#pineapple gore

[chowchulo]

Why are u crying tom its just a prank.☠️

That purple thing is so fun to draw or whatever his name is

[chicalepidoptera]

Day 8 of @vampirefest 's vfkinktober2024: Hate love making

[squibbledawg]

ight the people have spoken (again dont worry im still doing the 1st prompt after)

"I wonder if you'll scream as much as he did..."

[cheezesticks12]

Gore Pineapple 🍍 🫀

Another post about pineapples lol

[makeitmingi]

When Flowers Bloom In The Dark [Chapter 16]

Genre: Romance, Mafia!AU, Violence, Angst, Slow burn

Pairing: Hongjoong x Reader (y/n)

Characters: Florist!Reader, Mafioso!Hongjoong, Mafioso!Seonghwa, Mafioso!Yunho, Mafioso!Yeosang, Mafioso!San, Mafioso!Mingi, Mafioso!Wooyoung, Mafioso!Jongho

Summary: When you appeared and wept at his mother's funeral, Hongjoong found himself wanting to find out more about you. A regular girl, who owns a flower shop in his territory and has a relationship with the mother that he hasn't spoken to in years, why hasn't he ever noticed you before?

[Warning(s): 18+ for violence, use of weapons, smoking, alcohol consumption, slight gore, gang affiliation, tattoos and character deaths. Minors DNI. This is a work of fiction and does not represent the Ateez members in real life.]

Word count: 3.3K

"(y/n)!!!" Hongjoong heard Wooyoung's excited footsteps as he ran past the captain's office, heading down to supposedly greet you. He hadn't spoken to you since that day at the tracks and right now, he didn't really know what to say to you so maybe it was best he avoid you today again.

"I'm always apologising to her." He grumbled and slapped his forehead with a shake of his head as he typed on his keyboard.

"Good morning." You greeted an excited Wooyoung, who threw his arms around you. Luckily the driver was carrying your fragile things for you or you would have dropped it.

"Seonghwa, I made more kombucha for you. Sweetened with local honey and flavoured with hibiscus." You informed.

"Thank you, (y/n). I'm excited to see how this compares to the pineapple one you brought last time." He smiled, watching you.

"They're in here." You dug through the bag the driver was carrying for you and took out two big glass bottles. Seonghwa received them gratefully and brought them to the kitchen.

"Any goodies for me?" Wooyoung tilted his head.

"Sorry, Wooyoung." You rubbed the back of your neck. San shook his head and slapped the back of his best friend's head.

"He doesn't mean it. We'll let you get to work, (y/n)." San tugged Wooyoung away while you bowed and went to the garden. There was no sight of Hongjoong yet.

While you were starting your work, you didn't know that Hongjoong was looking at you from his office window. Luckily you never thought to look at the windows facing the garden or you would have seen him there in his office.

"Not gonna say hi?" Seonghwa asked, sipping some kombucha in his glass. Hongjoong shot him a flat look.

"Every conversation I've had with her always started with an apology from me." Hongjoong sighed as he reviewed the papers that Seonghwa just brought to him.

"I'm surprised you're the one sitting here while I'm the one working." Hongjoong scoffed.

"I just had to greet (y/n) first." Seonghwa shook his glass.

"Yeah, I know where your priorities lie, Hwa." Hongjoong rolled his eyes. Seonghwa was mentally snickering at Hongjoong's subtle sulking behaviour.

"She'll be here the whole day. Maybe go say hi to her just once while you're here." Seonghwa suggested and got up to leave.

"Hyung, we have a suspicious tailing." Yunho came to get the two oldest members.

"Where? Show us." Hongjoong frowned. Yunho handed the iPad to Hongjoong and Seonghwa that was mirroring the feed that Jongho was watching in their computer lair downstairs. There was a car that was tailing the police commissioner's car, keeping his distance but definitely following him.

"Contact the driver now. They need to stay calm and do things as per normal until we find out more of who is tailing them." Hongjoong said as the 3 of them headed down to the computer room.

"I've run the plates. Of course they're stolen but I'm trying to run traffic cams to see other possible sightings." Jongho informed.

"I'll let the commissioner know." Seonghwa took his phone out.

"Text him, don't call him. At this point, we have to assume the car is bugged." Yunho said, having just informed the commissioner's driver of what to do.

"Damn, I have my meeting." Hongjoong cursed as his phone beeped with a reminder for him.

"I can go." Seonghwa volunteered.

"No, I should go. Those rich brats have been causing too much trouble outside their parents' country club premises. I need compensation today." Hongjoong sighed.

"Hyung?" Yeosang poked his head into the computer cave, looking for Hongjoong. The captain nodded and held a hand up to wait.

"See how long the driver can drive without causing suspicion. Get Mingi to go deal with the stalkers." Hongjoong ordered those in the room before leaving the room. He went up to change into a nicer suit and grabbed his coat.

"Let's go, Yeosang." Hongjoong said, coming downstairs. As they were going to head to the basement carpark, he caught a glimpse of you working in the garden.

"Hyung? Is everything okay?" Yeosang tilted his head. Hongjoong chewed on his bottom lip.

"Yeah, come on." He nodded and went downstairs with the younger male. Since he couldn't drive yet, Yeosang was the driver.

"Mingi ah, you got the license plate?" Yunho spoke to his best friend on the phone since Mingi was out and in the area, able to go see the car that was following the commissioner's car.

"On it."

Mingi said from his end and those in the computer room could hear the revving of his engine as he sped.

"Don't confront the car yet, Mingi ah. The commissioner will be heading home now and they will follow but we believe they won't do anything. Only after he leaves, take him." Seonghwa instructed.

"Yes, hyung. I'm on it. I need eyes, there are too many cars on the street now."

"You're on the right road, Mingi hyung. You'll be taking the second exit coming up. Head in the direction of the commissioner's house, we have told the driver and the commissioner to head home. At least it is guarded there. The car will either follow them or split when they realise he's going home." Jongho said.

"Got it... Okay, I see the car. You're right, they're splitting up since they know there's a police car parked in front of the house. I'm going after them now."

With that, Mingi hung up the call. Seonghwa left Yunho and Jongho to get updates from Mingi since he had a meeting to get to too.

"Oh, Seonghwa." You bumped into him as you were coming out of the restroom.

"I'm heading out for a meeting. If you need anything, let the others know or the staff." Seonghwa smiled and you nodded your head with a slight bow as he walked to the main door.

'I temporarily forgot (y/n) was in the house. Despite all the issues coming up, let's remember to please be discreet. - Seonghwa'

Hongjoong glanced over at the message that was sent by Seonghwa and put his phone back down.

"We're very sorry, Mr Kim and Mr Kang. Please accept our apologies, our children will be disciplined." The 4 sets of parents bowed to Hongjoong and Yeosang, who remained seated with stoic expressions on their faces.

"Not good enough." Yeosang said.

"We'll pay for all the damages and more. Whatever amount you want." One of the fathers spoke up.

"You think we want money? Do I look like I need more money?" Hongjoong spoke calmly, raising an eyebrow. Yeosang merely tilted his head as he met the scared faces of the parents.

"It's sad that our generosity, letting you build your private country club here, is repaid as such." Hongjoong let out a sigh.

"We're sorry, Mr Kim." The parents all kneeled on the ground with full bows.

"The company stakes." One of the mothers gasped.

"That's more like it. Come, let's talk business." Hongjoong smirked. The two were pleased, that was what they came for. They didn't need money but company stakes gave them power.

"Please understand, we cannot make all these decisions on our own. There's still the board of directors and-"

SLAM!

Yeosang stood up, slamming his palms on the table, making the other people in the room, except Hongjoong, jump in fear. He was someone with a 'pretty' face and calm demeanour but he could be fierce and he was one of the strongest in the group, alongside Jongho and San.

"Are you giving us excuses? Would you prefer to say goodbye to one of your kids?" Hongjoong offered.

"No, please." The mothers begged for their children's lives. There was no sympathy here, these were rich children that abused their power and broke the rules.

"Go ahead, we'll give you one more chance to make an offer worthy of our time." Hongjoong smirked, gesturing to himself and Yeosang.

"Hey, (y/n)." You turned around to see Jongho standing there with a big tiered lunch box.

"Hey, Jongho. What's that?" You stood up.

"Lunch. Would you like to have lunch outside with me?" He asked. You blinked, not really expecting him to ask you that. You checked your watch, not realising it was already past noon.

"Sure." You smiled. The two of you sat in the gazebo. Jongho handed you a wet tissue to wipe your hands as he laid out the food.

"Wow, this is a lot of food." You chuckled, seeing all the food nicely arranged in the boxes.

"Hope you're hungry then." Jongho said with a smile, handing you a pair of chopsticks. It was nice and peaceful to sit with Jongho to each outside. What you didn't know was that Jongho was sent to distract you as Mingi dragged a beaten up body to the basement.

"So, have you been busy at the shop?" Jongho asked as he chewed. From the corner of his eye, he could see San helping Mingi drag the person across the main foyer.

"It's alright. Of course not as busy as holidays like Valentine's or Christmas. But I have some events coming up." You shrugged.

"You do event arrangements too?" Jongho tilted his head.

"I... try... I'm content with what I do, not like I'm looking for much publicity. But it's nice to change things up a little. Arrangements for events are so different." You chuckled.

"Take the chance to learn something new?" Jongho asked, he was now aware of your open mindedness to things.

"Yes." You giggled, taking a bite of the beef sushi that tasted absolutely delicious.

"So, tell me about your new big project then?" Jongho probed, resting his head on his hand, showing you interest. As you opened your mouth to say something, two voices emerged.

"Oh, Yunho, Wooyoung." You blinked as Yunho slid beside you and Wooyoung slid beside Jongho, taking the chopsticks out of the youngest's hands. Jongho clicked his tongue with much annoyance and slapped the back of Wooyoung's neck. But the older didn't care and started eating.

"Are you hungry, Yunho?" You asked the tall male beside you.

"No thanks, I just ate. Just came out for some fresh air. But please, continue your conversation." He chuckled, leaning against the back of the bench.

"I was just asking (y/n) here, about her new upcoming project as she branches into event arrangements." Jongho explained.

"Give me that." He snatched his chopsticks back from Wooyoung, who pouted as he chewed.

"It's nothing much, really. Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if the whole thing is a scam. But it seems like a big event, a gala of some sorts." You explained to them.

"These are the designs." You pulled up what you sent to the organiser and showed it to them on the phone.

"Wow, they're really nice! Pretty." Wooyoung complimented.

"Thank you, it's not much but I'm still learning. I'm glad the organiser approved of them. And I have my friends helping me make the different flower arrangements for the event." You informed.

"Have you ever thought to hire any help? Like a shop assistant?" Yunho asked.

"I did think about it but I don't think I would make a good boss. Managing myself has always been easy but managing someone else, being responsible for them and their pay. And there's no fixed schedule with how I work." You said.

"Nonsense, you'd make a great boss!" Wooyoung insisted.

"Maybe in the future, I'll think about it. Right now, I like my space and schedule of working and studying botany." You laughed. The three nodded, understanding where you are coming from.

"Hey, (y/n). Sorry for interrupting your conversation but guys, Hongjoong hyung needs us for a meeting." Yeosang said.

"We'll continue this." Jongho smiled as he packed up the boxes with the help of the others.

"No worries, I-I should get back to work too." You forced a smile, feeling a little weird at the mention of Hongjoong's name. So he wasn't out, he was home and probably avoiding you.

"Have a great meeting." You wished them as they waved and headed back into the house while you continued your work.

"Things are finally starting to look right." You smiled, proud of yourself as you dusted your hands.

"Hi." You jumped when Mingi's face appeared in front of yours with a cheeky grin. Being so tall, he had to lean down quite a bit in order to get to your crouched height.

"Mingi, you scared me." You placed a hand over your heart.

"Sorry! I was just curious to see what you were doing." He chuckled. On the outside, Mingi was someone that looked fierce, charismatic and confident. Frankly, all 8 of the boys were. But you have also come to learn that he was rather clumsy and scared of a lot of things, he acted like a princess sometimes.

"I finally finished repotting the plants so this is it. Everything is in the right place and should grow a lot better." You explained to him. He nodded his head, listening intently.

"Did you forget that spot then?" He tilted his head, pointing to the empty plant box on the right.

"No, I didn't. There are actually seeds there that are planted and going to grow so it's not empty like it looks." You giggled.

"Do you want to help me put the signs in?" You offered. He nodded like an excited child as you handed him a little signs that you made at home to mark the soil.

"There." You guided him on where to stick the signs into the dirt.

"Ooh, cucumbers. Wooyoung hates cucumbers." Mingi said as he read one of the signs.

"Here. You can water them too. Just go across the bed." You handed him the hose. But of course, Mingi underestimated the strength of the hose and water went everywhere.

"Mingi!" You squealed and he dropped the hose in shock, resulting in himself getting soaked too. You reached over to turn the hose off.

"Is everything okay?!" Having heard your scream, everyone else came running out, seeing you and Mingi there, drenched from head to toe. Meeting Hongjoong's worried gaze, you cleared your throat and looked away.

"Mingi ah, what did you do?" Yunho facepalmed.

"Why did you assume it was me?" Mingi asked his best friend, a betrayed look on his face.

"Because it obviously couldn't have been (y/n). You're the bumbling fool in this scenarios." Seonghwa crossed his arms, making Mingi scoff. San came over to you, draping his jacket over your shoulders.

"Thanks, San." You smiled gratefully, feeling yourself start to shiver as the cold wind blew against your drenched body.

"You should take a shower and change into some new clothes, (y/n). You'll fall ill." Yeosang said.

"I-I don't have extra clothes." You laughed awkwardly.

"It's fine, we'll find something for you. Come, let's get you out of the cold and into a nice, warm shower." Wooyoung wrapped his arm around your shoulder and led you into the house.

"Wow! Thanks for showing me concern too!" Mingi yelled as all 7 of his brothers walked into the house with you.

"Come upstairs. You can use my bathroom, it's the neatest." Seonhgwa said, much to the protest of the others there. Except Hongjoong, who stayed back and just watched. He was worried that you were hurt or would get sick but couldn't find it in him to say anything or voice any concern.

"It's okay, I'll use the bathroom downstairs." You shook your head.

"Nonsense. Go shower and we'll find you some clothes." Seonghwa led you upstairs to his room. It was such a neat and elegant space, much like how Seonghwa was as a person.

"Sorry for what Mingi did and interrupting your work." He asked as you were going to enter the bathroom.

"No need to apologise, all in good fun." You smiled softly and closed the door behind you.

It was a grand, luxurious bathroom. You removed your wet clothes and placed them in the sink, not wanting to create a puddle on the ground. But you placed your underwear on the towel warmer.

"Oh my..." You stared at the expensive soap brands that lined the shelf in Seonghwa's shower stall.

Taking a deep breath, you just took a shower like normal, following the labels on the bottles. You grabbed a spare towel from the shelf.

"I smell like Seonghwa." You chuckled as you wrapped the towel around your body and stepped out. Thankfully, there was no one in the room but you noticed an outfit laid out on the bed and the towel warmer dried your underwear.

"(y/n)!" Mingi came barrelling down the hall the moment you stepped out of Seonghwa's room. You blinked in shock, taking a small step back just in case he crashes into you.

"I am soooooo sorry!" He bowed and apologised repeatedly.

"It's okay, Mingi. It was an accident, I'm not hurt or anything. Don't worry." You patted his arm.

"So, we cool?" He winced as he held his fist out. You laughed and nodded, bumping your fist against his.

"(y/n), hand the maid your clothes. We'll wash it and dry it." Seonghwa said, coming up the stairs with a maid following behind him. You walked into the room, remembering your clothes in the sink.

"You don't have to. You can just put it in a bag and I'll bring it home to wash." You waved them off.

"No, we insist." Seonghwa nodded to the sink. The maid bowed and retrieved your clothes, disappearing before you could protest.

"Anyway, thanks for letting me use your bathroom, Seonghwa. And where ever you got these clothes." You giggled, holding the ends of the shirt that was way too big it extended past your thighs. The pants were also too big but luckily you could pull the drawstrings tight to tie a knot to help the pants stay up.

"No need to thank me just because you used my bathroom, (y/n). It's alright." Seonghwa laughed while you rubbed the back of your neck in slight embarrassment.

"Ah, I'm just wondering how to work now. I don't want to dirty these clothes." You sighed.

"If there's no rush, you can just do it next time, (y/n). Or if you want to work, I'm sure Hongjoong won't mind." Seonghwa said.

"Oh... These are Hongjoong's..." You said slowly in realisation. Seonghwa nodded with a hum. He opened his mouth to say something until his phone rang in his pocket.

"Excuse me." He held a finger up and stepped aside to answer the phone.

"Miss, have some tea." The butler came over with a friendly smile, placing a cup of tea on the coffee table.

"Thanks..." You sat on the couch, alone in the living room. Now knowing who the clothes belonged to, you noticed how much they smell like Hongjoong.

"(y/n). Are you alright?" Speak of the devil, Hongjoong stood there. He cleared his throat as you put the tea cup down and stood up. For some reason, you felt so small under his gaze even though you had nothing to feel guilty about.

"Thanks for lending me your clothes, I'll wash them and return them as soon as my clothes are dry." You bowed to thank him.

"It's fine, (y/n). There's no rush for the clothes. Don't worry about it." He shook his head.

"If that's all, maybe I shouldn't take up more of your time." You forced a smile. It was starting to get awkward and you wanted to get away from this.

"No, wait. You're not... Can we talk? ...Please." Hongjoong asked.

~

Series masterlist

[s3thwrit3sstuff]

*pulls the 45 cents I have to my name out of my pocket and drops them on your table*

I can't believe my name will be forever attached to this but one (1) Kenjaku solo session with Heianera!YN portrait, please

❝ life and death will always lead to love and regret (but you have the answers, and I have the key) ❞

Kenjaku x Heain Era!ftm!reader [one-sided] | Heian Era!ftm!reader x Sukuna Ryomen | r! is a curse-user & sukuna ryomen's concubine, NSFW | sub. bottom. reader (AFAB) | NOT PROOFREAD | wc: 4.1K

warnings: creepy/stalker behaviour, Kenjaku is a 'passive'-yandere (in the sense that Sukuna would and will kill him if he tried anything), manipulative behaviour, gore (detailed), Kenjaku jerking off in front of a portrait of r!, very unrequited

authors note: don't be ashamed, Gabriel. I got way too excited writing this and I think that speaks volumes on how I need to get checked, LMAO. On another note - yes, my YN's will always have a harem of men in the JJK-verse because that's what YN (and you, my dear reader) deserve!

I wrote this partially on my phone so bear with me guys...

*song on repeat: Bernadette by IAMX & Rule #34 by Fish in a Birdcage. * YN is described as having long hair because of the heian beauty standard (hair colour and texture not mentioned).

People often compared the years they lived as sand. The hourglass holding it is comparable to the human body. He often thought that metaphor was weak. People — humans — were not hourglasses and their years were not sand. No, no. That’s far too neat for humans.

Humans are messy. They are loud, and chaotic, they defy nature's rules and destroy her for the sake of progress. They had no balance, their compass broke when the synapses in their brains sparked conscious thought.

In that chaos, humans made curses. Or, well, you could argue it who came first but without humans and their silly consciousness — cursed spirits wouldn’t thrive.

People are flesh left under the sun. With their blood drying out, flies and maggots eagerly feast on what they can while the meat greys and rots. That’s a much more appropriate metaphor for a human life. If anything, the hourglass comparison should be used for himself. Constantly turning it over to keep going; uncaring of what kept the sands in confinement so long as it could continue its path.

Down, almost empty, flip, repeat.

Kenjaku had perfected his cursed techniques. He had earned this, he had earned his right to let his curiosities run rampant. He had earned the right to be in the presence of Sukuna Ryomen and you.

“Yuuji, you still owe me for eating my yoghurt from the fridge. It was expensive and it took so long for me to find it!” Nobara huffed. “You might as well just buy some for yourself. I’m labelling my food now.”

Megumi glanced over his shoulder at the lack of reply from the pink-haired boy. Nobara stopping next to him with her brows furrowed, sighing as she looks around for him.

“...I was just talking to myself? Seriously?” she grumbled. Megumi adjusts his grip on the bags. The grocery trips were a good team-building exercise according to Yuuji, a way to get to know each other better. Megumi and Nobara agreed after a particularly harsh mission that aimed directly at their novice team fighting experience.

So far, the results that were yielded from it were found that Nobara had an aversion to pineapples, Megumi had expensive tastes, and Yuuji was very good at budgeting money.

“No, he was right beside you a few minutes ago,” Megumi reached for his phone. Nobara placed her hands on her hips, tilting her head as she continued to scan the crowd.

A gaggle of businessmen came out from the underground train station and between the crowd of slicked-back hair, desperate combovers, and sweaty bald heads, she spotted him.

Tugging on Megumi’s sleeve, she pointed to him. Yuuji was standing and staring up at some sort of vertical banner. As they both approached, they shared a glance.

“Oi, Itadori,” Nobara placed a hand on his shoulder. Smacked it really. He didn’t budge. There was a dullness to his eyes that unnerved her enough to remove her hand. Megumi tightened his grip on his phone as he called out to him again. She took a look at the banner and her brows furrowed.

It was promoting an opening of someone’s private gallery. Some rich kid’s great-great-grandfather’s collection. The painting they used was of a true beauty. A man with long hair, dressed in the finest robes with a serene barely-there smile. It looked to be more European in nature, the art reminding her of the portraits of giant frilly dresses and puffy shoulder sleeves despite the obviously Japanese clothing, accessory, and manner in which the subject was regaled in the painting.

The banner must have costed a pretty penny considering how much detail they could see. Megumi could practically feel the raised textures the artist had used to mimic the pattern of the traditional robe the man wore. The flow of his hair, the texture and pattern it had; and his lashes were surely not that long in reality.

Megumi tore his gaze to Yuuji.

It was like he was in a trance. His mouth was slightly ajar, his brows furrowed and his hands shaking as his knuckles turned white.

“Itadori?”

Yuuji had long forgotten this. This ache in his chest that he sometimes woke up with. When he reaches for the empty space next to him and finds no one. Those moments in the basement when he watches a historical movie and his chest tightens as the nobles courted one another.

“Do you know the painter or something?” Nobara asks.

No, he wants to say. Not the painter. If he knew who it was that did this portrait, he’d tear their heads off their body. But the man? He knew him.

That hellish grin, that perfect face and most importantly those nightmarish eyes.

You’ve seen dolls, right? Those porcelain ones specifically. The craftsmen who make them, the expensive ones with real human hair. To be left on shelves instead of being played with. They would draw these white dots on the eyes, varnish them even, so their eyes would reflect back. A mimicry of humans, that’s what dolls are. But even then, their eyes still twinkled. Not this man. No. It was devoid of light. Pools of (eye colour) and nothing more. These eyes would swallow up any trace of light and diminish the stars from the sky with just a glance.

Yuuji knew him. His soul knew him. His hand clutches over his heart and his friends watch this with trepidation.

It’s been 2,000 years. Sukuna was no longer human and therefore his memory was not as fickle. He still remembers those moments before dawn; the sight of your bare torso breathing softly as you rested next to him. The sun filtering through the windows and making you appear even more ethereal and deadly. How your brows would pinch seconds before you woke. Those soulless eyes that shot through his very soul.

Sukuna could recognize you even if he was blind. He’d be able to hear you just by feeling your chest rumble. If he had to eat one thing for the rest of his life, your body and flesh would sustain him.

In his Malovent Shrine, whilst he sat on his throne, he’d summon his flames in his palm. There he’d watch as your figure danced across his hand. You’d twirl between his digits, a smile across your face as he watches the imitation of you.

It used to be enough. Lately, the action brings him more contempt then fondness. The flames never quite catch your shape anymore. Constantly shifting. That coyness is gone, mini-you petulantly staying hidden behind his fingers. So he snuffs you out in his fists.

He hates you for making him miss you. A King should not be missing anyone or anything. Yet, as his vessel stands here, Sukuna teeters on the edge of breaking the Unbreakable Vow he’d made with the brat just to gaze upon you.

The painter got your resemblance and it was agony for him.

How could he continue to be without you when he’s seen you again? Days ago, he wanted to kill you for making him delirious and now he wants you back in his arms.

“Itadori.” Megumi’s tone is firmer. Nobara smacks his shoulder again and Yuuji jolts forward, nearly falling until his rigid legs quickly come back to life.

“Huh?”

“Are you alright?” Megumi asks, his thumb hovering over the DIAL button of Gojo Satoru’s number. Yuuji glances at his wrinkled shirt and releases it, confusion painted across his face at the fading pain across his chest.

“I...yeah, yeah. I'm okay. I have no idea what that was....”

Rich bodies made life significantly easier.

What was that saying humans used?

Money can’t buy happiness?

Kenjaku chuckles at the thought. Foolish and vain — typical of humans. Clinging onto whatever they can to convince their egos they’re better than most when they’ll all meet the same fate. Kenjaku forgets the exact point where he stopped seeing himself as one of them, but he’s sure anyone would if you’ve lived as long as him. Apathy. Most call it a disease of selfishness. Kenjaku simply thinks they’re lying to themselves.

“Mr Geto?” the gallery was a lucrative endeavour. A piece in his grand scheme that required little effort but great rewards. More personal gain on his end.

“Mr Hajimoto mentioned you specifically in his will. The private room is all yours. Thank you so much for your donation to this fine institution of arts.” Kenjaku offers the man a polite smile and nod. The awkward silence prompts them to open the large doors and Kenjaku is greeted by you.

(Y/N) (L/N). In all your glory. In his favourite colours and his favourite kanza. The bespoke lighting on your portrait makes his hands fall limply to his side. You were a brushstroke away from taking a breath. The colours used to recreate that undertone your skin had, the delicate curves of your lashes and the plumpness of your lip.

The two guards in the corner of the room are a nuisance. But with a simple twirl of his right hand, the Slit-Mouthed Woman makes quick work of them. This curse technique was truly convenient, the mess she made cleaned up by a different curse who laps at the blood with vigor. The noises are all muffled as he admires those vicious eyes.

Just saying your name makes warmth travel down between his legs.

“I’ve almost forgotten how you look like.”

Silence ticks by for a minute.

Then Kenjaku bursts into laughter. Clutching his stomach and covering his mouth as he does. He can still smell your blood. Even if Suguru’s body had never had the pleasure of touching you — Kenjaku remembers it.

The way it flowed out of you like silk ribbons. Warm and wet and virile.

“You are an unusual sorcerer,” those were the first words you said to him. He knows you meant that in a derisive fashion — the curl of your nose was a clear indicator. But that was the day a feverish need was planted inside of his very soul.

You. You. You.

The shape of your face.

The cadence of your voice.

The way the wind carried your scent to his nose.

The sound of your cat-like foot-steps.

The effortless way you carried yourself despite the heavy robes that a revered concubine of your rank would wear, along with the golden hair accessories that would probably break a lesser man's neck.

It didn't stop there either.

Your brain, the wickedness that ran through your very veins and that fire that burns within you. Kenjaku wanted to be inside of you in every he could fathom. To sit within that perfectly shaped skull, to thread his fingers between the locks of your hair and take a scalpel to that skin he so craves to taste. Or perhaps inside in the traditional sense, between your legs, embraced by your warm insides and your deadly arms.

Kenjaku ponders on the time he has. He decides that he should indulge in you. He undoes the robes this body wore and sighs as it reveals the torso. Bodies were all the same but he does appreciate the care Geto Suguru took into his temple — there was no need for shame when he's already desecrated this corpse so viscerally already. His hands travel down his torso and that pronounce v-line and past the patch of wiry pubic hair.

You make him feel young again. Reckless and stubborn. Your eyes watch him as he leisurely spits into his palm and strokes it over the tip.

Evil is such a lame word. So primitive in its nature, another one of human's attempts at letting go of responsibility. If something or someone were evil, they were inherently irredeemable. Humans used to call snakes evil simply for doing what a snake would do when hungry, instead of realising they shouldn't have left the door to their huts opened and their sleeping brat asleep.

Was something evil when it simply did what it was meant to do?

They were simply following natures course.

This act Kenjaku is doing now, is not perverted or evil, he is simply being. Simply living, existing, relishing.

If anything, you were the undoing. The evil. You've made, and continue to make, him lose crave and hunger. You were so cruel, so ethereal — so evil.

Kenjaku groaned your name, walking backwards and dropping onto the low seat the gallery provided. His legs spread and he hung his head down but his eyes remained affixed to your painting.

"He sounds beautiful, Mr Hajimoto," the blonde painter had told him once or twice or thrice. Young but talented, the way he used his brushes on canvas was so impressive and Kenjaku missed you so much (Y/N). He simply had to spread the wickedness of your beauty, immortalize it forever within canvases and lesser non-sorcerers minds.

"Did you know him?" his accent was clunky, the Japanese language tumbling on its delicate legs following the rhythm of the painters voice. Still, he — Mr Hajimoto, Kenjaku — gave him a gentle grin.

"Very well. He was my lover."

The small notebook the painter had written your features down in, it was displayed in this very room as well. In a glass casing, handled with gloves to ensure pesky skin oils wouldn't deteriorate his inked strokes.

Speaking of strokes, Kenjaku's was beginning to pick up it's pace. His smile now looser, like an animal that caught the scent of blood, his tongue curled over his teeth as he imagined the disgust on your face. You'd probably cover your nose with the sleeve of your robe and the thought makes his cock jump; you were wearing his favourite colours and it made him moan.

The notebook was filled with sketches of you. Kenjaku recalls correcting the human, correcting him when he disrupted the harmony of your anatomy. You were the humans muse for years, (Y/N). Even as he neared his death bed, the blonde artist kept drawing you. Sketches lose, your shape less tangible, but hauntingly beautiful. Like your dark flames flowing in the wind. Even as his memories of his life escapes him, the artist remembered you. What a blessing. Kenjaku had visited him before he died and whispered your name into the old man's ear.

Sorcerer Society keeps your name hidden. It's their way of control. Making Sukuna Ryomen more monstrous by telling others he ruled coldly and cruelly alone; death was not as harsh as being erased. They say Sukuna needed 20 of his fingers and his mummified heart to be revived. That's what those poems talked about after all.

A misunderstanding.

The heart was Sukuna's, yes.

But it wouldn't revive him.

"You were so angry," he chuckled out, "so defiant even when I was inside of you."

The sky was blood red, the black smoke making the colour more saturated as it seemed intent on blotting out the sun. Uraume had felt a sudden chill, you did too, and they swiftly rose as the scent of deceit was so thick in the air.

“Uraume,” your voice remained nonchalant. But there was a tenseness in your throat that even they could decipher through the layers of regality. They turned, mouth pressed into a thin line as they went on their knees.

You continued to stare, impassively looking down at the patterned swirl of their snow-white hair. The red and black sky turning the colour of your eyes a pleasantly mournful shade; the golden kanza in your hair that your Lord Sukuna himself had commissioned for you glimmered righteously. The teeth of a beast, the curling of centipede legs, and the melded wings of a raven. It was beautiful just as much as it was unusual.

“You leave your Lord’s prized possession to fend for himself?”

Uraume lips reveal a modest amount of teeth. Their face like a porcelain doll as they raise their head. It makes your heart flutter and squeeze.

“You are stronger than these worms, they wouldn’t dare attack you.”

This is true. A fact. You were strong. 100 sorcerers or 1, 000 sorcerers — it made no difference to you. They’d turn into dust and wither right before you. But it shocks Uraume when you place your palm against their jaw, thumb stroking over their cheekbone as you gaze down at them.

“How horrid it is, making me defend myself.”

They see your eyes soften. It was no wonder you were Lord Sukuna’s concubine. Just being touched by you, looked down upon by you; it makes their spine melt.

“I should have your head for your insolence.”

Uraume apologizes, lips stilling when your thumb presses down on them.

“Return to me. Whole. My Lord Husband and I will not be pleased if you do not. We don’t want weaklings to stand behind us.”

Uraume bows, their lips kissing your knuckles as they do before they raise and disappear from your sight. The screams of terror that are heard outside at the sight of them make you slip your eyes close.

Kenjaku appeared before you what felt like hours later. He looks at the scene with a raise of his brow. Your feet were soaked in blood as bodies were strewn across the wide room. The floor was shimmering, looking as though it was breathing as it creaked from his weight. The clothes the bodies wore painted a clear enough picture — they were your servants. Loyalties were swayed as the fight prolonged. These little ants thought they could save themselves from punishment if they showed these righteous sorcerers your head.

He couldn’t smell smoke and there were no signs of charring. The bodies were mangled beyond belief, guts spilling out, eyes gouged, arms bent unnaturally.

Yet, in the gore and horror, you stood across from him with only your feet stained by traitorous blood.

You were a vision. Delicately wiping away blood from the tiger claw kanza with the sleeve of a dead servant. Then, he watches as you carefully put it back in place atop your hair.

“Kenjaku.”

He bows his head, bending at his waist, then lifts himself up again.

“The Kamo clan, your clan, joined this rebellion. I feel that should be a good enough reason to kill you.” The fire in your eyes makes his heart race. He moves forward, casually stepping over a torn torso.

“That would be unwise,” he gives you a grin. This body of his is new. The stitches are still fresh and red. Most likely a desperate attempt of his to hide away while they destroyed his old body. The corpse is younger, and more plain-looking. Despite it’s Curse Technique being a mystery, you’ll take your chances at strangling him.

“I’ve come at the behest of your Lord Husband. To ensure your longevity.”

Your brows pinch. Kenjaku delights at the creases it creates, tucking away this sight into his memories for lonely nights. Then, you scowl.

“You lie.”

His giddiness is palpable. The wide grin on the corpse’s face is clearly not his own; cheeks lifted too high and smile too large and unnatural. Kenjaku must’ve been a truly ugly man with a truly ugly grin. The body struggles to adjust to this display of amusement.

“I’m not.”

He takes a step forward and you lift your hand. The standstill would’ve lasted longer if it weren’t for the yells and thunderous footsteps clambering up to your room.

“You lie!”

Dark flames roared out from the windows. The heat so smoldering it causes a burst of hot air to knock back the men on the stairs, burning their skin and face. The blood on the floor boils, the iron scent now more acidic as the once fleshy bodies now crumble into dust.

You feel his breathe against the nape of your neck. As you turn, he wrings his arms around you like a snake. One across your stomach, the other around your shoulder. That horrible smile is pressed against your skin.

“Kenjaku,” you growl through gritted teeth.

“That’s right. Say my name.”

Fighting feels a lot like sex.

Kenjaku can feel your passion behind every strike, the bruises you leave behind on his skin are akin to hickeys. When you yell out and scream, cheeks so hot he can feel the rush of blood to your face just from looking — the rapid pulse you have and the way your face is contorted.

Kenjaku pins you down. Your legs are thrown over his own while you gnash your teeth at him and spit insults his way. Your hair was so beautiful, thrown back around your head like a lion’s mane. He slides your wrists above your head and holds them with one hand while the other undoes the meticulous array of folds your kimono had.

Sweat drips down his nose. It’s all your fault. Using your Curse Technique in this room, charring the wood and setting it all aflame. Still, he could work in this conditions.

“Ah,” he moans at the sight of your bare skin. Watching the rise and fall of your chest, licking his lips as he places a hand over your heart.

When you kick at his stomach, he acts like he cannot feel it. When you kick again, this time hard enough for a loud crack to be heard, he looks at you.

“If you kill me, you will break the Binding Vow you and Ryomen had made with me.”

He feels your feet dig into his rib, the spiderwebs of cracks spreading further. He allows this with a pleased hum. Your ragged breathing all at once calms and with a blink, your eyes lose that unbridled fury.

“You dare say my Lord’s name so casually?”

Kenjaku laughs. As he leans down, he presses his forehead to yours. Your nose curls in disgust but you keep your lips pursed. The feeling of his sweat sliding down the sides of your forehead and dipping to travel the side of your nose; threatening to get into your eyes as it slips just beneath it.

“Forgive me, venerable concubine.” Kenjaku does not mean this. When he presses his fingers together and imbues his hand with Curse Energy. He enjoys it.

Slicing through your skin at a pace that made the cut more ghastly then it would be if it was done quickly. You remained stone-faced while Kenjaku chewed on his lower lip, every twitch or squint just fueling his hunger.

He is past your skin and now he sees the yellow, when he twists his wrist you grunt as he slices through the threads of muscles. He spreads his fingers and your teeth part as you let out a strained yell.

"You can be louder if you want," his lips brush against your cheek every time he speaks.

"When I return, I'll take pleasure in ripping your head off your body."

"Threatening me?"

He reaches bone. His finger scratching against it before he peels away and settles between your legs. Your hands aren't pinned but you do nothing but curl your fingers into fists as he shoves another hand into your chest. The squelching and pulsing of your flesh, the bursts of blood from your throbbing veins and pumping heart. The wetness and warmth of your insides. He can feel your body clenching around him, and he convinces himself its because you truly enjoy this depravity just as he does.

The size of his hands in your chest is unbearably uncomfortable. Invading you, filling you when you want nothing more than to burn him, as he moves his digits and wrists within you.

He grasps onto your bones and breaks it under the pressure of his wrist. Your blood is spraying him, staining his clothes.

"Your blood looks like ribbons," he whispers to you, "even your insides are like works of art."

You want this to be over with already.

Your arms move down, eyes still set in a glare. You slip your fingers under the soaked clothing and spread it apart further to reveal more of your skin. Shimmying your shoulders so your torso is now bare of any clothing.

The tent between his legs pressed into your crotch. It's hard to ignore, but you push through and grasp onto his elbow and force him to go in deeper.

"Promising you."

Kenjaku's elbow straightens sharply and he moans as he feels your heart beating in his palm. He pulls it out of your body, panting as your eyes slip close and your heart slows. Beating slowly...slowly...slowly...

Kenjaku moans at the memory of your heart in his hands. Your warm blood coating his skin, drying under his nails and crackling in the creases of his joints.

"I wanted to keep you on me forever," he grunts out as his pace gets faster. "The smell of you, of your flesh."

"I didn't need your body, but it was too beautiful not to be admired."

Kenjaku throws his head back, placing his palm across his nose and lips as he sifts through his memories so he can conjure it all over again.

The painting watches on impassively. The croons and purrs of Geto Suguru's cursed spirits echo faintly in Kenjaku's ears while his hips thrusts into his own fist. It's desperate. He usually isn't like this. Even when he was creating the Death Womb Paintings — even when his plans are so close to coming into fruition.

You make him like this. Make him lose control, every thought poisoned with you even when you're nothing more than a mummified heart hidden so desperately away by Sorcerer Society.

"I've gotten a lead," Uraume had informed him just a few days ago. "They've hidden him in the ocean in an underwater research facility."

"Underwater, hah, they think it'll keep your flames contained. Keep your loyal servant away as if the depths of the ocean is enough to scare them, us — Oh, (Y/N)."

His fist stops and Kenjaku stands, removing his clothing fully as he places a hand against the wall of the gallery. The textured wall, the grooves, give way to his nails as he digs them in. He stares into your eyes, imagining the crease of your furrowed brow and Kenjaku groans out your name as he cums all over the wall.

"...Oh, I can't wait to see you again, venerable concubine."

[str8rat]

ISAT / FEAR AND HUNGER AU

WARNING BLOOD/GORE (BLURRED)

WARNING!! This post contains topics such as really bad relations with food, gore, eating disroders, cannibalism, death by stomach rupturing due to eating too much after starving oneself, extreme (deadly) allergic reactions leading to death, etc

This post is mainly dedicated to explaining Siffrin's eating habits during the loops, below you may find three unrelated situations

~ ~ ~

SIFFRIN'S COMPLICATED RELATIONSHIP WITH FOOD I;

The party finds themselves running out of food during their journey across the country. Days away from the nearest town, and with no animals or plants to forage due to the harsh winter, tensions rise. Odile, with her usual dry humor, smugly suggests that one of them could sacrifice a limb to keep the rest alive. The joke falls flat, given Isabeau’s already missing arm, causing her to quickly backtrack and apologize. However, the grim reality remains—such desperate measures aren't beyond the realm of possibility if their situation worsens.

Fortunately, they manage to reach the next town, exhausted and starving, but intact—no limbs lost to cannibalism! Food scarcity becomes even more pressing once they reach Dormont and enter the House, with Siffrin beginning his time loop journey.

At some point, Siffrin quietly stops eating altogether, insisting his portion go to his companions to prevent them from making desperate choices. Especially since his body seems to reset each loop, aside from the scars from each death. But his hunger, paired with his deteriorating mental state, begins to wear on him.

Dark, cannibalistic urges begin to gnaw at his mind, warping his thoughts, with intrusive thoughts haunting him every time he thinks about his own hunger. Due to him burning more calories than the rest of the party, the Wish Craft eating off on him, he also gets hungry much more quickly, and yet still tries to refrain from eating and "wasting resources."

During one of the loops, those thoughts overcome him. He tackles a party member to the ground, sinking his teeth into their arm in a horrific frenzy. But before the reality of what he’s done fully sinks in, time bends—resetting to just before the incident. It leaves Siffrin shaken, aware of how low he's fallen, how disgusting he is, borderline unforgivable, unable to meet any of his party member's eyes, haunted by the thoughts that still linger.

SIFFRIN'S COMPLICATED RELATIONSHIP WITH FOOD II;

Yet, not everything resets perfectly. Over time, Siffrin’s body begins to show signs of lasting damage from the loops, even aside from the obvious scars he recieves from each of his deaths. His stomach, weakened and shrunken from eating little to nothing, can no longer handle the amount of food his worried sick companions insist he eats during one loop.

His stomach, unable to bear the strain, ruptures, leading to a slow, agonizing death right in the middle of what was supposed to be their safe Snack Break Room.

After the loop resets again, Siffrin refuses to eat more than the bare minimum, terrified of re-living the same, agonizing experience again.

SIFFRIN'S COMPLICATED RELATIONSHIP WITH FOOD III;

Siffrin's discovery of his allergy to pineapple happens in the worst possible way—through a deadly, firsthand experience. Despite Loop's warning, he either forgets or dismisses it in a moment of carelessness, a mistake that comes with a devastating price.

The moment the acidic sweetness of the pineapple touches his tongue, an invisible force seems to clamp down on his throat. He feels the sudden constriction, his body instinctively trying to expel the fruit, but it’s too late. Siffrin’s throat begins to close rapidly. Panic takes hold as he gags, desperately attempting to spit out the fruit.

His body jerks, muscles tense, but nothing happens. He can’t breathe. His chest heaves in a futile effort to pull in air, but all that follows is a hollow, suffocating silence. His vision blurs as he just barely makes out his party trying to somehow help him, but it's hopeless.

While Bonnie is frozen in horror, eyes wide and glassy with unshed tears, as they watch their friend slowly suffocate because of the pineapple THEY gave him, Isabeau tries to hold Siffrin up the best he can, Mirabelle pushing Healing Craft after Healing Craft into his body in desperate hopes of it working. It does not. Odile, always the snarky and knowledgable, is frozen now, shaky hands hovering over the younger's body, her mind racing as she tries to recall any spell, any remedy, but all she can do is watch as Siffrin’s face turns a sickly shade of blue.

But then, as if in some cruel twist of fate, the loop resets. Siffrin is alive again, gasping for breath as he finds himself back in time—just moments before he made the fatal mistake. His hand hovers shakily over the plate of pineapple, the memory of suffocating fresh and vivid in his mind.

As his party questions if he's okay, if something happens, he is quick to put on a dismissing smile, face pale as he brushes it off. He reaches for the madeleines this time, trying to ignore his stomach churning in protest, as he forces himself to swallow the pastry.

mmmm yummy yummy yummy

[cowgirlcherrie]

georgia canned peaches — ⋆｡°✩ 🐎 cowboy! ellie

pairing: cowboy! hitwoman! ellie x black! fem! reader. wc: 5.0K

synopsis: on the run was Tennessee’s peach, who trades a life of discomfort for security with a Texan stranger

warnings: 18+, MDNI! mommy issues, slight religious trauma if you squint, heavy touching, ellie has an accent, mentions of death and loneliness, heavily inspired by Bones and All ( minus the c*nnibalism and gore), dom! ellie, domestic! ellie, heavy use of petnames (peach, sweetness, sugar, doll), stranger danger lowkk…, mostly angst with a dash of fluff, mentions of weapons, killing, black feminine coded reader, running away, taking care of injuries, injured ellie (so mention of blood, bleeding),

━━━ ♪ peach & georgia by kevin abstract

a/n: heyy everyone!! here's a quick lengthy one-shot for cowboy-ish Ellie! if you enjoy it babis my ask button is open and I'm always accepting requests if you want headcanons, etc, but enjoy!! ⊹˚. ♡⊹˚. ♡

✧˖°.

Mama didn’t raise no bitch! Or a conniving little thief either. 

You tested that theory. Your hands became sticky with anything remotely flashy. Perhaps that was how you found out how to survive on your own. Times like this you wondered where you would be if your mama had just been a perfect Mary Sue. Made dinner, taught you how to wash your clothes and braid your hair, tucked you in at night, and just maybe taught you how to be better than a man. But now you were alone, in the hot Texan heat, and it felt like a smack to the face. Similar to her handprint the night she let you loose and hissed that you are on your own. You didn’t wanna cover the bills anymore or hear her bullcrap about how it was Adam and Eve — not Eve and Eve. You grew tired, and so did your feet that seemed to get you as far as you were now. Perhaps it wasn’t smart to smash your piggy bank taking the $500 dollars you spent bussing tables to go and a messenger duffle that could fit 3 heads. No plan either, which was significantly negligent, but your sticky fingers got you farther than you ever could, and they made sure you were fed. 

That would explain why you were stealing in a gas station grocery. Crouched by the nonperishables stuffing anything and everything into the duffle bag. Georgia peaches, check. Canned pineapple, check. Dried beans and nuts, double-check. You weren’t exactly careful, but the place loomed with unfamiliar faces who certainly were too full of themselves to stop you. So you kept going, a first aid kit for the bruises that were forming on your knees and sewing material to fix the rip in your jacket. Well not your jacket, but your dad's jacket. Brown thick cotton over your shoulders to cover the long dress you were in, it was a smart decision. The jacket kept you warm on the desert nights, and it made home in your hands during the day. The little pockets are perfect for stuffing loads of crap you don’t need. With the crack of another can hitting the floor, it paralleled a shiny brown boot. Drenched in leather and gold detailing as it smacked the tile. Left foot – right foot – left again. Your eyes followed the trail of feet, ignoring the can that rolled away from you as a hand reached down to pick it up. A roughened, bloody, feminine freckled hand. Now the mystery girl was looming over your figure, in an authoritative stance, as if her ego had been bigger than her height itself. But she was also bleeding. Her right arm clenched to her hip as blood seeped between her fingers. 

“Yers’ drop somethin’ peach?” The accent sent a shiver up your spine. It was thick and unfamiliar but maybe the word peach, at the end masked her roughness. You now made eye contact with the girl, green eyes looming into yours as you shakily took the can of peaches.

“M’sorry that was my bad,” you mumbled taking the peaches back and tucking them into your chest. You couldn’t slip it back into your bag now, next thing you know she would yell THIEF! and drag you by your collar to the front counter. But the woman was in such poor shape to do so, her freckled face wincing ever so slightly with every movement her body made. She was a cowgirl, you’ve heard all about them in the papers but didn’t take them for the real deal. Her hat told you all you need to know, brown to match her thick belt and blue bell bottoms. Oh, she was the real deal.

“Could ya be a doll n’ grab me a kit” The woman groaned out, pushing her body weight in front of you. Her standing position contrasted yours that was crouched down, at eye level with the material. “You’s a real catch ya know? Put the peaches back in. I know you were stealin’” This made you freeze. Fuck!Fuck!Fuck! Your brain shouted you were screwed.

Your hands now moved slower reaching for the kit in front of you, and you suddenly realized how overly close the woman was to you. Almost blocking your field of vision from anything to your left. You ignored her statement, as you shakily lifted the first aid kit to her hands. 

“Peach…you are a delight, but now you listen,” The woman didn’t take the kit, “A camera has been pointed at ya for the past 5, and now you got Tina’ at counter watchin’ ya. You are gonna live up to bein’ delightful and pay for this one thing” The woman was scrounging in her pocket and you took the moment of silence to think to yourself, you had barely any money. $500 was something you needed to make stretch.

“What?”

“I don’ take you for a fool, I’m Ellie, and I mean no harm.” Ellie took off her hat placing it over the left side of her chest at her heart, giving you a simple nod before putting the dusted brown hat back on her head. Ellie this time put a stained $10 bill on top of the first aid kit that had been suspended in the air by your hand. This action made you stand up – eye level with this time. Noticed the girl has a height to her, her figure looming over you as you stood.

“Give me the bag [what?] your bag sweetness! we don’t got all day, dammit I’m hurt” Ellie stated bluntly. There was no more time for jokes or stealing any more Georgia canned peaches. There were better things to worry about. Like the fact that you can go to jail for stealing and Ellie who was bleeding out in front of you. You slid your brown bag off your shoulder handing it to Ellie who swung it over her left shoulder. 

“Go see Tina with ‘er blonde hair, act sweet, say your visitin’ family. If they ask, say the Williams Ranch, she’ll give you no hard time” Ellie started as she was giving you instructions, “When ya finish, keep the change, meet me at my car I’ll be outside. You get your bag – I fix my wound, and you get the fuck outta town.” Ellie finished. This time her look was stern, and aggressive as if she was testing you. Testing your loyalty, your honesty, your act. She wanted to see how you worked under pressure, she wanted you to suffocate from fear. All you could do is nod, swallowing harshly, as Ellie turned her body walking down the Isle to your left.

You took the initiative to make your way to ‘Tina’. Ellie was right, the blonde had been suspicious of you. Asked you all the questions that Ellie said she would, but she backed off once you mentioned the Williams Ranch. Handing you the exact change of 0.50 cents and a hospitable smile, saying “Have a great day.” Tina’s defensiveness changed with one simple title. This made you wonder how much authority Ellie had over the place, questions flooding through your brain as you pushed the door and walked out, being met with the setting sun.

The sun was getting low, and there wouldn’t be a motel for another mile out. Sure you could do the walk but you weren’t guaranteed anything. A whistle brought you out of your trance, belonging to Ellie who this time had a toothpick between her cushioned pink lips, as her body leaned against a ran down red car, with muddied wheels. You jogged over this time seeing that your bag was missing from her shoulders rather this time in the passenger seat of her car. 

“Here you go, what you asked.” You pushed the first aid kit into her hands like you’d done back in the store. Ellie mumbled a thank you, as she nibbled on the toothpick. This time, taking the kit and putting it on the hood of the car. 

“Yous’ as quiet as a mouse, but orders ya take well…Peach could you help me patch up, I ensure you a place to stay and food in return – all comfort no lies…” It took you time to think about it. What did people call this…southern hospitality? She was sweet to you despite not really knowing you but the situation was still tit for tat. You do for me, I do for you. Wax on, Wax off. You weren’t gonna say no to a place to crash, where you didn’t have to worry about the faucet being broken or water barely coming out because the bill wasn’t paid. You were certain her bills were paid. 

“Yes, please…uh thank you!” You exclaimed as you began to dig through the box, taking out a bottle of water from your coat pocket, also stolen using it as a hand wash and something to clean the area, temporarily where the wound is. “doncha thank me just yet, you’re just getting started, peach.”

 Ellie was surprisingly still gentle with you, taking her time to crouch into the backseat of the car, while you sat next to her with the kit on the center console. Ellie took her time to untuck the white button-down shirt, as her hands shakily fiddled with the buttons. Due time, her snail speed started to irritate you making you smack her hands away doing it yourself. The exchange was silent, but you preferred it to keep the awkwardness at bay. Ellie shook off her white button down, leaving her in a white tank top — Ellie this time took the initiative to roll the tank top up to right below her boobs allowing you to wince at the large gash on her hip.

“Holy Sh—”

“I wouldn’t say that—”

“Not my first Rodeo” Ellie continued as you poured water on the wound making Ellie grit her teeth. Tilting her head back as whimpers left her mouth at the sudden coldness. All of it was hard to do when you’re in the back of a car trying to patch up a borderline dead woman. But before you could ask any questions, Ellie took the initiative to do it herself. 

“W-Where you headed, whats yer’ story?” Ellie grimaced through the pain as she held her head against the headrest, pants escaping her lips at an alarming rate. “God…I’m sorry,” You hesitated, you couldn’t even answer one simple question, your hands shaking at the blood that was covering your hands as it just wasn’t slowing down.

“Jeez– I hope a lil’ blood don’t scare you peach, I woulda done it myself baby,” Ellie hissed, trying to stay moderately sweet as she was now gripping onto the door handle, her right hand finding its way to your thigh, squeezing for the endless support. That’s when you noticed her tattoo, a death’s-head hawkmoth, and vines. Beautiful, yet chaotic, she had a story. Ellie squeezed again your thigh again making you look back at her. “Eyes up here baby [sorry] where [shit] ya’ from?” You couldn’t lie, the rifle at the back of her car taunting you. If she wanted to kill you she certainly would have done it by now. She wasn’t a threat, and she proved that in the store.

“I’m from Tennessee, I’ve been traveling on foot. I’m runnin’ away” You confessed as Ellie nodded her head in response, Your accent was slight, barely noticeable making more sense in Ellie’s head at why you struck her as different. Your beautiful brown skin glowing under the setting sun, you were a beauty to her. “Figured, how old?” Ellie questioned as you continued to stay frozen, eyes on her face to continue the conversation. “21” Ellie nodded again. 

“Thought so, 22” Ellie responded. There it was again, the tit for tat. 

“You seem like a good girl, far away from home aren’t cha. What’s wrong with yer family? Perhaps your mama?” Ellie tilted her head watching as your face transitioned from bliss and tranquility to fear and panic. She knew she struck a nerve, your mama was the problem. She didn’t wanna pressure you, hell it didn’t matter now. You were on your own, like a scared little lamb that has been deterred from its family. Possibly you were the black sheep, different from the rest. Ellie, once again, didn’t wanna pressure you. 

“You look like you need someone to take care of ya, don’t worry Peach I’ll take care of you” Ellie whispered, her voice all velvety like icing a chocolate cake. Smooth and sweet with care and caress. Ellie was unlike others you’ve met. Or any ex-lover you had. This time you weren’t afraid to let her in or take care of you. Hell you wanted that, you’ve been craving it for all years of your life while you had to do it for others. Maybe it was time someone exchanged the favor. The good karma bell rang in your ears, as a smile tugged at your lips.

“Make sure you cared for, if you let me” Ellie whispered some more, her hands this time traveling to your waist, giving a gentle squeeze, to which you could only hum in response. She was a charmer and knew all the right words to get you sunken in with her. Mama always said to not trust strangers, but why didn’t she feel like one? Her scent was intoxicating all you wanted to do was lean down and sink your pointed fangs into her shoulder, hearing her cry of satisfaction while she continued to call you Peach. Peach…Peach…Peach. You liked that name, no one called you that but considering that's what she handed you when you first spoke, it didn’t run as a surprise. 

Ellie squeezed, “Words, sweetness?”

“Yes” you squeaked, which probably sounded oddly sexual now that you thought about it. Unholy thoughts plague your brain at the sight of the Texas beauty in front of you. Realizing your task still was unfinished you got back to work. Hands working fast as you took your time, threading the suture thread through the needle as it came in contact with the flesh that was Ellie’s loose and separated skin.

Ellie wincing as you dug the needle in, and back out with an exhale. It was a semi-shitty stitching job, but you were able to tightly close the wound and stop the bleeding. Ellie didn’t speak, considering she’d risk completely yelling every curse word and potentially scaring you off, she settled on biting the hem of her tank top instead. Thick black lashes coated with tears at the sudden pain and blood crust. You were gentle though, Ellie caressing your waist as you put down a gauze pad, followed by wrapping it with the gauze roll and securing it with the adhesive tape. Patting to let her know that you were finished. 

“Yer’ such a good girl you know?” Ellie cooed as her hands found their way up to your braids, bringing your head down so she can give a chaste kiss to your head. Right…Right… Southern Hospitality. The feeling almost made you cry. Praise, followed up with affection? Like nothing you have felt before – hell you only thought they did that in movies. Ellie, however, was like a movie. Purley a fever dream, you were scared to fall asleep, what if you imagined the whole thing? You were enjoying your runaway escapades too much for it all to be fake. 

“Let’s get the show on the road,” Ellie gave a smile, making her way out of the back, suggesting that you do the same. So much for not trusting strangers.

✧˖°.

Father, Forgive me for I have sinned… it was blurry 

As we forgive our trespassers…still blurry

Trespassers…clear

You were a trespasser, is what you were getting from Ellie’s narration. Over the 30-minute car ride to her Farmhouse, Ellie explained to you the whole ordeal. Her cowboy hat was on your head as you listened to her tell narration of the cowboys' sealant for the townspeople. Why Tina, at the gas station tried to make you a friend. This Texan desert, farmland was constructed with the passage that cowboys and cowboy decedents protect the townspeople from narcs and trespassers, which in this case you could have been either. Debunked neither. It was one of those towns that people suggest you pass, hell probably inquire why it's still on the fucking map.

Ellie confessed that she was also a trespasser, just like you. Taken in by her late found father Joel who showed her how to run the rodeo. How Millers Ranch, became Williams Ranch. It was impressive, your eyes gleaming with admiration. Then it hit you, why she had the shotgun she did bounties on narcs, drug smugglers, the whole ordeal. People who came in to steal, wreak havoc, and destroy the peace. She was the town's grim reaper. She was the one who knocks. You felt faint, as the realization knocked into you like a brick. Nothing was truly sweet about her, that accent was to mask how with one click she’ll hunt like they were rabbits. You were trapped in her cage.

Upon arriving at her farmhouse which was large enough for more than one, it made you sad to see. She was alone, by herself. No wonder it was easy for her to drag you into her company, human interaction seemed obsolete out here. A dim light shown from what you assumed to be the horse stable, that was rather quiet as the nightfall had put you at ease. You held your jacket to your body tighter at the sudden gust of wind, hearing the weeds brush against each other — almost screaming in the wind. You held tightly onto your bag while Ellie limped past you, with the white button-down rested over one shoulder. Fiddling with the keys in her pocket. 

“Shoes off at the door, watch your step,” Ellie spoke up as she opened the door, you were hit with the sudden aroma, it smelled like fresh wood, pine, and just a hint of freshly baked cookies. It was how you pictured going to visit your grandmothers to be. Warm and welcoming. Complying with her wishes, you took your boots off, leaving you in mix-matched socks with funky designs that you have bought out of quirkiness. Ellie found this amusing. White ones to contrast your colors, the two of you had a lot of differences. But for the lack of similarities came an understanding. A mutual grounding between the two of you. A grey area. Ellie was behind you this time, taking her hat off your head, hooking it onto the wall, your thick jacket as well, and placing it on the hook beneath it. 

“Welcome, home” 

Now that made your stomach curl, you didn’t know what home is, besides yourself and your belongings. Attaching your home to people, not places. It was a wave of worry and fear that hit you. Your feet stuck as it felt like someone took a hammer and nailed your feed to the wooden floors. It was lively and well-decorated for someone that lived alone. Breaking free from your sinking feet you started to observe the living space. There was art, tones of it, stumbling across a photo in the bookcase of a much younger Ellie and an older man with salt and pepper hair who you had presumed to be Joel. The name fit his face well, A small smile creeping up to your face at the closeness of the two. Ellie seemed happy – carefree now that you look at her, that happiness seemed sucked away from her life, she didn’t smile quite like that anymore. Not until you cracked jokes in her car and made her laugh.

“Ya thirsty peach?” Ellie questioned her voice coming out muffled as her figure was far away in the kitchen area, hearing as the refrigerator closed. “I’m good, thank you though.” You put the photo back where you found it, following the trail of her voice. She was very trusting for a stranger, you were already infatuated with the woman, yearning for more. Yearning for her to give you a taste or perhaps a touch. Now you were sitting on her marble countertop, placed there by Ellie as she moved quickly around the kitchen pouring herself a glass of water from the glass pitcher, drowning it all in one go. She wiped the falling water around her mouth with the back of her arm eyeing you in the process, Ellie laughed. You knew her for a short amount of time, but long enough to know that laughter from her was rare – take it as a compliment, you thought. 

Ellie made her way over to you, her hands now on your knees, moving them further apart as she pushed her body in between her legs. Her arms resting on the counter space behind you,  trapping you in her arms.

“Mama didn’t teach you no good...to trust strangers? Oh…Babygirl you’re dangerous” Ellie scolded, laughing as you give the girl a doe-eyed look – your hands finding a  home on her arms. Wrapping your hands around her biceps, as your thumb move up, down, and in a circle. 

“I figured if you were gonna kill me, you already would have done so.” You mumbled as Ellie’s face got a lot closer to yours now. You can see the freckles that decorated her cheeks, her hydrated pink lips from the water she just had, the slit in her eyebrow, and her eyes. The piercing green forest that was her eyes, but it was beautiful, reminded you of the trees that you had seen when you walked. The storm that was your life, before Ellie became your superhero, the knight in shining armor. She saved you, and you owed her big time.

“Bingo! I know you smart peach, and that’s why imma tell you once, listen t’me real good.” Ellie specified, bringing one arm up to grip your chin gently, not allowing you to look anywhere else but herself. Ellie seemed possessive, maybe she lost too many people or her lack of social interaction but she didn’t want to let you go, and you could tell. She needed you just as much as you needed her, a packaged deal.

“You don’ trust nobody that ain’t me.” Ellie began, “Someone’s overly nice to ya’ you tell me. Mean? You fuckin’ tell me. Both don’t fly with me baby, if it ain't from me” Ellie finished, letting go of your jaw to which you nodded. Ellie was a fuckin’ force to be reckoned with, It was like digging into a mystery box, you were unsure of the flavors and layers she had to herself. Hell, she could be manipulating you and you wouldn’t even notice. Hospitality for comfort or comfort for hospitality, it all looked the same.

“Ay Ay, captain!” You playfully military saluted the girl, making Ellie roll her eyes at your statement, you were exceptionally fun. Which Ellie didn’t have anymore...fun. If you classify a night at Typsy Bison as fun then so be it. “You hungry? I can run you a shower before you eat – it’s leftovers if that's alright with yourself?” Ellie questioned and that’s when it hit you, you’ve been traveling afoot all day, and the thought of even having a meal slipped your mind, but you were famished, stomach lightly growling at the mention of the word food.

“I could use food, yeah — as long as there’s no cheese.” You challenge making Ellie back away this time as she took out a glass plate, a fork, and a knife. “No cheese sugar, but something to get you settled – I always have dessert peach if you want that instead?” Now you felt like a kid in a candy store. Dessert was a rarity and boy did it sound delightful right now. Ellie smiled as she watched the way your eyes gleamed at the mention of dessert.

“Got a sweet tooth huh?” Ellie smiled, making you laugh in return. You did have a sweet tooth, anything sweet was enough to bring a smile to your face. That’s why you had a love for canned peaches. The taste reminded you of peach pie that you would get at the diner as you worked a closing shift. Sitting at a booth as you devoured a piece of peach pie, it was heated, like a warm hug in the winter. You cried every time you had a piece. It reminded you of all the good things in life – like how good your mother could be. 

“I hope you have pie” you pleaded, making Ellie nod her head. “You aren’t pressin’ yer luck! I got an apple pie from a good friend of mine, I think you’ll love it – not too sweet, but fillin’” Ellie smirks in satisfaction as she placed one hand on her hip. 

“Let’s run’ya a shower” 

✧˖°.

How were you supposed to explain to Ellie why you were crying? Pajamas that you stored in your bag resting on your body as the matching white tank top and light blue shorts attached to your frame — you just had the best shower you’ve ever had in a while. Not only was the water hot, but it didn’t cut out every five minutes, and the faucet wasn’t leaking, everything was comfortable, perfect. Ellie herself took the time you were in the shower to clean up herself, now in different clothing —  a white t-shirt and plaid pajama pants that clung to her body nicely. The two of you sitting at the dining table as Ellie watched you eat the warmed pie, a tear fell from your eye with swiftness. Ellie’s gentle gaze transitioned into confusion and eventually fear as she watched you cry. 

“Oh god, wait!... I’m sorry” you laughed in between sniffles, taking the back of your hand to rub your face.

“Jeez, I thought I did somethin’ sugar” Ellie exaggerated holding her hand over her heart as if someone pierced an arrow through it. Now it was your turn to reveal your story, like how you cried every time you ate pie, specifically with peaches. It made Ellie give a small grin. Feeling as though she did something right in her life where she wasn’t playing god,  It was wholesome that’s for sure. The redhead found it odd, but it was a sweet moment and she understood it. Ellie’s smile fell when she noticed the clock behind your head striking 10:30pm making her frown. The good times she was having at the moment were coming to an end, for both her and yourself. 

“You go’n watch the tv til your tired, I have some business to take care of before tomorrow” Ellie didn’t wanna scare you, her business was taking the grey cloth, as she wiped down her guns and reloaded them for tomorrow. She didn’t want to give you the wrong impression.  

“Can you watch it with me?” You inquired, ignoring the part where she said she had business. 

“I’m cleaning guns.”

“So? You don’t scare me cowgirl” You wiggled your eyebrows as Ellie snatched the empty plate from your hands, placing it in the sink as she let the sponge soap up to wash the plate clean with hot water.

“Fine. I see you jump – I’m goin’ to another room, I don’t mix business with pleasure” Ellie confessed as she was less focused on you this time. You chose this time to leave the dining area, entering the living room as you hit the squared television's 'ON' button. It was small and run down, similar to the one at your moms before you left. You pulled at the antenna to catch a signal. The static glitching before on came Looney Tunes. You enjoyed the show finding amusement in the animals chasing each other and the crescendo of the music at all the right moments, it was comical and amusing. You spread your body out on the couch, laying on your side as you watched the television in silence, laughing every few minutes at something that you found funny. Ellie walked into the room with a black box and 3 guns in her hand. The redhead gently settled down the weaponry, being careful not to startle you, as she slipped into the seat on the far left — your legs now found a home in her lap, Ellie gently sending a rub at your legs. If someone walked right in, they would assume the two of you were probably married for some years now. 

“This okay?” Ellie whispered as you mumbled a “yes” while your focus was still not on her. Ellie could see that you were getting tired, the way your eyes were low, and your breathing slowed down. You were at peace with yourself and with Ellie, this was one of the times when the silence was okay, a mutual serenity, and understanding — everyone was mindful of each other and it was pure love and bliss.

Ellie eyed your figure as your eyes fluttered shut, this time you were sleeping, fully this time letting yourself melt into the softness of the couch as Ellie reached over to her left to grab the blanket and drape it over your sleeping figure. This was also the time she finally got started on cleaning her guns, knowing that you were relaxed and cared for. Ellie wasn’t sure what she was doing, She felt vulnerable and that was rare, but she was doing what she said she would. Taking care of you, like you were taking care of her. You saved her life, and she saved yours, tit for tat.

Ellie in this moment craved nothing more than your lips on hers, perhaps your teeth to graze her flesh, biting…hard into her – wanting to connect and morph bodies. She craved for your love and your intimacy, she wanted you to love her bones and all. Ellie wanted you to love her past, her insecurities, her mistakes, and her wrongs. You were too good for her, she knew it, but there was nothing a sweet peach like you couldn’t fix. 

[mlmxreader]

Jerry Ain't Got Us Yet | Alfie Solomons x m!reader

『••✎••』

requested by anonymous

↳ ❝ “I don’t care if it’s unsafe, I’m going with you” with Alfie Solomons x male reader please. Reader being an assisten/secretory and when Alfie goes on a business trip where it is implied that he most likely will at least get shot at, reader won't let Alfie leave without him.

Please and thank you, you are amazing, I love you :) ❞

: ̗̀➛ Alfie isn't happy when you insist that you're going with him, but he knows that it's not a good idea to deny his Lieutenant.

trigger warnings: ̗̀➛ swearing, shellshock, war, gore/blood/etc, trauma

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

spotlight fundraiser : ̗̀➛ The Khartoum Kitchen appeal

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

You lounged on Alfie's bed as his dog laid its massive head on your stomach, your hands playing with its soft ears as your gaze remained trained on the man before you; he was trying to pick out the best clothes to wear for a meeting with a rather suspicious character from Virginia in America.

Swearing and shouting at himself for not having something right to wear. The last time you had seen him in such a state, it had been before a charge in the trenches; he was nervous and angry, which was never a good mix on him.

During the war, you had been his right hand man, his Lieutenant - and now you were his assistant and secretary, still his right hand man. Always his right hand man, no matter how bloodied and bruised that hand had gotten.

You remained steadfast, loyal and dedicated to no one but him; not a perfect soldier, but a good enough partner.

The war never left either of you, though, and it was difficult to ignore it during such times; it had changed everything, and neither of you had fully come home from it.

He had gas in his lungs, even now.

You still had barbed wire and bullets in your bones.

The scraping sounds of horses and boys dying would forever stain the area, as would the stench of pineapple and pepper; even pepper on its own made you feel sick still, and the sound of anything sharp and shrill would forever make you break down.

You swallowed thickly and sucked in a harsh and deep breath to steady yourself before you dared to clear your throat and finally speak up. "Cap'n?"

Alfie turned to you as he glared, his jaw slightly clenched as he shook his head. "War's been over for years, Lieutenant. None of that bollocks, now. It's Alfie, was before the war, is now."

You swallowed thickly, a mumbled apology leaving the back of your throat as your hand moved to bury itself in the dog's fur; the coarse hairs pressing against the palm of your hand made you relax, just as stroking the necks of the horses had done before a charge. "Sorry, just... you ain't seriously going alone, are ya?"

He shrugged, straightening his shirt collar as he looked at you and did his best not to frown; you had it worse than he ever did. The war fucked you up more than it did anyone else he knew, and he didn't know how he could possibly help you - ever since you had come back, you were different.

More intensely loyal.

More stupidly reckless with your own life if it meant getting him out of trouble.

It was painful.

"I was gonna," he admitted. "I didn't wanna fuckin' drag you into all that shit without a paddle."

"I can fight," you pointed out with a slight growl to your tone, your hand moving to the dog's head. "You know I can still fucking fight, Cap'n."

He winced and turned away, using his wrongly done up buttons as an excuse. "No fuckin' way. It'll be a bloody battlefield when I get there, can't fuckin' risk that."

"I don't care if it's unsafe, I'm going with you," you hissed.

Rising from the bed, you moved to pack your things, and Alfie did not fight you on it; he knew that it would only prove futile, and that it would only ever cause a fight.

He didn't want to upset you, but he also didn't want to see you getting that way again, not after you had dug a trench in his back garden and sat in it for weeks after last time; he still remembered how you had refused to eat anything except for stale biscuits and half moulded bread.

He didn't have the fight left in him anymore, and sat on the bed next to the dog as he helplessly watched you, silently pleasing with you to just pack it in and fucking stay at home; it wasn't fair that your head was still back there, whilst he was fine. Mostly.

Somewhat.

It depended on the day.

He swallowed thickly as he reached out for you and grabbed your wrist, forcing your attention back to him as best as he could; undivided attention had not been a thing since the start of the war, when you had been forced to march through endless mud and blood and had to keep an eye on the trees in case legless, filled, boots dropped on your head.

"Listen, mate, I know," Alfie sucked in a harsh breath. "I know it ain't easy for you to leave things alone like you used to. I know it's easier to act like it's still goin' on, but jerry ain't shootin' at us no more, and you're alright now. You're safe, and you ain't gotta worry."

You shook your head. "Don't trust it, Alf. Somethin' smells like pineapple and pepper."

He clenched his jaw and did his best not to frown. "Are you sure?"

You nodded. "Trust my instincts better than anything else except the dog."

Slowly, Alfie nodded as he let go of your hand and ran his through his hair. "Smell as bad as Doiran?"

You nodded again, so he stood and put his hands on your shoulders; glaring into your eyes, he could see it all easily, and he knew that you were not going to be talked out of it or into a compromise. So he sighed as he took a step back and gestured to your luggage.

"Alright. If you're sure it smells bad as fuckin' Doiran, I trust you."

"I love you, Alf," you said quietly.

"I know ya do," he mumbled. "But we're at war, ain't we? No fuckin' time for it just yet, sonny jim."

Your posture straightened, and your eyes came into focus as you stuffed your hands into your pockets and nodded curtly; the trench soldier was back, and Alfie knew that he would have to keep on with it.

"At ease, Lieutenant," he told you. "Jerry ain't got us yet... but they septics might."

[neuro-toxinnn]

fnaf 4 but awesome

There's some more under the cut!

cw: trypophobia, cartoon blood/gore

There was gonna be more to this but I never finish what I start lmao. Maybe I'll revisit this idea again one day, who knows

Nightmare toppins! I had the initial idea for these guys quite a few months ago and felt the need to draw them again during fnaf movie hype. These are a bit simplified and aren't drawn to scale btw.

Sorry pineapple fans he doesn't exist (I am very lazy)

bonus: low effort kidpino doodles for the soul. What a sniveling little twerp

[strebcrarchivess]

Once again I'm asking you to read bibliomania! It's such a gorgeous, creative and profound piece of horror.

[cyanbugremix]

Reductive Audio #7 Spoilers

Uhh this is just a list of my favorite facts from the reductive audio

All d(a)emons are ambidextrous, and Ivan is left-handed, but the cool part is that Ivan became ambidextrous when Vega was controlling him (idk is that cool?? It's interesting for sure)

Brachium has only ever experienced vanilla extract through the memories of the dead.

Caelum on the other hand has made a "Vanilla Extract Tumblr Cake" (one of those polls where people "bake a cake" and it has too much vanilla extract voted for, i think) and it turned out horrible!

In Mario games, Elliot was forced to play as Luigi by Aaron, because of his at home nickname being "Ell/L" and Luigi starts with an L (you get the gist. It sounds the same)(Elliot wanted to be toad tho)(Aaron would play as Mario)

Gavin technically can and has pretended to read a book, he just has never actually committed to doing so

Lasko is scared of heights even though he knows that he could catch himself if he were to fall, so he thinks the fear is annoying

Damien peut parle français (Where did Damien learn french?? At home? School? As a hobby?)

Ash was taller than David, until David hit puberty and shot up (thus the big guy nickname came to be)(Seriously tho. So many boys would shoot up in like 3 months during summer break and be wayy tall when we'd get back to school and I was always amazed that someone could grow that tall that quick)

Oof T-T Sam was close with his Grandma Adeline (Adelene?), and when she passed he went back home to Mont Blanc to say goodbye to her grave (he snuck into the cemetery at night because he was a vampire by then)

Kody was gonna originally be involved with Closeknit, but then his character was taken in a different direction (makes lots of sense. He would be a closeknit guy)

Huxley was the fastest kid in his grade because he was obsessed with Bionicles (specifically pohatu with the mask of speed) (omg i forgot about bionicles until I looked them up again. I never did anything with them but I remember them)

Milo doesn't drink alcohol because he doesn't want to find out if he can get addicted to things as easily as his dad

Avior has HEARD of Gavin but never met him before

Oldest 3 d(a)emons in order: Polaris (Dead), Vega (dead for a bit but alive again), Ursa (elation daemon)

Camelopardalis has been in therapy for 2 years to work through the the bad memories that he had to keep of the whole Vega and Ivan problem (and he hasn't wiped his therapists memories yayy!!)

Arden took out the second most shades (David is the winner in taking out the most) during the Inversion, and Christian and her defended the VIP box through the whole night, even when Christian couldn't stay in wolf form

Kelsey started the Chrissy nickname! (Arden and Asher use it the most)

Aaron, when Elliot's powers first manifested, would imagine what it was like to be magical (He wanted to be a "Warder" and do force field stuff)

BLAKE WAS GOING TO ORIGINALLY BE CALLED CARVER OMG

Zeke (Member of Closeknit) drinks "Cactus Cooler" (orange and pineapple soda)

Xavier (contra-elemental) was originally supposed to survive the inversion

Bailey's mother is beta of the Keaton pack

DJ Anxiety (Hudson) still makes mixes, he just hasn't done live DJ-ing since the Inversion

Gregory Keaton doesn't exist in the Fooliverse (his parents never met in that AU)

Anton doesn't like gore, and bcuz of that he prefers black and white horror movies (modern ones often have too much gore in them) (Such a vibe for him)

Brachium was the last serenity daemon created by Min'Ara's own hands

E'Laetum has a grudge against Vega because Vega was specifically built to be the opposite of Polaris (even tho the dude didn't have a say in his creation)

Quinn sounded like he was interested in turning Darlin' (but they never could figure out if he was serious or not)

Hush was supposed to originally be apart of one of Echo's "deals"

Porter's maker was a dude named Felix, who got executed because Felix seemed to really like creating progeny (as well as being horrible to them)

Alexis resents Porter for becoming William's favorite when he wants someone to go out and do whatever, because Alexis does more "collateral damage" than Porter

(And there's cool Vampire lore from The Summit vampires from 26:18-27:36)

[the-hinky-panda]

300 Follower Celebration: Birthday

Birthday: Horacio Carrillo

Warning: Descriptions of graphic violence

He doesn’t even realize it’s his birthday until he makes his weekly call to Pablo. He had spent most of the day cleaning up the physical and emotional mess of a sicario hit that left eight of his Search Bloc men dead in the Medellín street. They had been on their lunch break, sitting on the grass in the park, sharing empanadas and tamales that their wives or mothers made them, along with lulos and pineapple chunks from the local market. One minute they were laughing, tossing a fútbol back to some kids, and the next their brains were splattered among the bright green grass. 

That was Horacio’s day. Helping put eight young men’s bodies in body bags, overseeing the clean up in the park so the kids could return in the evening to finish their game without having to wipe gore from their sneakers. Then came the eight knocking on the doors of families to tell them their sons and husbands weren’t coming home tonight. That the spiced meats and soups were now going to feed friends and family members coming to sit a vigil that evening. By the time he stands in front of the pay phone, his socks are still wet from the park and his shirt is still wet from mother’s tears. But when Pablo picks up the phone, all the hate, vitriol, and grief that Horacio has stored inside of him vanishes. There are no words to describe what he had to do today. 

“Did you like my birthday gift?” 

Horacio’s head jerks in surprise. “What?” 

“It’s your birthday today, no? I thought I would celebrate. Honor you and your efforts to keep Medellín safe.” There’s a pause as he inhales from his cigarette. “I’ll send some bows for the body bags. You’ll need eight, I believe.” 

“Fuck you.” 

“Looks like I didn’t need to send a card. You got my message.” He chuckles before hanging up the phone. Horacio listens to the dial tone until the operator comes on asking for more money to put into the phone to make another call. What’s the use? That’s his mantra as he walks the ten blocks back to his house. This fight is all about who’s going to be left standing after a firefight. Horacio has a bullet with Pablo’s name on it and Pablo has a bullet with Horacio’s name. It all comes down to who’s going to catch the bullet first. But until then, there’s going to be blood in the streets. Celebrations tainted by empty chairs, beds that are left empty, and children remembering their father or brother by lighting a candle before going on with living. 

He makes a pass around his home, his faithful guards keeping watch over his sleeping family. He nods to them as he unlocks the backdoor and enters the kitchen. He flicks on the light over the small table to see a cake sitting under a glass dome, Julianna’s neat handwriting in icing wishing him a Happy Birthday. There are three cards with a neatly wrapped box next to the cake. He picks up the card that he knows is from his youngest and opens it. There’s a figure in a green uniform in the front that he assumes is supposed to be Horacio. He opens the folded paper and reads the words in his son’s messy scrawl, “Thank you for keeping us safe so we can have birthdays.” 

He fights back tears of frustration, of failure. He carefully puts the card back in its envelope and sits back in the chair trying to steady his emotions before stripping down and going to bed. But after a few moments, he hears one of the squeaky stairs announce that he’s not the only one awake in the house. He starts to reach for a gun, just in case Pablo had one last surprise for him, but then he hears his son shush the noisy stair. And the next two squeaks after that. Horacio turns around in the chair and waits for the six year old to peek around the corner. 

“What are you doing up, mijo?” 

He looks at Horacio with mild surprise before his dark eyes land on the covered cake. “Nothing.” 

Horacio hums as he stands up and goes to the utensil drawer to get out two forks. When he sits back down again, he pulls out the second chair for his son. But instead of climbing into the wooden chair, he chooses to sit on Horacio’s lap instead. 

“Did you read my card, Papa?” 

He pushes that swell of emotion back down to the pit of his stomach. “I did. It was very nice. Thank you.” 

“Mama helped me.” 

He nods in understanding as he cuts a small piece of the cake and hands one of the forks to his son, who doesn’t hesitate to take the first bite of the cake. He’s four bites into the piece before he turns wide eyes to his father. 

“You didn’t make a wish!” 

“That’s okay, mijo. There’s always next year.” 

His son nods sagely before continuing to shovel cake in his mouth as Horacio takes a bite and makes a wish anyway. He wishes his son would be able to grow up with his father, that his wife wouldn’t be a widow, and that hopefully his family would be able to enjoy a safer Medellín. 

“Happy birthday, Papá.” 

He glances up at the clock to see it’s almost one in the morning. It’s no longer his birthday and he breathes a sigh of relief.

[wixenburr]

Batfam quotes taken from the group chat starboard

Tim, to Damian: I'm not going to talk twink logistics with you.

Tim: my social anxiety has me by the throat, like 24/7 Dick: Make out with it.

Tim: I'd kill a person before i drank hot water Jason: I'd kill a person.

Duke: I'm alright with being forgotten Actually

Dick, post-hallucinations: DREAM JASON IS A CHICKEN NUGGET

Dick: Thank you^^, it's because I'm insane—

Steph: First I get attacked by a butterfly in my dream and now this

Dick, post-killing joker: And plenty of gore and horror just for you!! <3 <3 Jason: :o JUST FOR ME?!

Bruce: How am i already an absentee father

Dick: spanish immersion until my cousin went back to his house and then it was english all the way down Tim: bisexual moment

Alfred: you know you have real kids when they ignore you :)

Steph: Atlantic Pacific Etc Sea Ocean Uhh

Dick: Ive never seen pineapple on a pizza, if i did id just be sad spongebob lost his home

(Bruce, having a breakdown) Tim, muffled: oh my god, i just ate that whole burger

Tim: Im sorry i slept

Cass: as an aroace pacifist fmk is a nightmare scenerio Jason: i may be asexual but i am sure as hell not a pacifist it's kill kill kill for me baby

Dick: No, Tim was gonna start killing people, there's a difference

Dick: wait no the flaky skin is on my face not my ass-

Alfred: what in the british archaelogist is happening here

Babs: I'm sorry i committed an actual war crime but its for y'alls own good

Damian: I don't need comfort, i need a knife

Bruce: I'm a firm believer in whore rights okay?

Steph: hELP- Duke: I'm eating spaghett Steph: what a simple life

Damian: Oh hi Batcow, finally someone interesting to talk to

Tim: I don't have depression, a therapist hasn't diagnosed me

anyone@Dick: noooo aha dont die sparkle butt

Damian: ive been god before

Bruce: i leave for two minutes and come back to octobussy

Tim: i am also killable if that makes you feel any better???

Babs: I support you with my eyes closed.

Dick: Instead im watching children with hot glue guns Damian: Like, in battle??? Dick: LIKE IN ARTS AND CRAFT

Steph: if i get a head injury i could probably read portuguese

Steph: love how we went in different directions Jason: The only directions: murder or pranks

Duke: I can't count that high so i'm-- i'm not gonna read that

Dick: punches him straight in the eye then immediately goes in for the kiss Tim: We call that the "Sock-n-Smooch"

Bruce: worm food can be eggs. scrambled ones. Damian: i dont lay eggs Bruce: chickens do?? Damian: oh. We have chickens!!!!

Tim: we have three hands for a reason

Damian: reEEEEeeeEEEEEEEEE Tim: Baby dinosaur be like Damian: I WILL BE A DINOSAUR BUT I WONT BE A B A B Y

Tim: shut up shut up shut up no you dont your bald + your mother is american

Jason: see, strangling people DOES bring miracles!

Tim: what in the minecraft commands are you trying to do here

Bonus:

Harley: mE AND MY CHECKERBOARD BOOBIES

Wally: Nightwing has two hands and a staff

[ask-the-alive]

Intro post

this is a ask blog for my Sprunki AU that was in 3 fics

here are the fics (first goes before the incident second is during the killings and the last is well the last one linked)

The alive (the ones you can ask) are Tunner, gray, Wenda, Durple, pinki, and fun bot.

the dead (the ones who can’t ask) are Oren, Raddy, sky, vinera, Simon, garnold, and black.

TUNNER HCS:

• a good fighter and shooter

• Despite a tough outside he is very caring and protective maybe a little ticklish..

• He lives at the station and that’s why it looks like a Half police station and a half house

• loves to shoot things

• His favorite food is spaghetti, pizza, and crème brûlée 🍮 and favorite drinks are hot coco, coffee, beer, and apple juice

• Enjoys head pats and whistling, and giving justice!

• age is 20

WENDA HCS:

• isn’t actually a psychopath

• Doesn’t know how to smile without looking like one

• Tickle monster

• A troll

• Likes to get into Tom fuckery and drag people into it

• Doesn’t know how to handle a fire arm

• Favorite foods are chicken and tuna and she doesn’t have a favorite drink

• Enjoys head pats and snuggles (she is a cat after all)

• Favorite sport is watching sports-

• is friends with gray

• age is 16

GRAY HCS:

• Is friends with Wenda

• Gets dragged into stuff by Wenda to-

• Favorite food is pineapple pizza and favorite drink is chocy milk

• Favorite sport is also watching sports-

• Doesn’t know how to use a gun

• Likes head pats a cuddles (like Wenda)

• a cyberbully

• Age is 17

• is a doctor/nurse/surgeon at the station and so is Wenda (I didn’t wanna type it twice)

I don’t have pinki hcs yet nor do I have brud hcs yet

DURPLE HCS:

• he’s a gamer

• His broken jaw lets him extend his mouth very very long

• Says slurs when he’s angry (why Durple why?)

• his age is 18

• Favorite food is burgers and ramen and his favorite drink is liquid gunpowder

• Favorite sport is football

• Doenst like affection that much

• He knows how to use a gun but cant aim right

• Is friends with Wenda and Gray

I’ll make brud and pinki hcs later

RULES:

no nsfw

nsfw and racist and just offensive jokes are allowed

(Suggestive asks are okay only with Durple and Tunner because they are legal age however I don’t want anything too suggestive and downright nsfw because after all I am mainly nsfw dni)

[gr4vesrot]

artist credit

Roseville, Florida. 1992.

You have always been a Wallflower. Watching everyone's life trickle by like a character perpetually stuck on the sidelines. It was easy to come to the conclusion that you didn't actually exist, not to anyone else outside of your best friend, anyways.

Things don't happen to people like you. People easily forgotten, ignored, brushed off. So how is it that you got his attention.

How, exactly, did Ghostface pick out a wallflower like you?

Ghostface ( Dead by Daylight x Transman!Reader )

Warnings: Mild internalized transphobia, homophobic slur, light gore, 18+ (MINORS DNI)

Your beverage started to get warm in your hands, and that made it all the more painful to drink. The burn from taking one too many Vodka Pineapple shots sat uncomfortably in the back of your throat, and when you rubbed your tongue on the roof of your mouth, the pineapple’s acidity stung a little bit sharper. But, with your vision getting increasingly wobbly, and your mind a little hazy, you thought nothing of it when you threw the remainder of the shot back after sipping on it like a morning cup of tea. 

You mentally chastise yourself when you leave it sitting in your mouth for a second longer than necessary, and your face tightens in a sharp cringe. Besides you, your friend laughs, and it’s amazing that you could hear her over the music and the drunken slur of the crowd. You try to laugh back, but it’s half-hearted, your cheeks quickly coloring when her amusement grabs the attention of different strangers around the both of you.

“Stop drinking them if you don’t like them!” She leans over to speak into your ear, and your stomach does an anxious flip when the taller man standing next to you looks down at the top of her pretty head. Both of your hands come up to grip the edge of the bartop nervously after setting the empty shot glass down, nails digging into the surface before promptly yanking them away as if you got burned. Men don’t close in on themselves, men don’t act skittish. You try to get your shoulders to relax, but it looks more like an awkward slump than anything. The fog wrapping tight around your brain is the only thing that numbs you from assuming the worst. Everyone here thinks you’re an idiot. Or better yet— they don’t know you’re here at all. Alcohol had a funny way of making things more bearable. 

“I like them, I like them!” You manage a grin and wave her off, “there’s just… a lot of vodka in there.” You gesture to the bartender for one more, and your longtime companion groans. You both met fresh out of highschool, the first day of your very first job ( or for her, her third job within a span of three months ), and both of you bonded over being college dropouts. She had confided in you that the stress was too much for her, and with a shitty dorm-mate added on top of it, she had abandoned the idea of college life all together. You, however, tried to stick it out. Did your best to overcome and conquer, but sometimes ritualistic hazing is far stronger than your best could ever do. 

Five years later and you’re still thick as thieves. You both made a point to make time for each other one day a week at the very least. This week, both your availability had lined up on a Saturday night. Which in your friend’s mind, meant club night. She was far more outgoing than you, more willing to dance with strangers, made acquaintances everywhere she went, so bright and pretty. It felt like a cruel joke to even be able to stand next to her, and an even crueler one when your self-deprecating thoughts ( and jealousy ) were proved to be factual each time you went out together.

Something dark twisted in the haze of your mind when the man on your opposite side, the one that had been looking down at Jess when she leaned into you, ignored your presence all together in order to worm himself between you and your best friend. Not the first time it’s happened, and most certainly not the last. You were a wallflower. Watching as everyone’s life flittered by them without so much as sparing you a glance in return. Or when they did, when someone finally noticed you, the only thing they could muster up was confusion, disgust; As if you were a frog to be observed and dissected. The testosterone had helped, your voice deepened, your shoulders just a little more broad, and your curves not as feminine. But it’ll never make you taller, or the softness of your features harden into what was commonly associated as male. Not with the sporadic dosages you were taking; Insurance didn’t cover the injections, and you’ve already exhausted yourself over crying about it. Now, there was only bitter acceptance.

It would have been so much easier if I stayed a g— Your next shot burned extra on the way down, and you gave the bartender a glare when his back was turned. Was he putting way too much vodka in the drink on purpose? Or did he just suck? 

“I’m gonna go dance!” Jess pats your shoulder to grab your attention again, and when you turn, you’re all too aware of how the man who shoved between the two of you doesn’t even look your way. You frown, brows pulling together slightly and you bite your bottom lip out of worry. You weren’t entirely confident that you’d be able to keep an eye on her in the sea of people cluttering the dance floor, and as if reading your mind, she gives you a reassuring grin. “I’ll be back in a bit! I extra promise, okay? Join us when you’re ready!” That grabs the tall stranger's attention, and he looks down at you with a raise of his brows. Curiosity lingers there, his gaze flickering down to your chest for the briefest of seconds only to find nothing of what he was looking for, and back at your face again. The stare makes you entirely self-conscious, and as confident as you were with your binding, you still feel too vulnerable in a room packed with so many people. 

“Okay,” you relent, leaning in to whisper the last part, “if anything happens just come and find me. I’ll stay in the same spot.” Appreciation laces her expression when you pull back, and she laughs when you hold up your seventh empty shot glass. 

“Can’t wait till you get fucking drunk! Then maybe you’ll finally dance with me!” She doesn’t stick around to see your scoff, and the stranger is once again hypnotized as she pulls him along to the dance floor. The thought of being pressed up against that many bodies nearly makes you shudder, and you don’t have it quite in you to explain to her why the thought of dancing with that many people around would be your personal nightmare. You turn back to the bar, blinking when the rows of alcohol bottles and syrups begin swirling together. Yeah, maybe that seventh shot wasn’t the smartest idea, but it was easier to be drunk than sober in a place like this. When the bartender comes back around to pick up your empty glass, you barely register him asking if you’d want another, and you shake your head with a few mumbled “no”’s. The worst hasn’t even hit you yet, you could feel it, and you’d rather cool the flames before making a bigger fire. The earlier patrons have now dispersed and new faces surround you. Taking each of them in one by one, you chuckle to yourself when you have trouble focusing on every individual feature. It goes ignored, either because no one could hear you over the DJ, or they just couldn’t bother with some weirdo ominously laughing to himself. 

The multitude of colors across from you grab your attention again, and you could barely make out the words on the bottles. It’s when you’re struggling to pronounce the name on a bright, cherry red one that two girls immediately fill the empty space at your side, flagging down the bartender to order. 

“Are you sure we should even be out?” One of them says, a nervousness in her tone that you find solidarity in. “You know with… Uh, um.. The murders and all?” 

Your eyes flicker away from the bottle and down at the murky brown bartop. Suddenly, trying to read the names of alcohol bottles wasn’t all that interesting anymore. From Pennsylvania and now to Roseville, Florida, a predator stalked the streets at night. With a new killing seemingly every week, the city of Roseville was in a whirlwind of panic. The murderer, this Ghostface, had been nothing but the talk of the town. Front page of every newspaper since he arrived a month ago, and after the first two weeks of seeing his name and how he murdered his victims plastered on every news story and magazine, you figured it best to not send yourself on that downwards spiral. The last thing you needed was more of a reason to fear going outside. Besides, running into some super psycho serial killer didn’t happen to people like you. 

Not unless this murderer wanted an article titled Ghostface: A Passion for Hate Crimes? In the Roseville Gazette’s new piece about him. The thought of it has an amused smirk tug at the corner of your lips. Funny, in a morbid and should totally not be funny sort of way. 

The nervous woman’s friend sighed, rolling her eyes and popping her gum for dramatic flare. “What’s he gonna do? Come in here and try to kill every single one of us? We’re way safer in a crowd than at home. He gets ya’ at home.” 

Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe you wanted to try your hand at being like Jess. Friendly, likable, and sociable Jess. You turn your body slightly, facing the two women’s direction and remembering to make your posture as welcoming as possible. Eye contact, speak from your chest, don’t be afraid. A breath in, a breath out, and you ignore the tightening of your stomach. “I think he just likes the attention,” you voice your opinion, successfully earning the two’s scrutiny. They eye you with guarded looks, the nervous one’s gaze much softer than her friend’s. The one closest to you, the gum chewer, however, drums her nails across the bartop. Your palms become clammy, but you continue. “I mean— it just seems like all the news stories and articles are what's spurring him on. A total attention seeker, just don’t give him any and maybe he’ll leave you alone.” You force a laugh, and it burns much worse than vodka ever could. 

“Fag.” 

The smile is wiped clean from your lips just as quickly as your face colors with embarrassment. Shame is dumped over you like scorching hot tar, filling your throat till you can’t speak, can’t breathe, and the heat numbs your body to the point it feels cold. Hot. Cold. Hot. Cold. You’re going to be sick. There’s something heartwrenching forming in your chest that’s familiar. An old friend. Like a dumbbell weighing you down, your movements are slowed when you try to face away from them, fingers curling into the edge of the bartop again with how quickly you were shot down. The more you feel yourself drown, the louder the ringing in your ears gets. You knew it was a mistake coming here. You knew it. And the mean, petty side of you blames Jess for it. If she hadn’t dragged you along, if she knew what it was like.. 

The two women go back to their conversation; As if the word never escaped the gum chewer’s mouth, as if you had never talked to begin with. As if you were never there at all. The alcohol makes it harder to force down the humiliated tears welling in your eyes, and you’re actually thankful they no longer notice you. It’s one thing to be called slurs in public, but to cry about it right after is another brand of shame entirely. Your shoulders are slumped again, arms folding together over your chest as a means to self-soothe. You're angry with yourself for not saying anything back, for immediately losing your voice at the first sign of hostility. Not only could you not stand up for yourself, but you crumpled like a wet napkin. God, what a loser.

Like clockwork, someone comes stumbling up next to you. Too stubborn to look directly ( no way were you going to let anyone see the red rings you know are forming around your eyes ), you can tell it’s the tall guy who went off to dance with Jess by the color and style of his shirt you catch in your peripheral. The ringing was still too loud in your ears to hear what he ordered, but by the sudden shift of his posture, you could tell he was looking at you. 

Please no. God no. 

He says something, but it’s hard to make out over how overwhelmed you were. So instead, you don’t answer, and will yourself to become invisible. Strange how it works, the back and forth between your hopeless desire to be noticed, and to stay in the unacknowledged spot you were all too familiar with. 

The silence between the two of you is almost painful, but he promptly forgets your existence the moment the bartender reappears with his drinks. One you recognize as Jess’s signature order, a Bloody Mary, and the desire to leave hits you like a truck. You need to go home, you need to go and tell Jess what happened so you can both get the fuck out of this shitty night club with a shitty bartender; And away from all these shitty people. Without thinking, you move a little unsteadily on your feet right at the same time Jess’s new dance partner does, colliding into his chest face first. There’s grunts from you both, and the collision has his drinks slip from his hands and toppling down directly on top of you. The gum chewer and her friend shriek in surprise, cursing when some of it splashes against their shoes. The combination of liquids feels like thick sludge running down your hair and to your shoulders, staining the fabric of your shirt a bright red. It drips off the ends of your locks, sliding all the way down to your fingertips and creating a small puddle where you stood. 

Again, you are left speechless. Your drunken daze makes it entirely impossible to think. You slowly lift your chin up, the strong scent of what was Jess’s Bloody Mary becoming that much more powerful when it leaves red trails down the length of your face. Even without the hamster running on his little wheel to get your brain cells working, a small conscious part of you knew this was when the man was supposed to apologize. Ask you for forgiveness so he could still score with your best friend, maybe even go the extra mile and grab you a few napkins so you could wipe yourself off. But when you look up and your eyes manage to focus, he is looking completely past you, mouth babbling apologies towards the two women who were unfortunate enough to be in the splash zone. 

You do not exist.

Serial killer be damned. You’d rather brave the pitchblack streets of Roseville then stay there another second. I don’t exist, the wheel in your brain started turning again, Ghostface won’t even see me out there. Turning in a very dangerous direction.

Like a robot, you stiffly maneuver yourself away from the bar and towards the exit, careful as not to inconvenience anybody. Your promise to Jess would have to be broken for a single night, but you hoped she would understand. You hoped that having two drinks dunked over your head was enough to warrant leaving and never going back. You leave through the front without sparing a single glance at the bouncers, and the humid Florida air only worsened your predicament. Everything felt sticky and cold, disgustingly so. And you hadn’t even realized you were crying until something wet and warm served as a stark contrast to the chill sludge of your now most hated beverage in existence. Your tears dribbled off your chin, and a pitiful whine escaped your throat. Another sob turned into an ugly snort when you tried to stop it halfway. Men don’t cry. Men don’t cry. Men don’t cry. 

You try to exhale, but it comes out in a stutter, and inhaling only has the same result. Your legs move entirely on autopilot to get you home, and though you were stumbling just a tad, you still had the sense to try and determine just how long it would take you to get there. 

Only a few miles. Thirty minutes at least.. It’s okay. It’s okay. Stop crying. Men don’t cry.

You press your lips tightly together to silence yourself, and you focus on the street sign ahead as the club’s music slowly fades out from behind you. Retting LN. it reads, or at least you think it says Retting. You stop for a moment, eyes squinting up at the sign and mouth slightly parted. Left or straight ahead? You couldn’t decide. Trying to get yourself to think was like trying to connect the right wires in a generator, and you definitely weren’t a mechanic. Straight is… longer. You eye the different dimly lit stores and bars down the street ahead, swallowing hard when a group of different figures emerge from a particularly seedy hole-in-the-wall pub. 

Left is shorter. But when you turn, the pitch black that meets you feels all consuming. There’s nothing but a flickering street lamp several blocks away, and porch lights that don’t meet the sidewalk. You’ll be totally blind, minus that one street lamp. But it’s shorter. I feel sick. The chorus of laughter from the group you saw prior was getting louder now, and in a moment of drunken panic, you picked left. 

The group seemed far wiser than you. Carrying on down their path without even sparing a glance towards the horror filled shadows you decided to brave. You sway to the side, catch yourself last minute, and right yourself up again with a few low murmurs. Even you had no idea what you were saying to yourself, and anyone who’d happen to pass you by would surely think you were crazy. But the streets were empty, minus the few cockroaches you were too drunk to notice skittering around your feet. The Ghostface crosses your mind again, his mask flashing in the forefront. You spook yourself when your vivid imagination turns the mask into an actual face, morphed into a perpetual scream and his jaw begins opening wider and wider. Tearing the corners of his mouth as it completely unhinges and threatens to swallow you whole. 

A shiver runs down your spine, and you force yourself to think about something else. The lamp post is coming up quickly, and you’re relieved when its light seems to stretch towards you no matter how dim. Your saving grace, your angel; Its light was a God Send when even your own mind began piecing together horrors beyond what you thought you were capable of conjuring up. The gentle buzz of the lamp as you stood under it was a helpful distraction, and so were the bugs swarming beneath it in chaotic circles. Now, maybe, you can finally understand why the little creepy crawlies were so attracted to the light. Were they also scared of some mass murderer? Afraid his sadism didn’t stop at just humans, and he’d crush them under his boot a little too enthusiastically? It made sense, you concluded with a final nod to yourself, The Ghostface didn’t just strike fear into the hearts of the people of Roseville, but in every living creature that just so happened to be within the city limits. Or maybe, his influence had already reached outside the city limits. 

The rumors stated he had made his way from Pennsylvania to Florida, who knows where he’d go next once he grew tired of this dingy city. 

Having your head tilted back and your eyes fixated on the lamp for too long had you feeling even more dizzy than you already were, and you instantly regretted your mistake. Facing forward again had your world spinning, swaying side to side with a miserable groan. You were never drinking again, you’ve had it with the effects of alcohol. Stumbling when you don’t quite pick your foot up all the way, inches away from the line that divided illumination and the shadows from a moonless sky, there was a loud clatter from behind the picket fence that separated you and the yard it came from. Startled, you curse, the exclamation echoing off the silent streets. It’s followed by a gasp when your foot slips off the curb of the sidewalk, and you finally go tumbling down on your ass for the first time that night. The road’s gravel bites into the skin of your palm and your forearm when you try to catch yourself, and there’s a sharp sting against your thigh when it rubs against a few loose rocks as you try to right yourself too fast. Your mind can’t keep up to your body’s instincts, and your feet don’t seem to work right even when you finally manage to pick yourself up. 

You run with awkward, clumsy movements across the street. Your heart beats heavy in your chest, so hard you can feel it in your throat. It feels like you’re choking again, your arm and palm hurts, your thigh is rubbing uncomfortably against your jeans. But it was all left ignored. You had to escape, you had to run. Run from what? You try to rationalize. It was just a noise. A raccoon, a stray cat. The Ghostface doesn’t care about a nobody like you. 

Though, none of your rationalizing mattered. Your legs had a mind of their own, carrying you down different streets and letting fate be your guide. The dark blinded you, and like a moth to a flame, you began following the flickering lights of the back alleyways subconsciously. A stupid move on your part, wouldn’t it have made more sense to stick to the shadows? It would have made for an easier escape. That is, if you even were being chased by anything. Or anyone. 

You had no idea where you were by the time you stopped, wheezing as you tried to catch your breath. The muscles of your legs ached, and your side cramped with each inhale. If you didn’t feel sick before, you really do now, and a gag bubbles up your throat that turns into a short, dry cough. All that running made you absolutely parched, and your own saliva did nothing to remedy it. Leaning against the alley wall for support, you take this moment to collect yourself. There was nothing but the sound of your own breathing, nobody reaching out from dark corners to drag you into Hell, and certainly no masked killer choosing you as his next victim. Your laugh comes out as an amused sigh, your exhaustion doesn’t allow for anything more. 

The night was full of embarrassment. But at the very least, there was no one to watch you sprint around like a mad man. 

You blink slowly, giving yourself all the time you need in order to process where you are. You’ve already given up on getting home in a timely manner, and instead focus on trying to get home in general. There’ll be no more scaring yourself, no more wild imaginations, and no more brainlessly staring at street lights. Step one, get yourself out of the alleyway. “Yeah.. yeah..” You mutter to yourself, rubbing both your eyes. You’ve forgotten how sticky your face was, and you pull your hands back with a soft “ew.” Most of the alcohol spilled on you had dried, but it didn’t make it any less uncomfortable. The top of your head still felt wet, your clothes stained far past salvation, and you smelled awful. You fucking hate Bloody Marys.

Lifting yourself off the wall, you decide to head straight. Might as well finish what you started, and there was a right turn calling your name. Further into the busier part of Roseville, the back alley’s nearly acted as a maze, but you were certain that finding the road again would be much quicker after taking that right. Where you got this confidence from, you weren’t sure. You’d never been the back alley type, not even during your edgier phase in high school. You walk with the certainty of someone who wasn’t seconds away from pissing their pants just moments before, shoulders back and posture straight. You’ve had it up to here on your metaphorical limits chart and the next fixation on your mind was a nice, hot shower. Rinse the day off next to all the red sludge dunked over your head, forget those unfortunate interactions at the bar, and carry on the next few days like nothing happened. Your hand and arm would heal, you’d apologize to Jess for leaving her at the club, and you'd rid yourself from any thoughts about Ghostface. 

You refuse to live your life filled with paranoia. Not again. 

Something strange sounds ahead, just around your chosen right corner. It makes you hesitate, but you swallow that fear and chalk it up to nothing. Nothing! Your self assured pep-talk wasn’t about to go to waste, and the worse it could be was some crazy drunk wandering around the back alleys at night. So someone a lot like you. 

If that was the case, you’d simply turn around and go the other way. 

Your hands balled into fists, determined to see it through. The sounds got louder the more you approached; odd shuffling, was that a… groan? And someone is talking. One person, or two? You couldn’t make sense of it, and now you really, really wish you hadn’t taken so many of those shots. In a desperate attempt to prove yourself, you march faster towards the corner, figuring that as long as you didn’t give yourself time to tuck your tail between your legs and scurry off in the opposite direction, you’d come out accomplished. If you could face this, you could face anything. That’s how it worked, right? The gum chewer woman comes to mind, and you vow that if you could walk past whatever lurked in the shadows of this maze with your head held high, you’d be able to do the same when confronted with people like her. 

You round the corner without giving yourself a moment to think. No time to pause and really listen to what was being said. To what was being done. The heat from the alcohol leaves your body entirely, and what feels like the ice cold body of a snake coils around your limbs to make you immobile. The breath you were holding chokes you, but you can’t even manage a cough. Your hands and legs grow numb, your eyes warming with tears. 

Things like this didn’t happen to people like you. You were a wallflower. A nobody. Hardly visible to anyone outside of Jess and your boss when he needed you to cover someone on your days off. The grotesque wet noises pierce your ears and threaten to draw your attention away from the dark figure standing only a few feet in front of you. A gloved hand wraps tight around the handle of his blade, the other gripping some new, poor victim by the front of their hoodie. One last groan and spurt of blood dribbling past their lips, their legs give out and they slump in the man’s hold. But you can barely register any of this. Not when the ghastly, white mask slowly turns to peek at you from under its hood, locking the hollow of its eyes on you. 

It sees you. 

He sees you. 

Ghostface slips his knife from the fresh corpse with ease. Crimson drips from the tip of it, and he makes no sudden movements. Neither do you. A silent understanding, if you run ( run, run, run—! ) he could easily catch you as you are now. Drunk, fastened to where you stand by fear alone. He moves with such brilliance, the fluidity of a cat, a hunter. The casualness of his regard for you shows the depth of his cockiness. The black holes of his mask suck you in far deeper than the shadows of the path you’ve chosen, and this is the second time in your whole existence that you’ve experienced what true fear is. The frigid bite at your rapidly beating heart, the feeling of T.V. static crawling up your skin and to your horrified expression. You can do nothing but stand there, gaping, as a mass murderer fully turns to look at you. 

He sees you.

Read the rest on AO3 !!