in that place, and some need-to-happen things. this can help for writer's block, if you don't know what to write next.

remember it's okay to write out of order. make a separate document for things that you liked but don't necessarily have a 'place' in the story yet. keep it on a back tab and if you realize 'oh that piece of dialogue would be great here' do an ol' copy paste and ta daaa

I hope this answered your question and helped out anyone else who needed this! if it didn't please message me again (no hard feelings my skull is thicker than Oscar's ass) and I will write a follow up!

xox love ya

[strangeispowerful]

Things you (probably) missed in the For Dear Life MV

Because i’ve watched it at least around thirty or more times now, and have spent several of those watchthroughs analyzing frame by frame, I thought I’d show some of the things I’ve noticed!!

lengthly analysis below cut!!

1) The chinese character 不 is written on the back sides of Narrow’s drafts. 不 as an adverb is simply “no”, but can be used as a noun to mean “failure”.. we can assume these are either rejected drafts or works in general.

It’s also interesting that the character here is chinese, but makes sense when considering the mentions of jiāngshī later in the song. But more on that later!!

2) The en translated lyrics here-

“..and because I don’t follow the directed dosage, I’ve only got a single pill left.”

As was pointed out in a niconico comment I found, pills like this are usually meant to be taken in sets of two. However, if the dose is increased to three, there will end up being only one left due to the odd number.

Another translation of this line I saw was, “and because I don’t follow the directed dosage, it’s just the lonely pill and me.”

In my opinion this is a more accurate translation due to the english word “me” being included in the original line: “bocchi no jouzai to Me”

3) Narrow isn’t only a visual artist!

It can be seen in this frame here that he’s stressing over what looks like an error message in a DAW—or a Digital Audio Workstation. Common DAWs include garageband, audacity, and so on, so it’s safe to say that Narrow also either composes or produces music.

Similarly, these three shots of his characters each seem to showcase a different art form. Pine is a visual artist with a canvas, Chocolate seems to be puzzling over writing/editing, and Gummy is a musician playing the piano and standing in front of an audio wavelength.

4) Thanks to these two stills, we can conclude that the For Dear Life mv takes place during January, and that Narrow mostly works at night, seeing as the phone reads 10:19PM (though this is pretty easily assumed).

The text on his phone also reads “there are no new notifications”.

5) The silhouettes of Flurry and Welter can be seen in the background of the second prechorus.

6) Narrow rapidly transforms between Gummy, Chocolate, and Pine when punching the hand guy.

7) During the "jitter, butter, step, you" sequence, there's actually an animated step on the word "step".

8) "Jitter, butter, step, you" actually sounds suspiciously like the Japanese phrase じたばたしてよ, "jitabata shite yo".

Please correct me if I'm wrong, because I'm not sure of this—but looking up translations of this phrase I believe it's an idiom that means something along the lines of "stop panicking/being so flustered". I tend to use ChatGPT as a translator, because it makes the most grammatically correct translations I've seen—but am aware that it's not always accurate. If someone could fact check that, that'd be super cool!!

Nonetheless, here's what I got after putting in the prompt to break the phrase down for me.

This little play on words is pretty clever too, seeing as he's described as "seeing pink elephants"— or actively hallucinating at this point in the MV. Of course a common Japanese idiom would sound like gibberish or complete nonsense.

9) After Narrow passes out in the bridge, the person who discovers his body is actually his younger self.

Shortly afterwards, we can also see Narrow briefly transform into his younger self for one frame before switching between his present self, Gummy, Chocolate, and Pine.

(Young Narrow compared to present day Narrow)

10) When Narrow smashes the award to the ground, he actually sheds tears.

It's just really sweet. good for him.

11) During the final chorus, the hand guys have little bandages on their hand heads—presumably because Pine punched the shit out of them.

12) And of course, more on the mention of jiāngshī:

The en translated lyrics here are: "If I remove the amulet, I'm Jiang Shi until death" or "I’m a hopping vampire to the bone if you rip off my talisman."

On jiāngshī, also called "hopping vampires" from Chinese folklore: “It is typically depicted as a stiff corpse dressed in official garments from the Qing dynasty, and it moves around by hopping with its arms outstretched. It kills living creatures to absorb their qi, or ‘life force’, usually at night…” (wikipedia, march 2024)

I definitely have something to say here about the symbolism of Narrow comparing himself to a reanimated corpse, and drawing parallels from such a thing to burnout and etc... but my thoughts aren't too organized on that yet, so I'll leave it for another time.

I think it's clever though that Narrow's antipyretic pads or fever patches are being used as a symbol for the fulu talisman seen on the foreheads of jiāngshī.