#what is this creature 🦌

[transdeergirl]

Just saw lesbian art I forgot I saved #happy

[transdeergirl]

IM GONNA CRY I LOVE THEM

Trail cam catching a deer fawn with the zoomies

[scoutswritingcorner]

If Alastor and reader were to ever have a child, I think Cat Alastor would love the kid so much

Bodyguard or Babysitter?

Alastor x GN!Reader

Ft Cursed Cat Alastor

TW: Not much, talks about pregnancy and a baby.

A/N: SORRY THIS IS SO SHORT! HOPE YOU ENJOY!

You���re right Anon and you should say it. Now this goes without saying once again, Catastor and Alastor do not get along that well if it involves you. They both want your attention and will literally kill for you if you ask them too. Now add in the fact that you're pregnant with Alastor’s kid? Oh boy that jealousy and overprotective nature ramps up 100% more. Catastor is more chill than Alastor but you can’t blame him. What the two can come together on is protecting you and the baby, those are the only times they actually respect one another enough to be calm.

This cycles back to my headcanons ‘Family Man’ but to me Alastor seems like an okay/good-ish dad. Won’t get too into again cause then I won’t be able to shut up SO-

Here are some headcanons!

-🦌 Catastor will be the baby’s babysitter and bodyguard, you are the only person that can pick the baby up if Catastor is near the baby (which is like most of the time). He will only growl at you, anyone else gets eldritch horror.

-🦌 The baby asleep in Alastor’s arms? Catastor is nearby glaring at Alastor. The baby in your arms or in its little rocker? Catastor is purring loudly on your lap or next to its rocker. He’s always around.

-🦌 The baby is the only one to grab on Catastor’s ears, tail and little antlers without getting hurt. 

-🦌 Catastor straight up was jealous when you were in bed holding this tinier version of you and Alastor combined. He stopped being jealous as soon as he got the baby's scent and just watched the little creature curiously. 

-🦌 It’s so small and weak, why is it constantly crying? Catastor doesn’t know but it smells like you and Alastor so that’s a plus. The first time Catastor laid on the baby Alastor almost threw the cat out the window.

So all in all, you got a free body guard and babysitter that is Catastor and he takes his job very very seriously. You gotta start paying him with demon flesh or scritches.

[enemui]

⁉️What your favorite Genshin Impact character says about you🫵

🐰Amber: Your favorite Pokémon is Eevee and your favorite Sanrio character is My Melody.

🌹Lisa: You're not scared of smart women but you are scared of interesting women.

🛡️Noelle: You don't know shit and plan on keeping it that way.

🫧Barbara: You either sell or buy gamer girl bathwater.

🦇Fischl: You're quarter-delusional. Like, you are delusional, but sometimes you're aware that you are delusional.

���️Bennett: You have a soft spot for miserable little creatures and you desperately need a bigger character trait than that.

🍖Razor: You love dogs, even if they're old, ugly little goblins.

🐱Diona: You love cats and hate alcohol. Those are two rare instances of you feeling strongly about anything.

🔮Mona: You were assigned financial irresponsibility at birth, and haven't managed to do anything to change your fate.

🗡️Rosaria: You think having a healthy biorhythm is overrated. You also look like a human cigarette.

🖌️Mika: You let your feelings of pity towards others control you.

🍀Klee: You're the fun parent. You probably own a spoiled pet.

🦴Sucrose: You actually love to talk, people just hate to listen.

🧪Albedo: You're gay and neurodivergent.

❄️Eula: You're weak to corporate tricks. You should really work on that.

🦚Kaeya: You're not known to have functional relationships and healthy coping mechanisms.

🦉Diluc: You think you could get an edgy boy to open up to you. You couldn't because the moment someone is even a little cold to you, you will cry.

🦁Jean: You always order the same thing from the menu. Not because it's your favorite, but because you're scared of trying anything new.

🍏Venti: If being horny and annoying was a sport, you'd be an Olympic athlete.

🐇Yaoyao: You can be sold anything with a cute mascot plastered on it.

🌶️Xiangling: You wonder how a lot of different things taste like and you need to be stopped.

🧊Chongyun: There's a great disparity between how you want to be perceived versus how you are actually perceived.

💦Xingqiu: You are knowingly annoying and don't plan to stop anytime soon.

🎸Xinyan: You're misunderstood, but you definitely don't make an effort to be anything else.

⚰️Hu Tao: Your self-proclaimed pranks have resulted in actual damages to people's mental and physical well-being.

🎼Yun Jin: You've projected onto your partner before to the point you lost the ability to identify their actual character.

🥥Qiqi: You aren't swayed by public opinions.

🐍Baizhu: Close the wikipedia tab with a list of terminal diseases, you're fine, just severely dramatic.

🏔️Shenhe: You've been in abusive relationships. Not sure if as the victim or perpetrator, but you were in them.

🎲Yelan: You'd be perfectly content as a housewife. Just do chores and read smut.

⚓️Beidou: You don't mind putting in the work to change things to be more to your liking.

💎Ningguang: You have no qualms sucking up to people for a bit of societal advantage.

🍤Keqing: You've entered relationships before, thinking you could change them. No, that absolutely did not go well for you.

⚖️Yanfei: It's not just your exes who suck, you have an entire toxic friend group.

🔔Ganyu: You have an elaborate power fantasy about quitting your job.

🫖Madame Ping: You're a classy lesbian.

⚙️Guizhong: You present your opinions as facts.

☁️Cloud Retainer: You've been in a situation when you've found your girlfriend's mom more attractive than your girlfriend.

🪽Xiao: You're non-binary and depressed.

🐉Zhongli: You need a man to kiss the back of your hand. Also you have a strained relationship with your father.

🍁Kaedehara Kazuha: You don't care about looks, only vibes. You're also addicted to adderall.

🍃Sayu: You are serious about the silly and silly about the serious. Sometimes it's funny, other times you deserve to be dropkicked into the sun.

🎁Kirara: You have a crippling addiction to adorable girls.

🦌Shikanoin Heizou: You are guilty of the "thinking with your dick/pussy". Don't try to deny it, you didn't even care until his birthday became a national holiday.

⚡️Kuki Shinobu: You have better things to do than a well-paying job, such as arson.

👹Arataki Itto: You are a size queen. You also think you're way more interesting than you actually are.

🎇Yoimiya: You've had a crush on the same person for the longest time and every time you think you're over them, they make a request of you and you jump on it like a dog.

👺Kujou Sara: You could probably use hormonal therapy.

🍡Thoma: You think appearances don't matter as long as he's nice. You're also a terrible judge of character, so all your exes are just overall shitty people.

🪭Kamisato Ayaka: You cannot survive without your established social circle. Were it not for the luxuries of civilization, you'd be dead in a ditch.

🧋Kamisato Ayato: You have no self-respect, if a slightly above average man tells you to do something, you'll do it.

🐕Gorou: You don't need a man, you need a dog.

🪸Sangonomiya Kokomi: You don't know how to dress well, but you really want a girlfriend who does.

🦊Yae Miko: You think as long as a woman is hot, she can do whatever the fuck she pleases.

🌸Raiden Ei: You've been in a relationship with an unmedicated mentally ill person and walked out of that experience having learned nothing.

🧞‍♀️Dori: The world would be better off without you.

🌻Tighnari: You have an attitude and you refuse to reign it in no matter how inappropriate for the situation it is.

🪴Collei: You either have no idea what you're doing or you should be in jail.

🪷Nilou: You live quite blissfully, but dealing with you isn't easy. This is called ignorance.

✨Layla: Your best exam results come from days when you showed up to class hungover and on 45 minutes of sleep.

📐Faruzan: Your family broke the generational curse, which somehow had a negative impact on your character.

🪻Candace: You are the mom friend, but only because you have to be. Like, you're a mess, but you're a lot less of a mess than your friends.

🌺Dehya: You can draw yourself symmetrical eyeliner.

🃏Cyno: You probably have a good moral compass, but you still aren't easy to get along with.

🦅Alhaitham: You're, like, severely delusional. You either think he's like you or that you could be on good terms with him. Both of those are clear signs of delusional behavior.

🕊️Kaveh: I hate to break it you, but buying stuffed animals can't substitute for going to therapy.

☂️Wanderer: Most of the time, you're really cute, but you can be absolutely terrifying if you so choose. You're also trans.

💉Dottore: You're fairly submissive but if someone makes you mad, you'll make sure they regret it.

🌱Nahida: You're addicted to winning arguments. You don't even need to be right, you just need to feel like you've won, even if you resort to the method of wearing a person down until they no longer want to continue debating with you.

🌂Navia: You have leadership skills specifically in the "do as I say, not as I do" department.

🐧Freminet: You're non-binary and have anxiety.

🎩Lynette: You're very patient but you'd rather not be.

🪄Lyney: You have a dark secret and the dark secret is that you're actually a Danganronpa girlie.

🍷Arlecchino: You're not a good person but you genuinely don't think it's that bad.

⚔️Clorinde: You have fallen prey to misinformation on numerous occasions before.

🩹Sigewinne: You'd sacrifice your liver to keep a person happy.

🐺Wriothesley: You can be appeased by an act of hot girl shit.

🌊Neuvillette: You need a man to kiss the back of your hand. Also you have a strained relationship with your mother.

💧Furina: You're delusional. Could be affectionate, could be derogatory, it varies from person to person.

🦟Paimon: You don't know shit but you have an opinion on everything.

🐋Tartaglia: Your exes all belong in jail. So does your current and next partner. You never fucking learn, do you?

💰Pantalone: You don't need a healthy relationship, you need a sugar daddy.

🖤Capitano: You are, amongst other things, a monsterfucker. You want to be destroyed, but, like, lovingly.

🎀Columbina: You are a mix of a pomeranian and a Biblically accurate angel.

🎭Pierro: You are fatherless on an Olympic level. You don't need a father, you need a daddy.

💫Lumine: You're a hot girl. You're either stupid or evil, but you're a hot girl. If you're not a girl, you are a red flag.

☄️Aether: You have a crippling crop top addiction and you have no idea what to do with your hair.

🌌Dainsleif: You date people before getting to know them, but don't understand why you don't get along with your partners.

[livinglycan]

☽ ~ The sand shifts beneath your paws and the scent of salt fills your nostrils ~ 𓃥

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ "𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚢 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚍, 𝚖𝚘𝚘𝚗 𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚍" ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Ello!! You can call me Theo, Ari, or Feng! I'm transmasc and my pronouns are He/It/That + any dog or (were)wolf related neos! I'm (feralromantic) aroallo, MLM/Gay, wolfdog freak, and objectum.

Feralromantic and wolfdog freak are both coins termed by me!

I am a werewolf. This is not a kintype, I am physically a werewolf. I’ll still post under the werewolfkin tags because I feel like werewolfkin can relate to my experience. I am a therian and otherkin but stuff relating to that can be found on my main blog, @confused-canid where I interact from. I appreciate the use of tone tags for me!

This blog is for me posting about me being a werewolf, or werewolf related things! This could be my selfships, art writings, etc.! My tags are: #Running with the wolves🐺 - Talking with my mutuals! #Howling at the moon🌕 - Original posts that are text! #Weird little claw marks✏️ - My art! This will usually be paired with text so it will be tagged as #Howling at the moon🌕 and as #Weird little claw marks✏️! #yapping back🌙 - Responding to asks! #Tasty posts🦴 - reblogs relating to this blog but not therian related or my own (usually used for posts I’m saving for later), #Rabies🥩 - Gore, animal death, angry stuff, and other things that make me hungry, #Home🌲 - Heart-home (Vancouver island) stuff, #Mother🏹🦌 - Artemis worship related things, #Little wolf🐾 - Agere posts (rbs and original ones

Theriotypes:

~Harlequin great Dane

~Bottlenose dolphin

~Western coyote (unsure what type but one that lives in or near Kansas, prairie dwelling)

~Leopard seal

~ Rocky mountain Bighorn sheep

Kintypes:

~Merfolk

~Two legged dragon

~Marble fox Kitsune

Others:

~Equidae clado hearted

~Changeling holothere

~ Lemon shork (Kaiju paradise)

~ Like slime pup (Kaiju paradise)

~ Nightcrawler (Kaiju paradise)

~ Chocolate sprinklekit (Kaiju paradise)

~ Lockheed SR-71 blackbird

DNI: Basic DNI criteria+, NSFW blog, make a lot of nsfw posts about werewolves, Radqueer, RCTA, Proship or any variants of it, Demonizes cluster B disorders or delusions/are an ableist, Zionist/pro Israel (Get tf off my blog. Seriously. Like, leave right now. I will maul you.), antikin, fakeclaimer, anti researched self diagnoses, pro Trump, pro Biden (Trump is bad and so is Joe. He is directly funding the genocide against Palestine.), anti ACAB, Pro contact for harmful paras (People w/ big 3 and other harmful (if acted on) paras can interact but don’t go against the rest of my DNI. I hope you can recover, I'm proud of you. You can do this.), anti atypical dysphoria, or are here to debate me about my identity.

Anyways, bye creatures!

Last updated July Fith 2024

I live in the central daylight timezone / CT, in case you want to talk

a lot of this was just to show off these dividers

^silly little werewolf gif collage ^^

[idkfitememate]

🦌 anon here. Thank you for comforting me that I don’t flood your inbox. I appreciate it! <3

Also, I have obviously revealed myself as a loyal Furina lover by now. She’s just my bby. And I love her so much.

But Furina love aside, I’ve got a really funny idea.

What if Yanfei, Moon Carver, and deer!creator, all met up. They’ve all got deer characteristics. Two more so than others BUT STILL.

I just looked it up and you can call a group a deer a bevy. It just sounds so funny! You could also call them a parcel.

It’s a parcel of deer people. A bevy of deer creatures meeting up.

It’s like the Spider-Man meme all over again. Lol.

And the other adepti +Zhongli just watch from a distance.

Found Family

૮꒰˶ᵔ ᗜ ᵔ˶꒱ა Pairings : GN! Deer Reader x Yanfei & Moon Carver + Liyue

૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ྀིა W.K. : 149

໒꒰ྀིᵔ ᵕ ᵔ ꒱ྀི১ Tags/CW&TW : Fluff, found family in a silly way

“Zhongli what-“

“Shhhh….”

Hu Tao, Xiao and Zhongli all sat aside as you, Yanfei and Moon Carver all stared at each other.

“Isn’t that the deer that beat up Paimon.??” Xiao questioned, only to receive a quick nod from the tea sipping Zhongli.

Slowly you stepped forward and pressed your nose a bent over Moon Carver. Quick huffs and sniffing was heard before you rubbed your head against his. Then you walked over to Yanfei and did the same.

Yes, she did press her nose to yours and nuzzled you, no hands.

The trio then watched as you three walked away without a word spoken between you.

“What… what just happened?” Hu Tao asked.

Zhongli wiped away a stray tear and sniffed, causing both yongers to look at him.

“… A family was just formed. A bevy, a parcel even.”

Hu Tao then fully turned to Zhongli.

“A what-“

໒꒰ྀི˶˙Ⱉ˙˶꒱ྀིა Author’s note : I hope I did this justice but having bystanders as you meet the people most like you would be funny… live stage audience watches adoption process-

… That should be a thing hold on ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱

Also same, Furina deserves everything ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹

[radio-sunshine]

Oh no Kathrine’s ranking zenodrugies

S-tier

Class D, it would be so hot to not have any filter and having to admit a crush to someone.

Class H, I don’t think I need to explain why the hypnosis drug appeals to us :3

Class Z, it would be nice not having insomnia, that’s all

A-tier

Class A, being super needy and wanting cuddles all the time is very cute, and we think we’ed like it

Class E, it’s the nerves thb, worlds most paranoid creature

Class G, transitioning is hot, what more can we say

Class J, see class A for why I like this

Class M, I’m not a doll but I think not being able to move or think while being cared for would be nice

Class N, specifically the one that making you keep on orgasming, keep on cumming in her gay ass

Class W, not being able to speak and only making puppy sounds is very hot

B tier

Class C, I like slow burn so stuff like this that speed runs the domestication process is not my favourite

Class L, I guess it could be nice but other zenodruggies do it better

Class S, not the biggest fan of sensory play

C tier

Class F, I don’t really know what this one does but it sounds cool, the placement might change

Class O, kinda scary but the florets on them are pretty cute

Class P, why not just use class h for this, I’m a hypnosis pilled floretcel

D tier

Class B, this is a therapy drug to me, they give us them when something bad happens

Class V, I don’t actually know what this one does either, weird

-Kathrine 🦌

[goodvibesandmemes]

GENERAL MEMES: Vampire/Immortal Themed 🩸🦇🌹

↳ Please feel free to tweak them.

Themes: violence, death, blood, murder, depression/negative thoughts

SYMBOLS: ↳ Use “↪”to reverse the characters where applicable!

🦇 - To catch my muse transforming into a bat 🌞 - To warn my muse about/see my muse in the sunlight. 🩸 - To witness my muse drinking blood from a bag. 🐇 - To witness To catch my muse drinking blood from an animal. 🧔🏽 - To witness To catch my muse drinking blood from a human. 🦌 - For our muses hunt together for the first time. 🏃🏿‍♀️ - To see my muse using super speed. 🏋🏼‍♂️ - To see my muse using their super strength. 🧛🏻‍♂️ - To confront my muse about being a vampire. 🌕 - For my muse to lament missing the sun. ⏰ - For my muse to tell yours about a story from their long, immortal life. 🤛🏽 - To offer my muse your wrist to drink from. 👩🏿 - For my muse to reminisce about a long lost love. 👩🏽‍🤝‍👩🏽 - For your muse to look exactly like my muse's lost love. 👄 - For my muse to bite yours. 👀 - For my muse to glamour/compel yours. 🧄 - To try and sneakily feed my muse garlic to test if they're a vampire. 🔗 - To try and apprehend my muse with silver chains. 🔪 - To try and attack my muse with a wooden stake. 👤 - To notice that my muse doesn't have a reflection. 🌹 - For my muse to turn yours into a vampire. 🌚 - For my muse and yours to spend time together during the night. 🧛🏼‍♀️ - For my muse to tell yours about their maker/sire.

SENTENCES:

"I've been alive for a long time [ name ], I can handle myself." "I'm over a thousand years old, you can't stop me!" "Lots of windows in this place, not exactly the greatest place for a vampire." "Do you really drink human blood? Don't you feel guilty?" "Vampires are predators, [ name ] hunting is just part of our nature, you can't change that." "You just killed that person! You're a monster!" "Tomorrow at dawn, you'll meet the sun [ name ]." "Can you make me like you?" "Do you really want to live forever?" "You say you want to live forever, [ name ], but forever is a long time, longer than you can imagine." "What was it like to live through [ historic event / time period ]?" "Did people really dress like that when you were young?" "What were you like when you were human?" "We’re vampires, [ name ], we have no soul to save, and I don’t care." "How many people have you killed? You can tell me, I can handle it." "Did you meet [ historic figure ]?" "Everyone dies in the end, what does it matter if I... speed it along." "Every time we feed that person is someone's mother, brother, sister, husband. You better start getting used to that if you want to survive this life." "[ she is / he is / they are ] the strongest vampire anyone has heard of, no one knows how to stop them, and if you try you're going to get yourselves killed." "Vampire hunters are everywhere in this city, you need to watch your back." "Humans will never understand the bond a vampire has with [ his / her / their ] maker, it's a bond like no other." "Here, have this ring, it will protect you from the sunlight." "I get you're an immortal creature of the night and all that, but do you have to be such a downer about it?" "In my [ centuries / decades / millennia ] of living, do you really think no one has tried to kill me before?" "Vampires aren't weakened by garlic, that's a myth." "I used to be a lot worse than I was now, [ name ], I've had time to mellow, to become used to what I am. I'm ashamed of the monster I was." "The worst part of living forever is watching everyone you love die, while you stay frozen, still, constant." "I've lived so long I don't feel anything any more." "Are there more people like you? How many?" "Life has never been fair, [ name ], why would start being fair now you're immortal?" "You want to be young forever? Knock yourself out, I just hope you understand what you're giving up." "You never told me who turned you into a vampire. Who were they? Why did they do it?" "I could spend an eternity with you and never get bored." "Do you really sleep in coffins?" "There are worse things for a vampire than death, of that I can assure you [ name ]." "You need to feed, it's been days. You can drink from me, I can tell you're hungry." "The process of becoming a vampire is risky, [ name ], you could die, and I don't know if I could forgive myself for killing you." "I'm a vampire, I can hold a grudge for a long time, so believe me when I say I will never forgive this. Never." "You were human once! How can you have no empathy?" "You don't have to kill to be a vampire, but what would be the fun in that." "You can spend your first years of immortality doing whatever you want to whoever you want, but when you come back to your senses, it'll hit you harder than anything you've felt before." "One day, [ name ], everything you've done is going to catch up to you, and you're never going to forgive yourself." "Stop kidding yourself, [ name ], you're a vampire, a killer, a predator. You might as well embrace it now because you can't keep this up forever." "You can't [ compel / glamour ] me, I have something to protect me." "When you've lived as long as me, there's not much more in life you can do." "You want me to turn you? You don't know what you're asking me to do." "You really have to stop hissing like that, it's getting on my nerves." "I'm going to drive this stake through your heart, [ name ], and I'm going to enjoy it."

[deerlysacred]

ཀ while you were torn apart, i would still wait with you there . . . widow's hill 🕷️

𐂂 𝄢 { s1 dean winchester x nymph fem!reader } {with sammy}

𖣂 𝄢 plot : original case storyline, some angst, eventually fluffy.

♫ 𝄢 concept song : strangers - ethel cain

‼️ 𝄢 i do not own supernatural or any of its characters; all rights belong to their respective creators. this is purely a work of fan fiction for entertainment purposes only, with no intention of profit.

🦌 — the last draft rip 😔

The Impala hummed softly under Dean's hand as it rumbled down the empty road leading to Widow's Hill. The morning sky was heavy with clouds, casting a gray pall over the dead trees that lined the way. You sat in the backseat, your journal open on your lap, twirling your pen as your eyes flickered between the pages and the passing scenery. Sam, riding shotgun, was scrolling through notes on his laptop, his brow furrowed with concentration.

"Okay," Sam began, breaking the silence, "the legend says the villagers were slaughtered right after the sacrifices— rumor is, the girls' spirits went rogue and wiped them out."

Dean scoffed, one hand resting casually on the wheel. "Good. Sounds like they got what was coming to 'em. But if those ghosts are snatching up innocent women now, they're not exactly innocent anymore." The tension in his jaw hadn't eased all morning. It wasn't hard to guess why — his dad was still missing, and every passing day was a reminder that they weren't any closer to finding him.

He flicked his gaze at you through the rearview mirror —just for a second— but it was enough to make your insides tingle. You pretended to be very, very interested in the half-doodled sigil on your journal page. Dean didn’t make a habit of trusting supernatural creatures, and you didn’t make a habit of being trusted as a nymph. Yet somehow, here you were, you carved out an exception. Not that he'd admit it outright, but you still knew he was starting to trust you.

"Alright," Dean grumbled, pulling to a park near the broken iron gates of the churchyard. The building stood crookedly against the gray sky, its windows shattered and vines crawling like veins up the crumbling walls. "We start with the records inside. Find those girls' names —Georgia, Clara, and Mae. Burn their bones, and we're outta here."

"Easy enough," Sam muttered as he swung the door open. "Except for the part where they'll probably try to kill us."

The cold february air hit your face as you stepped out of Baby, boots crunching on the frosty gravel. You instinctively tightened your coat around you, eyeing the eerie church in front of you like a bad omen. It was straight out of one of those haunted house movies Dean loved quoting.

"This is gonna be fun." Dean said sarcastically, slamming the car door. He grabbed the salt rounds and shotgun from the trunk. "Stay close," he muttered, not looking at you. "I'm not in the mood to scrape you off the ceiling if one of these lady spooks decides to make you her new doll."

"Wow, Dean," you said dryly, falling into step beside him. "Thanks for the visual. That's comforting."

He smirked, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "I aim to please."

You hesitated, glancing up at him. He looked… tired, more than usual. You could clearly see the eyebags under his slightly bloodshot emerald eyes, like he hadn't slept in a while. "Hey, uh…" You fiddled with the buttons of your coat, your voice dropping slightly. "You okay? I mean… you seem kinda…" Gruff? Angry? Sad? Words failed you again, so you gestured vaguely in his direction like that explained everything.

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Kinda…?"

Oh, good, now he's making me finish the sentence. Fantastic. "I don't know… just… are you okay?" you asked, your voice barely above a mumble by the end.

His smirk softened into something closer to a smile. "I'm fine," he said, a little too quickly. Then, after a pause, he sighed and added, "Let's just get this over with."

The interior of the church was worse than you expected. Pews were overturned, their wood rotting and splintered. Shattered stained-glass windows let in weak gray light, casting patterns on the dust-covered floor. The broken stained-glass windows painted jagged, ghostly reflections across the walls— saints and angels distorted by time. It was the kind of place that made you shiver before anything abnormal even happened.

Dean clicked on his flashlight, the beam cutting through the dimness. "Alright, let's find the records and get the hell out of here before one of our new ghost girlfriends decides to play tag."

"Not it." you muttered under your breath.

Sam made his way towards the back of the church, where a set of double doors hung slightly ajar. "If there are any old records, they'll probably be in an office or storage room." He pushed open the doors with a creak, revealing a hallway lined with more doors. The air back here was even colder. You rubbed your arms, trying to shake the growing unease settling in your stomach.

Dean must've noticed, because he nudged your arm as he passed. "Relax, Bambi. It's just a creepy, abandoned church full of vengeful spirits. What's the worst that could happen?"

You shot him a glare. "You want the full list, or just the highlights?"

"Smartass." he muttered, but the corner of his mouth twitched up.

The three of you split up, searching through the various offices and storage spaces. You found a cabinet stuffed with crumbling papers and old books, flipping carefully. Your breath caught when you finally landed on something useful.

"Hey…" you called out, pulling out a thick, yellowed ledger. Sam and Dean were at your side in seconds, looking over your shoulder as you flipped through the names.

"Georgia Lindsay, Clara Dalton, and Mae Treece." Sam read aloud, pointing to the neatly penned names under a list of burials. "Looks like they were buried under the weeping tree in the village cemetery. Georgia and Clara at least… Mae's got a question mark next to her name."

Dean frowned. "What does that mean? They lost her body?"

You stared at the eerie little mark on the page, a sense of dread curling in your gut with the sudden possibility that crept inside your mind. "Or they never buried her at all."

"Not… necessarily," Sam murmured, his eyes scanning the page. "The question mark could mean a number of things— maybe they had trouble identifying her body, or maybe—"

Dean cut in.

"Or maybe they just chucked her in a ditch and called it a day. Either way, we gotta find out where she ended up. If we don't, burning her friends ain't gonna do squat."

You exhaled, rubbing your arms against the chill seeping into your bones. There was something about Mae that unsettled you more than the others. But you didn't know why.

"So," you said. "Graveyard first, then we play hide-and-seek with Mae?"

Dean shot you a look. "Yeah, except if Mae finds us first, the game ends with us getting turned into human confetti."

Sam ignored him, flipping through another set of records. "Georgia and Clara's graves should be towards the back of the cemetery. There's a map here— looks like the cemetery is split into sections."

Dean rolled his shoulders like he was trying to shake off a bad feeling. "Alright, let's go dig up some bones."

You three went out of the building, the broken church doors groaning behind you like something reluctant to let you go. The sky was still heavy with clouds, the air was chilly. You walked beside Dean, hands tucked into the sleeves of your coat, while Sam studied the graveyard map like it was a damn treasure hunt.

Dean glanced over at you, then down at your boots with a small smirk. "You know, for someone who's half-forest fairy, you sure aren't great at walking on actual earth."

You blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Yesterday, you tripped over a completely flat sidewalk."

"That was one time—"

Dean huffed, his breath misting inthe air, he nudged you lightly with his elbow. "Oh yeah? What about last week? When you tripped over air and took me down with you?"

Your face warmed at the memory. "That was… a coordinated fall."

"Coordinated my ass. I had a bruise the size of Kansas on my back."

You bit your bottom lip, crossing your arms. "Oh, sure, let's all pick on the clumsy person."

"Hey, I think it's adorable," Dean teased, his voice dropping into that low, gravelly tone that always made your heart flutter. "Real cute when you get all flustered, too."

You opened your mouth to throw out some witty retort but the universe had other plans. The ground shifted beneath your foot, your boot catching on a hidden tree root, and before you could even process what was happening, you were weightless— then not.

A strong hand shot out, catching your arm before you could fully faceplant into the frozen ground. Dean's grip was firm and way too warm compared to the chilly Widow's Hill air seeping into your skin, his laugh was immediate. "See? Case in point."

Your face was approximately the temperature of a furnace. "I hate you."

"Nah, sweetheart," he drawled, still holding onto you, his grip firm and warm. "You love me."

Sam sighed. "Can we focus?"

You pushed away from Dean, ignoring the heat creeping up your neck. "Yes, please." You three kept walking, and you finally thought that you were finally from Dean's teasing. But of course, while Sam had his nose buried in the map trying to make sense of the disorganized burial plots, Dean seemed more interested in smirking at you.

Maybe if I stay really quiet, he'd just let it go.

Nope.

"So, Bambi," he drawled, nudging you lightly with his elbow again. "What's your over-under on falling again before we torch these bones?"

You rolled your eyes, adjusting your coat around you. "Oh, ha ha. Very funny."

"Hey, I'm just sayin', if you wipe out again, I might start carrying a leash."

A leash? Oh my God. Nope. Not acknowledging that. Not picturing that. Absolutely not thinking about Dean Winchester, holding a—

NOPE.

Sam snorted, and you shot him a betrayed look. "Et tu, Sam?"

"He's got a point," Sam muttered, not even glancing up from the map. "You do fall a lot."

"That's it," you huffed, stepping ahead of them. "I'm leaving you two to the ghosts."

Dean chuckled, the warmth of it curling around your ears. "Oh, sweetheart, you wouldn't last ten minutes without us."

You ignored him, focusing on the graveyard ahead. The further you walked, the quieter the world became. The usual forest sounds —chirping birds, rustling leaves— had disappeared, swallowed by an unnatural stillness. Even the wind seemed hesitant, whispering through the trees instead of howling.

You shivered. Something felt… off.

But you weren't about to give Dean the satisfaction of freaking out over nothing.

Unfortunately, the universe had other plans.

One moment, you were walking. The next, the world tilted. Your stomach lurched as your foot caught on something unseen, and you were falling— again.

Oh, for the love of—

The impact never came. Instead, a cold, unseen force yanked you backwards, your breath vanishing from your lungs as you were dragged through the dirt.

For a split second, your brain tried to rationalize it. Maybe you had tripped, maybe you just—

No. No, something had grabbed you.

Panic flared in your chest, raw and instinctive. Your hands clawed at the ground, boots digging into the dirt as you struggled. "DEAN—!"

Dean's laughter died in an instant. "Y/N?"

You barely had time to hear the confusion in his voice before you were pulled even harder, your body sliding through the grass like you weighed nothing. Your fingers scraped at the frozen earth, desperate for something —anything— to hold onto. The grip was cold. So cold.

It felt like icy hands wrapped around your ankles.

Something unseen —someone unseen— was dragging you.

Dean's voice snapped from playful to deadly serious in half a heartbeat. "What the hell— SAM!"

You caught a glimpse of their figures rushing toward you before the force jerked you violently to the left. The world blurred around you as you were yanked between trees, your scream lost in the wind.

Your back hit something solid suddenly, breath whooshing from your lungs. A rotten, collapsed wooden structure surrounded you —the remnants of an old wood— cutting shed. Rusted tools littered the ground and hanging down the walls. A collection of knives and axes gleamed dully, their edges wickedly sharp. Your breath fogged in the cold as you turned your head, the shadows between the ruined wooden beams thickening. The air shifted. Like someone had just stepped forward.

Then, she appeared.

Clara Dalton.

Her figure flickered, a torn white dress clinging to her like wet paper. She had rain boots on, cracked and faded yellow, squelched with every slow step, leaving faint, wet prints. The edges of her face blurred in and out, shifting between the hollow-eyed corpse she'd become and the girl she had once been. Her long blonde hair hung in limp, lifeless pigtails, the strands dull and stringy, as if they'd never known the warmth of the sun. Her eyes, black as the deepest parts of the ocean, locked onto yours. A small smile stretched across her pale lips.

"You fall a lot," she whispered, tilting her head like she found that funny. "Just like I did."

You didn't want to ask. You really didn't. But your mouth moved anyway. "You fell?"

A giggle, breathy and sharp. Her body jerked, her head snapping at an unnatural angle. Like a puppet with its strings tangled.

"Down the well," she cooed. "Down, down, down— so dark. So cold. I screamed, but no one came."

A chill prickled your skin, nausea twisting in your gut. "I'm… I'm sorry."

Clara's smile faltered, her black eyes flickering, something fragile breaking beneath the surface. "Are you?" she whispered, her voice soft now. Childlike. "Would you have come for me?"

Your breath felt tight in your throat. You didn't know how to answer that.

Clara swayed forward, her fingers twitching like she was resisting the urge to reach out and touch you. Her presence brought the smell of damp earth, something old. "I used to braid my hair every morning." Her voice wobbled. "Mama said I had the prettiest hair in the village."

Your stomach twisted, knowing exactly where this was going.

"But the water—" Clara's breath hitched, her voice taking on a wet, gurgling edge. Her fingers suddenly curled into the ends of her stringy, tangled locks, frustration and grief flickering across her half-decayed face. "It ruined it. Stole all the shine. Now it's just—just…" Her voice trembled towards the end, jaw clenching. Then suddenly, her dark gaze snapped up, landing on you with something desperate. "Braid it." she commanded.

Your blood ran cold.

"W-What?" you stammered, glancing wildly towards the trees, Dean and Sam were still not in sight, probably still searching for you. "I don't think—"

"Braid my hair," she repeated, stepping closer. Her body flickered between solid and mist, her bottom lip quivered. "Please." Her voice wobbled as she turned her back to you and sat on the ground. "Please, please, please."

The way she said it made your stomach knot. It wasn't just a request. It was an echo of something she used to say in her past, something she must've begged for when she was still just a girl and not this… vengeful thing.

You cursed everything as you sat down too, your fingers shook as you reached out.

Clara let out a sharp, shuddering breath as you gently took a handful of her damp, brittle hair. The sensation sent a ripple of unease down your spine— it wasn't the worst thing you'd ever touched, but it was close. Cold, stringy, weak, almost like old river weeds. But Clara sighed like you had just given her something she hadn't had in decades.

"I liked French braids best," she murmured, swaying slightly. "Mama used to do them so tight it made my eyes pull."

Your fingers worked automatically, twisting the strands as carefully as you could. "That sounds… painful."

Clara giggled. "Maybe a little. But it meant she cared, you silly goose." Her voice softened. "That she saw me."

You swallowed. Something about this brief moment of calmfelt like holding your breath before a storm. "What happened to your mother?"

Clara's fingers clenched into the folds of her lacey dress. "She left."

You froze. "Left?"

Clara's thin body tensed up for a second, you couldn't see her eyes but you guessed that her gaze zoned out.

"She thought I ran away," she murmured, her voice distant. "The town told her I ran away." Her lip trembled. "She didn't come looking."

Your hands stilled.

Oh.

Oh, Clara.

"You remind me of her." she whispered.

Your throat closed up, feeling your breath hitch.

She turned her head just enough for you to catch the pale curve of her cheek, the dull gleam of her lifeless eyes. "Not my mother," she added. "My sister."

Your hands, still caught in the strands of her hair, trembled. "You had a sister?"

Clara gave a slow, almost dreamy nod. "She used to braid my hair, too. Just like this. She was more patient and gentle with it though. That's why I'd always asked from her first." Her fingers twitched in her lap. "She was older than me, by six years. Always said I'd grow up to be beautiful and strong."

You swallowed against the ache growing in your throat. "She sounds like she loved you."

Clara didn't respond right away. When she finally did, her voice had turned raw. "She left first. Married a man from another town. She wanted to take me with her, but—" A soft, shuddering breath left her lips. "Mama wouldn't let her."

Your fingers curled around her hair instinctively, you blinked away the tears that filled your eyes.

"She never knew what happened to me," Clara murmured. "I wonder… if she ever thinks about me. If she misses me."

Your heart clenched. "I'm sure she does." you whispered.

For a long moment, Clara said nothing. Just sat there, letting you finish the braid in silence. You were careful, treating her fragile hair gentle, even though you knew it was too late. The moment you tied off the end with a loose scrap of lace from your sleeve, she lifted a shaking hand to touch the plait. Her fingers ran over the neat pattern, hesitant, almost happy.

"It feels nice," she whispered, reaching up to touch it with delicate, ghostly fingers. "Like when… my hair was still warm."

You swallowed thickly. "Clara, I—"

Her head jerked suddenly, snapping towards the trees outside the cabin. Her black eyes widened, her hands clenching into fists. A heartbeat later, you heard it, too— Dean, calling your name with urgency.

Clara twisted back around, gaze boring into you, filled with something raw. "They're coming," she said, but there was no malice in her voice. Just… melancholy? Acceptance? She reached out, the tips of her cold fingers skimming over your wrist. "You're not like the others, you listen."

Your breath hitched.

Then before you could say another word, she disappeared like a candle in the wind.

A shudder wracked through your body. You exhaled sharply, dragging a shaky hand down your face. That was— well. That was something.

Leaves crunched behind you. "Y/N!"

You turned just as Dean and Sam burst through the trees, Dean's shotgun was raised, Sam's expression knitted with worry. The moment Dean saw you, his green eyes darkened. "Jesus, sweetheart, you okay? What the hell happened?"

He pulled you up to your feet, his calloused thumbs caressed your cheeks as he checked if you were all right. "I—I'm okay, I guess…" you stammered. "She—She asked me to braid her hair, and if I said no, I think she would've—"

"What? You braided her hair?" Dean repeated, incredulous. His hands shot through his already-messy hair, like he was trying to physically restrain himself from yelling. "Jesus, Y/N! You didn't think maybe, I dunno, running the hell away was the better option?!"

Your stomach twisted. "I was buying time!" you argued, your voice smaller than you wanted it to be. "She wasn't attacking me, and I—I thought if I kept her calm she—"

Dean let out a humorless laugh and took a step back, licking his lips. "Oh yeah? And what was the plan if she didn't stay calm? Huh?" His eyes were wild with frustration. "What if we hadn't gotten to you in time? What if she'd—” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Damn it, Y/N, you can't just—"

"Alright, enough." Sam interrupted, stepping between you both with a firm look. "We're all in one piece. Let's focus on getting those bones burned before she decides to come back for round two."

Dean clenched his jaw, his nostrils flaring. For a second, it looked like he might keep arguing. But then he just ran a hand down his face, exhaling hard. "Fine…" he muttered. "Whatever. Let's just get this over with."

He turned sharply and stalked ahead, his shoulders tense. You stayed back for a moment, watching him go, your heart tight in your chest, feeling guilty. You understood why he was upset. Hell, you would've been just as mad if the roles were reversed. But it still hurt. Sam sighed, giving you a knowing yet soft look. "You okay?"

You nodded, even though you didn't even believe it yourself. "Yeah."

Sam gave you a small, reassuring pat on the back before the two of you followed Dean towards the weeping tree in the graveyard. The branches curled above like skeletal fingers, the air thick with an unnatural stillness around the tombs. Even the bugs had gone quiet.

Dean was already digging, the shovel cutting into the damp earth with angry thrusts into Georgia's grave. His jaw was set, his face unreadable. Sam grabbed the other shovel and started digging Clara's grave.

You shifted uncomfortably, wrapping your arms around yourself as the tension between the brothers thickened with every scrape of metal against dirt.

After a few minutes, Sam let out a long breath, pausing to rest his weight on the handle of his shovel. "You know, we shouldn't even be wasting time on this." His voice was tight, restrained. "We should be looking for Dad."

Dean's shoulders stiffened, but he didn't look up. "Oh, here we go again." he muttered under his breath.

"I'm serious, Dean." Sam's voice grew more heated. "Every case we take is just another distraction. We're running in circles when we should be tracking Dad down. You know he's out there looking for that demon—"

Dean threw his shovel aside with a loud clank when it finally hit something hard, probably the coffin. "And what the hell do you think we're doing, Sam?" He turned to face his brother, his green eyes flashing. "We're following his damn trail, same as always. But we can't just ignore people who need help along the way!"

Sam scoffed, shaking his head. "That's the excuse you keep using. But you and I both know that we're no closer to finding him than we were months ago! Meanwhile, the thing that killed Jess is still out there, and we're just— what? Digging up old graves? Burning bones?" His voice cracked slightly when he mentioned Jessica. "I don't care about this hunt, Dean. I care about finding Dad so we can finally take that son of a bitch down."

Dean took a step closer, his face twisting with barely restrained anger. "Yeah? And what if we do find him, Sam? What then? You think he's just gonna tell us everything, hand us the demon on a silver platter?" He let out a bitter laugh. "Dad's been doing this for a hell of a long time. If he's not answering our calls, there's a damn good reason for it."

Sam opened his mouth to argue, but you quickly stepped between them, standing in the middle of two graves as your hands raised in an attempt to de-escalate the situation. "Guys, come on," you pleaded, your voice soft and urgent. "It'not the time for this, you can talk about it when we go back to—"

Dean's eyes found you you so sharp it made your breath catch. "This isn't your damn business, Y/N! Know your place." he snapped, his voice raising. The words hit you like a slap. You flinched, your heart plummeting into your stomach.

Dean's face was still set in anger, but the moment the words left his mouth, something flickered in his eyes. Regret, maybe. Not enough to take it back, though.

Your throat felt tight. "I was just trying to help." you murmured, barely above a whisper.

Dean exhaled harshly, dragging a hand down his face. But he didn't apologize. He just turned away, crouching down to push the last remaining dirt on the coffin away with his hands.

Sam shot you a guilty look, his expression softening. "Y/N…"

But you shook your head quickly, blinking back the sting in your eyes. "Whatever."

You swallowed the lump in your throat and focused on the task at hand. You'd deal with the ache later. Right now, you needed to burn these bones before the girls come to get you.

Dean finally wrenched open Georgia's coffin with a grunt, the old wood splintering under his force. The smell hit first— stale earth and something worse, something rotting beneath the years. What remained of her body was the brittle bones wrapped in the tattered shreds of her burial dress, strands of lifeless hair still clinging to her skull. Muggets and worms everywhere.

You wasted no time, grabbing the salt and pouring it over her remains. Sam followed, dousing her in gasoline. Dean flicked open his lighter—

A giggle, chillingly sweet, curled through the noon air.

"Oh, boys… burning a girl without even saying goodbye?"

Before you could react, something slammed into you with force. The ground met you hard, damp earth seeping through your coat as the breath tore from your lungs. You gasped, dizzy, as the lighter skidded from Dean's fingers, landing uselessly in the dirt, his eyes widened with worry. "Y/N!"

Georgia's form shimmered into existence a few feet away. Even in death, she was striking— long, raven dark curls framing porcelain skin, her deep red lips twisted into a smirk. But it was her eyes that unsettled you most— hollow but hungry.

And right now, they were locked onto Dean.

"My, my," she purred, stepping towards him, her gaze sweeping over him like a predator sizing up its next meal. "You're even more handsome up close. I've been watching you, you know…"

Dean's jaw tightened, his fingers flexing around his shotgun. "Yeah? You should've taken a picture then." He cocked the gun, smirking. "What's the term? Necrophilia? Yeah, sweetheart, I don't swing that way."

Georgia laughed, a sound that slithered under your skin like a slow-moving poison. "Oh, that sharp tongue of yours— it's delicious." She reached out, fingers barely grazing his jaw, but it was enough. A thin layer of frost crackled over his skin, the cold spreading like veins of ice down his throat. Dean's body stiffened, his breath coming in short, visible bursts.

Your stomach lurched. She was freezing him.

"Let him go!" You scrambled to your feet, your fingers finding the iron crowbar strapped to your belt.

Georgia barely spared you a glance after she threw Sam, who tried to get to her too, away, her lips curving into something almost affectionate. "Oh, but he likes it," she murmured, her touch trailing down Dean's chest, the ice following in its wake. "Don't you, Dean?"

Dean's face twisted in pain, but he couldn't move.

Enough.

You didn't think— you just moved, swinging the crowbar with everything you had. It cut through Georgia's form like mist, but the effect was immediate. She shrieked, her body flickering, stumbling backwards as her grip on Dean broke. She threw Dean away against a tombstone harshly lastly.

Dean staggered, sucking in a sharp breath, his hands shaking as feeling returned to his limbs. "Jesus Christ." he rasped, shaking out the lingering cold.

No time to check if he was okay.

Sam was already raising his shotgun, he fired— the rock salt blast slammed into Georgia, sending her sprawling back with a cry, her form shattering.

"That won't hold her for long!" Sam yelled.

You didn't hesitate. Heart pounding, you dove for the lighter, fumbling as you flipped it open. The small flame flickered, and then you tossed it.

The moment it hit the gasoline- soaked bones, fire erupted in a furious blaze. Her scream tore through the graveyard.

She materialized one last time, writhing in agony, her hands clawing at the air as if she could undo what had already begun. Her face twisted with fear. Then, just like that, she was gone.

But you weren't done yet.

You turned, glancing at Clara's grave. The coffin was opened by Sam, the skeletal remains waiting for their turn in the fire. Your stomach churned, swallowing hard as you knelt by the grave. You repeated the process— salt, lighter fluid, the flick of the flame. But this time, your hands shook more. You couldn't explain it. Maybe it was exhaustion, maybe it was Clara's childlike presence lingering in the back of your mind. The lighter fell from your trembling fingers, landing atop Clara's remains. Fire bloomed instantly, swallowing her bones in a hungry, orange glow. And just like that, Clara was gone too.

A groan pulled you to stand on your feet. You turned, your heart lurching as you spotted Dean still slumped against the headstone where Georgia had thrown him. His face was twisted in pain, one arm wrapped tightly around his ribs.

"Dean!"

You rushed to his side, dropping to your knees. His eyes flickered up to meet yours, and for a second, you thought he was about to make a snarky comment. But then he winced as he tried to shift upright, and the smartass remark died in his throat.

"Shit," he muttered. "ghost bitch had some strength."

"Yeah, no kidding." You bit your lip, scanning him for injuries. His breathing was shallow, his jaw clenched like he was trying to play it off. "You hit the headstone hard. You could've broken something."

Dean scoffed. "Please. Takes more than that to— ah, damn it." He hissed when he tried to move again.

Your heart squeezed. You hesitated for only a second before your instincts kicked in. "Hold still." you murmured, shifting closer.

Dean blinked, watching as you reached out, your palms hovering just over his chest. "What are you—"

A soft, golden glow radiated from your hands, illuminating the deep bruising forming under his shirt. The moment your fingers brushed over his ribs, warmth spread through him, sinking into his bones.

Dean's breath hitched. "Whoa."

The pain in his expression slowly melted away, his body relaxing beneath your touch. His green eyes widened slightly, filled with something unreadable as he stared at you. You swallowed, keeping your focus. The bruises faded, the ache dissipating until all that remained was a lingering warmth. You exhaled softly, finally letting your hands drop.

"Better?" you asked, voice quiet.

Dean flexed his fingers, shifting his weight cautiously. His brows furrowed when he didn't feel pain anymore. "Yeah," he admitted, sounding almost surprised. "Better."

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The air between you hung thick, charged with something tense. Then Dean cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. "Guess I owe you one, huh?" His voice was teasing, but there was something else beneath it too— something softer.

You smiled faintly. "I'll add it to your tab."

Dean huffed a small laugh. His eyes lingered on you for a second before Sam's voice cut through the moment. "I found something." You both turned to see him kneeling near the backpack, flipping through the notes you'd gathered from the library and church records earlier. His brows were furrowed, his expression focused.

"What is it?" Dean pushed himself to his feet, extending a hand to help you up. You took it, your fingers brushing against his for a fraction of a second longer than necessary.

Sam sighed, holding up a page. "Mae Treece. We know there's no record of her burial. But I cross-checked the village's old property records, and guess what? Her family home is still standing, just outside the village limits."

"So, what?" Dean crossed his arms. "You think the bones might still be there?"

"It's possible." Sam stood, tucking the papers back into the bag. "From what I read here, her mother refused to accept her death. If she never gave Mae a proper burial, she might've kept her remains in the house."

A chill ran down your spine at the thought.

Dean huffed. "Great. So we get to break into a creepy abandoned house on a 'casual' Monday. Awesome."

Sam ignored him, slinging the backpack over his shoulder. "It's our only lead. If the bones are there, we finish the job."

You nodded, shaking off the lingering unease. "Then let's go."

The road leading to the Treece house was cracked and overgrown, weeds poking through the sidewalk as the afternoon sun cast long shadows over you three. The old house loomed in the distance, its windows dark and boarded, its paint peeling from years of neglect. It was the kind of house kids dared each other to approach on a Halloween night.

You and Dean walked side by side, trailing slightly behind Sam as he checked the map.

For a while, there was nothing but the sound of birds and the occasional rustling of wind. Then, Dean glanced at you. "So…" he started, his voice lighter than before. "Are we gonna talk about the whole magical healing hands thing?"

You sighed, rubbing your arm. "I—It's just part of my nymph abilities… It's complicated.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Complicated how?"

You hesitated, chewing your lip. "It… drains me. A little. And I can't heal major wounds. Just small injuries. I don't use it much because, well…" You exhaled. "It makes me feel too much. I don't know how to explain it. Like… I feel the pain I take away, even if just for a second."

Dean frowned. "Wait— you felt that?"

"A little," you admitted, looking down at your hands. "Not as bad as you did probably, but… yeah."

Dean's jaw tightened. "That's not fair."

You blinked, caught off guard.

He shook his head. "I mean, you already put yourself in danger, and now you're taking on pain that's not even yours?" His lips pressed into a thin line. "That's bullshit, Y/N."

Then he cleared his throat, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Anyway. Next time, just let me suffer. I can take it."

You rolled your eyes. "Yeah, sure, because suffering in silence has worked so well for you in the past."

Dean opened his mouth to argue— then paused, giving you a half-smile instead. "Touché."

Up ahead, Sam stopped, looking up at the looming house.

"We're here."

The Treece house stood before you like a silent, waiting thin. And whatever or whoever in it, was waiting for you too.

The front porch creaked as the three of you stepped onto it, dust curling up from the floorboards like the house was exhaling its own breath.

Dean tested the front door, rattling the handle. Locked. He sighed, then threw his shoulder against it, but the wood barely budged. "Figures. Feels like something's blocking it from the inside.”

Sam tried one of the ground-floor windows, but as expected, most were boarded up with thick, splintered wood, nailed in. "Whoever did this really didn't want anyone getting in,” Sam said, peering through a tiny gap between the planks. "Can't see much, but this place looks trashed."

You glanced around, scanning the perimeter of the house. The old iron gate surrounding the yard was rusted, nearly swallowed by overgrown weeds. A broken stone angel statue leaned against the side of the house, half its face missing, moss growing in the cracks of its wings.

Then you spotted it.

A small, dirty bathroom window near the back of the house. It wasn't boarded up like the others, just slightly out of reach. Big enough for you, but too small for Sam or Dean.

You pointed. "I can go in through there."

Dean's head snapped towards you. "What?"

You pointed up again. "That window. I can squeeze through and unlock the door from the inside."

Dean's brows furrowed, and his jaw immediately clenched. "Hell. No."

"Dean—"

"Nope." He turned back towards the door, rolling his shoulders. "I'll break this damn thing down if I have to."

You sighed. "You just said there's furniture blocking it. Even if you bust it open, you'll probably just make more of a mess."

"Yeah, well, maybe we move the furniture when we get inside, genius."

You crossed your arms. "Or, maybe I just go in through the window, and we avoid making a bunch of noise that'll gather possible ghost guests?"

Dean opened his mouth to argue back, but Sam cut in, glancing between you both. "She's not wrong, Dean. It's the safest way in."

Dean narrowed his eyes. "Dude. What if she gets stuck? Or worse— what if something in there grabs her before she gets the damn door open?"

You sighed. "Then I'll scream really loud, and you can break the door down then."

Dean still looked reluctant, but Sam was already crouching near the wall, interlacing his fingers. "Come on, I'll boost you up."

Dean clenched his jaw, looking between you and the window. His hands were on his hips, his fingers tapping anxiously against his belt.

"Fine," he muttered. "but if anything happens—"

"I know, I know," you said, holding onto Sam's broad shoulders as he lifted you higher. You grasped the windowsill, your fingers curling around the dusty wood.

Dean exhaled sharply. "Just— be careful, okay?"

You glanced down at him and smiled. "I will."

Then, with a small push, you hoisted yourself through the window.

The moment you landed inside, the air changed. The air smelled of mildew and something sickly sweet, like rotting flowers left too long in a vase. The house wasn't just abandoned; it was preserved in decay, like time had stopped inside its walls.

You stood in what must've been a bathroom, but the sink was cracked. The mirror above it was shattered. A rusted claw-foot bathtub sat in the corner, its curtain half-ripped, revealing something inside— a rotting bouquet of dead lilies. Your breath misted in the air as you gasped. It was too cold for noon, even colder than outside.

Slowly, you stepped out of the bathroom and into the main hallway.

The wallpaper was faded damask, peeling at the edges, revealing black mold creeping up the walls like veins. The wooden floorboards groaned under your weight, each step disturbing a layer of dust.

Framed portraits lined the walls, their gilded edges tarnished, their subjects watching you with blank, hollow eyes. A young girl you supposed was Mae was there in a family portrait, she had short brown hair and big blue eyes full of life. Smiling widely with her dimples. The moment you looked at the girl's figure, you heard it.

Soft whispering.

Your breath hitched. It was distant, just at the edge of your hearing, slithering through air like a lullaby sung through broken teeth.

Nope. Nope. Nope.

You swallowed hard and moved towards the door, stepping carefully around a puddle of something that looked suspiciously like dried blood. The thing that was blocking the door was a big old grandfather clock, its face cracked, its hands stuck at 3:17. You pushed it aside carefully, trying not to make much noise. The door lock was rusted, but after a few sharp turns, it finally clicked open. Without hesitation, you yanked the door open.

Dean and Sam were already waiting, both of them looking tense. Dean's eyes scanned you from head to toe, his hand immediately resting on your shoulder. "You good?"

You nodded, swallowing. "Yeah."

The three of you moved cautiously through the decaying halls of the house, it felt wrong and unsettling. Dean led the way, shotgun raised, his sharp gaze flicking to every shadowed corner. Sam followed behind, his flashlight sweeping over old furniture covered in white sheets, their shapes looming like silent ghosts. You stayed in the middle. The moment you stepped into a bedroom at the end of the hall, your stomach clenched.

The room was eerily preserved. Faded floral wallpaper of lilies, a vanity covered in dust, and an old wooden rocking chair sitting beside the canopied bed. A dollhouse rested on a small table, the tiny figurines inside still standing upright. But their faces… Their eyes had been scratched out.

Dean approached the dresser, pulling open a drawer with a loud creak. "Nothing but old clothes."

Sam crouched by the vanity, shifting through moth-eaten papers and dried-out ink bottles. "There has to be something here, some kind of clue."

Your gaze flickered to the bedside table, where a small wooden box sat, its lid slightly ajar.

Carefully, you reached out and lifted the top.

Inside, beneath layers of old lace and dried flowers, was a letter. The paper was yellowed and fragile, the ink slightly faded but still readable.

"Guys, I think I found something."

Sam stood and peered over your shoulder as you unfolded the letter with delicate fingers.

My sweet Mae, I can still hear you crying at night. I can still feel your little hands clinging to my dress, begging me to take you away. I should have. I should have run far, far away and never looked back. But I was too weak. I let them take you. I let them hurt you. I let them kill you. And for that, I will never forgive myself. I kept you here because I thought, somehow, if I held on long enough, you wouldn't be gone. But I know now that I was wrong. I see the shadows moving at night, I hear you whispering in the walls, clawing them. My baby, my poor darling, I trapped you here. I hope one day, someone finds you. I hope one day, someone sets you free. Because I can't, I won't. I am so sorry. - Mother

The room was silent as you finished reading.

Sam exhaled, rubbing his jaw. "She must've kept Mae's body after the sacrifice. That's why there were no burial records."

You looked at him. "But if she didn't bury her, then…"

Dean's expression darkened. "Then Mae's still here."

A sudden thud echoed from somewhere below. All three of you whipped toward the sound. Dean's fingers flexed around his shotgun. "Basement."

You swallowed. Of course it was the basement.

The three of you moved as one, pushing through the decayed house until you reached the basement door. It was ajar, revealing a staircase that disappeared into darkness. The air that seeped from below was cold, thick, suffocating— like walking into an open grave.

Dean flicked on his flashlight, casting long shadows across the crumbling walls. "Stay close."

Step by step, you descended, each footfall groaning against the ancient wood. The basement was worse than you imagined.

Old wooden beams sagged under years of decay. The walls were cracked and damp, the floor covered in a thin layer of dirt. Rusted tools hung from the walls, their shapes twisted and jagged in the dim light.

But it was the far corner of the room that made your breath hitch.

A makeshift bed —little more than a rotting mattress— was pushed against the wall, surrounded by candles long since melted into waxy puddles. At its center, barely visible beneath a tattered blanket, were the remains of a young girl.

Mae.

Her bones were frail, her skull still tangled in remnants of dark, brittle hair. The scent of old death and sorrow lingered in the air.

SLAM!

The basement door slammed shut, throwing the room into utter darkness except for the trembling glow of flashlights.

And then, she appeared.

Mae's ghost manifested at the far side of the room, standing in front of her remains with her head tilted at an unnatural angle. Her face was frozen in a twisted snarl, her mouth stretched too wide, her eyes hollow black pits leaking streams of dark, inky tears.

She lunged.

A blast of cold wind knocked Dean's shotgun from his hands. Sam barely had time to react before Mae clawed into him, her bony fingers like rusted hooks as she slammed him against the wall with inhuman force.

"Sam!" you cried, stumbling back.

Sam gasped, his feet kicking helplessly as he was lifted into the air, Mae's grip tightening around his throat. His face twisted in pain, his hands clawing at invisible fingers.

"Salt!" Dean barked, reaching for his rock salt rounds.

But Mae was too fast.

She turned sharply, her banshee-like scream tearing through the basement. The force of it sent Dean flying back, slamming into the wooden beams with a pained grunt.

That left only you.

Your pulse hammered as Mae whipped towards you, her mouth parting to unleash another ear-splitting shriek.

But this time, you were ready.

You threw up your hands, summoning a burst of nymph energy. The air around you rippled, dust swirling as a sharp gust of wind knocked Mae back thanks to your element control power.

She hissed, her head twitching unnaturally, before she came at you again— fast.

You barely had time to dodge, throwing yourself to the side as her clawed fingers swiped inches from your throat. Your foot caught on a rotting floorboard, sending you crashing hard to the ground. A sharp, searing pain shot up your ankle. You bit back a scream, your vision blurring.

You tried to push yourself up, but your ankle throbbed viciously, refusing to hold your weight.

Mae's shadow loomed over you, her jaw unhinging grotesquely, ready to tear into you —

BAM!

A gunshot rang out, salt and iron tearing through Mae's form. She shrieked, her body flickering violently like a illusion. Dean stood behind you, shotgun still raised. His eyes burned with fury.

"Get away from her, you bitch."

Mae whipped toward him, but it was too late. Dean had already grabbed the lighter and threw it. The moment the flame touched Mae's bones, they ignited, the fire consuming them with unnatural speed.

Mae let out a bloodcurdling scream, her form twisted and thrashed, her face contorting between rage, sorrow, and something almost human.

Then—

She was gone.

Dean exhaled, shoving the lighter back into his pocket. "Jesus. I hate ghosts."

Sam was coughing, rubbing his throat where Mae had grabbed him, but he gave a weak thumbs-up. "I'm… I'm good." he rasped.

Dean turned to you— and froze.

"Sweetheart." His voice dropped, eyes flicking to where you sat, clutching your ankle with a pained expression. He was beside you in an instant. "What happened?"

You winced. "I—uh… might've messed up my ankle when she threw me."

Dean knelt down, hands hovering near your leg like he wanted to touch but was afraid of hurting you.

"Dammit..."

Sam crouched beside you. "It looks swollen. Probably twisted it bad."

Dean shook his head. "Screw this. You're not walking."

Before you could argue, he scooped you up like a bride, one arm under your knees, the other supporting your back.

"Dean—"

"Shut up. You're injured."

You huffed but didn't fight it. His body was warm and solid, you felt safe in his arms.

Not exactly complaining... You held the urge to blurt out; Wow your shoulders are huge and I think I might be in love with you.

Sam sighed. "Let's get the hell out of here."

Yes, Sam. Please. Before I self-combust.

As Dean carried you up the stairs, you let your head rest lightly against his shoulder, the exhaustion finally setting in as you rested your eyelids... Just for a sec.

A dull throbbing in your ankle was the first thing you felt as you stirred awake later. The second was the cool press of an ice pack against it.

Blinking, you slowly adjusted to the dim lighting of the motel room. You were on the motel bed, your foot propped up on a pillow, an ice pack resting gently against the swollen skin. The soft weight against your leg made you glance down—

Dean was sitting at the edge of the bed, leaning forward with his forearms on his knees, watching you with an unreadable expression.

"You're finally awake, Sleeping Beauty." he muttered, his lips twitching.

You stretched slightly, wincing when your ankle throbbed in protest. Dean immediately reached over to adjust the ice pack, his fingers brushing your skin gently. "Careful, it’s still swollen."

You sighed, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. "How long was I out?"

Dean checked his watch. "About two hours. Sam took Baby out for a wash, so it's just you and me, sweetheart."

Your lips curled into a sleepy smile. "Didn't peg you as the caretaker type, Winchester."

He scoffed. "Yeah, well, don't get used to it." But despite his words, he didn't pull away, his thumb absently rubbing small circles against your shin.

A comfortable silence settled between you for a moment.

Then, you realized John's Journal settled beside him on the bed that you guessed he was probably reading for the billion time before you woke up, you muttered. "You okay?"

Dean let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "You're the one who got tossed like a ragdoll, and you're askin' if I'm okay?"

You didn't laugh. Instead, you just kept looking at him.

Dean sighed, rubbing a hand over his face before leaning his head back against the wall. His jaw tightened, something unreadable flickering across his expression.

"John. You're worried about him, aren't you?"

His silence was your answer. Dean exhaled sharply. "Sam's right. We should be looking for him. But I… I dunno. The bastard left us behind again. What if we're chasing someone who doesn't wanna be found?”

Your heart clenched. He never admitted things like this.

Carefully, you reached for his hand, your fingers tracing his knuckles gently. "You know that's not true. He loves you."

Dean's jaw ticked. "Yeah? Has a funny way of showing it." He shook his head, a bitter chuckle escaping. "Whole damn life, it was always about the job. Hunt first, everything else second. Even us."

You squeezed his hand. "That's not fair to you."

Dean let out a slow breath, staring at where your fingers rested against his. "Yeah, well. Life's not fair, sweetheart."

You wanted to say more, to tell him that he deserved more than scraps of affection from a father who had made him a soldier before he even had a childhood.

But before you could, Dean's fingers suddenly tightened around yours. When you looked up, his green eyes burned into you. A beat of silence stretched between you, thick with something electric, something undeniable.

Then—

Dean moved fast.

One second, you were breathing; the next, his mouth crashed against yours, hot and desperate.

His fingers buried in your hair, pulling you closer, his body pressing into yours, as if he couldn't get enough. He tasted like whiskey and well... Dean. And it made your head spin.

You gasped against his lips, but he only deepened the kiss, his other hand gripping your thigh, careful of your injury but still possessive, wanting. When he finally pulled back, his breathing was uneven, his forehead pressed against yours.

"Damn it," he murmured, voice rough. "I've wanted to do that for way too long."

Your lips were swollen, tingling, and you found yourself smiling. "Took you long enough."

Dean let out a breathy chuckle, shaking his head before leaning in again— slower this time, like he wanted to memorize the way you two fit together.

And yeah. Yeah, I was definitely not complaining.

[macabr3-barbi3]

I'd like to request a reader stumbling upon Alastor and a deer having a squeaking contest in the woods. I don't know why I need it but I need it because squeaking contest. Thank you

Hello! I hope this scratches the itch for you, it was super cute and fun to write ❤��🦌

You were perhaps a bit early for your meeting with Alastor, but you didn’t think he would mind as you eased open the door to his hotel room and let yourself in. You had been regularly spending time together for a few months now since you had started staying at the hotel, and normally you shared an evening cup of tea about an hour later than you currently were. 

Alastor wasn’t in his room when you stepped inside though, the fire going but no sign of the Radio Demon. You set the new tea you had brought along for the two of you to try on the table near his armchairs and wander further into the room.

He might be in his bayou dimension, you figure. It wasn’t like him to be outside the hotel at this time of the night, so unless he was down at the bar or something he had to be out in the swamp. You had been itching to take a closer look at the ecosystem anyway, so you hoped he wouldn’t mind if you took a look around.

Stepping over the threshold from bedroom to bayou, the difference was immediately noticeable- the atmosphere felt thicker, warmer, more tangible. You follow the path that’s been eroded into the earth through the trees, marveling at the world that Alastor has created here. It was beautiful, the stars shining through the canopy of trees above you, green-tinted moon casting a faint glow on the flora and little creatures you could see skittering about. Maybe he wouldn’t be too averse to having your tea out here sometimes- iced, since it was a bit hotter, but you didn’t think he would mind.

A faint squeaking noise draws your attention, feet halting as you try to pinpoint the direction it had come from. A moment of silence, and then you hear it again coming from your left. You slip your shoes off to muffle the sound of your feet in the grass and creep towards the sound.

You’ve found Alastor, at least- he’s bent at the waist and face to face with a baby deer, ears flattened against his head and his smile thin. Your eyebrows scrunch at the sight, and then the fawn makes the noise that you had followed; high pitched and cute, it makes you smile, grin widening when Alastor glares at the tiny creature and imitates the sound.

They go back and forth several times, the squeaking increasing in volume and length and Alastor getting progressively more frustrated. You hadn’t even known that he could make a noise like that, so sweet and soft and genuinely deerlike that it finally makes you giggle, the fawn taking off into the darkness of the woods and Alastor standing to his normal height, ears pointing skyward as his eyes narrow at the sight of you.

“What,” he inquires, “are you doing out here?” 

“What am I doing out here? You were in some kind of squeaking contest with a baby deer- so cute by the way-”

“My actions are none of your concern.” He turns his head away from you, but even in the dim lighting you can see the faint blush to his complexion.

“Come on, Al,” you tease lightly, not wanting to actually anger him. “You can tell me- did the fawn offer you its soul if you could out-adorable it? You were doing a great job from what I could see.”

“If you must know, it was a riveting argument about the state of my bayou- whatever level of ‘cuteness’ you apply to it is merely a byproduct of the conversation. Since you’ve scared the damned thing off, I shall have to resume the conversation another time.” His smile is tense, leaning into your personal space. “You will speak of this to no one,” he says, brushing his hands off on his suit jacket. “Know that it is only the faintest sliver of platonic affection keeping your afterlife uninterrupted.”

“Gotcha,” you agree. “Big scary Radio Demon? Not cute in the slightest; I have no evidence to the contrary if anyone asks. You have my word.” You place a hand over your heart in mock-seriousness, and know that you’ve won him over when he scoffs and his smile softens. “Now come on, I brought a new tea for us to try- back to society!” You’re already contemplating how to make him make that squeaking noise again; maybe if you asked nicely he would do it for you, or perhaps you’d have to startle him into it-

“It’s not even a mile back to the room, and this is hardly the wilderness,” he complains, but he follows you anyway, your nefarious plot unnoticed.

[transdeergirl]

thinking about deer again #awesome

[pyro-les]

A promise to uphold part 1

Radioapple🦆🦌

Warnings: none -1.2k words

A/N: this is the first part of a series which I will post both on here and AO3. First time writing for Hazbin Hotel so sorry if it's a tad ooc

It had been over 100 years since Lillith had left taking Charlie with her, she left Lucifer nothing. Well technically not nothing, she had left him the palace but what was the point of somewhere so big with no one in it? It just made the fact that he was now truly alone even more obvious.

It was because of this that he went searching for something to fill the time and space at home, he searched alot of hell but found nothing new or interesting, everything they had on sale was something he had already owned and was long getting boring by now. Lucifer rarely kept his interest in things for longer than 10 or so years, the only thing that had ever really stuck was creating rubber ducks. He had been creating them since the start of hell, they had always brought him joy and pride, but as the years went on the pride faded and faded, the one person he loved to show them to interest in them had rturned abysmal. Where there was once a soft look of love and amusement on her face there was now only disinterest as she mumbled on about Lucifer wasting all of his time playing around making stupid children's toys instead of actually ruling hid kingdom.

He hadn't made any ducks since Lillith had told Charlie to stop accepting them as gifts.

And that how he found himself now walking the streets of New Orleans searching the human world for something new and fun to distract him. He wandered by shop windows peering inside each one hoping to find something interesting.

"You're not from around here are you?" A voice asked from just behind Lucifer.

He turned to see the person who had spoken standing almost a foot taller than him with a soft smile on his face. Lucifer instinctively smiled back at him with a slight blush as he had to turn his head up to look in the other man's eyes, the human disguise showing the blood rushing to his cheeks red, a poor imitation of his usual crimson beauty marks.

He chuckled lightly before responding, realising that he had been stood here staring at the man for far too long "No, I'm just visiting. I'm trying to find something new to do to fill some of my time."

"I thought as much, I would've recognised such a pretty face." The man spoke cool making Lucifer's blush increase by tenfold. "I'm Alastor, and you are?" He added as he took Lucifer's hand I his own to give it a sweet kiss.

Lucifer definitely was not falling fast.

"I'm Lucian, it's a pleasure to meet you." Lucifer managed to say calmly, shocking even himself. For a man who had been married for along as he had it was shocking how easily he could be turned into a blushing bumbling mess. Perhaps his mental barriers were alot easier to bypass then his physical ones, immune to lethal attacks but not sweet words or harsh insults. Or perhaps it was the fact that throughout the whole time of his infamous relationship with Lillith she had rarely complimented him or even attempted to flirt with him. Maybe this was simply due to her nature, she had a much more physical approach to love or much more often lust. It had been jading to Lucifer at first, him being a creature of pure angelic grace, created not for the heated actions she loved ao much but for creation and passion. And that is the argument she had used against him, that these acts she loved so much were simply her showing her passion for him and much later that it could be for creation too. He hadn't been the fondest of either idea but had played along in fears of losing the only person he had left, in the end it didn't matter anyway though, thousands of years of playing along to her games all for her to leave anyway.

"A pleasure indeed." Alastor replied with a charming smile, snapping Lucifer out of his spiral of depressing thoughts. "So you are looking for something to fill you're time, huh?" He asked smoothly.

"Yes, I've got alot more time on my hands than I used to. Everything at home feels too quiet and empty." Lucifer explained briefly, telling himself not to dump too much depressing information onto Alastor as easily as it would've been. He seemed as though he could tell him anything, that this human he had just met would somehow understand that the palace felt all too lonely, hearing only the echos of Charlie's laughter as he bypassed what had been her bedroom. But he wouldn't say that to him, he didn't want to risk scaring him off.

Alastor hummed for a moment, clearly contemplating something. "Too quiet you say? Well I may have just the thing for that." Excitedly Lucifer asked what it was, the joy clear in hid voice making Alastor chuckle lightly before replying "Why a radio of course! You can listen to it at home while doing anything you'd like, it would keep you entertained and updated with all the important news and any new hit songs all while filling the silence at home."

It was a brilliant idea, this could keep him busy for hours on his own and continue to fill the silence while he does other things too. "That's perfect!" Lucifer exclaimed. "Where do I get one from?" He added on curiously.

"I can gift you one of mine if you so please." Alastor replied with a soft smile.

Lucifer paused, "Why would you do that?" It didn't make sense, he barely knew him and surely he needed it for himself.

Chuckling again Alastor replied easily "It would be useful for you, help fill the silence. Besides I have multiples, I wouldn't miss it so you need not worry about me." Seeing the look on Lucifer's face he added on "If you would like, you could give me something too, make it an exchange?"

This made Lucifer perk up a little more, he wouldn't just take from this mortal but a deal he could make. "What would you like?"

Alastor didn't hesitate for even a moment, clearly already knowing what he wanted "To listen to my radio show. It will debut this Friday and I would love to know I have even just one devoted listener." His excitement died down while he spoke, turning more into doubt as he tried to disguise it with a smile. Lucifer didn't know much about radio or Alastor but from what he did know he was sure that people would listen to anything that Alastor said, his voice was soft and smooth and combined with his undeniable charm it was entrancing. Surely he would get countless listeners in no time, but still the doubt in his voice hit a soft spot in lucifer, he vowed to himself then and there that he would never miss a broadcast. He didn't know what it was about Alastor but something about him was different, important and he for some strange reason would do anything he asked of him.

Lucifer smiled at Alastor and truthfully replied "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

[grimgrinningghost456]

✨Random headcanons that popped into my head, Hazbin hotel edition✨

This will include ships I ship, random things I feel like a character has/does/likes, and perhaps a new flavor of husband shenanigans. As you know I’m a multi-shipper in two senses: I like multiple ships for multiple characters, and I like multiple ships that has one half of the couple being the same throughout variations. Without further ado, here we go!

Starting off strong with the Big man of hell himself, Luci

Lucifer💫🐥🐍🍎: like most fandoms, I tend to have Luci enjoy sweets and have a special fondness for apples. I personally feel the Morningstar crest being apple-inclusive was Lilith’s idea, as Lucifer was depressed and she wanted to give Heaven a middle finger. Apples are both a nostalgic and bittersweet thing for Luci, but he can’t help but to continue in the indulgence. I’d imagine Lucifer would have a smoked-apple kind of scent about him, whether that’s from product or natural musk/energy depends on my mood. I also think that he was always a shape-shifter, and a lot of his forms were inspiration for creatures that would dwell on earth, as Lucifer was the favorite. I also think that fish and snake scales, fawn-spots, fireflies, bioluminescence, and flowers having scent was all Lucifer’s doing; although they were altered. He wanted the animals on earth to sparkle and be full of life, but was ultimately brought down, and “appeased” with similar. But entirely different outcomes. I truly believe that on top of short kings depression, he has PTSD, ADHD, and Autism on top of it. Once again, I don’t always stack that on him, but meh. I also have Lucifer in a constant glamour, hiding extensive damage from the fall, which only Belphagore, who cares for his medical needs, has seen. Usually for a ship his paramour gets to see eventually for plot. He has arthritis and does actually need to utilize his cane as a cane, but hates it. Hes socially awkward as everyone knows. Luci does have a royal guard to defend his palace and hellborns who live in pride, as they’re not sinners and therefore shouldn’t be exterminated. He can go full devil and definitely has done what some legends depict the devil of doing. Hes not proud of it, but it is what it is. This boi can be touch-averse due to trauma, but with his self-loathing and depression I believe it’d take a lot for him to voice that fact. I also don’t have Lucifer and Charlie’s relationship quite so distant as in canon. It’s still somewhat estranged, but Lucifer was helping her with the big changes. Such as moving into the hotel, and Vaggie. Which I’ll get into later.

Moving on, we have the Deerman!

Alastor📻🦌🔪: Alastor tends to represent non-sex repulsed in my version of him, but every once in a while I adjust where he is on the Ace and sometimes aromantic spectrum. I have Al as a man who has Antisocial disorder, so romance and interacting with others is as much of a mystery to him as it is to interact with the shady deerman himself. I bounce between Alastor’s hygiene being really good or really bad. Partly because of information from Viv, and partly due to the time period Alastor lived and died in. I tend to really lean heavily into his Cajun upbringing. This means that my Depiction of Alastor has a coming-and-going cajun accent that will slip out on the occasion he forgets to keep the Transatlantic accent going. Usually like when he wakes up first thing in the morning or when he has a moment of snapping emotionally. His mama bounces between being in hell and in heaven. The identity of who his birth father is, also bounces around. Once again, like basic fandom who add Alastor’s childhood into the story, I have his Mother as a POC, while his father is a white man who tends to be the toxic ticking time-bomb that starts Alastor’s decent into murder, madness and mayhem. I’m a big radioapple shipper and a big radio-silence enjoyer as well. So looking into a “well into the relationship” scenario in which the deer and the short king are dating, Cajun comfort food is a must when the little devil is having a day where he can’t make himself get out of bed. Still touch-averse, and in any relationship he’s in (whether romantic or QPR) he usually is quick to figure out a system to have his partner silently ask permission to give some form of touch or affection.

Once again, moving on! We’ll do the Princess of hell, Charlotte Charlie Morningstar!

Charlie🎆🌈💖🐐: I actually try to tone Charlie WAY down as far as the Disney Princess behavior she has in canon. (Dont hate on me, but I found her character VERY hard to swallow. I get she was sheltered being royalty and all but with a depressed father and a mother trying to raise an army against Heaven, I just don’t think she’d be so ditzy and gullible towards overlords and other demons. I also was very annoyed that showing authority with her role of future ruler was seen as “mean”) So I think she still has that bubbly and positive attitude, but is much more observant and guarded when Alastor first comes to visit. I also have Charlie lean more into her abilities as heir and as a Nephilim to deal with threats such as Valentino. Yes, Angel Dust was still pissed about Charlie bursting into the studio, but I’ve decided there was more of a serious confrontation before Charlie felt guilt for her actions of butting in. She’s a lot more confident in her skills as far as knowing how to lead, but struggles in getting people to listen to her, much like in canon. The difference is that she chooses to have a more down to earth description of how to try and redeem sinners. All-and all she’s more organized, a little less oblivious, and more fierce when she needs to be. She actually knew about Vaggie being an angel when she found her in the alleyway. The wings being ripped off was a give-away along with the gold blood. So she took Vaggie to Lucifer, who helped Vaggie recover and had her join the royal guard.

Okay. Final character for this group, but not for tonight, Vagi-I mean Vaggie!

Vaggie⚔️🌈🪽: For Vaggie I don’t actually have too much different from her personality in canon compared to the others. I think we’ll get more from her in season 2 now that the big angel secret is out of the way. Speaking of which, that’s my biggest change. When Charlie found Vaggie, it was immediately obvious that the woman was a fallen angel. So she was healed and helped into recovery by Lucifer and Charlie before joining Hell’s Royal guard and quickly raising up to be pretty high in rank. Lucifer assigned her to protect Charlie during the redemption project. She fell first but Charlie fell harder. I headcanon these two to be engaged during the events of the hazbin hotel, so Vaggie is technically an official member of the Morningstar family tree. She also has some self loathing, PTSD, and deals with minor intrusive thoughts. She struggles to stamp out any holier than thou emotions and judgements she learned and retained during her time with Adam’s army. She also has a hard time being casual which she bonds with Lucifer over. She secretly has always wanted to dye her hair pinks but will die before admitting it to anyone. Has a bit of a sweet tooth, hates most men, and rock as it gives her Flashbacks of Adam being Adam.

That’s pretty much it for these characters!

@bendy-n-stuff helped and made some of these ideas with me about these characters. So if I forgot anything, or if you want to add anything on, have at it, girlfriend.

As always questions, comments, and thoughts are appreciated. I love discussions and debates as long as we’re polite and respectful of each others opinions!

[reareaotaku]

Yandere! Monster Falls AU [Pt II]

Pt I: Here

Linktree 4 Palestine Artist: @ikimaru

Mabel brushed your hair, pulling harder than you would have liked. She wasn't very gentle, though you didn't really blame her. It's not like she could feel how hard she was pulling.

Your mind went back to the portal that had brought you here. Someone had to have known you were gone by now and hopefully they were looking for you. You wondered what they were doing right now.

---

Dipper had noticed that you had gone missing. You had gone for a walk and then hadn't gone back and he was now becoming concerned. He decided to go around town to ask if anyone had seen you- They had not.

When he tried talking to his family about it, they said he was just being paranoid and maybe he was... But Dipper felt something was wrong.

-

🦌 Dipper had become attached to you in such a short amount of time, it was crazy. Even the Dipper you knew wasn't a huge people person, but this Dipper really liked you and didn't like when you were out of his sight.

🦌 He liked knowing everything about you and seeing all the interesting things about you and knowing how you're different.

🪨 Stan had made so much money off of you, because no one had seen a creature like you. You had no kind of magic or anything like that. Stan was trying to keep you for as long as possible because you were a money-making machine.

🦁 Ford knows that your home probably misses you but will try and convince you to stay. He also knows that he's the only one that can help you get back to your world- If you can't find the pond again- so, he won't be too thrilled to help you.

🦄 She's delusional to the fault. She believes that you re the happiest with her and her family.

🦊 When you first met Wendy, you were in the middle of the woods, trying to get rid of the Pines family. You were terrified when seeing a huge fox that looked twice your side.

🦊🦌 She was surprised to see you, but even more so when seeing you freak out. She tries to calm you down, but you're terrified of her. Thankfully, Dipper finds you and introduces you to Wendy, telling you she's fine and won't hurt you.

🦌 You mainly stick with Dipper after that out of fear that one of the monsters in this world would kill you. He is possibly the least dangerous thing in the world. At least in your eyes, but you shouldn't misjudge his character.

🦌 This Dipper, similar to your own, is incredibly intelligent and there isn't much you can get past him. Instead of trying to outsmart him, you should play into his hand. If you're sweet and kind to him, he's more likely to let you roam by yourself.

🦄 She's easy to trick, but you do feel bad about it. Though, not to bad, because you keep doing it.

-

You laid on the makeshift bed that Dipper had made for you. Mabel had also made you one, but it wasn't as good as Dipper's. In fact, hers was uncomfortable.

Speaking bout Dipper, you could hear his footsteps lead to the room you were in. Your eyes went over to the entrance, feeling on edge. You were starting to feel like they weren't going to help you get home. You had to get back to that pond and get back to your world.

[zaebeecee]

Drowning in Stardust

🦌 RadioDustTober: Short Story Edition 🕷️

Day 04: Turn out the Light

Canon-compliant (new relationship)

CWs: Post-drinking illness, allusions to Angel’s work environment

Angel Dust had a bad day at work. Alastor isn’t much of a caretaker, but he remembers how his maman used to look after him.

Word count: 1525

•••

“…is he alright?”

“Bad day at the office, apparently.”

Husk didn’t look particularly perturbed by this, most of his attention on the list of bar supplies as he tallied up what they would be needing for the next order (because, for an empty hotel, they certainly did plow through alcohol like it was going out of style). Alastor looked from him to Angel Dust, who had his head down on the bar top, resting upon one set of folded arms. The other two arms hung limply at his sides, fingers barely maintaining their grip on a glass that looked like it must have contained no small amount of bourbon not five minutes before.

Alastor raised one eyebrow when the spider made no move to respond. “…is he conscious?” he asked, wondering if he should be checking for a pulse.

“No,” Angel mumbled so unintelligibly that it was hardly a word at all.

“I’m cutting him off,” Husk said. “If you’re here for him, then get him out of my face before he gets his second wind. I’m gonna hurt him if he dives for the gin again.”

Angel said something to that, but it was spoken directly into the furniture, so the words were far too muffled to determine what he was trying to communicate.

“Worry not, Husker, I shall take our intoxicated little arachnid off your incredibly busy hands.” Alastor leaned down and placed his hand on Angel’s shoulder, hesitating only briefly before making contact. “Do you want me to take you back to your room, sha?”

“No,” Angel groaned, but after a moment’s hesitation, he nodded into his arms.

Alastor tightened his grip on Angel’s shoulder just briefly, the shadows swelling beneath his feet before they swallowed both of them. When the darkness cleared, Alastor was immediately plagued with the sight of the pink and purple neon that Angel insisted on using to decorate his bedroom. He squinted against it, his ears flicking backwards, as he focused instead on helping Angel onto his bed. The moment he was sitting, Angel flopped over onto his side, releasing a long and miserable groan.

Immediately, Alastor thought he should leave. Angel seemed as though he felt perfectly wretched (which was his own damn fault, of course, though Alastor imagined he would be deeply tempted to get hammered far more often if he was forced to contend with the Vees on a regular basis), and Alastor had never thought his presence to be one that brought any level of comfort at the best of times. He was immediately distracted, however, by a soft snuffling noise beside Angel’s bed. Alastor turned to see Fat Nuggets on the floor beside his feet, the little hellpig practically hopping on his front legs as he half-circled Alastor.

The Radio Demon, feared among all who heard his name, chuckled softly and leaned down to pick Fat Nuggets up. The pig offered absolutely no resistance, wiggling with what he had learned was excitement as Alastor held him. “Your Daddy doesn’t feel well,” he informed the little round creature, who stared up at him with wide and loving eyes that appeared to process no words whatsoever.

“My baby…” Angel groaned, reaching one arm out towards Alastor and making a grabby hand. “Gimme.” Alastor acquiesced, and as Fat Nuggets crawled up to Angel’s chest, the spider wrapped two arms around him and gave him a gentle squeeze. “…thanks, Smiles.”

“Hm?” Alastor started a little. “For what?”

“Bringin’ me,” was all Angel appeared to have to say about that.

“…of course, sha. Do…” Alastor hesitated. This thing between them—a thing that neither of them had made any sort of move to define, and that Alastor couldn’t put words to if he tried—was still new enough that he wasn’t positive what the protocol was. Hell, he was still attempting to process the fact that Angel claimed to like him, let alone grapple with the idea that he actually wanted to spend time with Alastor. “…do you need anything?”

Angel opened one eye, peering up at Alastor through what seemed to be a thick gaze of drunkenness and a quickly growing headache. “…I dunno,” he finally said.

How intensely helpful, Alastor thought, but bit back the sarcasm. Caretaking had never exactly been his forte; he had always been far more likely to make other people require care than to be in any position to administer it himself. He did, however, remember how his maman used to care for him when he was a child. “Have you eaten?”

Angel hesitated for so long before answering that Alastor already knew it would be a no. “…yesterday…?”

The very thought made Alastor’s own stomach cramp from imagined hunger. “No wonder the alcohol is hitting you so strongly. I’ll be right back.”

“Alastor—” was all the Radio Demon heard as his shadows swallowed him and he stepped into the kitchen, glancing around and finding it completely unoccupied. He hardly had time to fully make something, but a quick look around the room yielded some leftover chicken and rice, some of the bread that remained from Vaggie’s recent and brief late-night baking obsession, and a jug of water. With a bowl of chicken and rice heated up and the bread warmed, Alastor took all of the items up with his shadow tentacles and returned to Angel’s room.

The first thing he heard—unsurprisingly—was Angel vomiting in his attached bathroom. Alastor set the food down and walked to the other side of the bedroom, where Fat Nuggets was worriedly pacing and the cracked door cast a sliver of light across the tile floor. Alastor knocked lightly on the door before entering (a courtesy he had never afforded anyone before and even now only gave to Angel), not waiting for an answer before he pushed his way in.

“Nooo,” Angel groaned weakly, slumped on the bathroom floor. “Go away, I’m gross.”

“You have tolerated far worse from me than I’m sure I will be from you,” Alastor said, helping Angel up slowly.

That elicited another groan, either from the words or the movement or both. “You are so stinky,” he complained without either heat or vitriol.

Alastor chuckled. “Come along, my dear, you will hate yourself and me if you pass out on this floor.”

He assisted Angel with rinsing out his mouth in the sink, then helped him back to his bedroom, sitting him up against his pillows and helping Fat Nuggets back onto the bed before he sat at Angel’s hip and summoned the food over with his shadows.

Angel sighed wearily, staring at the bowl dubiously. “…gonna throw up again,” he muttered, less an immediate warning and more a pessimistic prediction.

“You are not,” Alastor said. “You are going to eat, you are going to drink water, and you are going to sleep. If you don’t, you’ll be both incredibly ill and violently hung over in the morning.”

“Nnh.” Angel was clearly weighing his options here, but finally relented. “…okay.”

Alastor didn’t permit himself to reconsider, simply began feeding Angel without giving him the chance to protest or decline the assistance. Angel, in turn, was surprisingly agreeable, allowing Alastor to feed him spoonfuls of rice and shredded chicken in broth, bits of bread, and sips of water in turn. When it seemed Angel truly couldn’t eat any more, Alastor didn’t push, though he did foist a bit more water upon him before relenting.

“Is that any better?” Alastor asked, waving his hand and causing the dishes (save the water) to vanish into the aether.

Angel shrugged. “I dunno. …guess so.” He sighed, then opened his eyes to look at Alastor. “…you leavin’?”

It sounded the opposite of hopeful, enough that it gave Alastor pause. “…would you like me to stay?” Angel nodded, the movement slight but immediate. “Alright,” he said, his easy agreement surprising even himself somewhat.

Angel reached out to take Alastor’s sleeve, tugging on him. “C’mere.” Alastor hesitated, then moved to stretch out on the bed, Angel adjusting them until Alastor was the one propped up against the pillows and Angel was tucked against his side with his head on the overlord’s shoulder.

Alastor couldn’t help chuckling a little. “Is this actually comfortable for you, sha?”

“No,” Angel murmured, and Alastor was hardly surprised; he wasn’t exactly a presence that inspired comfort. Before he could attempt to remove himself, Angel continued, “Couldja turn out the light, Smiles?”

“…of course.” With a wave of his hand, a slim tendril of darkness stretched from the shadows on the opposite wall, winding up until they reached the light switch panel and flicking each one off until they were bathed in darkness.

Angel sighed, tucking himself more firmly against Alastor. “Mkay. Now I’m comfortable,” he murmured.

Alastor stared at the top of Angel’s head before he smiled, just a little, and carefully put his arm around the spider’s shoulders. He heard the other Sinner purr contentedly, and in minutes, he was out cold.

Alastor didn’t sleep much, always finding it to be an utter waste of his time, but in this case… he found he didn’t particularly mind a few hours of doing absolutely nothing.

•••

[failgirl-toybreaker]

My biggest detrans fantasy is less being forced to be a girl again, and more being forced to be an object or animal because my only real use/worth is being used as a sex toy or incubator! It's kind of misgendering, with emphasis on my heavy tits and feminine curves, the person doing it to me making me into their perfect girly sex doll, but it's just that- turning me into a doll that's not allowed access to gender at all. I fantasize about all the usual trappings of forced detransitioning- being made to grow my hair back out, forced into girly clothes, testosterone taken and replaced with estrogen and fertility pills, getting called a mommy when I'm knocked up by constant use, sometimes even referred to as wife, but stopping just short of calling me a woman. Woman is a title for people, and I'm not a person anymore!

- 🦌

🦌 anon, I've been thinking about this ask since I got it, because omg does it hit a lot of the checkboxes for what even gets my goat about detrans/misgen. Its less about becoming "a man" for me, i.e. a person, its becoming worse and subhuman, its me turning into the monster that wants to fuck real people. So while you're making yourself more fertile and curvier, I'm becoming hornier and hungier 🥵

But mutual detrans where we both get worse? Just a set of creatures satisfying our base urges, an incubator womb and a breeding cock together, unrecognizable from the people we used to be? Yeah, i can dig that 🫣 we wouldn't be a "man and woman", it would be a monster fucking its toy.

(Also pls send more 🦌 anon 🙏)