#he’s actively out to become a serial killer

[nicoscheer]

“We all need time to heal”

[bitt3rcrawl]

which one

Reblog with the worst thing your Blorbo has done.

[tlou-reid]

Baked Goodies ❤︎ Aaron Hotchner

♡ SUMMARY: aaron is smitten for his new graduate student neighbor as soon as he meets her.

♡ WARNINGS: male masturbation, allusions to smut but nothing fully written (part 2?), tooth-rotting fluff, mutual pining & slowburn, mentions of drinking and alcohol, mentions of criminal minds-esque violence, age gap (mid 20s/mid 40s)

—♡

Aaron doesn’t think he’s ever blushed before now. The warmth on his cheeks was an unfamiliar feeling, as was the smile that was slowly making its way across his face. “Thank you,” He says with a voice that’s slightly lower than his usual tone. His hand reached out to grab the Tupperware container you were holding in yours. He tried to ignore the gentle shock that reached his fingertips as they made contact with yours. He also tried to ignore how soft the skin of your manicured hand was. It was probably a lotion, one with the same lavender scent radiating off your body.

“No need to thank me!” Your voice was so lively, so excitable. It was unlike anything he’d ever heard before. “If you ever need any more baked goods, I’m right across the street.” As you spoke, you lifted your arm to point at the house across the street from his.

You were his new neighbor. The house had been on sale for a few weeks and Aaron had been keeping his eye on it, seeing who the new family would be. He was hoping it would be a family that had a child similar to Jack’s age. He didn’t have any friends in the neighborhood, they all lived a few blocks over. Having someone Jack could bond with right across the street would make things easier for both him and his son. Especially when Aaron had to leave for days or weeks at a time due to his job.

But, selfishly, he was not disappointed it was you at all. You hadn’t disclosed if it was just you living in the house or not, but Aaron had already formed an imaginary life for you. It was just you and some pet living in the house, and he was going to be the protector. He’d check on you, you’d come to him when you need some manly job done at the house. And he hadn’t known you for more than five minutes yet.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said with a slight chuckle. “It was nice to meet you, Aaron!” You called to him as you stepped off his porch, heading to the next house to take your fresh-baked goods to. He closed the door, stepping in and taking a look at the container you’d dropped off. It had a mix of different treats, all homemade. There was a little note inside.

“Jack, I got food!” He yelled to his son as he made his way to the kitchen. He quickly sat it down, opened it, and took out the note before Jack could see it. “Hi! I’m Y/N, your new neighbor! I hope you enjoy these! (p.s. there’s no peanuts!) x” is what the note read. He smiled at the fact that you didn’t give off any real personal information, and even more at the fact that you worried about the allergies of the neighborhood. Not even people you knew. You were worried about the allergies of strangers. He felt his blush come back.

“What’s that?” Jack’s voice tore him away from his thoughts. “Someone moved into the house across the street, she baked some stuff and is giving it out,” Aaron explained. “For free?” Jack inquired, reaching for a chocolate chip cookie. Aaron laughed, “Yeah, she was introducing herself.” Jack nodded, biting into his cookie. “Wow!” He exclaimed, surprised at how good it tasted. Aaron laughed again, reaching for one of his own.

It was almost a week before Aaron saw you again. The team had been called in to work on a semi-local case that lasted four days. It wasn’t the worst thing Aaron had been through, but it’s never easy to come face-to-face with a serial killer. Then, he’d just become busy with paperwork and Jack’s after-school activities. Aaron had helped coach one of his soccer games, which wasn’t something he got to do often.

So now, late Sunday morning, he was finally making the walk across the street to your house. He had planned this since the moment you’d dropped the Tupperware container into his hand. He was going to return it just so he could see you again. 

He gently knocked on your door, loud enough you would hear it if you were around, but not loud enough to wake you up if you’d decided to sleep in today. He hadn’t seen enough to observe your routine. Not in a creepy way, just the way you notice when your neighbor’s car is in its driveway or if they do yardwork every Saturday evening. Come to think of it, he didn’t know any of his neighbor’s routines. He was never around enough to notice them.

When you opened the door, his attention left the surrounding houses and landed right on you. He had been looking around upon realizing how little he knew about the people in his neighborhood. You’d be the first one he’d get to know, he decided.

“Aaron!” You were basically beaming at him. He smiled and mumbled out a, “hello”. “How are you today?” You smiled, stepping out onto the porch to stand near him. “I’m good, I was just coming to return the container.” He explained, holding out the Tupperware. You reached out to take it from him, looking at his hands. You couldn’t help but notice the veins that ran along them.

“Oh! You didn’t have to,” You chuckled, moving your eyes up to look at his again. If you were being honest, you’d been surprised when he answered the door. Chatter about the older man from the neighbors you had given your baked goods to prior to arriving at his house had you ready to be nervous and intimidated.

Instead, you were undeniably attracted to him. When he had first opened the door after hearing your timid knocks, you couldn’t help but let your eyes scan his broad form. You didn’t think he had noticed, as he was too busy trying to figure out why someone was unexpectedly knocking at his door.

“Did you like them?” You asked with wide eyes. He could tell you were genuinely curious. “I did,” He smiled as he continued, “With the few that I had at least. My son loved them.”

“Your son?” You couldn’t stop yourself from asking. Of course, an attractive man like him was married with kids. You weren’t sure why hadn’t assumed that before. “Yeah, Jack. He’s my son.” Aaron was awkward, not really knowing what you were asking. You recovered quickly, “Which ones were his favorite? I can make more!” Aaron smiled with a slight shake of his head, “He loved them all, you don’t have to worry about any of that.” You laughed, “I do! I love baking, it’s a nice way to pass time.” Aaron nodded along to your words, “I guess he liked the brownies the most, they were gone in a day.” You smiled, taking a mental note. 

“And your wife?” There was a hidden motive behind this question, one you hoped Aaron didn’t pick up on. You wanted, no, needed to know the details of this man’s life. You needed to know if you could keep up the fantasy you were creating of him. He let out an awkward laugh, “Uh, no,” he cleared his throat, “No wife. Just me and Jack.” You almost wanted to break out into a smile at his words, but you knew that would be inappropriate.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to like, pry, or anything.” The awkward tone of the conversation was beginning to make you uncomfortable. As much as you wanted to know, you didn’t want to blow your chances with him. “It’s okay,” he comforts you when it should definitely be the other way around, “Just a bit of a touchy subject.” You nodded in understanding. You two stood there in silence for a little bit, before Aaron stepped back. “I should get back,” He said, nodding towards his house.

“Yeah, yeah. It was good to see you again.” Aaron took note of the awkward smile and lack of eagerness in your voice. “You too, Y/N. See you around.” He stuck his hands in his pockets as he walked down the steps of your porch

He was just reaching the curb on his side of the street when he heard someone yell your name. You hadn’t retreated back into your house, instead opting to tidy up the furniture on your porch. He didn’t know you were waiting to make sure he had made it into the house safely. Aaron watched as the man who lived two houses down from you began to approach your porch.

“The cookies were delicious!” The man was still shouting as he walked over. Aaron couldn’t tear his eyes away from you. He watched as you giggled at his words, yelling back, “Thank you!” When the man approached you, he handed off the same kind of Tupperware container Aaron had given you. Aaron couldn’t help the jealousy that took over him as he realized this man and he had the same idea: returning the container just to see you again.

Once the man reached you and Aaron could no longer hear your conversation, he turned to continue walking back toward his home. He couldn’t help but notice how you giggled at this man’s words. Your conversation with him felt so natural, which was very different from the uncomfortable conversation you two had.

Aaron couldn’t help but feel insecure about this. Of course, you’d want to conversate with the younger, handsome, athletic guy who lived in the neighborhood. Why would you choose an older man who had a child and knees that creaked when he stood from his office chair? You wouldn’t. No one would.

Little did Aaron know, you had been watching him the entire time you were talking to the neighbor. You couldn’t help but check Aaron out as he walked away. His sweatpants hugged his hips deliciously and the athletic fit shirt showed off the muscles in his back. Aaron was hot and you couldn’t deny it.

The next time you saw Aaron was very unexpected. Your friend, Elise, had convinced you to volunteer at the local middle school, working the door for entry to the soccer game they were hosting on a Friday night. Part of her grad school program involved her working at this school, so you guys had signed up together. She was excited to see the students she had been working closely with.

 You, however, had completely forgotten you had a paper due for one of your graduate classes. So, she was up, selling tickets, conversating with parents, and wishing the students good luck, while you had your nose buried in your laptop. Textbooks and articles were spread across the table that was holding the register for the ticket money.

“Jack! You’re gonna do great!” You heard Elise encourage one of the students, not really paying attention anymore. It wasn’t until you heard a familiar voice that you looked up from your halfway-done paper. “He’s been practicing hard,” Aaron smiled, touselling the hair on the little boy’s head.

Your movement from behind your laptop caught his attention. “Hello, Y/N,” he said, not expecting to see you there. Jack and your friend both turned to face you, surprised that you and Aaron knew each other.

Aaron pushed Jack forward with a gentle hand on his back, “Buddy, do you remember the cookies and stuff our neighbor had dropped off?” Aaron asked him, ready to introduce you two. “You made them?” Jack asked, stepping closer to you. You nodded at him with a smile, “Yes! I live across the street from you!” You smiled at the young boy. You didn’t notice the eyebrow raise your friend gave you, knowing about the crush you had said you were growing on your older neighbor. She was connecting the dots.

“Do you work here?” Aaron asked as Jack ran into the stadium to join his team. You shook your head, pointing to Elise, “She does. She needed volunteers and asked me to work.” Aaron nodded. He let out a light laugh and pointed to your laptop, “Doesn’t seem like you're doing a lot of work.”

Your cheeks started to warm up in embarrassment, “I have a paper due that I completely forgot about.” Aaron was shocked to hear you discussing college. He thought you were older than that. “You’re in college?” He asked. You nodded again, “Grad school. I only have one more semester until I graduate.” You explained, and he relaxed. You were older than an undergraduate. 

He knew you were young, but he didn’t think he was being perverted by forming a small crush on you. Sure, some people may deem it inappropriate, but it is up to you in the end. If, by some miniscule chance, you harbored the same feelings he did, he wouldn’t feel weird about it, he didn’t think.

Aaron questioned what you were studying and you explained your major, your intended career, and how passionate you were about what you were doing. As your face lit up and your hands aided in your expressive explanation, it was as if Aaron could feel fondness growing in his chest. He began to feel warm, as if you were the sun shining on him.

 He hasn’t felt like this in a long time. The only feeling that could mirror what he was feeling now was when Jack got crowned MVP at his last soccer tournament. It’s the kind of pride that you feel when you know someone is going to go far. Aaron wanted to go with you.

Unfortunately, the buzzer interrupted his thoughts. He let out a breath, a small “Shit” escaping from his lips before he continued, “I gotta get to my seat.” He chucked, rushing away, “Good to see you.” He nodded at you and your friend before disappearing into the stadium.

“So that’s him? The hot next-door neighbor?” Elise squealed, with a wiggle of her eyebrows. “Elise! Stop!” You whisper-shouted at her, still weary of Aaron’s presence, “I have a paper to finish.” She laughed at the way you made your eyes big, emphasizing that she needed to drop the subject.

“Okay,” Elise breathed out after a while, relaxing in the seat next to you, “we’re done!” You nodded at her words, moving to save the file on your laptop. “What’s next?” You asked as you closed it, deciding to finish the paper later. “You hungry? The concession stand has fantastic pizza!” Even if you weren’t, the way she practically moaned about it had you wanting this pizza. “Sure,” you shrugged. You packed up your things as Elise dropped off the register where it needed to go, and then you guys headed into the stadium.

The line for the concession stand moved quickly. You couldn’t help but scan the stands for Aaron, wondering where he ended up sitting. When Elise proposed staying to see the end of the game, you agreed, solely because it would increase your chances of seeing him again.

And, you did. Not until the very end of the game, after the buzzer had sounded and Jack’s team ran to the sidelines, celebrating the win they had just claimed. The only way you found Aaron was through the cheers. He was the loudest one, the proudest parent sitting amongst the whole school. It brought a smile to your face to know how much he loved his son.

“Congratulations, kid!” Elise cheered for Jack as he approached the entrance to the field, by where you two were standing waiting to congratulate the team. Jack just smiled before turning back to his friends. “You guys did great!” You called from behind her. Aaron smiled at you as he reached where you and Elise were stood.

“So, will you guys be at more games?” He wasn’t going to invite you, as he felt that would be overstepping some invisible boundary he had made up in his head. But, if you were going to be around anyway he could at least offer to sit with you. “I definitely will be!” Elise cheered, turning to you. “I’ll see. You never know with school and work.” You shrugged, trying to mask the disappointment. You were not aware that Aaron was doing the same.

“Dad!” Jack shouts, running over to his father, “Can I sleep at Chris’ house tonight? The whole team is going!” You couldn’t help but notice how adorable he looked, and the fond look Aaron gave back to him. “Sure thing, buddy. Let’s just run home to get your stuff.” Aaron turned to bid a quick goodbye to you and Elise. To your surprise, he turned back to you. “Did you need a ride home?”

You stuttered at his words, “Uh, no, um, Elise-” “Yes, she does! I was her ride but my boyfriend just asked to meet somewhere!” Elise nudged you as she cut you off. She waved her phone to emphasize her point. “Thanks, Mr. Hotchner, you’re the best! Have fun at your sleepover, Jack!” Elise said as she stepped away from the group. Once you were the only one that could see her, she threw you a big smile and thumbs up, before taking off to your car.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize that happened,” You gestured to your friend running off as you apologized. “No need to be sorry, I wouldn’t have offered if it bothered me. It’s not like you live far away.” You nodded and smiled at Aaron’s comforting words, thanking him again. “C’mon, the car’s this way.” You followed him and Jack, watching as Aaron congratulated Jack on the win and questioned him on the different strategies the team uses throughout.

Aaron opened the passenger door as Jack climbed his way into the back. Your jaw almost dropped as you realized he opened it for you. It was so casual. He didn’t even stop his conversation with Jack as he held it open for you. He laughed at something as you buckled your seat belt up.

 When he leaned over to check that you were comfortable in the seat, his eyes met yours. He gave you the softest smile you’d ever seen and you could feel butterflies take flight in your stomach. Your cheeks felt warm and you looked down at your hands, growing nervous under his gaze. You mumbled a soft “thank you” as he closed your door, walking around to the driver’s side.

Aaron noticed your nervousness this time. He could tell you were shocked at his actions. Initially, this made him sad as he realized that no man had ever shown you the care you deserved. However, that sadness quickly turned to excitement as he realized he could be the first. He wanted to show you how you deserved to be loved in so many ways, definitely more than just opening a door for you.

The drive to your homes was filled with laughter as you and Jack tried to sing the pop songs that were steadily playing on the radio. Jack kept stumbling over the words and you could not carry a tune to save your life. Aaron had matching butterflies to yours as you interacted with his son.

His car pulled into the driveway and Jack was inside the house faster than you could even open your door. You both laughed as Aaron made his way around the car to stand with you. “I can walk you across while he gets his things,” Aaron gestured to his house, indicating Jack might be a second inside.

“You don’t have to. Get him to his sleepover, he seems excited.” Aaron laughed, nodding along to your words. “Have a good night, Aaron.” He wished you the same and watched as you made your way to your house. His eyes didn’t leave your figure until you were safely inside.

Jack gathered his things for the sleepover very quickly. Aaron was almost certain he had forgotten something as they made their way back into the car. Once they were buckled and on their way, Jack shifted his body to face his dad.

“Dad?” He asked, getting his father’s attention. Aaron let out a gentle “hmm” of recognition. “Do you have a crush on our neighbor?” Aaron didn’t answer, reaching forward to turn up the radio, but the pink spreading across his dad’s cheeks was the only answer Jack needed.

Aaron was exhausted. Completely and totally exhausted. The case and been long and gut-wrenching. The only victory was the arrest of the unsub, as he had murdered all of his previous victims before the team could save them. Aaron was gone for two and a half weeks, and barely got any sleep while he was away.

“Thanks, JJ,” His voice was weak as he thanked her, reaching into the back of the SUV to get his go-bag. He had been too tired to drive himself. JJ had kindly offered after seeing the dark eye bags he was wearing. “Anytime, Hotch. Get some sleep.” He could only muster up a nod in return.

Aaron was turning the key in his lock when he heard your door. “Shit!” You yelped as the glass outer door slammed. He turned around with a chuckle, never too tired to see you. “Hello, Y/N!” He called as best he could with how tired he was.

He was suddenly wide awake when you faced him. He hoped you couldn’t see his eyes scan the entirety of your body, pausing at your very exposed thighs. You were in a loose, long-sleeved t-shirt that came down the end of your butt. The shorts you were wearing with it were incredibly short, barely covered by the shirt. Even with the distance between your houses, he could tell you weren’t wearing a bra.

He wanted to blame the way his dick was hardening on how tired he was, and definitely not the dirty thoughts he was having about you right now. He could imagine the way his rough hands would trace the skin across your thighs as he pulled you into his lap, preparing to devour you. His fantasies did not slow as you yelled back to him, very excitedly, “Aaron! Where have you been?”

He shook his head, attempting to clear it so he could have a normal conversation with you. His heart fluttered at the fact that you’d noticed his disappearance. “I was away for work,” he informed, “for far too long.” You erupted into a smile, walking off your porch, “Well, the neighborhood missed you!” He knew you were lying. No one in this neighborhood knew him. They didn’t care if he was gone or not.

But, being a profiler had its perks. He knew the hidden meaning in your words. You missed him. His brain was tired and his heart was beating a million times a minute. That must’ve been why his mouth was moving before he could stop it, “I missed you too.” The words rolled off of his tongue, no thought behind them. No thoughts, but definitely feelings.

You hoped Aaron couldn’t see the way your eyes lit up at his words. You could feel the heat growing in your cheeks as you continued to make your way to your little garden. That’s why you were out here, to get your front yard set up for Halloween decorations. “Get some rest, Aaron. Welcome home.

Even with you raising your voice, he could hear the softness behind it. You sounded so fond. This is how he wanted to be welcomed home after every case, with your sweet voice and gentle demeanor. “Have a nice night!” He called to you, before stepping through his front door.

He dropped his stuff by the door and reached up to loosen his tie. He kicked his shoes off and then moved to undo his belt. Leaving both the tie and the belt on the arm of the couch, he made his way right to the master bathroom. He had texted Jessica to let her know he would pick Jack up in the morning during the drive home, too tired to make the drive to her house.

Aaron had forgotten about his half-hard dick, too encompassed by your presence outside. He ignored it, stripping down and climbing into the hot shower. He hadn’t realized how tense his muscles were until the hot water ran down them, relaxing his whole body. As he loosened up, his mind drifted back to you. As he imagined holding onto your thighs as he fucked into you from behind. He could clearly make out the curve of your ass.

He felt as if he wasn’t controlling himself as his hands moved to his now fully hard dick. He didn’t mean to jerk himself off to dirty thoughts of you, his brand new, younger neighbor, but you looked so fucking sexy. His hand wrapped around his cock tighter as he remembered the outline of your tits that he could make out from across the street.

He could feel himself getting closer and closer to release as he tried to imagine the noises you would make for him. All the times you said his name replayed in his name and he tried to imagine you moaning it, whining it, grunting it, screaming it. He could’ve sworn he could smell your lavender perfume as he came. He opened his eyes as he finished stroking himself through his orgasm. He watched as the water washed away the cum that had landed on his hand and stomach.

“Fuck,” he said to himself, frustrated with the hold you had on him. Now that he got that out of his system, he couldn’t believe he just came to the thought of you.

 He had been having doubts earlier, wondering how inappropriate, how immoral, how wrong his growing crush was. Being a senior in graduate school, you had to be late 20s, maybe early 30s at the most. Being mid-40s, there was at least a 15-year age gap between the two of you.

He had to shake these thoughts. He quickly lathered himself up, rinsed off, and got out of the shower. He slipped on a pair of boxers and climbed into his bed. He was asleep in less than five minutes.

The next morning, he was woken up by knocks on his door. He had slept for about 11 hours, so he wasn’t mad that his slumber was interrupted. “Coming!” He yelled, shuffling for pants to throw on. Once he got a pair of plaid pajama pants on, he made his way down the hall to the front door.

He didn’t have time to register who it was before he heard your voice, “I’m so sorry to wake you up! I know it’s early but my car won’t start and I have an exam at one and I really need to be on time so I was wondering if maybe you could come look at it?”

Your mouth was moving faster than your brain could keep up with, obviously feeling bad about the whole situation. “Slow down,” Aaron breathed out, trying to get you to relax. His efforts failed as you ran your hand along your hairline and mumbled an “’m sorry”. “I can come, give me just a minute.” He stepped back, opening the door further for you to step inside to wait.

Your eyes widened at his silent invitation. You followed him through the door, awkwardly standing by the front door. You could tell from your spot in the entryway that the layout of his house mirrored yours. He was currently on his way down the hall to the master bedroom. To get a shirt, you presumed.

You definitely noticed the lack of clothing on his part. It was clear you’d disturbed him, and while you felt bad about that, you were ridiculously grateful. His morning voice, low-rise pajama pants, and hairy chest will be pressed into your memory, ready to be used when you needed some help finishing yourself off.

He appeared again quickly, fully clothed with socks and slides on his feet. He opened the front door, gesturing for you to go through. He followed you across the street to your driveway, where your very old sedan sat. “Can I have the key?” You nodded, retrieving the key from your pocket and pressing it into Aaron’s large hand.

As Aaron went to start the car, it was hard for him not to realize that this was the dream life he had conjured up for you when you first showed up on his porch. Here he was, being the manly man, helping you with your car. He tried turning it on and the sound of the engine sputtering made you want to cry. Without words, Aaron walked around to pop the hood, analyzing what was going on. He was quiet as he looked, and you wouldn’t dare interrupt it. “I think it’s the spark plugs. I have the stuff in my garage.” He said after a few minutes.

You nodded along to his words, trying to convince him that you knew exactly what he was talking about. As he began to make his way back across the street, you couldn’t help yourself from apologizing again. “Thank you, Aaron. I’m really sorry.” He was quick to turn back around to face you. With a hefty shake of his head, he spoke, “Please stop apologizing, this is what I’m here for.” He smiled at you, before returning to his journey to the garage.

If you were growing a crush on him before, it was full-fledged now. You needed to do something about this before your heart exploded at his actions and you soaked through your underwear at his words.

He returned after a few minutes, carrying a toolbox. You couldn’t do anything but stare as he worked on the car. He didn’t say much, focused on doing this right for you. Every once in a while he would attempt to explain what he was doing, but you were too distracted by the way the muscles in his arm contorted as he worked.

“That should do it,” He said as he made his way back into the driver’s seat. Sure enough, after a few turns of the key, the car sputtered to life. “Oh my god, thank you!” You spoke as he stepped up from the seat, throwing your arms around his neck. “You’re a lifesaver!” You squealed. Aaron’s hands awkwardly found their way around your waist, surprised at the sudden contact. Surprised, but very intrigued.

When you pulled away, Aaron felt cold. “Not a problem, Y/N.” He said as he wiped the grim off of his hands. “Why don’t you give me your number so next time you don’t have to walk all the way over?” The way he asked was so casual. He was so calm as your heartbeat increased with every word. Your number? Next time?

“Yeah! Sure!” You were afraid your voice sounded too excited, blowing your cover. Aaron picked up on it but didn’t mention it. You two quickly exchanged numbers, and he excused himself, stating he needed to pick up Jack. “Seriously, Aaron. Thank you.” You emphasized, grabbing his hand and pulling him forward. You were being bold. You pressed a gentle kiss against his cheek. He turned away before you could see the pink blush spread across his cheeks. “Anytime.” He said, starting to walk away.

You spent the next couple of hours cramming for your exam and trying to repress any thoughts of Aaron Hotchner that your brain was attempting to conjure up. It was working, your focus on passing this exam. However, on your drive to campus, your phone dinged. Your car showed you a message from ‘Aaron (neighbor)’. You were giddy the rest of the way, not wanting to open while you were driving.

When you parked, you opened your phone to a simple text: “Good luck on your exam! You got this.” You walked into class with a smile, and you were pretty sure you aced the exam. 

You were surprised at the amount of time you and Aaron spent texting. It was definitely an assumption you had made based solely on his age, but you did not expect him to want to text. However, he appeared to be better than men your age at it. Quick replies, letting you know when he’d be unavailable, and absolutely never leaving on you read. Sometimes you had to explain emojis or slang to him, but you found it adorable.

You had learned that he works for the FBI in a unit that catches things like serial killers, rapists, and kidnappers. He was away on a case right now, somewhere in California. He had learned that you had a very old dog, but other than that, it was just you in the house.

There were times when the conversation felt a bit flirty. Teasing jokes thrown around, compliments to each other. Part of you was starting to think he may reciprocate your feelings, but the other part was starting to think you were delusional. There was no way he could ever like you back.

Until he did.

Elise and a few of your other friends had dragged to a bar downtown. One you had never been to. Like normal, you and Aaron were in the middle of a text conversation while you were sitting at the bar. You had been up and dancing, having fun with your friends, but you couldn’t stay away from your phone long enough to enjoy your time.

Elise was picking up on this. After a few rounds of shots, she was getting aggravated. She couldn’t comprehend how you were managing an intelligent conversation with him, but she knew she had to get you away from it. She kept telling herself it was for your own good, not wanting to feel guilty about the atrocities she was about to commit.

However, it was going to be so much worse than either of you had anticipated.

Elise slithered her way in between you and the person sitting on the barstool next to you. The older lady on your right was definitely agitated with her actions, but Elise did not care. She saw the white screen of your text messages and long contact name and knew who you were texting. Even in her drunken state, she could recall all of the screenshots you had been sending her from your conversations with Aaron.

“Give it here,” Elise slurred, reaching for your phone. It was still unlocked as she held it in her tight grasp. “You’re texting your hot middle-aged neighbor. Come shake some ass with us and find a guy your own age.” Her words were a little bit harsher than she intended. “Elise, stop. I’m enjoying texting my hot middle-aged neighbor and do not want to find a guy my own age” You demanded with your own drunken slur, reaching for the phone. “Uh-uh,” Elise shook her head, locking the phone and tucking into the cup of her bra, out of your reach for the rest of your night.

Only because you were forced to, you eventually did get up and dance with your friends. Just your friends, no men at all.

Elise only returned your phone at the very end of the night, when you needed to order an Uber home. Your head was starting to spin from all the alcohol, so that was all you did. After the order was placed, you gripped your phone as a way to keep the world from twirling underneath. The Uber arrived, too slow for your liking, and you were home. You immediately made your way towards the couch, ready to pass out.

The loud knocks on your door did nothing to help the pounding headache you had woken up with, and you couldn’t imagine who was knocking. The knocks were powerful and authoritarian. “Hello?” You questioned as you threw open the door. There was clearly attitude behind your greeting. “What did that mean?” Aaron’s voice sounded rushed as he pushed himself inside the door. He was dressed in a suit and acting very different than the Aaron you had known before.

“The message, the last one you sent.” He seemed stressed, running his hand through his hair. Something about the way he looked made him look exhausted. Your eyebrows furrowed, not understanding what he meant. You grabbed your phone from the end table next to your couch and opened your and Aaron’s message thread. Your eyes widened at the voice message marked as “read: 1:32 AM”.

“I-I don’t know,” you stuttered out, afraid to meet his eye, “What did it say?” Aaron took a step away from you. “It was Ms. Landon, uh, your friend from the game,” He sounded nervous as he spoke, “You should just listen to it.” You nodded, checking the volume on your phone and then listening to the message

It was right after Elise had grabbed your phone when she was berating you for being on your phone the whole time. When she mentioned your hot middle-aged neighbor and you replied, also calling him your hot middle-aged neighbor. And saying you did not want to find a guy your age because of him.

“Aaron, I am so sorry-” You started, wanting to apologize for your and your friend’s actions and blame the whole thing on being intoxicated, but he cut you off. “Forgive me for barging in here like this, Y/N, but I need to know why you were ignoring your friends to text me.” He finally locked eyes with you, and the eye bags under his eyes were the first thing you noticed.

There was a beat of silence, until he continued, “Y/N, I have enjoyed the sparse moments we have shared together. And I may be reading this wrong, I may just be incredibly sleep-deprived, but I think you have as well. I understand that I am older than you, but I would like to continue to have these moments with you. I would like to see what else we can do together.” 

Your heart started to beat at his confession. You nodded at his words, rendered speechless for the first time in your life. You couldn’t stop yourself as your legs moved forward, reaching for his face and pulling him into a kiss.

There was very little hesitation as Aaron’s hands slipped around your waist, pulling you closer. You didn’t know he’d been waiting to do this since you met, but you were going to find out soon. His hands gripped you tighter as he deepened the kiss, moving his tongue into your mouth. He was very skillful in the way he held you and the way he kissed you.

You didn’t separate until you needed air. If it wasn’t for the fact that you needed air to live, you could’ve stayed wrapped up with him forever. Your forehead was pressed to his as you whispered, “Are we gonna talk about this?” He knew that you were talking about where you were supposed to go from here. Is it gonna be a relationship? Are you going to be exclusive? How would it work with him being away so much? What would your role in Jack’s life be?

Aaron decided all of these questions would remain unanswered as he said, “Later, we got things to do right now..” He pulled you tight against him, roughly pressing his lips to yours again.

[twizzie-lairs]

My Darling, My Honey

Alastor X Fem!Reader (Part 7)

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

Quick Notes:

You, the reader who is an artist, and had become Alastor's sweetheart, have just died.

Alastor is about to find out.

Part 7:

The sound of a singular gunshot rang clearly in the night that had been so peacefully quiet up until that moment in time.

Alastor, with the engagement ring in his pocket, who had been peacefully reading a novel within the confines of your shared home, nearly ripped his book in half upon hearing the sound of a gunshot in these woods.

The forest around here was part of his private property, anyone who dared to trespass or hunt in his neck of the woods was shot on sight. Many people ignored the plentiful and very obvious warning signs, so it wasn't his fault so many people ended up becoming your and his meals. Everyone else just thought the law didn't apply to them, straight-up criminals. In his eyes, they all deserved it.

Thinking it was just another nuisance, a "tsk" left Alastor's mouth as he grabbed his shotgun and headed into the woods.

After a few minutes of walking, he finally caught sight of the transgressors. Two men that he, unfortunately, recognized right away as the men from the bar who liked to push his buttons by harassing you.

The seething rage pooled in his core, bubbling up into his chest. This was his chance to get rid of those nuisances once and for all.

They would trouble his darling no more.

For him to get into a better position to take the men out, he crouched down and quietly circled around them like a hunter playing with his prey.

After circling around to position himself behind the men, what he wasn't expecting to see was the most nightmarish sight he's ever seen.

His beloved sweetheart, soon to be betrothed, all disheveled and tied up against a blood-splattered tree with a bullet lodged in the middle of their forehead.

Your eyes were lifeless. There was no doubt about it, the love of his life was dead.

Alastor didn't need to even think before pulling the trigger on the men, shooting one after the other, over and over, even after their bodies had hit the ground.

He. Was. Enraged.

By the time Alastor was done with them, they looked like Swiss cheese, barely strung together.

Alastor's breath was heavy, his chest heaving, near hyperventilating, his eyes were enlarged and his mind was focused on one thing. You.

His beautiful love, he couldn't bear to see you in this state.

In his oddly manic and shocked state, he untied you from the tree and took your body back to your shared home in the woods not too far from here.

For a few moments, his rage was replaced by sorrow and mourning as he buried you in the backyard. As fucked up as he was in the head sometimes, he would rather die than think about eating you. You were sacred to him.

As he laid you down into the ground, he embraced you once last time and took the ring out of his pocket. He placed the ring onto your ring finger and kissed the top of your hand, "In life and in death, I am forever yours, as you are forever mine. I love you, dear."

After you were buried, the rage returned like a vicious tsunami. Oh he wasn't done with revenge just yet.

Every single man or woman that ever mistreated you or offended you, was put on his list.

This night was the catalyst that gave birth to the serial killer known as the "Bayou Killer".

Alastor stopped visiting Mimzy's bar since your death, with his sole focus and dedication in life going to hunting down those that had harmed you in life. After all, they deserved it, you were like an angel to him.

But what Alastor didn't stop doing, was broadcasting his radio show. So many of his connections were made because of his show, so it was a valuable resource to keep active, to use to his advantage.

Alastor continued living his life like this until every single name was crossed off his list.

It was then that it was time for his luck to run out.

Right upon the killing the very last person on the list, was Alastor also shot right square in the forehead.

Before his consciousness faded into black, all he could hear was the muffled panic of a stranger who seemed to be apologizing for mistaking him for some sort of animal.

All Alastor could do was chuckle at the irony of the whole situation, the maniacal laughter was the type that only a madman could produce- before everything went dark and he died.

He thought he would never see you again, because surely, his beloved sweetheart would end up in heaven right?

The answer to this would remain a mystery for many decades to come as Alastor descended into Hell and became who is now widely known in Hell as "The Radio Demon".

-> Part 8

[rmbunnie]

It's most likely just Starlin trying to get to Jason dying faster because he did not like Robin, but the whole "Jason's spiraling because of his grief for his parents" thing they were trying to spin was honestly really weird, not supported by the rest of the run INCLUDING the parts Starlin wrote, and kinda reads like an unreliable narrator situation because all of the information supporting it is given through Bruce's narration, him speculating on Jason's thoughts and actions.

The plot thread of Jason's grief for his family affecting his behavior shows up like TWO issues after Jason first becomes Robin back when Collins was writing, and gets sorted out after one conversation where Jason gets to confront Bruce about hiding his father's death from him for 6 months. After that Jason is behaving normally until they encounter three predators in a row, and each time Bruce insists that they can't do anything because of The Rules and assorted red tape/diplomatic immunity plotlines. (The sister of a woman who got dismembered actually tricked the violent-misogynist killer who dismembered her sister (and then got his serial killings dismissed through a technicality) into attacking her, and ends up killing him in self-defense, and then Jason's like "seems fair" and Bruce is like "no. it's NOT. we need to follow laws and not take justice into our own hands. which like wtf Bruce! you are a vigilante who just used a custom tank to fight an evil televangelist! who then got ripped to shreds by his followers while you watched!)

Bruce kinda just decides with Alfred that it must be grief upsetting him and not the dozens of brutally killed women and their predatory killers who the law inexplicably protected, (all written by Starlin, so retconning it for DitF like five issues later would be an odd move) but the only text claiming that's why Jason was upset is from Bruce's POV and through Alfred's dialogue. Jason himself doesn't display any signs of grief in the story itself, or even act or speak in a way that alludes to Catherine and Willis beyond looking at a picture of them and smiling fondly while he sorts through their possessions. He kinda just happens upon the box with his mother's info by chance, and is like ok i guess we're doing mom searches now. He was only going for a walk through his old neighborhood, not actively searching out info on his family. When Jason is deciding whether or not to run off without telling Bruce, he considers telling him and then goes "no, all he cares about is being Batman, he wouldn't even understand why I want to see my mom." Which, I mean, "Bruce wouldn't get it" is a REALLY odd angle if the sole motivator for spiraling, then getting benched* and running away to search out his bio-mom, was because he was mourning his dead parents, a thing he notably has in common with Bruce. That statement only really makes sense if he's thinking about a different thing that was greatly upsetting to him that Bruce brushed past, like maybe a combo of hiding the murder of his dad for half a year and allowing several cases involving sexual violence to freely develop body counts in the name of the law.

Lots of people have written about how Jason's stay in the manor might have seemed dependent on being Robin with how he was kinda just scooped up, but (if we're including Detective Comics in our characterization,) Bruce had offered to let him resign from Robin and just live with him (a little late, but still. It's worth noting Batman proper shows Jason afraid and uncomfortable at the thought of Dick taking Robin back, which lends more merit to the housing-dependent-on-Robin-misunderstanding interpretation, but canon is pick and choose anyways.) The lack of trust involved in his choice to search out his mom kinda reads like it was bred by more than that alone, and Bruce's prioritization of the law over the protection of the people it ignores is notably upsetting to him in the prior issues. tbh I really do believe the outcomes of those cases could have informed Jason's stance that Bruce's method of justice is ineffective right alongside his own murder and his experiences in Lost Days.

It would make sense for Bruce to not consider his own actions while he's thinking through things that would upset Jason, because from his point of view the things there that were bothering Jason were the criminals alone, not the way that the methods with which they were approaching their crimes continually led to the perpetrators evading actual justice. During the point in DitF where he's thinking through motivations for Jason's running away because something isn't adding up for HIM, the idea doesn't so much as cross his mind. It would also add another layer to Jason's sulkiness upon Bruce's arrival if he held the belief that Bruce is ignoring the consequences his brand of justice has on victims (and the way it's affecting him to helplessly watch it play out), starts to hope that Bruce actually can understand his thought processes/relate to him when he shows up, only to be told to his face that Bruce is prioritizing his style of justice over Jason again. With the way everything that led Jason to his bio-mom was comically circumstantial and the context of the previous issues, it's kind of the ONLY way Death in the Family makes sense to me. Tldr: I feel like the grief claimed as reasoning for Jason's actions leading up to his death is mainly speculation from Bruce and Alfred and the more textually-supported reason for his erratic behavior and lack of trust in Bruce is the lack of intervention in several sensitive cases that led them to worsen unobstructed and eventually permitted them to escalate into casualties in 2 out of 3 cases.

*Also, side note, but the idea that Jason got benched for the Filipe situation, while perfectly reasonable, is not quite spot on. The Filipe situation escalated into the fight in the junkyard where his dad is crushed by a car and Bruce is all "everything you do has consequences" which is kinda big words for a guy whose lack of action indirectly lead to a girls death earlier in the storyline, but true. Jason actally gets benched because he jumps directly into gunfire while fighting the third set of predators and Bruce starts to worry he's getting a little suicidal with it. He baits a guy into shooting at him on purpose again trying to protect mom prospect number 1 later on in DitF, so Bruce might have had a point with that one.

[gremlinmodetweeker]

Movie Nights with König

König is a really cool guy, but movie nights go one of two ways. Your way, or his way. Your way is great! He'll bake cookies and pastries, he makes popcorn and popcorn clusters (you know, like mixing popcorn with caramel, chocolate or peanut butter to make little popcorn balls? My parents did that with me) and he's just fantastic. He sets up the screen for you, helps you get the place all clean and cozy and snuggles right up to you with the biggest fluffiest blanket you both can find.

He does this for movie nights regardless of who's movie is playing, mind you. He's a major sweetheart. It's a fun time for your both to unwind and calm down and enjoy your lives together.

König just also sometimes likes to watch... his movies.

If you really hate them, it might be once a month or once every other month, and probably not with you beside him. Sometimes he just needs a movie that he wants to watch. Something that caught his eye and now he needs to see it. Unfortunately, what König likes isn't exactly... Normal.

See, König loves horror. Really, really loves horror. It's his favourite genre, followed closely by thriller and comedy. That one's a fun little mix, but his true love is horror. He is constantly pushing the boundaries of horror and trying to scare himself silly. For him, getting his heart pumping and his adrenaline surging keeps him alive. Maybe it's PTSD, maybe it's Maybelline. We'll never know for sure. Either way, he is always on the hunt for the next best horror.

Now, the problem is König is nearing middle-aged. He's had years to become desensitized to horror. You? Unless you're like him and live horror just as much as he does, you have not had that much time. He may forget this in the beginning, so your first horror movies may be pretty scary (read: traumatizing). He goes for some truly terrifying stuff. One, the one that my short drabble (the one you can find here) is based on is called The Poughkeepsie Tapes. It's a mockumentary about a group of detectives following the clues a serial killer has left behind in the form of tapes he's recorded of his victims. It's a chilling movie, but incredibly good. For anyone into more intense horror, please give it a watch.

But that last sentence is telling. König likes intense, extreme horror. Not always gore, but often gore. He's seen active combat too much to really be shaken by gore. He's the type to flick on Cannibal Holocaust and not bat an eye. It's pretty intense, and you might end the night thinking you fell in love with a sociopath. He's not evil, he just had a kinda fucked up moral compass through years of combat.

His love of horror does not strictly lie within gore. He likes suspense, too. He is fully into developing a good atmosphere of horror. Just a simple gory jumpscare doesn't really get to him. Some drawn out scene that has you on the edge of your seat as you dread what waits around the corner? That's what gets to him. He loves a good atmosphere. Sometimes it's a pain because the movies can start so dry, but by the end they have your teeth chattering.

However, König will not force you through something you can't handle. He's not a monster. He'll watch movies like 9 and Coraline, kid's horror if you will, if you can't handle his stuff. He'll tone it down for a cute movie night. He's sympathetic to your stomach.

The problems with movie nights don't end with König's love of horror, though.

He'll grow to love your kinds of movies, but he's a bit of a terrible person to watch movies with. Like, the snacks are great, but he's the type to talk over a movie. The worst part is when he talks over the most important parts and then gets lost. He's literally the worst for that. If you can get him to shut up, he's alright though. Usually you have to offer him something to eat or drink to keep his mouth occupied.

He loves to cuddle during movies, no matter what's playing. He'll hold you in his lap or by his side the whole way through. He loves to cuddle under a blanket and relax. However, he is watching the movie. He is not here to get distracted (even though he ends up distracting himself by talking through it). He wants his movie, and he will watch it until the end. It doesn't matter what you do to distract him, he is determined to finish the movie. If you fall asleep? Too bad, he's watching it. If you get a bit frisky? Sucks to suck, he's watching the movie until the bitter end. It gets to the point where you have to pause to let him use the washroom because he refuses to stop the movie. It can get a bit brutal. I do not recommend a Lord of the Rings marathon with him. It would be too intense.

If you can handle König being an obnoxious chatterbox during movies, he's great. The key to a good movie night is to stuff him with snacks so he keeps his interjections to a minimum. Cuddle him, and he'll be too busy enjoying the snuggle session to really have much to say. It's easy to get him to shut up, at the very least. Just make sure you have enough snacks.

[caffeinatedvigilantewriter]

This is a mashup of various tropes. Don’t like don’t read. May include

- deaged danny

- Damian x Dani (serious chaos)

- dead Jazz

- dead Sam

- dead Tucker

- not-shit parent Vlad (kinda)

- the Waynes have a strength kink

So when Danny is 18 and have safely moved out, has financial security and can go no contact with his parents he decides to tell him that he’s Phantom.

It doesn’t go well.

By the time Jazz Sam and Tucker find him he is deaged to around 6. The fentonworks lab explodes.

Dani, who is 16 and was on her way to visit, came just in time to sift through the rubble and find Danny, who has only had enough memory to recognize her as his sister. She also finds three dead bodies. Jack and Maddie survived.

Scared and mourning, she takes Danny and runs to Vlad, who realizes how terrible and obsessed Jack and Maddie were and gives Dani lots of money to hide somewhere where the Jack and Maddie wouldn’t dare to look- at least not for a little while.

Gotham.

So she takes Danny and changes their names.

Elliot ‘Elle’ Jasmine Nightingale and Daniel James Nightingale, brothers and sister duo.

Dani- now Elle- still holds a grudge on Vlad, coupled with the Fenton stubbornness, she insists that she can pay rent/bills/groceries/etc. she gets an apartment in crime alley.

Because Elle doesn’t want to leave a paper trail, she does a less-than-legal job.

She joins a fight rink under the name of Phantasm.

And she’s great at it.

Shes spend the money on education for Danny, ignoring her education for the moment until Danny is old enough to join school.

Damian and Bruce were having major arguments, mostly about his violence and Damian quits being Robin and becomes Nocturne. (Bc I love that name)

He undercover a fight rink and thinks if he busts the rink Bruce will trust him enough.

He does recon and quickly realizes that one of the fighters was incredible, winning fight after fight without causing major injures to her opponents. Her name was Phantasm.

He decides that in order to find out more about her, he has to join undercover. It was only to take down the fight rink and learn more about the beautiful fighter that could bend him in half and nothing more.

Damian joins under the name of Ghoul and swipes some DNA from Elle, learns her (fake) name her (fake) backstory (family died in an heated lab explosion) but doesn’t understand why a chunk of her DNA was unreadable (ghost part of her DNA)

After a bit of digging, realized she didn’t attend school and the next morning Elle waked up to a letter starting that her full-ride scholarship to Gotham Academy has be approved (GA offers a afterschool care for students with younger siblings)

Elle never applied and is confused but accepts after Vlad, Ember, and Kitty convinced her.

She coincidentally is put in the most of the same classes as Damian, who she eventually crushes on befriends because he’s hot she’s suspicious of his faint and funky ecto signature.

So shenanigans include (not in this order and are optional)

- GALA where Vald announces her as Vlad Co heiress and the are invited to the gala and get a bit sus of Elle bc Vlad is sus

- JASON AS ELLE’S NEIGHBOR is actively trying to set up/prevent Damian and Elle getting together (either one works, as long as the plans fail comically)

- PRINCESS ELLE OF YHE INFINITE RELAMS + SUMMONING

- TALIA ATTEMPTING TO KIDNAP DANNY because he looked like Bruce/she wants another son and Elle absolutely beating her 7 different ways to Sunday and Talia telling Damian that she approves of her

- ELLE DESTABILIZING/GETTING REALLY SICK and Danny calls Damian in a panic because he knows Elle trusts him even if she won’t admit it

- ELLE GETS SAVED BY NOCTURNE and Elle instantly clocks him as Damian bc of his ecto signature and rips him a new one because look how vigilantism turned out for Danny

- THE BATFAM THINKING DANNY IS THE CLONE OF ELLE and investigating Cadmus, who could have ties to the GIW somehow

- ELLE BECOMING A SORT OF SERIAL KILLER to protect Danny (check the comments @emerald-fox-93 linked it :)))

- DASH BECOMING A GCPD COP AND HAVING TO ARREST ELLE because she killed someone who tried to kidnap Danny. Damian picks her up from the station after she calls him.

- PAULINA BECAME A LAYWER FOR WE bc I saw a post like that and it was fire. She eventually fights for the removal of the AEA (anti ecto acts)

- THE OTHER BATS GENUINELY BECOMING CONCERNED and began to think that Elle is mind-controlling Damian because he keeps brushing them off to hang out with her

- DAN JOINING THE JLA and calling up Elle when he needs her help and Damian being there and being like ‘wtf??’

Jack and Maddie eventually find Danny and Elle and Elle vanishes. Danny- who Elle hid when the Fentons stormed the apartment- calls Damian sobbing and pleading for him to find Elle because the bad people are going to hurt her.

Damian, knowing little to nothing about her situation, basically goes ballistic trying to find her. The family, titans, and the League gets involved because one 15 year old doesn’t realize he has a massive crush on his classmate. He calls up that every favors he is owed (and some that is not) so now basically almost the entire LOA is after a 15 year old girl who was kidnapped by the two mad scientists who are committing around 16 wars crimes.

They find her after the ghosts she’s Still in contact with realize she hasn’t texted in a while and they’ll help Damian on his manhunt

And because Elle is the high princess, the entire ghost zone is ready to help Damian get their princess/queen/regent back

Jack and Maddie never stood a chance.

Any more ideas?? Please tag me and comment 🙏 :))

Edit: I’m updating the post as I think of new ideas, so it’s changing pretty often, you’re not crazy, I just have no writing ability and too many ideas 🤪

[theamberfist]

Obviously platonic; Alastor x teen! GN! reader, when reader was alive reader "idolized" Alastor as a killer and killed like him, basically a copycat and died like him. When reader meet's Alastor at the hotel reader is like, "OH! My fking- your, your Alastor, right? The famous radio host serial killer from the 1930's? I such a HUGE fan!"

BTW : Love your work •ᴗ•

❀ AHHHH THANK YOU!!!!! We all know how I love platonic Alastor, especially with a child/teen reader! I hope you enjoy! ❀

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The Radio Demon's #1 Fan | Alastor + Teen! Reader

Platonic! Alastor + Teen! Reader

Description: You had always looked up to Alastor; a great serial killer who had lived and died long before you. Now that you've ended up in hell, you end up getting to finally meet him...And are totally starstruck.

(Notes: CW Alastor, mentions of murder) (gender neutral reader) (Alastor is manipulative)

Words: 1,838

It was no surprise to you that, when you died- shot in the head while out in the woods- you woke up in hell. In fact, it wasn't as if you'd ever tried to get into heaven in the first place. 

Your goals had always been...less than innocent. You'd killed plenty of people; that was a fact. And you didn't regret any of your actions, either, because every crime you'd committed had reflected that of someone who'd come before you. 

Back in the 1930s, before you were even born, there had been a famous radio host who'd also turned out to be a prominent serial killer after his death. Which, coincidentally, mirrored yours almost perfectly.

Just like the great Alastor, you'd killed people according to the same moral code and reasoning. Since you were just a teenager, though, you managed to keep your activities a secret while also attending school every day and maintaining good grades. Like him, it had just been you and your mom ever since your abusive father had left, and like him, that father had been the first person you killed.

Your dad's murder was actually what had lead you to finding out about the radio host/killer. Having safely-but-quickly disposed of the man's body, you'd then policed the internet for the next few days to make sure there was no news about any teens in New Orleans- where you lived- having killed their fathers. 

That was when you'd stumbled upon an old article about Alastor himself, and the the rest had been history. You only found more similarities between the two of you, which drove you to see him as a sort of role model and follow in his footsteps; even if he'd been dead for many, many years. 

All your murders looked like echoes of his; from who you killed, to when and how, to where you hid their bodies. Like him, you were becoming quite infamous in the New Orleans area; but as a sort of copycat of the past serial killer.

And like him, you'd also been burying a body in the woods the night you'd died. A hunter had been out, he'd mistaken you for a deer, and he'd shot you. That was it.

Now, you'd been living your afterlife in hell for a few years. To your delight, it seemed that Alastor had ended up there as well; not that that was a surprise. He was known as the Radio Demon and was arguably even more feared now than he had been in life. Not only that, but like you, he possessed deer-like features that echoed the way he'd died in life. It couldn't have been more perfect, and the fact that he was down here with you; that you could potentially run into him at any moment, had brought a constant smile to your face the first few days.

...It was after that that your spirits sank. It appeared the Radio Demon had been missing for several years now; starting before you'd even died. No one seemed to know what had happened, but most other sinners were glad to have him gone. 

You were beyond disappointed. 

Still, you lived on. You couldn't shake your deep admiration for the Radio Demon, even with him seemingly being gone, and so you took a page out of his book once again by starting your own radio show. It was much smaller in scale than his had been, but it felt like a good way to continue the legacy.

You became an overlord, though you were still so new to hell that you didn't have much of a name for yourself yet. 

Those who saw you walking down the street were definitely intimidated, but they weren't terrified enough to literally set themselves son fire and run away yet; which you'd seem them do for other overlords. 

It was during one of your walks, though, that things finally changed. You'd been out for a stroll, as you did often when searching for new souls to take; listening to the portable radio at your hip. Alastor didn't do broadcasts anymore since he'd disappeared, but that didn't mean you didn't still enjoy the medium as a whole. 

You hummed to yourself as you walked down the street, passing a tall building that loosely resembled a hotel of sorts. Part of the the wall on one side had been destroyed, leaving a gaping hole that looked into what you assumed was the lobby. Knowing destruction like that happened often in hell, you were about to keep walking when you heard someone nearby speak with what sounded like a radio filter over their voice.

"My mother once showed me a wonderful recipe for jambalaya! In fact, it nearly killed her!" The voice was accompanied by the sound of laughter that made you stop in your tracks. "You could say the kick was right out of hell!" You didn't hear the rest of what was said because you were too busy looking around feverishly trying to find who was speaking.

Finally, your eyes landed on a demon with a red color palette and features that resembled a deer. You could have swore your nonexistent heart stopped at the sight. 

The Radio Demon.

As if he'd sensed your gaze on him, the sinner's head now turned to look over at you; his yellow smile curving up further now that he'd caught you staring. A second later, he was standing in front of you; hands holding his microphone behind his back as he towered over you. You blinked, unsure what to say now that you were actually faced with your idol.

"And what have we here?" The Radio Demon asked, arching an eyebrow as he leaned over to look down at you. You gulped, still feeling frozen in place.

A blonde demon, whom you recognized as the princess of hell, Charlie Morningstar, came over now that she'd noticed him gone. 

"Uh...Alastor?" She asked carefully, leaning around him to look at you, "What's going on here?" She seemed more concerned for your safety than anything else, but faced with the Radio Demon himself, you couldn't even consider that.

Having heard her say his name now, you seemed to finally snap out of your trance as you looked up at the deer-like demon. "Y-you're Alastor?" You squeaked, suddenly feeling as if you were being crushed under a heavy weight as he gazed at you. "As in...The famous serial killing radio host?" You shrunk further as his brow raised higher. 

"Indeed." He replied, seeming amused by your nervousness, which he must have mistaken for fear. "And who might you be?" Clearing your throat, you quietly told him your name, feeling as if you might pass out from how starstruck you were.

"I'm a big fan of your work..." You admitted finally, your eyes trailing to the ground. Suddenly, the crimes you'd committed in order to echo his didn't seem nearly grand enough in comparison when you were faced with the man himself. 

"Oh, you want to be a radio host too?" Charlie piped up beside the Radio Demon, seeming a little touched by how you looked up to him. Truthfully, she thought it was cute that a teen sinner like you would look up to a radio host so much.

"Uh..." You weren't sure what to say to that, but luckily, Alastor seemed to understand what you meant. 

"I believe it's my other line of work they're interested in," he told the princess, stepping forward as if to cut her out of the conversation. You quickly nodded.

"Y-yeah..." You admitted, "Though, I do have a small radio show of my own too..." You said the last part in a softer tone, but it seemed Alastor had heard it anyway. 

"Is that so!" He exclaimed, standing up straight now, "You must be the one I've heard on nearly every radio station since my return to hell!" You weren't sure if he was upset or pleased by that, but you nodded anyway. "I do hope you aren't trying to replace me," he went on, his eyes turning into radio dials, "That would not end well for you."

You hurriedly shook your head. Though, you were shaking less from fear and more from awe; who could have guessed that, when you went out today, you'd end up getting to actually meet your idol?! 

"Never!" You exclaimed, bringing a hand up to awkwardly rub the back of your neck, "I just...I've been trying to emulate your work for years! Even my murders were similar..." You trailed off, but by now, you'd managed to fully peak the Radio Demon's interest. 

A teenager who'd ended up in hell for serial killings? Now that was something one didn't see every day. It was now that his eyes landed on the 'X' mark that rested in the middle of your forehead...Nearly identical to the one that appeared when he utilized his demonic power...

Perhaps you were even more interesting than he'd initially thought, he realized; and if you truly looked up to him as much as it seemed, he realized he could use that to his advantage. 

"I see!" Alastor exclaimed, "Why, I've never had such a dedicated fan before; even going so far as to copy my own murders!"

You nodded and Charlie, who was still awkwardly glancing between the two of you, tried to smile through her concern. She looked back at the hotel, where everyone else was filing in through the giant hole that had been created in the wall just a few minutes before, and finally made her decision. 

"Would you like to join out hotel?" She asked cheerfully, catching your attention again, "Alastor has just started working with us and-"

"And we could use all the help we can get!" Alastor interrupted her, suddenly appearing behind you and pushing you along towards the building as he walked, "I tell you; it's quite difficult to find good help these days!" From inside the hotel, a cat-like sinner flipped him off but he ignored it. 

"You're helping run a hotel now?" You asked carefully, a little surprised that someone like the Radio Demon would be interested in that sort of thing; especially because you'd heard it was meant as a place of redemption. 

"Indeed!" Alastor chirped, then leaned down to talk more quietly to you, "I must say, it's quite entertaining work! I'm sure you'll enjoy it." You took that as an invitation, and after a second of hesitation, you finally nodded. 

"Okay," you said with a small smile, making Alastor's own grin widen.

"Wonderful!" He exclaimed, "Right this way; there's much entertainment to be found inside!" With that, you were dragged into the building as Charlie awkwardly trailed after the two of you. 

Having heard your backstory and realized just how much you seemed to look up to him, Alastor was quite interested to see what you got up to from here on out. And, should you prove to have potential, he could even teach you a thing or two; molding a second, younger version of himself.

Wouldn't that be fun?

[thebookmarker99]

I think people don't talk enough about how Charlie and Alastor are parallels to each other.

Let's keep in mind, Vivziepop has gone on to say Alastor and Charlie are the main characters of the series, and their relationship & growth is a huge plot point in the show. They are not only the faces of the series, their dynamic is the focal point of what constitutes redemption from two different perspectives.

They're literally narrative foils to each other. In order for this foil dynamic to work, Charlie has to be what Alastor once was, while Alastor has to be what Charlie can become.

Alastor upholds principles of traditional punitive justice. A "serial killer" dubbed a vigilante in his living years, enforcing his theory of justice through retribution rather than rehabilitation. Retribution to Alastor is not a black and white solution, but as a vigilante he believes punishment should be administered because the offender deserves it. Notice how he has it out for people in Hell who he considers flawed in some way (Lucifer, Overlords, loansharks). His idea of punishment must be proportionate to the crime committed-- "an eye for an eye" -- he is otherwise fairly cordial and, if we're looking at the women in his life, pretty protective of who he considers innocent to a fault. This explains why Alastor does not believe in redemption. To him, everybody in Hell, EVEN HIMSELF, are there as punishment for a reason and he gives NO excuse why he nor they should be spared.

Note: this has nothing to do with Hell's hierarchy or the fact Alastor wants to climb the ranks in a power hungry system. He doesn't believe in redemption, and he does not believe in his own redemption.

Now, let's look at Charlie and her idea of justice. Charlie believes in restorative justice, which hugely contrasts Alastor's philosophy. Restorative justice is approached by focusing on repairing the harm caused by unjust systems and criminal behaviour through participatory exercises which involve the victim, the offender, and the community. The purpose is to address the harm caused to the victims and discuss with the community over the responsibility of the offender in order to make amends.

In this process, Charlie believes involving all stakeholders are needed to bring about justice. Restorative justice requires offenders to confront their actions and go through a rehabilitation process, which is the entire point of Charlie's hotel. This is why she encourages healthy activities in order to fix criminals (sinners) and lead them back into society (Heaven).

This contrast in ethics from both Alastor and Charlie is immediately told to us in the pilot episode, where Alastor admits he doesn't believe in redemption (inside of every demon is a lost cause). Charlie explains she believes everyone deserves a chance at it (inside of every demon is a rainbow).

Alastor's strength in this response is that it upholds the rule of law, and in a funny way it's quite similar to Adam and Heaven's views (think of it as a criminal and a police officer having the same view on justice). Alastor's weaknesses in this perspective enable the cycle of abuse as it does not aim to care about any of the parties' needs as a result of being harmed, or addressing what caused this behaviour.

Charlie's strengths lie in her holistic approach to redemption. She believes through this response she can hold the sinners' accountable by addressing their needs, healing their trauma, and thus repairing their relationship with the community. Her weaknesses are her naivity and struggling to apply harsh judgement on severe crimes.

This is why Alastor and Charlie need each other. They make up for what the other lacks, and through a solid friendship they can learn a lot from one another.

It's a tale as old as time with narrative foils, as I mentioned above. One must see themselves in the other. One must embody what the other can become. Alastor sees a pure, younger version of himself in Charlie, but he thinks she's silly and naive because he has been jaded and has lived a life entirely different from hers. Still, her gentleness could reach him. On the other side, Alastor is cunning and smart; he's willing to enforce punishment on who believes is deserving of it. Charlie is frightened of hurting others, but Alastor as her mentor can teach her to become stronger.

Alastor and Charlie need each other.

[naffeclipse]

So about Devil eyes au… i wanna ask about Sun and Moon. How did Officer YN meet them? How are the relationship and interactions between them? They’re such pookies and ngl Officer YN feels like an angel with their morals and such. Show em boys kindness 🫶

even if we also have the devil himself on the side

(i heard that you talked about how they met in an ask but i couldnt find it at all 😔)

How they meet is currently something I'm mulling over. While I can't give you the exact context, I can say when they meet, it's a bit stressful for everyone.

Officer Y/N is introduced to Sun and Moon, the brothers of the serial killer who's been terrorizing you for a while now, and you are wary, to say the least. You expect more of Eclipse, just packaged in yellows and blues. You are terrified that they're just as wicked and cunning and that they'll want to torment you as much as Eclipse does.

Likewise, Sun and Moon are afraid of you. They are floored when Eclipse brings a cop to them. They can only see you actively trying to apprehend them or gather forces who will do so. Humans for them have only been horrible and terrifying, and to boot, you're an authority figure who has the power to put them right back where they escape.

But Sun and Moon are not Eclipse. And you are not turning them in despite being wanted animatronics who fled their establishment.

Sun is the least skittish out of the two. He has had his fair share of awful encounters with humans, but he still has a little spark of hope that there's good somewhere, and he finds that in you. At first, Sun is walking on eggshells around you and exceedingly polite, desperate to keep you appeased and calm, but slowly, he starts to ease slightly when you bring him watercolors to paint with. He says something that might upset a human but you respond in a steady, calm voice. He feels you start to grow upon him like a climbing flower and he lets himself become comfortable around you, trusting your intentions. He has been searching for the light for so long, and there you are, sunshine.

Moon has walls up (including a moat with crocodiles). He has seen the worst of humans and understands their wrath to be a cruel and blunt weapon, and he expects no less from you. He's a ghost on the edges of your peripheral, always keeping to corners and shadows, becoming invisible if he can. He sometimes startles you with how silent he can be, how he watches you like he's waiting for a gun to go off. He's rarely truly relaxed but he speaks more to you when he sees you're tired and less likely to react. He doesn't tell you this, but he looks forward to when you bring him a new record to listen to and you sit quietly beside him, nodding along to the tunes. He doesn't want to open up but he feels you slip inside the way water trickles into the cracks of stone.

You don't want to believe their sincerity. They are just as unknown and potentially dangerous as Eclipse, and you can see their love and loyalty to their brother, but you struggle to be careful when they're so sweet to you. You're used to devilish eyes following you and dark threats made against you that you almost fall apart when Sun asks if you would like a hand with cleaning the dishes or Moon offers to sit on the edge of your bed until you fall asleep after a nightmare. They don't take, they don't command, and they don't scare you. And that terrifies you. Is this just their way of toying with you? Is this how they worm their way into your head until you can't walk down the street without fearing they're somewhere close by? You don't know, but you do know that Moon's shoulder is a nice place to rest your head and Sun is a comforting voice among your whispering doubts.

There's going to be time to get closer to each other. You can offer a kind hand that Sun and Moon haven't seen in a really long time and in return, Sun and Moon can become a safe harbor in the storm that is their brother.

[thoughtsfromlayla]

Dreamweaver's Heart

Summary: The Dream Lord takes fascination to a new lucid dreamer in his realm, his Dreamweaver. The waking world is less than kind and he will travel dimensions to make sure you are safe.

Notes: ~8.6k, this was a request sent in by Anon based on this post! Otherwise, I'm sorry for having this fic take such a dark turn? It was supposed to be sweet but then in my search for more Tom Sturridge films, I came across Like Minds and it fucked with me. So now it fucks with my writing until further notice.

Warnings: Don't ever get attached to the characters I make for the plot, graphic descriptions of gore, death, murder, and drowning, betrayal of a friend, nonconsensual kissing (not from Dream), graphic serial killer activities, run in with a serial killer. Dream's a dream tho, a knight in black armor <3 Happy ending :D

I'm not going to say it's 18+, because it's not NSFW, but some of these themes can be disturbing. Please read the tags carefully.

Masterlist

“One, two, three, four, five, okay,” You count your right-hand fingers to yourself. Then cast your eyes on the watch you always carried on your wrist.

“8:13,” You take another look at your surroundings and take in the fresh air and kind sun. “AM,” you concluded.

You look back to your fingers and count again. “One, two, three, four, five,” You listed off in your head. Then one more time look at your watch. This time it read 5:15 PM, but the sun hadn’t moved. A grin crawls up to your face as you realize that you were dreaming. Lucid dreaming to be more specific. 

When you first heard about lucid dreaming in some off-handed news article you rolled your eyes and went on with your morning. There wasn’t much time in your life to worry about those things, not when another project was due, you had another meeting to attend, or another email to look at. But then life got unbearably hard to live with, stress kept piling up, and your vacation hours kept being declined. 

Your dreams turned from weird but forgettable dreams to nightmares of being chased, drowned, or murdered, only for you to both feel and witness again and again. When you wake up in a sweat at the ungodly midnight hours, you open your phone to find the news article again. It took you well over a month to get the hang of lucid dreaming but it was all worth the cognitive effort. Each time you go to sleep you count your fingers, then your clock, then your fingers, and then your clock again. There are always telltale signs that you were dreaming, dreams tend to never make sense so you look for those things. 

You intake another fresh breath of air and smile, head tilted towards the sun. The city air was polluted with car fumes and sewage smells, and while you loved the city, you do miss the easier days back in the countryside. You imagine the lush meadows, old trees, and the house that your grandfather hand-built for him and his wife. Before you the scenery changes and you’re sitting on a hand-carved rocking chair in a thin shirt and shorts. 

“This is the life,” You groan out to yourself as you begin the rock back and forth, thighs and arms trembling from a stretch. You stay like that for god knows how long, the waking world not a priority of your thoughts as you had the next day off. 

You only get up when sweat begins to collect along your hairline and the sunhat you are wearing begins to become itchy. A farm dog comes up to you and pants at your side urging you to go inside the house, maybe for a cup of lemonade, which sounded delicious the more you thought about it. 

When you look into the house from the windowed front door, a black figure briefly catches your eyes. It walks within the kitchen, running a finger across the worn wooden table and tracing lines of chipped paint over the tops of chairs. Confusion eclipses your face as his figure distorts on the thick glass and you open the door quickly. 

Much to your surprise, there was no such figure when the door opened. Your heart beats inside your chest and you look down at your fingers again. One, two, three, four, five… six. Six fingers, which is odd. You exhale slowly, it’s just a dream you say to yourself and carry on.

While sitting at the kitchen table you pinch your index and thumb together then bring both hands until they meet the other’s fingers. You pull them apart and a delicate golden string connects the fingers together. With a calming inhale of breath you move your fingers purposefully, drawing a picture of lemonade with a glass cup. If only it were this easy in the waking world. 

Lemonade appears on the kitchen table in a glass pitcher and you pour yourself a cup, chugging down the citrusy-sweet drink with a smile. You sit for a while, not particularly thinking of anything, your job had you doing enough of that. The kitchen window was open and you could feel the summer wind and hear the leaves rustling and mourning doves cooing. It was a scene straight out of your childhood, and if you concentrated enough you could hear the lawn mower going in the distance, the smell of freshly cut grass invading the house. 

A bark interrupts your serenity and you look over to the farm dog. He’s patiently sitting by his food bowl with a wagging tail. A small box of dog food appears on a nearby shelf and you go to him with a smile. 

“Are you hungry, boy?” You ask and reach for the kibble. He barks back in return and watches you intently as you pour a small serving. You then thought to yourself that, well, this is a dream and can dogs get diabetes in dreams? Probably not, so you dump the rest of the kibble into his bowl. It piled higher and higher and you can see a satisfied glint in the dog’s eyes as it begins to chow down on its food. 

You wipe your hands off on your shorts and toss the empty box into some unknown void in the hallway and go back to the kitchen. This time, however, two glasses were accompanying the pitcher. One, the glass you just drank out of, and the other, a half-drunk glass of lemonade. The condensation of the cool drink was still on the glass and you could see a clear handprint of where someone had grabbed it. 

You look back at the dog and notice that he is missing and panic sets in again. You look outside the window and the sun disappears, clouds rolling in with a sheet of rain. The ground around you starts to become wet despite the intact roof and it floods over your feet. The water fills up the space quickly. 

You try to calm your breathing and will the water to go away, for the sun to come back, anything to have your hours of peace before you have to wake up. But, nothing worked and the water came over your hips, and you’re hyperventilating now. The rain comes in through the windows in large gushes of water and you find yourself stuck in place, unable to move. 

“Wake up, wake up!” You chant to yourself, tears beading along your lower lash line. You pinch at yourself and are exasperated when you still don’t wake. The water felt too real, it was cold and piercing and you could feel the twigs and leaves of debris that brushed against your legs now and then. “This isn’t funny, wake up!” You cry to yourself again as the water rises higher. 

Behind you, in the shadows, the Dream Lord watches with intent. He always had a fascination with lucid dreamers, after all, they were able to minorly manipulate dreams to their whim. Something that the Dream King wouldn’t admit hurt his ego a little bit… just a smudge. But he had been watching your dreams lately and found it fascinating that you never dreamed of anything grand. No mystical adventure, no aspirations, and certainly no dreams of a more… sexual nature. Which, if he was allowed to comment, may be the reason why you were so stressed in the waking world and needed to find peace in his instead. 

“This dream is over,” He commands and waves his hand over the scene. 

You wake with a start, the sweat you produced while sleeping made your shirt stick to you uncomfortably and reminded you of your dream. You’re quick to get rid of it and throw it into your laundry hamper, now topless and rushing to the bathroom for a cold shower to calm you down. When you were done, your weekend alarm still hadn’t gone off and you were tempted to go back to sleep again. 

Eventually, you decided against it, unless you wanted to repeat what just happened. Purposeful, dreamless sleep hasn’t found you in a long time and you doubt it would come back just on a whim. You watch the sunrise in your apartment, sighing as sleep tugs at your body still. The cup of hot coffee in your hands felt more like decoration than anything useful as it didn’t give you the energy you craved. 

Thankfully you had nothing to do on your day off and you pat your past self on the back for going grocery shopping last night instead of making you do it today. You spend the rest of the day in bed, reading books on your Kindle and taking breaks by mindlessly scrolling through different forms of social media. Sleep tugs on your eyes but no matter how much you try to sleep, even a nap escapes you. 

The day goes by at a molasses-like pace, you don’t even remember eating. But once the sun has set and the stars made their debut, you happily resign as sleep overcomes you. The Kindle falls somewhere off your bed as you lose consciousness. When you come to your dreams, you’re greeted by a whale… in a tutu. 

Your laughter is hard to contain at the sight as you watched it dance on its fins to Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy, part of your favorite ballet to watch when you were younger. It splashes some water on you and you use your hands to cover your face. It’s then that you remember to count your fingers.

“One, two, three, four, five,” All five fingers. What time was it? You repeat the ritual that has been so ingrained in your head and when you notice that you only have four fingers on your second count, you know then that you have control over the dream. 

“Thank you for your entertainment tonight, my friend,” You wave goodbye to it as the scenery changes around you. 

You’re back out in nature. A low-hanging tree greets you instead and a white and red checkered blanket is laid before it. The blanket had a mighty spread of slices of bread, jams, cheeses, meats, and tea. You make your way over and sit on the soft blanket, slowly picking the foods to taste. The atmosphere was perfect and the wind blew the smell of fresh water into your nose from the nearby pond. Ducks and geese honk at each other in greeting as they swim by. 

Deeper in the picnic basket was more food, but you found them in pairs. Two sandwiches, two teacups, and two dessert cakes. You quizzically stare at them as you hold the two sandwiches, one in each hand. You didn’t eat that much, did you?

“I see that you have started without me,” A voice comments. 

You jump in your skin at the sudden intrusion and look up. You see a man, dressed in casual black with an impressive coat. 

“Isn’t it a bit too warm to wear such a long coat?” You ask instead. 

You don’t protest when he sits next to you and hand him a sandwich instead. He places the wrapped food gently on the ground before taking off his jacket. 

“Better?” He asks as he goes to grab his sandwich again. 

“Hmm,” You only hum in agreement and start to unwrap your own. It’s a few minutes of silent chewing before you realize how weird this is. “Wait, who are you?” 

“No one you haven’t met before,” He answers vaguely. His sandwich was left untouched except for the bread which he threw at the ducks near the pond. 

You chew slowly as you try to digest his answer. He pours you a cup of tea which you drink freely from, murmuring a thanks as he hands you the fine china. The smell of vanilla and peaches invades your senses as you sip on the sweet tea. The favor takes you by surprise at how wonderfully it paired with the sandwich. By the end of the picnic, you have learned two things, your mystery man was great company, and that carbs made you comatose. 

“Oh, my god. I don’t think I’ve ever eaten that much food in one sitting,” You sigh happily as you lay down on the blanket. Your head hits the hard ground and an idea sparks in you. 

Once again you pinch your fingers together and then bring your hands together. You intertwine and loop the golden strings that emit from your movements, much like an old childhood game of yours, Cat’s Cradle, and produce a small pillow. 

You place the pillow down and give it a good smack before laying down again. The sun envelopes you in a kind warmth that makes you smile. You see dancing shadows behind your eyelids when you close them to enjoy the moment. 

You hear rustling beside you and turn your head towards the man lying down beside you. He really was quite beautiful, something more than a man, perhaps a deity. He is lost in thought, almost, as he thinks about your abilities, but he keeps his thoughts to himself. 

“You have a great side profile, you know?” You don’t know why you said that, but rarely in dreams do you know why anything happens. 

Your comment makes him chuckle, a sound that you wish to hear again. It was light-hearted and pure, something that you wouldn’t expect to hear from someone who looked like him. You couldn’t help but laugh along, finding his happiness contagious. 

“Thank you,” He says when he is done laughing. 

When the giggles leave your body, you go back to relaxing and soon you doze off. The rest of the dream is peaceful and pure, no more nightmares to haunt you tonight. The Dream Lord looks at you fondly as the wind blows some of your hair astray, happy to assist you for once in his realm. As long as he is here, you won’t have to fight your demons on your own again. 

The next morning was the first time in a long time that you felt energized. The old coffee pot is nearly forgotten as you get ready to go on a morning walk, something you have done in a long while. Afterward, a shower, and then lunch with an old friend you haven’t seen in months. He had decided to drop by after his work allowed him to come into the city. 

You meet with Oliver at a local cafe and you order tea this time around, along with some soup and a side salad. The AC is on full blast as more and more people come into the small building. You were lucky to find Oliver already waiting for you at a small table by the large windows. He waves at you when you come close enough and then pushes his glasses back into place. 

“How have you been, Poppet?” He starts right off the bat with a smile, using the same nickname he’s been using since grade 3. That smile brings you back all the way to your younger days when you first met him as your new neighbor. 

You think briefly about possibly mentioning your horrid dreams to him but decide to skip it, seeing as you didn’t want to ruin the mood for today, not to mention the peaceful dream you had last night all but almost made you forget it in its entirety. 

“Oh, you know me, running around like a chicken with its head cut off.” You joke with a self-deprecating laugh. Your comment makes you realize that you have to go to work the next day and deal with annoying clients all over again. “Same shit, different day,” You mutter in conclusion. 

Both of your foods arrive just in time for you to ignore the glare he sent your way. Instead, you find fascination in the soup you choose, the same soup you had for the past three years of your life. 

“What brings you into town?” You ask as you pick apart the complimentary bread. 

“Work, of course. Though I never thought it would bring me to this place.” He gestures to the city around him. 

Oliver works as a farm veterinarian so, rarely, does he come into a large city where each piece of green is covered in concrete or chewed gum. And, of course, there are no farm animals around. He goes on to talk about a conference that he was invited to, something to do with the fight on farm animal antibiotics. You only nod along as you ate your lunch, your talents lie elsewhere but don't want to seem rude. 

Only scraps of your meal are left when the two decide that it is time to depart ways. 

“How long are you staying in the city?” You ask outside the cafe. The weather was almost perfect today, save for the slightly chilling wind that came every now and then. 

“About a week.” Oliver puts on his jacket and then pushes his round glasses back in place. 

“A week, huh?” You thought out loud before a smile came to your face. “You should come by the exhibit later this week. My client is showcasing their art, and going together would be fun.” 

“I’ll be there.” Oliver takes the business card you hand him, the heavy paper turns from warm white to gray as the sun disappears behind some clouds. 

Rain begins to drizzle and splatter on the card. 

“Aw, man. What?” You complain and put your jacket over your head as the rain continues to fall. “There wasn’t a rain forecast today,” You grumble to yourself. 

The two of you step under the cafe awning, the thin fabric providing little protection. 

“Do you want to stay at my place until the rain lets up? It’s just a few blocks from here.” You offer. 

“Lead the way, Poppet,” Oliver says with a smile. 

You smile back as you hype yourself to run through the rain. Thank god you wore sensible shoes today. With a squeal, you run in the direction of your apartment. You hear Oliver laughing behind you as he follows closely behind. Your laughter and giggles continue when you two find the comfort of your apartment and quickly turn up the thermostat when you get inside. 

“Wow, you’ve decorated the place nicely,” Oliver whistles his approval. 

He kindly sets his dripping jacket on the coat rack before you do the same and thank him. He shakes his head, much like a dog, you mused, to get rid of the water as his hair splays out from his actions. You, the more sensible one, simply wrung it out over the kitchen sink. 

“Yeah, if work can’t destress me why should my own home be?” You nodded along. 

The storm had raged harder ever since you got inside, the rain pelting on the window. If you didn’t have company over, you would’ve tossed all chores to the side and huddled up for a nap. Sleeping has been wonderful ever since you figured out lucid dreaming. 

“Poppet, you got a remote for this giant T.V, or what?” Oliver says as he pokes his hands between couch cushions. 

“Erm, yeah, somewhere on the T.V. stand.” Your comment was absent minded as you poke around in your small pantry for some snacks. 

Your eyes lock on packets of hot chocolate you didn’t know you had and what could be more perfect than a rainy day and hot chocolate with a friend? You squint at the box, looking for the expiration date. When you find it, and see that it’s been expired since last christmas, you pretend you don’t. 

There’s probably enough preservative to make the powdered drink last until the end of days, right? Plus who is throwing out food like this? In this economy? You scoff to yourself. 

“Want hot chocolate?” You ask, peeking at Oliver’s form in the living room. 

He stands in front of the T.V., hip slightly popped out to support himself with a hand on his hip and the other on the remote. The news comes on instead of your usual menu of different streaming services and a confused look takes over Oliver’s face when he turns around. 

“No, not that remote, the other one,” You laughed and went ahead to the fridge to warm up some milk anyway. 

“Which remote, you have, like, 13 for no reason!” He cries out exasperated but goes to the stand to find the correct remote.

The news continues to play and with nothing better to do, you listen in while you wait for your milk to warm up. 

“There has been a recent murder here in our lovely city and we encourage citizens to remain vigilant. The killer has not yet been caught and there is no pattern as to what kind of victims they take.” The news anchor speaks. 

“Oh, shit.” Oliver stops his search as he, too, starts listening in to the news. 

“Welcome to the city, I guess,” You shrug with a defeated sigh. The milk starts to shimmer before you turn off the stove. 

“Still, you should stay safe,” Oliver comments as he finally finds the correct remote, turning in to a streaming service and picking a light hearted movie. You’re mixing the chocolate powder, spoon clinking against the non-matching mugs, and when you don’t answer right away, Oliver presses again. “You will be safe, right?”

“Yes, mom,” You sarcastically groan. “I’ll be safe.”

“That’s my Poppet,” He chides, some of his accent slipping through, and sits down. He opens an arm for you to sit next to him before you hand him the hot chocolate that you made. 

“Careful, it’s ho-”

“JESUS!” Oliver exclaims as his face flies away from the mug. His shocked face makes your own burst out into laughter, so much so that you have to set down your mug so that you don’t spill it all over yourself. 

“Are you laughing at my pain?” Oliver jokes and pokes your sides.

The ticklish action only makes you laugh harder, if that was at all possible. Seeing your reaction, Oliver goes to poke you again, and you defend weakly as your laughing makes you all but weak. 

“Sto-stop, you’re going to make me pee,” You choke out between fits of giggles. Your hands were clenched to your sides as a last ditch effort to conceal your weak points. Your cheeks were starting to hurt and your smile was so wide that you couldn’t even open your eyes anymore. You were simply at the mercy of feeling true happiness.

Oliver eventually stops and the T.V. goes into a mandatory ad break (I mean, you’re not going to pay for no ads after already paying for the streaming service, let’s be real). Your energy is sapped out of you and you deflate into the couch with a satisfied sigh. 

“That was the first time tonight I heard you laugh that hard. Has the city been that mean to you?” Oliver asks, now cautiously sipping his drink. 

“The city is not mean, it’s just different than home,” You reply with a roll of your eyes. “I wouldn’t change it for anything though.”

Oliver hums in response, whipped cream stuck on his upper lips. You could tell he wanted to say more but decided to keep quiet instead. Eventually, the two of you fell into a comfortable and familiar silence as you watched the rest of the movie. 

You ended up crying at a particular scene and Oliver, same old Oliver, poked at you again to try and get you laughing. The rain still hasn't stopped and you’re glad to live on a higher floor of the apartment complex or else you would’ve had to worry about potential flooding. 

At the end of the day, you ended up cooking dinner for the two of you as well, convincing Oliver to stay and have a warm meal before going home alone. Especially considering the news about the killer on the loose. You’re on your third movie when the two of you finally finish your late dinner and you fall asleep on the couch against Oliver’s much warmer body. 

The body underneath you shifts and your eyes snap open. 

“Sorry, Oliver, didn’t mean to fall asleep on you,” You apologize before you’re completely awake. 

“It is nothing of note,” Someone else’s voice responds instead. 

You rub your eyes and take a closer look at him and are surprisingly greeted by your mystery man. He wears the same clothes as the last time you met, only this time it’s warranted as you feel the chilling wind brush against your prickling skin. Unconsciously you crawl closer to him again and he wraps a protective arm around your body. 

Looking around at your surroundings you notice that the two of you were huddled amongst the clouds. Stars and nebulas dance around the two of you in sparkling wonder. When you reach out your hand to touch a star and find it surprising when you are greeted with a cold feeling. Your hand snaps back quickly and you tuck it under your arms to quickly warm up. 

“Guess I’m dreaming again,” You comment nonchalantly and lean back. The clouds seem to know where to stop and you’re lying comfortably by the man’s side again. 

“Ever the perceptive one,” He responds back. 

“I didn’t know I could dream of something this… spectacular,” You think to yourself, taking the risk to rest your head on his shoulders. Besides momentarily stiffening under your touch, he doesn’t move away, something you took as a good sign. 

“You did not, I did,” He says slowly. 

“Hmm, it’s nice, thank you.” You close your eyes and enjoy his warmth. 

Besides you, the Endless smiles to himself at your compliment. To him, it was nothing more than the wave of his hand to gift you this dream. He would be lying to himself if he were to say he hasn’t been waiting for you to cross over to the Dreaming since your last dream. His fascination for your abilities grows stronger yet. 

Yet, he has created a beautiful enough dream that you didn’t find the need to change anything, something he takes pride in. Your waking world has left you tired and weary, and he is here to provide. A tugging sensation pulls at him and he remembers why he is here. 

“My Dreamweaver, I have something to tell you. You must listen carefully.” His words were calculated when he spoke. “You are in danger, be cautious.”

“What?” 

“This dream is over.”

You wake up in your bed with a dry mouth and a pounding headache. When you roll over to look at the glowing digital clock, it reads 3:00 AM. With a groan, you leave your warm bed to tread the treacherous cold apartment for a glass of water. 

You fill up a small cup with some water and notice that by your sink is a small note, scribbled in red crayon. Your tired eyebrows shoot up at the note and grimace at the atrocious handwriting that was undoubtedly Oliver’s.

“Poppet, I can’t find your pens but I found this crayon by the TV remotes Don’t worry I called a cab I won’t get murdered tonight cause I’m vigilant unlike some people Mwah, Oliver” 

That night, your mystery man didn’t visit you again. He only leaves his vague message that echoes in the empty chambers of your heads. You’re plagued with dreams of drowning and despite all you can do to take control of the nightmare, there is nothing you can do but subject yourself to the violent, crashing waves. To constantly inhale gallons of gallons of salty water, to feel your muscles tired out, to feel yourself lose control. 

Your only salvation throughout the week was seeing Oliver again at the art exhibit. The murders haven’t stopped and it’s gotten enough traction for everyone in the office to talk about it, too. Yet, you could turn to your dreams instead to find relief. 

The man clad in black follows you still into your dreams, any mention of his message is quickly shut down or ignored completely. At the end of the day, you don’t mind, his company is more than enough to make your dreams sweet. He accompanies you through wildflower fields and stardust skies, he brushes your hair by the seashore and tells you the myths of old. Each day is a new dream and brings forth a reason to keep going. 

“A few nights ago,” He starts as he watches you gently touch the petals of a flower made of snow and glass. You turn to him expectantly and urge him to continue silently. “You did not call for me when you were having that nightmare.”

It takes a few moments for you to realize he was talking about your drowning nightmare. The one you so “wonderfully” had after an amazing time in the swirling cosmos. You begin to walk again, your shoes making no noise against the cold snow. The man follows beside you, face tilted towards yours in anticipation. His question had been burning at the back of his mind since it happened and he held on, barely, for the answer. 

“You can’t really scream when you’re drowning.” Your lousy excuse comes out and even you flinch at the words. 

You don’t dare to look at him, knowing the disappointed look he was surely giving you. Everyone knows that anything is possible when you dream, even more when you can lucid dream. After a very pregnant pause you give you real reason. 

“I don’t know your name, how would I call out for you, my sweet mystery man.”

It’s now that he stops walking and after a few steps, you too pause and turn to look at him. In the cold mountains of your dream, the snow is stark in contrast to his ebony form. It is here that you recognize how different he was, like the snow pulls away from any distractions and you look at him, really look at him. The facade of just a man falls away, and within, you see a being beyond your comprehension, held together by sheer will. You were right, he was more than mortal, more than a god, something more in every sense. 

“I am Dream of the Endless,” He says, voice slow, calculated and raspy as he closes the gap between the two of you. “I am the very dream you are in, the voice inside your head, the person you think you’ve met before while walking the street.”

You’re very aware of how close he was to you now, to see the precipitation of his breath, and the way his eyes are never truly one color. His form keeps the winter chill away from your body, warming the very spot you stood in where snow turns into sunlight and the ground beneath you turns to soft valley grass and wildflowers made of toffee candy and sour rope candy. 

“Would you really have come if I called for you?” You ask timidly, head turned down and away from his gaze. 

“Yes.”

“Okay.” You say with a smile, cheeks crinkling your eyes as you look at him again. All Dream could think about was making a sun that shines as brightly as you. 

Your dreams seem to start leaping out into your waking life as the words of the Endless follow you. Every now and then you would notice a flurry of black and alabaster skin in the peripheral of your vision, but when you go to look it’s nothing but a chair, or a stack of books. His familiar face haunts you when you space out on the bus ride home, or when you’re simply walking down the street and someone bumps into you that just barely looks like him.

Each time you shake your head no, it was impossible, he was only a dream. 

The night before the exhibit, Oliver gives you a text message that explains that he would need to be picked up from another location. A client had called him for an at-home euthanasia early in the morning right before the exhibit. You agreed and were sent an address. You brush your teeth and wash your face before turning into bed, sleep coming easily. 

Your dream starts, as always, with you counting your fingers. Then you look at your watch, and then you count your fingers again. Your clock had 5 hands instead of two and with control over the dream, you find yourself standing in an Asian inspired pergola surrounded by water for miles around. The only sounds that accompany you are the sound of the sloshing water and the wind’s percussion between the mountain cracks. 

You sit on the wooden flooring, cooled by the water, and inhale the scent of fresh water. You bring your fingers together, just like always, and watch as the golden strings move with your movement, producing a pouch of fish food. Large koi fish swim beneath you and you run a finger across the water’s surface and watch with a small smile as they chase your fingers as you sprinkle some of the golden kibble along the water's surface. A koi leaps up and bites your finger and the sharp pain flings your arm away from the water. 

“Ow, what the hell?” You frown and look at your finger, the pouch dispersing into gold dust. Pressing into the digit allows blood to leak from the wound. You don’t have time to think about it when your alarm blares at you and you wake. 

Your day starts in a rush, slamming your hand over the off button of the alarm clock. You skiddy your way into your bathroom, brushing your teeth, combing your hair and doing your makeup. Your outfit was ready on the door of your bedroom. The casual formal wear was perfect for the day ahead. Comfortable but respectable and easily spotted if someone were to come looking for you. 

You look at your watch before briskly walking out the door, a few minutes ahead of schedule and traffic. When you arrive at the house Oliver had told you to, you stand outside the door as you hear murmuring from inside the door. You remember why Oliver was here in the first place and slowly lean against the wall to wait for him. 

“He was the most perfect dog, he was loved, he was cared for. And it gives me great honor that you allow me to ease his suffering so he may continue to run in the never ending fields of the afterlife.” Oliver’s voice carries through the thin wall. 

Sobbing follows after and hushes of comfort as the dog passes in the arms of the owner. Uncomfortable that you were involuntarily eavesdropping in such a private conversation you start to play with your hands, picking at the nails and the cuticles around them. It’s now that you see, with a quickening heartbeat, a closed over wound on your finger. When you run your thumb over it, the pain long since subdued, you are reminded of a feisty koi bite from a certain dream. 

Was it real then? The dream, or merely the pain?

“Ah, Poppet, you’re here already,” Oliver’s whisper pulls you out of your thoughts slowly. “Is your finger hurt?” He notices and reaches for your hand.

“No,” You say quickly, perhaps too quickly, and move your hands away. “It’s just a scratch. Shall we go?” You turn before you give him a chance to answer. 

The exhibit, while productive, was blanketed over by a feeling of grief and melancholy. Your artist was soaking in the praises of success, but you find yourself sticking by Oliver’s side, drinking mimosas hoping the little alcohol could erase the uneasiness in your throat. Your finger gives phantom pains now and then, reminding you of the breaking cracks between dreams and real life. 

It’s only noon and you’re exhausted, giving the keys to Oliver to drive you back to your place. As if to taunt you even more, the elevator was down for repairs and so arm in arm, you and Oliver make your way up the seven sets of stairs until you reach your own apartment. 

“Oh my God, I can taste blood,” You whine, leaning all of your weight onto Oliver by the fifth floor. He, on the other hand, could not have looked more pristine. 

“When was the last time you exercised?” He chuckles as he lets you rest for a moment. 

You groan as your hand grasps onto the worn metal railing. “I briskly walked to my car this morning,” Your voice is gravelly and hoarse as you use your arm to continue upwards. “After the elevator ride down to the main floor.”

“Good grief, woman,” He jests. “We need to get you to the gym.” 

“Over my dead body,” You huff as you make your way again, steps heavy and stomping, the sound echoing in the empty chamber. 

The barren of your door gave you the last bit of energy to finish. The sight of your couch was enough for you to flop onto it and simply wish to perish. You’re breathing heavily out of your mouth, face to the ceiling and bounce when Oliver sits down next to you with exaggeration. 

“Don’t be dramatic,” Oliver teases, barely winded by the seven flights of stairs. You on the other hand felt like you had just come from a week at sea with nothing but a row boat and canned crackers. 

“I’m going to go shower, do you want to stay for lunch?” You ask, already halfway to your room after you caught your breath. 

“No, I’ve got my own thing to do, packing mostly.” You hear Oliver’s voice from the bathroom. You turn on the water to let it warm up and peek out of your bedroom. “Alright, I’ll see you off in a few days, yeah?” 

Oliver’s outside your door and the sudden proximity makes you jump in your skin. 

“Geez, you scared me. I thought you were still in the kitchen,” You say behind a small laugh. 

“I’m going to head out, alright? But yeah, let’s meet one more time before I leave later this week.” Oliver smiles and pokes your forehead. 

“Sounds good,” You agree, staring at the finger. 

“Stay safe out there, Poppet.” He waves and goes for the door. “I’ve got a cab waiting for me downstairs.”

You use the shower to cleanse yourself of not only the physical properties of today, and more importantly the sweat you accumulated walking up the steps, but also the more emotional toil. The warm water seemingly soaking up all of your depressive thoughts. It runs down the water and out the drain, and you feel lighter when you step out. 

You’re drying your hair with your towel when you see the brown square that is Oliver’s wallet sitting on your couch - opening it and seeing his ID card clarifies it. You groan as you know that he can’t get anywhere without his wallet, especially if he wants to leave. 

An internal debate was settled with going to his place before you pick something up for dinner. You place the wallet by your keys near the front door and make yourself some lunch, and put some much needed laundry into the washer while it cooks. You watch a small episode while you eat before returning to your work laptop and answering emails. 

The day goes by quickly and the rumbling of your stomach tells you that it’s time for dinner and more importantly, returning Oliver’s wallet. You redress in the same clothes you wore earlier that day, deciding to just deal with the high heels as any other shoe wouldn’t tie in well with your outfit, and you were not going to go out looking anything less than put together. 

How lucky you were when you walked down the hall to find the elevator back in operation. Down, down you went, seven flights of stairs to the parking garage. The echoing beep of your car tells you where Oliver had parked for you and you climb in. 

Traffic was a pain in the ass and you couldn't take another slow minute during dinner rush. Beeps and honks accompany you all the way to Oliver’s home and it takes a solid 45 minutes to travel 10 miles. You knock on Oliver’s door and you don’t know why but you’re nervous. There wasn’t an answer and you knocked again. Nothing. The door is unlocked and with a shrug to yourself you enter. 

All of the lights were turned off when you entered, fumbling about to turn on the lobby light near the door. The rented home was much bigger than your medium apartment and you seriously start to regret your career choice. 

“Oliver?” You call out, taking off your shoes and putting them aside. 

No answer.

“Ollieeee…” You sing out as you make your way further into the house. You drop the wallet on the dining room table and still nothing. You knew he was here, somewhere, the rental car he had was still in the driveway when you pulled up.

You bring out your phone, about to call him, when a small noise directs you to a staircase that leads downstairs and you make your way into the finished basement. When you open the door, something you never thought you would see greets you instead. Yes, Oliver was there but so was another woman. She’s tied down to a wooden table and you think you’re interrupting something if it wasn’t for the way her teary eyes snap towards you. Despair is washed out with a small glint of hope as her trembling hand reaches for you. 

“Help me,” She pleads. 

Oliver calls your name, almost breathlessly, and walks closer to you. In his hand holds a small knife, blood already smeared on the glinting metal. He greets you with a smile, but your attention is on the woman on the table. 

“Please.” She sobs again. 

You’re numb, on the brink of hyperventilation, and you’re sure that if you had gotten dinner before coming here you would’ve thrown up all over the vinyl flooring. 

“Oliver,” You gulp down as you take a step back.

He advances with another step, knife still in hand as the blood drips down onto the floor. He approaches you like a predator to scared prey, and he wouldn’t be wrong. His weaponless hand wraps around your wrist, warm and alive just like all of the other times he has done since you became friends all those years ago. 

“Come here.” He guides you closer. “This is our guest, Poppet.” He introduces. 

The woman squirms against her restraints and cusses. “Stop calling me Poppet, my name is fucking Alora, let me go!”

Oliver guides you closer and then slinks behind you, using his body to trap you from the exit. From this distance you can see the cuts and bruises Alora endured and you lean away in denial. Bile crawls up from the bottom of your throat begging to be released, it’s acidity painful to swallow. Alora’s tear stains seem permanent as another one follows its path as she watches the two of you lean over her. 

“Let.. let her go,” You say with a shaky breath. It’s the opposite of assertive, the opposite of a demand.

Oliver sighs behind you and slams the blade down on the table and both you and Alora flinch at the sudden noise. He laughs behind you, the breath tickling the nape of your neck. 

“I thought we could… share her,” He responds. You feel his lips on the junction of your neck and your body trembles again. 

“Share… her,” You echo.

This wasn’t real, there was no way this was real. No, you were definitely dreaming, Oliver took you home and then after your shower you fell asleep. He never left his wallet at your place. Oliver heals, he would never… 

You look down at your fingers, they’re shaking but still countable. One, two, three, four, five. You look at your watch, and with dread you notice that everything is in its place. One, two, three, four, five. It’s still the right time. One, two, three, four, five. 

“A dream, this has to be a dream. A nightmare.” You lie to yourself. Your thumb presses into each of your fingers and to your dismay, there are still five. 

You look down at Alora again, her eyes wide and begging and her fingers go to grab at you. 

“Ah, ah, none of that.” Oliver notices and pushes her fingers away from the two of you. 

His attention turns back to you again. “What do you think of it?” He asks, his hands resting on your hips and to your further disgust inhales your scent. 

“What do I think of it?” You echo again except this time it was more harsh, judgemental as it should be. 

Oliver scoffs and leaves your side. He walks to the other side of the table, knife back in hand as he points it to Alora’s face. 

“Look at Poppet here, notice anything?”

That’s when you look at her, really look at her. At first you didn’t see it, or maybe your mind was simply trying to prevent you from seeing it, but under Oliver’s scrutinizing gaze you notice with teary eyes. Her hair was the same color as yours, so were her eyes, they even mimicked the way yours were shaped. Her lips curled just like yours as they’re upturned in agony. 

“I think I’m going to be sick,” You gag, your hand flies to cover your mouth as you dry heave. 

“No, don’t be, my sweet Poppet,” Oliver comes to you again and holds your face steady. His eyes have always been like they are now, caring, soft, non-dangerous, but seeing his actions made you doubt everything. “Here, you can watch for the first time instead, how about that?”

“Wh-what?” You gape and he pulls away from you. He places the knife over Alora’s throat and her sobbing and pleas grow louder. 

“NO!” You scream and go to reach for the knife, unsure where the sudden bravery comes from. But, it’s too late, he slices, you feel the way his muscle moves under your palm, how it grips the blade, how it ticks when it kills.

The blood sprays and decorates you in its red and sticky liquid and you’re left stunned. Beneath you, you hear as Alora chokes on her own blood as her body trashes as a last ditch effort of escape. Oliver looks at you with a smile, his white shirt decorated just like yours. He looks at you with adoration and something like pride as he places the knife down and comes to you again. 

“You look even more beautiful in red, Poppet,” He compliments, but it falls on deaf ears. His lips press to yours in a one sided kiss and you weakly push back. “Let me clean everything up and then I’ll take care of you, okay?”

You stand still as you watch him, rag in hand as he begins to clean. 

“You were the most perfect person, you were loved, you were cared for. And it gives me great honor that you allow me to ease your suffering so you may continue to live free in the never ending fields of the afterlife.” Oliver’s familiar eulogy snaps you out of your shock, if not for a brief moment. 

It’s enough for you to run out the door, adrenaline blazes down your spine and pumps to all of your limbs. The door almost flies off its hinges as you open it into the dark night. You don’t know where you’re going to go, but anywhere is better than here. 

“Poppet! Wait!” Oliver screams behind you and he’s fast to catch you. 

Your bare feet scrap across the concrete sidewalk as your vision blurs with salty tears. You trip into an alleyway and sob, your pristine clothes now covered in dirt and blood, and you hear the crack of your watch as it breaks under the fall. At the edges of your mind, a small girl with wild and colorful hair peeks at you in fishnets, the world warps, distorting the difference between reality and delirium. 

A moment of clarity comes to you as you remember something. It tries to fall between the crevices of your mind but you grab onto it and hold it close. 

“Would you really have come if I called for you?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

“Dream,” You cry out into the darkness. Oliver finds you on the ground and his arms pick you up. “No, no, let go of me!” 

The man clad in black doesn’t show his face and you beat yourself over it, because of course he doesn’t. It was just a dream. This is reality. Despite it all, you try one more time. A name falls on your tongue, one you didn’t previously know. 

“Morpheus!” You scream and the calling echoes in the suburban neighborhood. 

Oliver pays you no mind and hoists you onto his shoulders. You’re pounding at his back but his muscles never falter. He walks back with heaving breaths to his house when he is suddenly stopped and drops you. You unceremoniously roll and then sit quickly to run away again. You’re stopped short at the sight. 

In front of Oliver stands a man, his form fuzzy at the sides and blends in to the night around them. He wears a helm made of bones, accompanied by a bright ruby necklace, and a leather pouch of sand. 

“Dream?” You question and his gaze turns to you. You can’t see his eyes past the large bug-like design of the helm, but you know he sees you. 

“Who the hell are you?” Oliver sneers at him.

Dream doesn’t reply and instead he shrinks back into the shadows and wisps around until he stands in front of you. You hide behind his back as he protects you from Oliver. 

“Hey, get away from my Poppet.” Oliver takes a step forward but is stopped by Dream’s words. 

“Be quiet,” He commands. It’s two words, but it renders him speechless. “I turn you into prey. Your judgment upon you is to be hunted. Even after you wish for death, you will form into another and be hunted again. This is my gift to you, Oliver Barlowe, make good use of it.”

The curse is etched in stone as he speaks. He pours from his leather pouch and sand falls between his fingers. He curls then unfurls them before blowing the particles into Oliver’s face. You watch with horror as his form shrinks under the swirling sand and he turns into a shrew. He runs into the grass, his brown fur lost amongst the foliage. 

“Hello, my Dreamweaver,” He whispers and crouches to your height on the cold concrete. He extends a patient hand and you grab hold. “Come, nightmares shall hunt you no further.” 

“You came,” You say, still in disbelief as he helps you stand. 

“I kept my promise. I do not break such vows, ever.” His fingers gently wipe away the tears from your face. 

"You're real," You whisper, still not believing that he stands before you.

His fingers trace across your bottom lip as he comes closer to you still. Dream doesn't say anything, he simply soaks in your presence, drawn to you in a way neither of you could comprehend. His fingers still trace your face, running over your nose and the apple of your cheekbones.

You feel the swirling of sand around your feet and the world changes around you. You’re in the meadows again, surrounded by flowers made of snow and glass, and you see the cabin your grandfather built. Dream sits you down on a white and red checkered picnic blanket with two glasses of lemonade. 

“Will you stay?” You ask as you grab the cool glass cup of lemonade. Your gaze turns to the sweet yellow drink and you rub the smooth glass as a way of calming yourself. 

“Yes.”

“Okay.” You smile. 

Alsooooo, very inappropriate use of being a veterinarian, we don't kill people and we don't make that much money, sigh

My Sandman comics came and they're so heavy... Second also, Comic Dream is such a mood

Maybe a more lighthearted fic for next time, hmm?

♡ Yours, Layla

[altf4d3lete]

No bc if I wait YEARS only for WEYLER to become canon… y’all that will be my LAST. STRAW.

Because you’re gonna sit here and tell me to my face that Wednesday would forgive someone who rendered Eugene, a kid she SEES AS HER BROTHER comatose??? And you’re gonna expect me to believe that she’d forgive him for that after he SAID HE LIKED IT?

I do not care that he’s a monster and “an Addams would go for him because he’s a serial killer” yeah, maybe if he hadn’t been directly involved in injuring THREE people she cares immensely about and then said he ENJOYED it. Like PLEASE. There is a werewolf literally right in front of you who follows Wednesday around like a golden retriever (stop calling Tyler a golden retriever PLEASE he is not one) and you’re gonna pass her up??? As if Wednesday wouldn’t go for a girl with a sunny disposition but can actually kill you? Weyler’s whole argument is she likes the “sweet but dark type” as if Enid wasn’t ready to rip Tyler’s throat out the second he put his hands on Wednesday bffr. (Also where was Tyler’s extreme act of service?? Enid literally RISKED HER LIFE, went running without even knowing if she would shift or not. He did nothing for Wednesday compared to Enid)

And it doesn’t matter whether his feelings were real or not, let’s be honest. Because bro said what he said and there is contextually 0 evidence that he’s a split personality between the Hyde and Tyler, there’s contextually 0 evidence that his feelings were real beyond the attraction he had upon first meeting her, as far as we know he was playing her the whole time. Even if his feelings were real that still doesn’t mean she’d forgive him. And yeah, maybe he got a kick out of manipulating her because he himself was manipulated and liked having a sense of control but that doesn’t excuse it??? Bro actively mocked her, said he enjoyed killing her friends, and some of you guys are like “yup she’s into that”

GUYS. If the Addams family taught Wednesday one thing it would be loyalty to those you love. And Tyler BROKE that and enjoyed doing it just as she started to trust him. Like let’s do some contextual analysis here.

If the writers go down that route, they do NOT know Wednesday at all bc girlypop would never forgive him for hurting Enid and Eugene.

Anyways I just had to get that out, it’s four in the morning. Sorry to feed into ship wars but I just can’t 😔

Edit: it’s no longer 4 in the am but it was when I wrote this

[comingdownwithme]

what do they do now that they’ve seen each other?

and how long does it take toby to eventually become fond of jeff again?

When they first saw each other, Jeff was fucking elated. In that moment, he wasn't "Jeff the Killer", a wanted man, dead or alive for a growing number of homicides, instead, he was Jeffery Woods, known teen troublemaker, eldest brother of a four person family, and a lost man who had damned himself to hell when he took out his grief and rage in the worst way possible after that night of the fire.

The man was desperate for that sense of familiarity, a sense of normalcy, of home, and there he was, just out of reach.

But for Toby, the bane of his existence was there, just within swinging distance.

And so, the proxy attacks.

Jeff would move on instinct, swinging first before he could even think.

The guilt that followed when he realised he had left a long, clean line from Toby's chest up to his shoulder still eats at him to this very day, stinging far worse than the deep cut Toby had left when he swung his axe into his side.

Jeff, crashing hard from the high he was riding only the briefest of seconds earlier, ran.

The proxy gave chase. The hooded man was in his territory, the hunting grounds of a faceless monster and those who serve it, and if there's any place Toby knew better than the back of his hand, it was these woods.

But Jeff didn't get this far, didn't get to live this long, if he wasn't a damn good escapist.

So, in the end, he had managed to get away. The odds were vastly against him, but Jeff was a survivor at heart and he had a track record for evening the odds and turning the losing hand the universe gave him into something passable.

Still, as the white-hooded killer grew the distance between him and the edge of those damned woods, confused and hurt not only by the still-bleeding wound at his side, but by the way his best friend had reacted, Jeff- sinking into his most selfish impulses- wanted that sense of normalcy, wanted to sink his teeth into the feeling of comfort he had gotten a mere taste of so badly and never let go, and if the world won't give him that, then he'll just have to carve that space himself.

And so, Jeff kept coming back.

It would take a good while until Toby warms up to Jeff again, both because of his reluctance to and because the both of them aren't exactly ones to stay in one place for too long, though Jeff is the one that makes sporadic appearances due to being- y'know- a known serial killer on the run.

Still, Toby does eventually grow closer to him. Especially when A) Jeff is a persistent asshole who won't miss a single second whenever he's around to visit Toby, even actively searching for him when he has the time to and getting into trouble as he does, and B) Toby just... can't bring himself to actually kill the other man. He's hated him for so, so long, but in every instance he had caught him off guard and attacked, Toby would stand, frozen in place before he could even finish the other man off.

The first time Toby had attacked Jeff led him to rsalise that something had happened to his best friend. Something bad, and something big. but God knows Jeff shouldn't be talking about how much someone had changed when he can barely even recognise the thing that stares back at him in the mirror.

His own hesitance annoyed the proxy to hell and back at first, but eventually Jeff's persistence and a lack of self preservation paid off, and Toby- either feeling too worn out to even bother, or was feeling particularly generous that one night- gave in just this once.

Then he gave in again when prompted at Jeff's next visit.

And again with the next.

And again.

And then one night, maybe, he's come to the realisation that he's started to miss the pale, deformed rat of a man who seems to know Toby better than even he himself does, to miss the ghost that had been haunting him all this time.

[scoobydoodean]

#okay wait do y'all think that she wasn't going to try and murder Dean?#Do you think he was going to get through to her?#convince her somehow to not try to stab him?#that she was telling the truth at all in that scene?#because she was totally going to try and kill Dean#like 100% that was going to happen#and if Sam hadn't shot her then Dean would have had to kill her and that would have been so much harder on Dean#like it was disturbing that Dean had a 3 day old monster child that wanted to kill him but who was then killed by her uncle Sam instead#and even more disturbing that they then never mention her again#but these are also the guys who left their half brother in Lucifer's cage and didn't lose any sleep over it so...#and I love Dean but killing Amy was an asshole move#and there's kinda a difference between killing an active imminent threat and killing someone in cold blood after the fact @jinkieswouldyoulookatthis

I didn't want to clutter someone else's post but this was partially directed at me? I've talked about the whole "Emma vs Amy" debate quite a few times, but I'll share a few thoughts.

Amy is a present, unrepentant, fully cognizant, adult, serial murderer. She is not actually sorry about what she did in any way. She believes that slaughtering humans like cattle to feed them to her son was the morally correct action even if it wasn't the ethical action because it kept her son alive. She is not correct.

Emma is a brainwashed child who's been psychologically conditioned for a few days. She has never killed anyone and only wants to kill Dean because some women who abused her told her to.

Hunters like Sam and Dean primarily deal in punitive justice, not preventative justice—and what I mean by that is that Sam and Dean try not to kill people (with powers or without powers) who have never killed anyone.

While I think you're right to point out that a preventative justice component is in play, that is not primarily how Dean makes the decision to go after Amy, and the reason we know that is because Amy's son swears to kill Dean and Dean does nothing about it because the boy has done absolutely nothing wrong.

Dean's application of his personal code is consistent here. He kills Amy, who is a murderer who killed four people, but he does not intend to kill Emma or Amy's son—both of whom wanted to kill him—because neither has actually killed anyone and both may choose not to.

You say that Emma was going to kill Dean 100%, but you don't actually know that because we never got to see that future. You assume Amy would never have killed again, but when you add up "murderer who regrets absolutely nothing" and "child vulnerable to catching illnesses" you get "Mom who absolutely would kill again as necessary and who would feel zero remorse doing so just like the last time".

I don't personally think SPN gives us any reason to suspect that three days of psychological conditioning from a cult is too much to overcome. We have seen other characters overcome much more serious levels of psychological conditioning intended to make them killers. For example, Cas and Alex. I'm not saying Emma wasn't trying to pull the wool over Sam and Dean's eyes in the scene where Sam shot her, but I am saying that doesn't actually mean in any way that she couldn't be convinced to actually choose a different path.

Under the same litmus test with which you suggest Emma's condemnation, we'd also condemn season 2 Sam for his potential "future" crimes. We are killing monsters before they actually become those monsters... because of the dark path someone else intends for them to go down. Amy—again—is an active present unrepentant serial killer.

I think sometimes people misremember the scene where Sam kills Emma—recalling the scene as a scene where Emma lunges at Dean with the knife and Sam steps in just in time to save his life, or where Dean is unarmed and Emma has him at knife point. But that is not what happened. Emma quite literally brought a knife to a gun fight. Dean had a gun pointed at her, and if she was thinking straight at all, she would have left to avoid being killed if given the chance—especially when Sam arrived. And had she not, Sam could have shot her at that point—but Sam didn't wait to see what she'd do. He wanted her dead, because even if she ran, he didn't think they were equipped to deal with surprise attacks from Dean's Amazon child. That is the decision Sam made after a brief moment to consider, and it makes sense to me given the headspace he was in at the time and his assessment of Dean's headspace as well, but it does not make his decision consistent with his previous or future behavior regarding people who have been psychologically conditioned to kill.

My own frustrations are more with fandom, for a thought process that really really does not make sense to me, where Emma deserves to die but Amy deserved to live. I do not agree with that premise. I do not understand why so much of fandom has the perspective that a child who hadn't shed a drop of blood and who was acting in response to a cult's torture, who brought a knife to a gun fight and had already been driven into a corner where she had no choice but to surrender or run—doesn't deserve a chance to choose something else before she's barely lived and before she's heard a loving word in her entire life, but an adult with full cognizance of their actions who went through with killing four people and doesn't regret it should go on with their life and is "just a good mom doing what she had to" and killing that person is the bad thing. I don't understand that. I don't think Dean killing Amy was wrong at all in the "hunters kill supernatural murderers" show. The only thing Dean did wrong was lie about it and not take enough care to keep her son from seeing it happen.

[an-idyllic-novelist]

100 Milestone Event - raiden taeemon with mitsuri!reader! short story 🍡

Here it is everyone, the milestone event for reaching +100 followers! This is also part two of another milestone on my yandere blog!

The link will be here, so definitely check it out first before reading this one! Special thanks to @deathmetalunicorn1 for helping me with the sections I was struggling to write. Not gonna lie, Raiden’s dialogue is a bit hard lol. So with that being said: sit back, relax and enjoy! :)

warnings: canon divergence of manga, violence, strong language.

The moment Raiden Taeemon witnessed the strength of a Hashira is a memory he would never forget.

In Valhalla, there were many activities to entertain the masses such as gambling or martial arts tournaments, but sumo matches have been providing just the right amount of spectacle and violence far longer than any known sport. Even gods had become sponsors to certain dojos, providing funds for more equipment and so forth. Raiden was content with his lifestyle, fighting against strong opponents, eating good food and followed by having some fun with a few girls depending on how much alcohol he drank that night.

Then sumo wrestlers began disappearing from the dojos, one by one. Their remains would be discovered the following morning, torn asunder and…half-eaten. The sight frightened the customers so much that they didn’t dare go outside unless they were absolutely certain that the matches would not last beyond the first rays of the sun setting across the hazy blue skies. Even the gods had begun to worry, believing there was a serial killer on the loose…if you can call withdrawing their sponsorships an expression of anxiety. The masters of the dojos even began restricting the fighters to a curfew, forbidding anyone from going out into the night lest they face expulsion.

But Raiden was tough. He had been the strongest sumo wrestler of his time. He could take care of himself. If someone wants to come after him, he’ll return the gesture wholeheartedly.

After an evening of drinking, he took his usual stroll back home when he heard someone call out to him. Confused and half inebriated, Raiden looked over his shoulder and saw a shivering, drooling, decrepit old man with a large lump on his head. At first he thought something was wrong with him…but that concern changed to alarm when the man split his body up into four younger versions of himself with fashionable robes, fangs, and possessed weapons. One of them even had wings and talons like an eagle!

One of them opened his mouth and released a loud screech with enough strength to make Raiden’s head spin and catapulted him into a building. As he stumbled to get out of the debris, the one wearing red robes thrusted his wooden staff into the ground, lightning bolts spitting from it. Raiden screamed, white-hot pain pulsing through his body.

“This is supposed to be the strongest one in this district? How lame!”

“Shut up and finish the job, Karaku! We cannot be seen or else they will come! We cannot go back to that place!”

“Come on, it’s been so long since we’ve played with our food~!”

For the first time in his life, Raiden felt fear. He did not know what these guys…this thing was, but he had to get away. He had to get away or he might die again.

“I’ll finish it. Do not worry, human, your death shall be quick and painless.”

Raiden’s eyes widened as the one dressed in blue charged towards him, wielding a halberd with an apathetic expression. Yet before the weapon could put a hole in his chest, it flew out of his bronze hands with a loud ‘crack’.

“Geez, of all the demons that had to be causing trouble in this place, it’s you guys again?!”

The sumo wrestler whipped his head towards the rooftops of the building, seeing a young woman with braided pink-greenish hair and dressed in black, [Eye Color] orbs narrowed and face pouting as she wielded….a whip? Behind her were two other individuals. A kid in a checkered haori…and a little girl with a piece of bamboo in her mouth?

He watched them leap into the air; the kid unsheathed his sword and went straight towards Red, the girl charged at the green-robed one he assumed was Karaku, and the woman targeted the blue one that was right in front of him.

Neither opponent was giving an inch in their fight, and Raiden had to admit that the kid and muzzled girl were doing remarkably well….yet it wasn’t their unusual sword style or hand-to-hand combat techniques that caught his interest. It was the woman who had torn off her opponent’s arm as soon as she flipped him over her shoulder, knocking him into the ground with a loud ‘crack’.

The blue-eyed demon opened his mouth to scream or release an attack like the yellow one, but she swung her whip across his neck, decapitating the bastard.

Wait, where is the yellow one? Hearing a loud screech, Raiden whipped his head up to the nighttime skies and saw the demon's mouth stretching. The wrestler watched in horror as sparks of electrified air were being collected into a whirling sphere. And the target of the attack was none other than the little lady.

Somehow, he’d been able to force his aching body to move from the debris and bolt towards her, pushing the lady as close to the ground as possible without crushing her, using himself as a shield to absorb most of the attack when it came at them.

The last thing he remembered were his ears feeling wet and the woman’s worried face and… she was saying something to him before he lost consciousness.

He didn’t know what it was, but he hoped it’d been a ‘thank you’. It’s not everyday he got to protect a damsel from a demon, even when she could stand on her own ground.

As Raiden slowly came too, feeling the familiar padding of his futon, he groaned deeply, unable to open his eyes. A headache throbbed painfully through his whole head, making him both dizzy and nauseous.

He couldn't remember the last time he had a hangover this bad as he was slowly able to open his eyes, wincing at the light peeking through his window. His other senses slowly came back to him as the throbbing in his head slowly dulled. Raiden shifted and instantly froze, feeling his whole body seemed to be on fire yet so heavy at the same time.

As the minutes ticked by, Raiden was slowly able to sit up, lifting a hand to scratch at the back of his head, but his movements were stiff, almost like he was restricted, looking down to see bandages all over his body. His mind drew a blank, not remembering getting hurt and like a switch was flipped at that word, hurt, what he could recall from the night before came rushing back to him, making him fall back against his futon as his headache returned full force.

Shit…what the hell even happened? All he remembered was having a good time and then the weird old man…

Raiden’s eyes widened. That’s right. The old man turned into four demons! And then there were those kids…and that woman. The woman with hair that looked like sakura mochi and had the strength of a bear.

Head spinning, heart pounding, his mouth stretched into a grin as the memories from last night came back in full force. He had a preference for the larger ladies, but he’s always been flexible~.

Rengoku had told you countless times that if you ever crossed paths with Hantengu in the Bifrost, never confront him alone. He nearly lost his life against the Upper Moon Demon at the Swordsman’s Village if it hadn’t been for Tanjiro, Muichiro, and Nezuko. In all honesty, he thought the demon would no longer exist once his head had been cut off. But he is still there, in the Bifrost, and he escaped through a tear in the barrier.

He tried to consume as many strong humans as possible to regain his strength, though his efforts drew in unnecessary attention and that’s how he got caught. Tanjiro was able to deliver the final blow to the main body, and everything else went well….although no one had anticipated the damage done to the sumo wrestling district.

Oh goodness, what was going to happen? You knew Tengen and Rengoku loved to go there and watch the matches, especially when Raiden Taeemon was participating, but now it’d take weeks to clean up the mess! Gah, you failed on your second official mission as the Love Hashira! One more strike, and the Master’s gonna be so mad he won’t let you be part of the Demon Slayer Corps anymore!!

You sighed heavily, trudging through the streets with a heavy heart as your crow flew high in the skies above. You had completed another shift in the Bifrost, followed by an investigation in regards to another possible demon sighting in the northern areas of Valhalla.

Although everyone had reassured you that no one was seriously injured that fateful night, it still bothered you tremendously. You had offered to donate the money made from selling honeycombs at the farmer’s market towards the reconstruction of the district, but the Master told you not to fret.

You did what you had to do, and minimized the casualties as much as possible. Rengoku has taught his apprentice very well. The compliment still made your face flush with happiness…though, to your embarrassment, not as much as when you brought that handsome fellow back to his dojo. Raiden Taeemon. You rescued Raiden Taeemon from a demon and treated him in his own room!

Oh, you were such an awful woman~!

Feeling your face redden in embarrassment, you slapped your cheeks together. Pull yourself together, [First Name]! There’s no need to reminisce about the past ‘cause it’ll make delicious food go sour in your mouth! And it’s time for lunch anyway, just think about what you’re gonna order and worry about everything else later unless there’s an urgent message from the Master!

Nodding to yourself, you quickened your pace and found a restaurant with the wisteria symbol stamped just beneath the sign. If a Demon Slayer needed a place to stay or to eat, the establishments that carried the Master’s symbol were trustworthy.

You could relax here without worrying about a demon or paying too much out of your pocket, although you secretly snuck in a hefty tip to the staff for working so hard to accommodate your…quirks. Yeah, quirks, let’s go with that!

Smiling brightly at the familiar faces of the employees, you greeted them enthusiastically and wished they had a good shift as you followed one of them towards the back of the restaurant. This place still catered to other customers, so you always reserved a room for yourself to enjoy your meal in privacy.

Being gawked at for having unusual hair or how much you ate on a daily basis brought back unpleasant memories.

You squealed joyfully at the lacquered oval-shaped table, covered with every single item on the menu plus their best-selling herbal tea! You thanked the staff member profusely for their hard work in the kitchen, promising to enjoy the meal to the fullest!

The employee - a kindly older man with four children and one grandchild - smiled serenely, saying it is the least he and his family can do for the people who saved them long ago, in life and death, from demons. If you need anything, just let him or someone else know.

Upon bowing to each other, he left, closing the door behind him. You wasted no time in giving your thanks to this lovely banquet and began eating to your hearts’ desire. But an hour later, however, a knock came at the door. It was the old man again, but he sounded…worried.

You blinked. Huh? You didn’t remember asking for thirds! You just did that ten minutes ago! Concerned, you allowed him to enter, immediately inquiring what was wrong, what could you do to help.

He swallowed. “That is….there is a man who insists on asking about the ‘cute little lady with hair like sakura mochi’. I told him I knew whom he was speaking about, but politely asked him to leave because you were not to be disturbed. But he is insistent on…sharing this room with you for lunch. What should I do, Lady Hashira?”

You frowned. It wasn’t too unusual to have some rowdy customers walk through these doors, but not to this extent. Perhaps…the person who is giving the owner such a difficult time is because the man has some information he would like to relay to the Demon Slayer Corps? It would make more sense to go directly to a Hashira than pass a message to a kakushi.

You nodded your head to the owner.

“It’s all right, let him come in. Whatever he wants to eat, please add it to my bill.”

The owner’s silver brows pinched beneath his hairline as he frowned. “As you wish, Lady Hashira.” He bowed and quickly left the room, closing the sliding paper door behind him.

Humming softly to yourself, you sat yourself back down in your seat. Some of the employees appeared from behind, quickly and quietly removing the empty plates and rushing back to the kitchens.You thanked each of them for your hard work, smiling softly as you began pouring tea into two earth-brown ceramic cups.

One for yourself, and one for your guest. In your humble opinion, there is no better beverage to have mid-meal than freshly brewed green tea.

Just as you finished pouring the tea into the second cup, the door opened again.

When you looked up to thank the owner for complying with your request, blood drained from your face and your heart somersaulted in your throat. Standing behind the quaking owner was a tall, broad-shouldered man dressed in a dark blue yukata and wooden sandals. White highlights stuck out of his dark brown hair, which was tied back in a ponytail. And he was grinning.

This is Raiden. Raiden Taeemon, the man you had saved from Hantengu and patched up his wounds like the lascivious criminal you were. Oh no, did he figure out what you’d done? Wait, did he even remember that night?! His breath smelled strongly of rice wine when you carried him back to his dojo! You thought for certain that he’d been too intoxicated to realize what happened!

“Hey, there.” He purred softly.

You swallowed. “H-Hello.” You said. “I hear that you wished to speak to me. May I inquire why?” You tried to keep your voice neutral and calm so as to not show that you were nervous. Your palms began to sweat as he took a seat at the table. Raiden beamed, his smile revealing rows of razor-sharp teeth.

“I wanted to thank you!”

But you did not hear him. You were still under the assumption he was angry as you quickly backed away from the sumo wrestler, your forehead and hands resting firmly on the wooden floor in the position of the dogeza.

“I’m so sorry!” You blubbered. “I’m sorry you got hurt! I wasn’t strong enough to handle the demon on my own and you got hurt trying to protect me!! And there was so much damage to the b-buildings! What if you can’t have matches?! What have I done?! I’ll pay for all the damages somehow, I swear it in my honor as the Love Hashira of the Demon Slayer Corps!”

“W-Wait a sec, little lady -”

“But to make it even worse, I entered your home without your permission, and I even touched your body so I could patch you up! Oh, I should have done more! What was I even thinking about being a capable Hashira when Rengoku recommended me to the Master to take up the mantle! Now all the good vibes from lunch are gone!!”

You squeaked as you were suddenly lifted up from the ground, your face being gently cradled by calloused palms and being pulled towards Raiden’s face, chapped lips being pressed against your mouth. Raiden Taeemon was kissing you.

Heat immediately flooded into your cheeks yet you did not dare move, just staring at this man in disbelief. When he pulled away, he smiled at you, tilting his head to the side. “You okay now?”

Your immediate response had been knocking him back into an adjacent wall and turning away to hide your smiling, flushed face. To think you had your first kiss with a strong, handsome man! He did surprise you with a warm laugh, standing up and brushing the dust off of his yukata.

“Sorry about that! You were rambling and that was the only thing I could think of to calm you down!”

When you informed that he was in fact the first person to kiss you like that, he looked at you, completely stunned at your confession before grinning.

“You’re pulling my leg! There ain’t no way a woman as stunning as you hasn’t been kissed before!”

But you remained silent, unable to form any more words beyond the truth. You were never a very good liar. He then surprised you when he lowered his head to the floor, profusely apologizing for putting you in such an embarrassing position.

You quickly forgave him, saying that he did not know in the first place, and in fairness, you had believed that you would not see each other again after that fateful night. You did, however, emphasize that he did have to take responsibility for his actions.

He laughed warmly, jabbing his thumb against his chest. “I’ll do just that then! I’ll marry ya, if you’re willing to be with someone like me!”

You beamed. “Better yet, how about we have lunch together while we’re here? I did say that whatever my ‘guest’ would like to have would be paid by me! And the food here is absolutely delicious! You simply must try their spicy dishes and sweets, if you have a sweet tooth!”

The rest of the afternoon had been lovely, sharing dishes and sharing stories about each other. Not wanting to repeat your parents’ mistakes, you were upfront with Raiden about being a Hashira…as well as being the eldest daughter of the ocean god Poseidon. There were going to be risks if the two of you moved forward….including the possibility that you might not come back from a mission, or even a routine patrol in the Bifrost might get awry.

But to your surprise, Raiden wanted this. He wanted you, a woman who had once been told by a former suitor that only a wild animal could love someone with odd-colored hair and a big appetite.

He did not care if you were a human or a god; what mattered to him, more than strength and beauty, was honesty and kindness.

And you could not be any happier.

Bonus Content:

The last thread of Hades’ patience snapped when his little brother demanded to have [First Name] removed from the Demon Slayer Corps in his palace, after he’d just told Poseidon that she was doing well under Ubuyashiki’s watchful eye.

When he heard about his niece's promotion, Hades was obligated to tell Poseidon the truth about her whereabouts. Obviously he was not taking it very well.

However, Hades will not tolerate being disrespected in his own domain.

The lord of the underworld glared at the tyrant of the oceans. “She may be your daughter, but she is still the Love Hashira of the Demon Slayer Corps. You know damned well I cannot replace skilled soldiers at the flick of a wrist. It doesn’t work like that for this organization. I’m sorry, Poseidon…but you brought this outcome upon yourself. If [First Name] wishes to see you or talk to you, she will do so on her own terms. Do not push yourself into her life again, you’ll only make things worse.”

Hades admired his brother’s kingly qualities, he truly did…but when it came to matters about his eldest daughter, Poseidon was extremely overprotective of her. He could be…irrational.

It was a good thing he’d concealed the wedding invitation moments before Poseidon came here. The god of perfection would never allow his child to marry a human, even if he were the strongest sumo wrestler in history or treated [First Name] just as Hades treated his wife Persephone: with respect, love, and honor.

Poseidon could care less about Amphitrite. Reputation is all that mattered to him; and because he valued that so highly, the price had been paid with his daughter’s ‘disappearance’.

Too little, too late.

Taglist:

@potato-studez-hungryformore

@mallory-a-bond

@hansel-the-pierrot

@bre99-blog

@mortemorii

@myrisan-melodies

@nooneknows8976

@puffy-bangs

@onecantsimply

@nunezs-stuff

@praisethesuuun

@thatstrangesheep

@zodiacs-web

@the-dumber-scaramouche

@themoonisrising

Honorable mentions:

@deathmetalunicorn1

[chrliekclly]

if you ever want to talk about your thoughts on joyce .. Peeks over the corner of your blog. i love talking and hearing ppls thoughts on joyce sooo much even if they're different from my own!! and your analysis and stuff is always so well thought out

i hope u dont mind if i answer this publicly to take advantage of th request nd get my ideas out ther (also tyvm im happy u like my insane takes on these idiots, iv ben thinking abt them for almost 10 years)

i said a lot here so gnna 'read more' it

iv ben building trans charlie n my head fr, like i said, nearly 10 years. i used to view him as cis bcuz i always try to take as much frm th source material as i can wen i craft my HCs nd i had v personal (stupid) hangups insofar as him explicitly referring to his junk multiple times nd bottom surgery simply not being on my radar as a naive littl trans idiot deep in th sauce tht transmen oftn fall into w phallo being viewed so so poorly

evn still i leaned towards transmasc charlie nd always lovd moments tht let me imagine, for a moment, it being true, like his discomfort w taking off his shirt [hundred dollar baby, charlie kelly: king of the rats, the gang exploits the mortgage crisis, young charlie and mac deleted scenes, etc etc etc], or bonnie yelling abt ppl stealing her "charlie-girl" [the waitress is getting married] which i lovd to see as her accidentally misgendering him while drunk off her ass.

having grown out of my phallo issues (nd if ur reading this and u still view phallo super poorly, please do some research and grow too), ive in recent years fully subscribed to transmasc/nb charlie, and view his timeline something like this:

baby -> elementary: charlie refers to himself as a boy, doesnt "come out," simply has no idea he's afab. bonnie lets him dress however he wants and refers to him as asked. when charlie gets confused about his genitals, bonnie says his dick will grow in later lol, makes charlie wear a dress in public restrooms and tells him its just a game

middle: puberty hits and charlie gets confused and scared. bonnie puts him on blockers w.o explaining them ("my mom used to vaccinate me like every month" [the gang gets quarantined]) charlie goes on content and oblivious. STP acquired because hes "a late bloomer" and his dicks still not growing in?? weird. confides this in mac once, but he doesn't understand.

high: charlie finally registers that he's trans after forgetting theres a health class 1 day and not being able to skip it. throws him for a loop a bit but he becomes actively invested in his goals. he gets to start T and wants to have surgeries. "what guy hasnt done some extensive research on his own genitalia?" [mac is a serial killer]

college (aged): able to surgically transition (ty medicare) and continues on with life as we kno him now

joyce, imo, fits neatly into these views.

as a transmasc nb who came out young nd prefers to be seen as just A Guy by strangers, i grew up v vehemently against anything girly that might get me misgendered, but th more i began to 'pass,' th more @ home n my body i felt, th more and more comfortable i am w femininity, th more i wdnt mind putting on a dress, as long as th general public wd see me as "a man in women's clothes." n my mind, i prescribe something not exactly th same but v similar to charlie.

i see charlie "i dont really identify" kelly as afab and nb. i see joyce as a "character" he originally created to distance himself from the dysphoria of putting on a dress as a young trans boy, but that became part of him as the hard lines he drew in the sand as a child became blurry with age and self acceptance. charlie's comfort with himself allows joyce to evolve into a more solid persona, one he enjoys embodying and allowing to become a permanent facet of who he is. he's ok with being referred to as either. they're both him.

so maybe joyce comes out a bit more outside of the bathroom now.