#prompt: paranoia setting in

[aceship-sconesterprise]

Day 14 for @may-lancholy

Fandom: Mission: Impossible

Prompt: Paranoia Setting In

Warnings: Dead Reckoning Spoilers

~

"You need to turn left."

Benji's voice talked into his ear and Ethan's legs followed the order. He needed to get through the streets of Berlin to get to Luther in time. Luther needed him!

"Turn right."

The next order, but this time Ethan slowed down. A memory crossed his mind.

Benji's voice telling him where to go. Only that it wasn't Benji but the Entity.

What if it happened again? What if Ethan was lured into a trap?

He stopped in his place.

"What's wrong, Ethan? You have to hurry!"

Was it really his Benji talking?

"I... I can't.

[dcxdpdabbles]

DCXDP fanfic idea: A Pen Pal's Duty

It starts off with a single letter.

Danny has always heard about pen pals through TV programs, but Amity Park was too small to participate in exchange programs, including passing letters. It was a concept that was all Hollywood to him.

He figured it was also one of those dying practices, and someday, no one would bother writing letters, especially with the increased paranoia of speaking to strangers that overtakes the country after people start figuring out the more likely kidnapping tactics that criminals use.

Not to mention the increase in scams. No one even answers a phone number they don't recognize anymore. Pen Pals just becomes a pipe dream.

Then, he becomes a hallfa with access to infinite worlds. Each is set in different time frames, locations, and languages. He figures that he could become a pen pal with one of them, and goes home to write the perfect first letter. He even calls in favor of one of the universe's most powerful beings, Ghostwriter, who can affect the fabric of the universe just so the man can write an epic poem centered around a mailbox.

This mailbox would connect their worlds but not allow travel, as the living can not enter the Realms. Ghostwriter is beside himself, claiming the symbolism of longing, of friendships transcending life and death, and of the power of the written word to connect worlds was too grand of a writing prompt for him not to do.

Danny stops listening after a moment, his eyes glazed over just like whenever Mr. Lancer talks about class readings. Eventually, the ghost has his mailbox set to station itself as soon as someone attempts to write back to Danny. He even wrote in a clause that allowed whoever became his pen pal to understand English the second they touched the letter.

Danny would gain the same knowledge once their fated pen pal wrote them back. Apparently, Ghostwriter wanted it to be a "chosen one" trope.

He told Danny to fly around the Infinite Realms, select a door, and let lose his introduction letter so that his powers could lead the letter to where it had to go.

Danny flies around for a while, trying to pick a world to throw his letter in, and eventually selects the one that seems almost crystalized were it not for the lines of technology he can see running through it.

He had written his letter as if though he had always been Phantom. The reason was that Danny didn't want whoever his pen pal-to-be to find out about Halfas, due to first-hand experience of what people did when finding rare beings such as he and Vlad.

Plus, Danny was also raised on the "Don't talk to strangers. Don't open the door if home alone. Don't tell anyone where he lived or what his age is online" ideals of his generation.

He was comforted by the fact that Ghostwriter could only pass along written scripture, and thus, the pen pals could not share photos or videos.

He opened the door, staring into the swirling green of the portal, and threw in his letter. To keep his identity further hidden behind Phantom, he made it seem like he could not cross into the living world either and thus could not entirely open the door himself.

A few days go by before Danny suddenly gets a Ding sound goes off in his head, letting him know someone has responded. It's torture waiting for the final bell to right, but the minute it does, Danny is racing out of school towards the Ghost Zone portal as fast as his human legs can take him.

He flies as fast as he can as Phantom- which is very fast. He just topped his latest speed at 300 mph- and found the same crystallized door. Outside of it, now flouts a glowing mailbox with the words D. Phantom inked on the side. A little red flag is raised, letting him know a delivery has arrived. Ghostwriter's symbol is also flouting near the box, letting other ghosts know not to touch it.

Once again, Ghostwriter has a reputation in the Infinite Realsm: there was a reason it took all the willing ghosts on Truce Day to help Danny take him down.

Feeling giggly, Danny pulls open the lid and finds a blank envelope inside. He rips it open at once, for a second not able to understand the writing, until a soft type writer sound echoes behind his ears, and suddenly he can read it.

Dear Phantom,

My name is Jor-El of planet Krypton. I was delighted to be the one to find your letter, and I hope we can become great friends. I am fourteen years old and dream of becoming a scientist who can help my people. Maybe when I become a successful scientist, I can even invent a way to travel to the home planet you hailed from when you were alive. I am already searching for Earth in my skies.

A friendship is born. Over the years, Jor and Danny trade many letters. They learn everything about each other, from Phantom's battles to Jor's crush on Lara. They advise each other where they can, trading ideas of inventions and research.

Jor makes a compiled file of his planet's culture and technology, eager to show Danny everything about Krypton while Danny does his best to do the same about Earth and the Realms. Danny's decision to be only Phantom with Jor can be a little hard to maneuver, but he makes it work by explaining he came to form in the Ghost Zone- technically not a lie- and all ghosts created in the zone can and will age.

Danny is even one of Jor's honorary stone bearers at his and Lara's wedding, while Danny names a few of his inventions after the house El.

Then, sometime after Jor's son is born, tragedy strikes. Danny had noticed that his friend's letters had slowed down, but he figured it was primarily due to being a new father and getting a high-paying position in his dream field. Danny's adult life was just as hectic as he was a department head at NASA's research and engineering department.

He could barely find time to visit family, let alone date around. Sam and he broke up in junior year but remained close friends. Danny dated around in college but really buckled down to focus on his career the closer he got to NASA. He had no idea how Jor was able to balance everything when he was working in Krypton's version of NASA.

He should have checked.

By the time he got Jor's newest letter, Danny had realized too late it would be his friend's final one. Jor had discovered his sun was exploding, and although he tried his best to save his planet, no one believed him until it was too late.

Thus, he focused all his energy and resources on creating two escape pods strong enough to escape the sun's gravitational pull. It wouldn't be large enough to see his whole family, but his son and niece could live. Jor wasn't sure if his escape rockets would even work, but he did not have time or the means to test them.

He just did his best with his brother's help to save their children and set the coordinates for a planet that once housed a dear friend: Earth.

The letter ended with a final goodbye to Danny. After reading the letter, Danny attempted to open the door and fly to Jor's rescue, but when it swung open, all he saw was the other side of the zone. It was merely a floating doorway that led nowhere now.

The portal was gone because Krypton was gone. Danny's pen pal and friend of twenty years was no more.

A scream of angst rattled through the Infinite Realms as one of it's most potent members realized he was powerless against the circle of life.

He made a tough decision.

Devastated, he eventually visited Ghostwriter, asking if Kara and Kal had survived, and the writer let him know that Kal would land on that universe's earth in a week (Jor had been dead for four days.) while Kara was floating in space, frozen after a malfunction in her rocket's blast. Since they were apart if Ghostwriter's recorded story of the mailbox he would know that much.

Sadly, now that the letters between Danny and Jor would end, Ghostwriter would no longer know their tale. They were out of his influence.

Danny couldn't save his friend or planet, but he wasn't about to let the two children down.

"You realize to live in one universe, you must die in another?" Clockwork asks for the millionth time as Danny suits up his rocket, taking every letter he and Jor shared and any personal item he could fit. "The second I open a doorway to that world's earth, you officially die in this one? Your family and friends will grieve you. You will never see them again."

"I know," Danny whispers, sending Sam, Tucker, his parents, and his sister a silent apology. "But I have to do this. Can you make it look like an accident? One that doesn't put the blame of my death on anyone's feet but my own?"

"I'll design the scene like an explosion of one of your experiments gone wrong. No one will be to blame." Ghostwriter solemnly swears. His eyes gain a pitying light that Danny has recognized over the years. After all, the narrator knows one of his biggest secrets because he saw it the second he wrote that pen pal system. "You can not replace Jor-El with Kal-El."

"Of course, I can't," Danny laughs without humor, sealing up his rocket. He gives the two ghosts a sad smile. "I'm not in love with Kal."

Clockwork stares impassively before he turns and waves his staff. A portal opens up before Danny. "This will take you to the Earth five minutes before Kal lands. When you are ready, you may pass but know this Phantom. You can not return to the Realms."

Ghostwriter sighs, placing one hand on Danny's shoulder. "Love is one of history's greatest gifts and saddest tragedies. I look forward to your story being written out in your new home. Remember to live while you are there."

Danny smiles, pulling the writer into a hug and ignoring how he goes rigid. "Thank you for everything you've done over the years, Ghostwriter."

"Think nothing of it. You were a wonderful muse," The man whispers as Danny hops into his ship. He stands by Clockwork, who shifts into his elder form as Danny powers up his boat. His eyes show a sad look as he stares up at the man he watches grow until the ship vanishes through Clockwork's portal.

"Will he be alright?" He asks the time god.

"He will. I arranged for him to inherit a forgotten farm next to a kind couple. The Kents are more than happy to help an overwhelmed single father of two and will grow to become like a set of grandparents for Kara and Kal." Clockwork answers.

"That's not what I'm asking."

Clockwork hums. "Danny's has long ago accepted that Jor's heart was never his. His core knows it, and he's grown accustomed to the pain. But he will find peace on that Earth. He even finds a new love."

"Who?"

"Now, that would be telling. As a writer, you know it's best to let the story unfold than to give it all away." Clockwork twirls his staff "But know his adoptive son and daughter are less than pleased with a Gotham Butler."

Ghostwriter blinks. "What does that mean?"

"It means Danny will have to dodge some overly protective bats. Now then, could you tell me about your latest work? It's been a long time since I enjoyed a good story."

[may-lancholy]

Please check out the rules before beginning to complete the prompts!

Continuing on if you have lmao

Maylancholy Prompts 2025:

May 1. "Don't leave me here."

May 2. Major character death

May 3. Shattered trust

May 4. Bleeding out

May 5. "I can't feel my hands."

May 6. Buried alive

May 7. Feverish and delusional

May 8. Shackled

May 9. Wrong place, wrong time

May 10. "You don’t remember me, do you?"

May 11. Cursed to suffer

May 12. Dragged back

May 13. Choking on blood

May 14. Paranoia setting in

May 15. "Please, just kill me."

May 16. Held at knifepoint

May 17. Left behind

May 18. Possessed

May 19. "I swear it wasn't me."

May 20. Overworked and collapsing

May 21. Stabbed in the back

May 22. Trapped with them

May 23. No way out

May 24. "You were never supposed to find out."

May 25. Drugged and defenseless

May 26. Branding iron

May 27. Forced into silence

May 28. Tied to the altar

May 29. Haunting whispers

May 30. "This isn't real."

May 31. Escape... or not?

Alternative Prompts (If any daily prompt doesn’t take your fancy feel free to replace it with one of these!):

Alt 1. Crawling to safety

Alt 2. No anesthesia

Alt 3. Drenched in something awful

Alt 4. The sound of chains

Alt 5. Shoved into a tight space

Alt 6. A wound that won’t heal

Alt 7. Gasping for breath

Alt 8. Marked for death

Alt 9. Waking up somewhere unfamiliar

Alt 10. "It’s already too late."

[decojellyfish]

So we saw Guard dog! ghost and kitten! reader

Rescued fighting dogs! Ghost and Soap with cat! reader

how about we get some of Price adopting a puppy! reader and reader having to learn the ropes from Older dogs! Ghost, Soap, and Gaz(maybe??)?

or just Price rescuing another former fighting dog! reader and them being all defensive against former fighting dogs! Ghost, Soap and Gaz(maybe??), maybe even fighting against them when they(soap) try to get too close for reader’s comfort

Thank you so much for being my second request!! I decided to go with the second prompt you offered me, and I had fun writing it! I just don't have fun making you guys cry because, fair warning, this one is gonna be angstyyy... 😔 But I hope you guys enjoy!

------

Bite

Hybrid AU! TF141 Retired Fight Dog! Gaz, Ghost, and Soap x Retired Fight Dog! GN! Reader x Owner! Price Reader is only addressed as ‘you’

SFW ~ Angst

Warnings: Brief/occasional swearing, mentions of abuse, depression, extreme violence, trauma

───♡───────────── Beginning Your body ached. You didn’t know if it was because you were starving, or if it was your muscles and joints crying out for help from your most recent fight. It was a couple of hours ago, and it was rough. Your previous owner had disowned you when he found a new pup to use and abuse for profit. Part of you was happy, the years of abuse and ruthless training were over. The other part of you was absolutely terrified. You had no more food, no treats, no worn-out bed for you to sleep on, and no roof over your head.

You’d been homeless for nearly a year. You gave up on keeping exact track months ago. Your slightly sunken stomach never ceases its eternal growl, constantly yearning for food. Dumpster diving has become a part of your lifestyle. You had managed to find some food, albeit moldy and/or coated in garbage juices, but it was still food. ‘Food is fight fuel’ was constantly echoing through your head, while you fought off the sickness going through your head as realization set in that you were literally eating garbage. Sometimes, you even wondered if food was even worth it. You weren’t fighting as much as you used to. Sometimes you were suddenly assaulted by other stray fighter dogs as well, forcing you to live in constant paranoia, anxiety, and a never-ending feeling like you had to fight.

There were times that you even lashed out at strangers because of this constant fear. Domesticated dogs would find themselves abruptly thrown into a fight when you were around. They would leave with scratches, bites, bruises, and even chunks of flesh missing due to your fierce bite. In the underground fighting scene, you were most known for how gnarly the wounds from your bites would be.

This would result in animal control being called on you. But you’d evaded them countless times, which meant that you were far from where you originally came from. You would bounce from alley to alley, town to city. You were far from home if you could even call where you came from ‘a home’.

Though you were far from old enemies, you still made new ones. You were so used to lashing out that you were still getting into fights, but now you were getting into fights with fight dogs you didn’t even know.

Some days, you were tired. So tired, you just wanted to lay in your current alleyway and just rot. Let the bugs eat away at you, sometimes you even want to turn yourself into the pound. At least there you would have food in your belly and a semi-warm place to sleep. On other days, you were mad. So mad, you just wanted to paint the town red with any kind of blood, even your own.

Today was a tired day. You were lying against a wall, it was raining. Rain would be the closest you had to being bathed. Your rotted clothes were soaked and falling apart, your hair sticking to your face and skin as you stared at the opposing wall. Your eyes had nothing behind them, you were lost in your little world. Your happy place.

You imagined yourself in a cabin, or a cottage, just somewhere secluded and cozy. You had a loving partner, and pups of your own to take care of. A garden in the backyard, full of fruit, vegetables, and herbs. A flower garden in the front yard, full of daffodils, tulips, rose bushes, and trumpet lilies. You wore soft clothes like they were made of clouds. In your happy place, you were warm. In your happy place, you were safe.

Unfortunately, you were ripped out of your happy place by a smell. A familiar smell. Multiple familiar smells. Your heart had already started to beat rapidly, and the sense of adrenaline you had when in the fighting ring was coming back, slapping you in the face. You shifted your position from laying back against a wall to standing up and ready to fight, your teeth already beginning to show and a low growl slowly leaving your throat.

Familiar smells were never good, it meant that someone who had been made an enemy was close. Another fight was about to happen. You could hear men chatting with each other, though it was muffled by the ringing in your ear as your brain was now filled with nothing but adrenaline, panic, and one word. Fight.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Price was going on his weekly walk with his boys, all rescues. His home had become somewhat of a mini rehabilitation center. His pups, although fully grown dogs, were his pride and joy to be around. Gaz was his first rescue about seven years ago, Soap was rescued about two years after Gaz, and Ghost had been rescued three years before today. Price, himself, was a retired military veteran.

He enjoyed going on walks with his pups, he found it to be a nice bonding experience. Although today was rainy, it didn’t stop the group from following tradition. Gaz loved the rain, the sound and the feeling of raindrops hitting windows, umbrellas, or even himself was beyond calming for him. Soap didn’t particularly like rain, it mostly made him think of those unbelievably sad scenes in movies that involved rain, like an intense breakup. Ghost was neutral about it.

But Ghost found himself focused on something else, a smell. He glanced over at Soap, who could also smell this sudden scent. “Stop.” Ghost spoke firmly, grabbing Price’s shoulders and looking at the rest of the group. “Stay here, I smell something.” “Ghost, I don’t want you getting hurt-“ Price protested, only to be interrupted by Soap. “Stay, somethin’s here tha’ could rip out your throat.”

Gaz was worried as well, even though the scent wasn’t as familiar to him as it was to Ghost and Soap. He could smell a large amount of adrenaline and even panic or fear mixed in.

Ghost slowly walked up to the scent source and braced himself, slowly watching as a familiar face came into view. The two of you had been through plenty of fights together, each parting putting up a massive fight. You were snarling at him when he approached you, your body unconsciously moving closer to the wall, further away from him as he grew closer. Your hollow, starved appearance had him taken aback. You looked terrible. You were coated in scabs, bruises, and open wounds that had miraculously not gotten infected.

Your heart was beating so fast, that both you and Ghost could hear it. He had his hands up, his palms open as he showed he wasn’t looking for a fight. That didn’t stop you though. All you could see was all those fights, years ago. Ghost snarling back at you before he would nearly tear a chunk out of you while you almost ripped both of his ears off. You lunged at him with a loud bark, tackling him as you began to scratch and bite at him.

The group was startled, and terrified. They would all run to Ghost as they tried to get this rabid dog off of him. Of course, four men against you was an unfair fight and you were swiftly removed from the fight.

Soap held you against the ground, crouching over you as he pinned both of your arms behind your back as you continued to snarl and attempt to bite. You panted and stared at them with wide eyes, mostly focusing on Ghost and Soap since they were enemies from the past.

“You’re gonna fucking kill me, aren’t you..?” You spoke shakily, to either of the boys. Soap could feel how strong and deep your breaths were as you hyperventilated.

All the men shared a glance of worry, Soap spoke up, “We’re not those dogs anymore.” Ghost would nod in shared agreement. “You don’t look so good, since the last time I saw you.” He looked down at you, noting how your stomach churned from hunger, how tired your eyes were, and your slightly raspy breath. Even your recent wounds worried him, some nearly looking like early stages of infection.

You grunted as you struggled under him, “Yeah, well, ‘m happy to see you guys living the high life.” You grumbled, the other dogs’ ears twitching as they heard a slight crack in your voice. You couldn’t ignore it, you were jealous. They didn’t look as tired as they did at your last fight, not on edge all the time, they looked well fed, and they smelled good too. And worst of all, what made you want to lash out at all of them, even their owner, was the fact that they looked happy with this new life. The life that you desired that always seemed to be out of reach.

All the men looked back at Price, Gaz included, with one question in their eyes. ‘Can we keep them?’

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Taking you back to their home was a fight in it of itself. You couldn’t help but be scared. Maybe they were all tricking you, maybe they were gonna lock you up in their house and sell you off to another owner in the underground fighting scene. Maybe they really were going to kill you. You only felt slightly safe with Gaz, but that’s because he didn’t look as scarred a fighter as Ghost and Soap, and his eyes held a safer gaze than the other two. He would hold your hand on the way home, firmly but protectively. However, he only did this after you attempted to run away from the group about 4 times.

Arriving at the Price household, there was an overwhelming amount of smells. Everything smelled like all the boys, but individually and in one unit all at the same time. You would stay close to the front door at the entrance, scared to step one foot further into the house. You still didn’t know if it was safe or not. Price respected this, though. He had Gaz let go of your hand so you could settle into the house at your own pace. The look of fear in your eyes was one that he was familiar with, he’d seen it in all his other boys when he first brought them home.

He had the boys all continue on with their night, only giving you directions to the bathroom in case you needed it at some point.

As time went on, your legs would grow tired of just standing. You remained seated, close to the door as you watched the household live out their lives. Price would only stop by you once for the night, and it was to give you a late-night snack and to wish you a good night. He had set down a plate with pieces of watermelon and a glass of water. He left after that, supposedly going to bed. The boys would stay up a bit later, they would watch you in secret. But you were quickly able to tell they were spying on you, however, you let them continue.

You saw it as a way to test if they were trustworthy. Your ears slightly twitch as you listen to their whispers.

“...how do you know them…?” Gaz would whisper, curiosity lacing his voice. “...Ghost and I have had a few tussles with ‘em years ago…” “...Fierce dog… don’t underestimate them…” Ghost grumbled in reply, Soap nodding in agreement. “...Nearly took mah whole face off…” Soap chuckled. “...They almost got my ears…” Ghost added.

You would faintly smile at the warning of underestimating you as a fighter dog. But then you were reminded that you were a fighter dog. And a successful one. Any moral being would never want to be a successful fighter dog. That meant you were scary and either could have killed or even mutilated another dog. Memories of all your fights would flash across your mind, like a blinding camera shot. Your successful ones, the ones where you would lose and your owner showed you what bad dogs get for losing. The bits of compassion you would feel for your opponent as they bleed out, or yowled in pain as their bones broke, pellets of skin torn off, or their bleeding gums from when you knocked nearly all their teeth out.

You wanted to hug them, apologize to them, tell them that you wished you could fix them. Only to have those moments of kindness wiped from your mind as the shrieks and cheers of your owner and the people who bet money on you were released into the air.

Coming back to reality, you were perplexed when you didn’t hear the whispers anymore. Taking a chance, you glanced up at the boys. Only to see that they were now staring at you, curious and worried. You didn’t know why they were staring until you heard a soft pit-pat against the floor beneath you.

Glancing down, you saw little droplets. Your hand instinctively raised to your face, feeling little beads of tears and the streaks they left behind on your face. You would quickly smear your tears away and shoot the dogs a mean growl before reluctantly stuffing a piece of watermelon into your mouth. You just wanted something else to focus on aside from the stares you were getting right now.

An hour later, the men had all gone to sleep and you had eaten all the food Price had given you and drank all the water he offered. You stayed awake throughout the whole night, however. You still didn’t trust anyone, believing the house was a trap.

Morning arrived, your eyes tired but still open as you didn’t want to lose your guard. Price was the first one up, yawning and scratching at his chest as he walked into the room. He would glance down at you, smiling when he saw you’d eaten all your food.

“Food was good, yeah? Don’t worry, I’ll get you some more soon.” He chuckled, taking your empty dishes away and heading into the kitchen.

You felt awkward now, just sitting there as Price had begun to cook breakfast. You would quietly stand up and slink into the kitchen, sitting on the cold tile as you would watch him from a random corner of the room. It had been about ten minutes before Price would look over his shoulder to check on you, only seeing that you weren’t in your previous spot. He would then glance down at you in your new spot, chuckling to himself.

“Got bored of the old spot?” He asked before going back to cooking. He didn’t expect you to be speaking right out the gate, all the other boys were like that too when he first took them in. After a few minutes, Gaz would walk in, rubbing at his eye. A big smile formed on his face as he smelled the currently cooking food. “Smells good in here, Price.” He would then finally look at you, mildly surprised you had moved but he would regain his smile.

Waving at you, he would approach you but keep his distance. “Did you sleep well last night…?” You silently stared at him, your restlessness very obvious, especially in your eyes. “Did you sleep- at all last night…?” He looked concerned, his brows only furrowing more when you shook your head no. “...Too scared?” You stayed quiet. “That’s okay, Ghost and I were like that too.” He smiled at you. You couldn’t deny it, he was a comforting ball of sunshine to you.

“I could set up a bed on the couch for you, I could even keep the telly on for you if you like falling asleep to that sort of thing.” You remained quiet as he talked to you, causing him to let out a slightly amused but comforting huff. “That’s okay, you can think about it during breakfast.”

Breakfast included food that was the most delicious food you had devoured in years. French toast, fried eggs, bacon. You would quietly inhale the first actual meal you’d had in a long time, everyone else watching you at the kitchen table, some trying not to laugh at your eagerness.

You awkwardly stared at everyone else, wiping away some yolk on your mouth with your hand. Price chuckled, “That reminds me, we ought to give you a bath today and get you some new clothes.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You awkwardly sat in the tub as Gaz would scrub a sudsy sponge along your back. Price was washing some clothes, making sure the scent was cleaned out so you had no trouble with wearing them.

“Don’t worry, I was like this when Price first took me in.” He laughed a little. “Quiet, scared, and I didn’t know if this place was my permanent home. But it is my home, and it’s gonna be your home too.” He smiled at you, now rubbing shampoo into your hair. “...what’s it like?” You looked up at him. “Y’know, living here? What’s it like?”

Gaz thought for a bit, also trying to make sure none of the shampoo got in your eyes. “Well, it’s nice. Good food, good clothes, good comfort. Price will sometimes pick up our favorite snacks for us, he’ll do that for you too, you just need to ask him or write it on the grocery list. We go on weekly walks around the block, sometimes we go to the park which is really fun. Especially with Soap, he really likes to play games at the park.”

That surprised you, you never took Soap to be a ‘fun games at the park’ kind of dog. Well, that could also be because you never got to see him or Ghost as a domesticated dog, your only memories of them being in the fighting rink. Maybe they have changed. Maybe you should give them a chance to show you they’ve changed.

Maybe they were doing that all along since they found you, only holding you down instead of attacking you in response to being attacked by an old foe.

The bath was eventually drained and you were dried off with a towel, Price coming in with a pair of folded up clothes, a t-shirt and some sweatpants. You were left alone in the bathroom to get dressed, also to let you just have time to yourself.

After a few minutes, you stepped out of the bathroom in your new attire. You couldn’t lie, the clothes were beyond comfy and were nice and warm. Probably fresh out of the dryer. The rest of the boys were on the couch, watching a show on the TV. You would stare at them before slowly beginning to move your legs towards the couch as well.

They would notice your approaching, but wouldn’t bring any extra attention to it. They all remember their first time trying to get comfortable in the new home. It honestly warmed their hearts watching you hesitate on where to sit before eventually picking a spot and huddling into the soft pillows.

Price was already dressed for the day and was writing down the current shopping list before slipping his shoes on. “Oy, Gaz, you’re coming with me for groceries today.” He called out to the couch, Gaz promptly getting up and putting his own shoes on. He waved to you and the other two before stepping out the front door, Price giving a wave as well. “We’ll be back in 30.”

You sat there in silence, now stuck with your past enemies. There was tension, no doubt. At least, that’s what you felt. You were the one who was constantly looking over at the boys, a nervous sweat forming on your forehead. The two were just sitting there, watching the commercials play and pass by.

Now that the only pacifists in the house were gone, they were going to pounce at any second. You were sure of it. At any given moment, they were gonna do it. So you sat there, in a state of constant fear and bracing yourself for a fight you didn’t even know would happen.

Ghost noticed your condition, Soap a few seconds later would see it too. “... you okay, pup?” Soap would ask, seeing the little bits of sweat on your skin. “You’re scared.” Ghost stated, looking deep into your defensive form. “You don’t need to be, you’re safe now. We all are. We aren’t the same dogs you fought those years ago.”

They continued to watch you, watching as you stayed quiet and just stared at them expectantly. “We know you’re also no’ the same dog from those fights. Ye dinnae have a choice, only doin’ tha’ for your own survival. Like us.” Soap’s eyes were full of empathy and concern.

“No need to be scared. It’s safe here.” He smiled at you, slowly reaching out to you to rub your shoulder.

You only saw the worst in people, you would see a possible future where he was reaching out to strangle you instead of comforting you. You thought you could see his teeth start to bare, maybe he was snarling at you.

You felt like you were back in the fighting ring. You could feel the adrenaline begin pulsing and coursing through your veins.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You didn’t know how you did it, it went by so fast. The last thing you saw was Soap’s teething smile and his hand. Now you were pressed up against a wall, hyperventilating at the sight of what you just did.

First, you  grabbed his arm, throwing him to the ground before you began to bite and tear at his flesh and clothes. You woke up when Ghost pinned you to the ground, keeping your wrists together so you couldn’t hurt anyone or yourself. You scrambled away from him and coward into a corner.

You thought you were doing good, only a day into this house and you were doing so good. You didn’t feel like a good pup, not anymore. You weren’t deserving of this house, these new clothes. the food that resided in your stomach. You were a bad dog. There was no way you could look any of the boys in the eye now. Not after what you did.

Lost in a tsunami of your thoughts, you couldn’t hear Ghost trying to reassure you, that it was normal for an outburst like this to happen. He, himself, did it to Price. He brought Soap to the bathroom, taking out the first aid kit along with a few extra bandages. Living in a house with a bunch of retired fighter dogs, the first aid kits would be a bit more extreme than a regular, everyday one.

When he returned to check on you, to tell you that Soap was going to be okay, he didn’t see you in your corner. Not even the spot you were in on your first day here. But he saw that right next to the spot, the door was left open.

They lost you. ───♡───────────── End

If you have any requests, or asks, feel free to submit them!

[chaptersleftunwritten]

Hi love!!! It’s absolutely been toooooo long since I set a request but I read your prompts & had to send this in!!!

Neighbor Eddie? Maybe he sees the new neighbor moving into the apartment next to his & gets a little obsessed with her? Constantly timing it out to see her in the halls or at the mail room, knows where she works so he “accidentally” stopped in, knows her favorite coffee shop, he’s just always “accidentally” bumping into her , possibly dark sorta stalker-ish story?? Idk Halloween got me in spooky vibes lately & i loved it!! if you’re not comfortable writing this I totally understand but as always I hope you’re doing good!!🫶🏼🫶🏼

(11. New Apartment and 16. A flock of crows) with Eddie Munson. Thank you for your request lovie, I hope this is deliciously spooky!!

Warnings: Stalking, obsession, Dark!Eddie, mentions of homicidal thoughts and torture, mentions of sexual content, 18+ content!

Days were becoming shorter and shorter— darker and gloomier. Through the bleak winter clouds your eyes were drawn to the inky crows circling above your head. Their squawks and wails so violent you could have mistaken them as alarm bells ringing in your ears. They knew something you didn’t.

It was evident that something wasn’t right. An ominous darkness that lay festering beneath the surface of the deceiving ordinary. You had felt it since you moved from your home town— since you had laid your head down to sleep that first night in your new apartment.

It was comparable to a pair of beady eyes staring at you from a shadowy corner. The coat rack that your brain had convinced you was a man looming at the foot of your bed. The feeling made itself known. It demanded to be felt.

At first, you couldn’t have possibly suspected the curly haired metal head who cozily lived across the hall was to blame for your bazar paranoia.

But then you began to see more and more of him…

Eddie was his name. Eddie Munson.

Time continued its endless march onward and you hadn’t noticed the pattern because you had blindly narrowed it down to mere coincidence that you were seeing him so often. And that’s how Eddie wanted it to be. Undetectable. Like micro dosing you with a highly addictive drug. He wanted you to think of him often, but he had to be discreet about how his practices were played out.

It started in the laundry room in the basement of your shared apartment complex. You would be waiting on your load of laundry to finish in the dryer whilst Eddie would be waiting for his things in the washing machine. This was the first of many evenings shared this way. You and Eddie stood silently whilst the clink and clank of fabric shook in the operating machines in front of you. He had clearly left some loose change or maybe a lighter in his pockets.

Until you decided to try and spark the first conversation, “You’re in apartment E, right?”

And that’s all it took for the poison to seep penetratively deep into Eddie’s psyche. He was enchanted by you. Blanketed in a fog of your perfume. Your voice like a siren song lulling him to a watery grave. You had bewitched him. He was hooked.

“I live right across the hall from you in letter F. I moved in last week.” Most people mistook Eddie’s silence as ignorance, but not you. You could see that he wanted to talk to you. You understood him.

“Eddie. It’s nice to finally meet you.” He replied sheepishly and you would be lying if you said that his voice hadn’t caught you off guard. Gruff with a hint of softness— like he hadn’t spoken aloud in a while.

There was an allure to him that you couldn’t quite pinpoint. The way his cheeks heated and his eyes darted everywhere but your face. It’s almost as if he was being seen for the first time. Like he had been caught doing something he shouldn’t have been…

“I heard you play guitar? Sounds pretty cool. I can hear it through the walls sometimes.” You offer him a polite smile to try and coax him out of his shell, but he remains reserved. His arms crossed over his chest and his wild hair falling into his eyes. His eyes that seemed to be the deepest shade of brown you had ever seen. Swallowing light and offering only darkness.

“Didn’t mean to bother you. I’ve been needing to sound proof my walls.” His voice remained lodged in his throat, strangled. He wanted to keep the words unspoken. Thoughts that were meant only for him.

You wave away his worry with a flick of your wrist, “It doesn’t bother me. I do enjoy a good thumping base when I’m doing the dishes. Gives me a reason to dance around and not look clinically insane.”

Your laugh left him stilted— like a deer frozen in headlights. It was a sound he had only dreamt of. Something pulled straight from a fairytale. Your claws sunk into his skin further and his entire body erupted in an itch to run away from you.

“Sorry, I sometimes get ahead of myself, my name’s—“

Before you had any time to even just simply introduce yourself, the brunette was taking off out of the room. Like a criminal fleeing a crime scene. Full of panic and spontaneity.

“Wait— you forgot your… laundry…” And at that point you were meekly talking to empty space. Bumbling like a desperate fool.

If only in that moment you had taken the opportunity to look inside of his washing machine to discover that it was actually empty all along…

Eddie’s uncontrollable fascination with you only worsened with time and he found himself dressed in a dark zipper sweatshirt and a black baseball cap— premeditating his plans before he saw them through. He followed you to and from where you worked at a small bookstore near the edge of town. His breath breathing a thick spread of condensation onto the window pane as he searched for you through the glass. He would stand there for ridiculous amounts of time, sometimes for hours.

However he knew that to avoid suspicion he had to come inside at least a few times. Just to be safe.

He would trace his painted fingertips along the spines of books in the music section of the library and he would pick up one or two of the hardcovers and glance at the front page and the blurb on the back. Just to try and show some sort of faux interest. He would do this all whilst keeping his intense gaze fixated on you.

Your warm smile that always met your eyes. The way your nose scrunched slightly as you concentrated. He appreciated each article of clothing you wore and how the colours contrasted and complimented you beautifully. He longed to hear you laugh and he despised whenever another man would talk to you.

It caused his mind to darken to places it never had before. He would contemplate torture and homicide. He would indulge in fantasies of tying the men up to chairs, beating them into puddles of blood and drool and then making them watch as he fucked your sweet pussy silly. It drove him insane. You drove him insane.

He blamed you for what he was becoming. This animalistic hunter who only had an appetite for you and only you. Nothing could quench his thirst. There was nothing strong enough to drown out the thoughts he had about you.

It’s how he found himself standing behind you in the queue at your favourite cafe. Eddie found the coffee shop to be incredibly basic and he couldn’t quite understand why you loved and preferred it over any other, but if it meant that he got to see you more often then he would come here for the rest of his life.

Eddie hated coffee. He couldn’t stand the stuff. But just because he bought one, didn’t mean he had to drink it. All he had to do was to look like he was. So he nestled himself into a small crook at the hidden away corner of the store and left himself the perfect view of you from afar. He had your order memorised. Alongside the scent of your shampoo.

One day he promised himself that he would work up the courage to let himself into your apartment and see what trinkets of yours he could take but it was something he appreciated that it needed intricate and precise planning. Perfection took time, after all.

“Eddie?” You beamed down at him, your small and white ceramic mug and saucer balancing in the palm of your hand steadily, “What a pleasant surprise! How are you?”

Eddie gulped thickly at the thought of being caught and his trained and alert eyes follow your movements as you take a seat in front of him, welcoming yourself at his small table for one.

“I’m good. How are you?” His answers were always clipped and short. Nothing too interesting to draw you in, but enough mystery to leave you wanting more.

“Same old, same old!” Your shoulders bounce in a quick and dismissive shrug but he already knew what you had been doing prior to this interaction, “Do you come here often? I swear I’ve seen you in here a few times…” You weren’t confident in your allegation which caused Eddie’s heart to settle in his chest. He had you right where he wanted you. Dumb and sweet.

“I was going to ask you the same thing.” He cocks one of his eyebrows at you challengingly and his lips curve upward into a sly smirk. In just a sentence he had disarmed you and you melt into your seat comfortably.

“I’ve become quite the regular here…” You sip at the rim of your cup, leaving traces of your lipstick behind on the pristine glass which Eddie knew he would be taking home with him later, “It’s just so cozy! I love it.” You snuggle down into the collar of your cableknitted sweater, the one Eddie had watched you buy from the second hand store just a few blocks over.

Eddie knew you so well. All of your cute mannerisms and your nervous tells. But you hadn’t the faintest clue about him.

Everything seemed to shift one morning when you had stumbled into Eddie when you were retrieving your mail from your post box. It had become a theme for you both to be grabbing your mail at the same time, and somewhere inside of you, a part of you that existed deep down, began to feel uneasy around Eddie.

You began to take notice of the look in his eyes. He always seemed to be somewhere else. Miles away. You could always feel his presence so close behind you, an eerie existence that you couldn’t ignore. His breath would sometimes tickle the hair on the back of your neck and you could have sworn you had felt him sniff your hair at least once of twice.

You started to try and avoid him at any given opportunity. You thought that because he never spoke to you much anyways then there couldn’t be too much harm in the matter.

The only problem was the double edge to your sword. You thought Eddie wouldn’t notice… but of course he did. And it angered him to a point of no return.

“Jesus Christ!!” Your hand clutches at your heart, your fingers fisting at the fabric of your sweater, “I didn’t even hear you come down the stairs…” Your breathing is erratic at the discovery of Eddie standing behind you. It was his intention to remain quiet— to catch you off guard. He liked to see you scared and riled up… it.. excited him.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” Although his words sounded sincere, they weren’t. But he knew that you couldn’t tell the difference, “You okay?” He is closer now and he is nearly fleeting at the reflection of himself mirrored in the irises of your gorgeous and blown eyes.

He hears you gulp down a pool of saliva and it causes his smile to widen further, “It’s awfully early to be downstairs, is it not? Where are you off to?” He nearly pins you against the wall of metal post boxes but quickly reverts to opening his own locker. It was empty inside but you didn’t have to know that. He enjoyed toying with you. Puppeteering your feelings like a master of strings.

“I’m going to work.” You were struggling to deflect the annoyance and fear in your voice and Eddie couldn’t help but chuckle to himself lightly. It was a Sunday morning— you weren’t going to work. Actually, you were only down here to try and avoid running into him later on. You couldn’t hide from him anymore. He saw right through your charade.

“You’re going to work at 7 a.m. on a Sunday?” He pried further just so he could see you squirm. And the view was fucking delicious.

“Yes—“ He didn’t allow you to finish.

“In your pyjamas?” He takes his time as his eyes drink in your appearance from head to toe and you are suddenly under the impression that you may be in terrible danger…

“Well… I’m just about to go and get ready so… yes.” You slam your locker closed, twisting the key hurriedly and darting toward the staircase.

“One sec, I’ll walk up with you.” Eddie’s stern voice stills your movements and you shake your head, smiling uncomfortably. The corners of your mouth don’t meet your eyes. Eddie notices this.

“I really should get going—“

“And done.” He closes his locker with such gentleness that it makes your head spin and as he walks over to your rigid frame empty handed you feel your heart shudder in your chest.

“You didn’t have any mail?” Accusation is clear in your voice as you stare at his hands knowingly and Eddie stops dead in his tracks. His once warm smile falls from his lips and his eyes harden to as cold as ice as they meet your own.

“And you don’t have work today.” You watch his head tilt off to one side, like an interested dog listening to its owner for further command and your skin crawls with horrid goosebumps. Your stomach twists into anxious knots and your heart rattles so loudly in your chest that you are afraid he will hear it.

A dreaded silence falls over the empty hall, nothing to be heard but laboured breath. Your voice tremors with anticipation as you bring yourself to ask the question that you already know the answer to.

“How do you know that, Eddie?”

He offers nothing but a vacant stare, almost like he is waiting for you to make the first move. If you run, he will be sure to chase after you. But once he has you in his clutches— he won’t let you go.

“How do you know that.” You ask again, grasping the paper envelopes so tight to the point that they begin to crinkle in your grip. Eddie’s fingers twitch, longing to touch something. To touch you. To hold you still. He couldn’t handle much more of your minuscule frantic movements.

“I think you know how, sweetheart.” Groomed eyebrows perk up on Eddie’s forehead, beckoning you to antagonise him further. His eyes look scarily black now, lifeless like a shark circling its prey. He takes tedious and careful steps toward you but you match each one with a step further up the stairs.

“Well… I… I need to get going. Time is ticking.” You flash him one of your forced smiles again and it’s enough for Eddie to finally reach out and grab you from behind.

His fingers tangle through your hair and he yanks you back down from the staircase. Your envelopes aeroplane across the room and his fingers clasp firmly over your lips before your horrified blood curdling scream can leave your throat.

Eddie moans erotically into your ear as his nose tickles up the nape of your neck. His nostrils whiffing in your scent deeply like a bloodhound on the hunt, “Oh, baby. So soft. So beautiful.” He groans again as his fingers indent into your skin harshly and your thrashes against his restraint fail. Your back is flush against his hard chest and only one of his arms is strong enough to keep you there, “Finally I can have you all to myself…” His voice had shifted downward an octave and you can feel his wolfish smile against your neck before he starts to gnaw and nibble on your skin, “Hope you’re ready for the time of your fucking life…”

-

forgot I had a tag list whoops, my bad! Enjoy xoxo

taglist: @colorful-white-ideas @littlered0000 @ali-r3n @daisy-munson @serenadingtigers @rainybloo28 @munson-enthusiast @godcreatoreli @littlefreckles4 @what-the-jams @tlclick73 @ameliapond1995 @thepurplelovewitch @somethingvicked @costellation-hunter @munsonzgf @emxxblog @ingridvasquez @sadbitchfangirl @im-julessssss @munsonburn3r @unclecrunkle @cierra222 @ziggeddie @yarafae @sidthedollface2 @kellsck @your-nightmaredoll @purplewitchcauldron @manitskatrina @georgeweasleyslostearhq

[ceilidho]

prompt: ex special forces ghost working as a “travel companion for hire” and reader hires him because she’s too nervous to go solo travelling

-

It’s not the first time you’ve been somewhere on your own, but it’s the first time you’ve realized that maybe solo trips aren’t for you. 

It’s in Germany, three drinks in and stumbling back to your hotel room, paranoia gripping you every time you pass a dark alleyway or take a right onto a deserted street. It’s the man walking your way on the same side of the street that has you stuffing your hand into your purse, clammy fingers gripped tight around your keys. 

On the flight home, you’re wiped. Beat. Finally untethered from a week’s worth of anxiety slowly reaching a boiling point. You’ve traveled on your own before, but it’s the first time you can remember being acutely aware of your vulnerability. Granted, before this trip, it’s not like you’d traveled all that much on your own, especially outside of the country. 

Ghost comes as a recommendation from a friend of a friend. You’d hemmed and hawed about the whole ordeal the Monday after getting home from your trip—working the front desk at an auto-body shop means that there’s no shortage of people to talk to. The guy picking up his car (fender bender, a wicked crack down the front that’s since been fixed) listens to you gripe with an absent look on his face, but you’ve learned to tune those out. People will listen to you even in spite of their indifference when there’s nothing else to do. 

“Y’know, I know a guy that does stuff like that,” he says, cutting you off halfway through another half-baked rant about airline fares these days. Your mouth puckers into something quizzical. Tell me more, it says without saying. “Ex-special forces. Left because of some medical thing, I think. Dunno. Anyway, he’s been all over the world—built like a brick shithouse, that one—and last I heard he was, uh, renting out his services.”

“Services?” 

“Like, he’d go with you, hang back while you do your thing, but basically the muscle. There to back you up if someone fucks with you.”

You’re just fresh enough off your vacation (an entirely miserable week, lest you explain the whole thing all over again) to give him your number. He promises to put you in touch with the friend of a friend who’ll put you in touch with one Simon Riley. He then gives you shit about the price on his bill and you knock ten percent off begrudgingly because the piece of paper with your number written on it is still crumpled in his palm.

No good deed goes unpunished or whatever.

“He’s not actually in the country right now,” Laswell, the friend of a friend, explains over coffee, Biscoff cookies spread out on a little tea plate between the two of you. “Or the continent.”

“Where is he?”

“For the rest of the month? Indonesia. He’s supposed to be back on the ninth. Should I let him know that you’re interested in his services?”

It’s a toss up at first. The thought of sacrificing your dignity (he would be more or less your babysitter) for adventure is tricky. With the way the dates line up—when you plan on traveling and when he gets back to the UK—you also won’t have much time to make his acquaintance before setting off. 

But there are places you want to go, sites you have scribbled down in a pocket-sized notepad folded up in the inner lining of your backpack. So you give her your permission and promise to join her and her wife for dinner sometime (repayment, and also it’s only been a few months since you moved, so you currently have a dearth of friends in your life anyway). 

The first time you see him when he stops by your workplace, you can’t help the double take. It just doesn’t seem possible. You know from Laswell and the guy at the body shop that Ghost is ex-military, but you’d been expecting some buzz-cut, slightly smarmy army reserves guy, maybe six-foot and decently muscled. What you don’t expect is the tatted beast that’s near twice your size. Only the top half of his face is exposed, the rest hidden beneath a black mask; you think briefly of asking him about it, but chicken out under his withering stare.

He doesn’t seem impressed when he meets you. “What’s your list?”

“Um…just around Europe. I haven’t thought about it too much.”

He stares down at you. “You wanna hire me just to run around the continent?”

“I haven’t thought about it!”

“Well, best give it a think fast, doll. Haven’t got all day for you to figure it out.”

You do have to think fast. He doesn’t leave until you’ve spelled out exactly where you want to go, until he’s watched you book plane tickets over your shoulder, heavy at your back while sweat beads at the nape of your neck. He’s entirely too intimidating to be looming over you like that. 

You watch him whip out his phone and fire off a couple of texts; your phone pings with an email telling you that you’ve been reimbursed for his flight and when you protest, he brushes you off by saying that he’ll invoice you for everything at the end of your trip.

Then what was promised falls into place. Free of burden, free of anxiety or restless energy, new possibilities open up to you: countries where you don’t speak the language; countries where the sites you want to see are spread out across a wide enough area that it warrants having a man packed beside you in a too-small taxi, his thigh a hot line against yours; hiking trips through national parks, where you don’t feel like you might slip down a hill and twist your ankle, stuck without water or cell service. 

You only have two weeks worth of vacation, so you use them wisely. A week traveling across Switzerland and Austria, and then a week in Cairo to see the pyramids. 

Ghost hangs back most of the time while you traipse around and do your own thing. You can feel him at your back when you approach the stands where the local vendors have set up shop, perusing silver trinkets and jewelry, only returning to your side when someone stands too close to you. 

He fists a hand in a pickpocket’s shirt when they try for your purse, giving them a shake and sending them off. 

“You didn’t have to do all that,” you mutter in his direction as you watch the young man scurry away. Not sure if you’re blushing or sunburnt. 

“You hired me to deal with this shit my way. Don’t get mouthy now.”

You think it might be the former because while you might not be the best at reapplying sunscreen, Ghost has been gentle-parenting you this whole trip. He pulls you off into corners and growls down at you while squirting a dollop of sunscreen into the palm of his hand to spread across your face. You close your eyes when his rough hands trace over your face and breathe out heavily when he spins you around, big hands engulfing your shoulders and spreading down your back.

You don’t think it could get worse. It gets worse. 

He won’t spring for his own room. You stare at him in disbelief in the lobby of the two star hotel where you’ve booked a room with a single bed. There’s a vending machine in the corner of the lobby that only sells coke (all of the other buttons are broken). One of the ceiling lights flickers on and off, an ominous buzz filling the room. Ghost doesn’t so much as blink.

“You didn’t tell me—I didn’t know that was my job,” you rebuff, anxiety a fist in your throat. You’ve already asked the front desk for another room, but they’ve been sold out for weeks, the woman at the front desk informed you with no small amount of pity. It’s the busy season; even two-star hotels get booked up in the dog days of summer. 

He cocks an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Never had to before. My job isn’t to book shit.”

“I sent you my itinerary.” 

“That’s not how I work, love. Where’s your room?” 

It’s nothing short of humiliating to have him follow you back to your shabby little hotel room. Your hands shake when you unlock the door, opening it to something no bigger than a closet. You’d purposefully gotten a smaller room than you usually would, anticipating the cost of Ghost's invoice at the end of your trip. No good deed goes unpunished. 

He ushers you into the room with a hand on your back, shutting the door behind him. You flick on the only light in the room, a bulbous thing hanging from the ceiling. No bedside lamp. 

When he settles on the end of the only twin bed in the room, the bedframe groans under his weight. Your hands are already clammy. He’s already making himself at home, unbuckling his belt with a single hand; it makes you almost dizzy to look over at him so you try desperately to avert your eyes.

“At least wait until I’m in the other room,” you hiss, rifling through your suitcase faster to get your clothes for after your shower. 

“Quit moping, love,” Ghost scolds, resting back on his elbows and toeing off his boots. “We’ll make it work. Just gonna have to get comfortable together.”

You scurry off to the bathroom with your pajamas clutched tight to your chest, paying no attention to the fact that he doesn’t sound as upset as you thought he might.

[ailesswhumptober]

Prompts for AI-less Whumptober 2023

It’s finally time! These are your official prompts for AI-less Whumptober 2023! We have 31 days of wonderful whump prompts. Each day has a set of 3 different prompts to choose from! Alternative prompts will be posted under the cut.

Happy whumping!

Here are the alternative prompts for AI-less Whumptober 2023! There is one alternative prompt for every day in October.

AI-less Whumptober 2023

Drugging / sick / poisoned 

Overworked / insomnia / Exhaustion

Sensory deprivation / overstimulation / isolation 

Hiding an injury / betrayal / lying

Hostage / kidnapping / Held at gunpoint

Conditioning / mind control / forced to hurt someone else

Flatline / Restrained / CPR

Panic attacks / Dissociation / Seizure

Scar reveal / Interrogation / Presumed dead

Branding / Scarring / collar

Fainting / Paralyzed / Adrenaline 

Self harm / Sacrifice / Character death

Earthquake / Flood / Crushed

Bleeding through the bandage / Field medicine / no anesthesia

Experimentation / Muzzle / transformation

Amputation/ chronic pain / Hospital

Hypothermia / heat stroke / “You look a little pale”

Fever / vomiting / Warm soup

Taken for granted/ Left behind/ “Why wasn’t I enough?”

Dehumanization/ Stockholm Syndrome/ Master and servant

Blood loss / shock / Near death experience

Whipping / Punishment / Stress position

Begging / “Take me instead” / Forced to watch

Failed escape / hunted down / Too exhausted to keep running

 Nightmares / Flashback / “Why didn’t you save me?”

 Magical exhaustion or injury / Curse / Came back wrong

 Forgotten/ Locked away/ Immortal Whumpee

 Hair pulling / Oxygen Deprivation / Sweating

 “The easy way or the hard way?” / Bargaining / Forced to choose

 Possession / Mind Games / Coma

PTSD / Headaches / Crying  Here are the alternative prompts for AI-less Whumptober 2023! There is one alternative prompt for every day in October.

Bloody knuckles

Gunshot wound

Separated from loved ones

Drowning

Blackmail

Crying to sleep

Disowned by family

Electrocution

Forced feeding

Bullied

Suffocation

Abandoned

Grief 

Human Shield 

Self-defense

Lab rat

Memory loss

Misunderstanding

Hypnosis

Mutilation 

Mouth stitched shut

Nerve damage

Nervous breakdown

Words carved into skin

Stalked

Non-Consensual touching

Paranoia

Peer pressure

Prison

Silent treatment

Truth serum

[ssa-atlas-alvez]

Hello, hope you are having a good day/night

I was wondering if I could request a BAU Team/maybe a little Spencer x Male x assassin

Who now works for the BAU, they are really good at stealth and undercover as if it's breathing air, they want a semblance of normalcy using the skills they were taught for good, but they can't hide, they can't run forever their past will haunt them come for them when they least expect it. (Note: reader has scars/ reader has a crush on Spencer but is afraid of how he would react if Spencer knew the real them) Prompt: to hell and back

This request is over a year old surely, im so sorry!

This a rare one folks, it's over 1k words lol. I hope you like it! I really enjoyed writing it!

Warnings: blood, injuries, scars, stabbing, reader stabs someone, use of the word paranoid/paranoia, a few curse words, reader doesn't even get their dinner :(

They only ever saw you with long sleeves. They knew a rough outline of your previous life, no details. You signed a contract to keep the details of your previous life quiet. Only Strauss knew. You had worked as an assassin for the government for five long years, training rigorously before that for two. When leaving that life, you were given a new identity, (Y/N) (L/N). 

It had taken it’s toll, sometimes your knees creaked, your wrist seized up, sometimes old wounds hurt. But ultimately, when needed, you moved silently. You knew that you wouldn’t be able to hide forever, that eventually your past would catch up to you. And so, you were hesitant to try to get close with your team. You liked them (perhaps liked one member a little too much), and you knew they liked you. But you knew first hand that traitors could come from within.

You weren’t sure when, exactly, you developed a ‘crush’ (which was a word you refused to admit outloud) on Spencer. But soon enough the sight of him was enough for butterflies to swarm your stomach and your breath to hitch. You had never regretted your previous decision to take your original line of work, until those butterflies appeared. You knew it would never happen. That you and him could never be a thing. Because he was pure, and you were… tainted. You had done unimaginable things that would make any sane person run in the opposite direction. 

Not only would he run for hills if he found out what you had done, but then there were the scars. You had been injured more than once during your line of duty. They weren’t exactly something you were fond of. So, you wore long sleeves, trousers. Never short sleeves, never shorts. Not even outside of work when you were out and about. The only time you ever did was when you were at home.

It is possible to say that, over the years at the BAU, the paranoia lessened. You were no longer convinced that every unfamiliar agent was someone from your past looking for revenge. That was your biggest mistake. 

You had seen a new face around the bullpen, you had been with the BAU three years now, without incident. And you knew that new recruits had been hired recently. So, you thought nothing of it.

A few weeks went by without incident, just proving that everything was fine. You were just being paranoid. 

Until one night, you realised it wasn’t paranoia. You were walking back from the chinese takeout around the corner from your apartment when you were pulled back and down an alleyway. He managed to stab you before you got hold of the knife, twisting his grip and stabbing him. You glared at him, twisting the knife before removing it. You repeated the motion once more before throwing the knife into the dumpster just to your right and shoving the ‘agent’ to the ground. 

Food forgotten, you took a breath. You couldn’t go back to your apartment, it was clear they knew where you lived, they had been following you for some time. You ground your teeth, increasing the pressure you placed on your stab wound. Spencer. He lived close by. And with the thought, you set off. 

It took you about ten minutes of staggering in the rain and scared looks for strangers before you reached his block. You stumbled up the stairs, pausing when you reached Spencer’s door and knocked loudly. 

Please be in, please be in. 

The door swung open.

“What the fuck?” Spencer asked, staring at you wide eyed.

You clutched your hand against your stomach tighter, “I didn’t have anywhere else to go.” And with that, collapsed. 

You came to a few minutes later, now sprawled out on Spencer’s couch. “You need to go to the hospital.” Spencer said, pressing a handful of gauze against your wound. 

You shake your head, forcing yourself to sit up against your elbows. “No.” You choked out, wincing again. 

“(Y/N), you’ve been stabbed-”

“I’m fine.” You muttered, “No hospitals.” 

He watched you for a few seconds. “I’m calling Hotch.” He said, dialling before you could argue. 

You groaned, forcing yourself to sit up properly. “Spence-” You’re not quite sure when you started calling him Spence. It just came naturally after a while.

The entirety of the team was there within ten minutes. When Spencer opened the door, they immediately sensed something was wrong. 

“(Y/N)’s been stabbed.” He rushes the words out and immediately heads back to the couch. Only to find you forcing yourself upright.

You needed to leave. They were going to find out, everything was going to be revealed. Not only would that break the contract you signed for Strauss, but it would put them in danger. It would put Spencer in danger. 

“You need to lay back down.” Hotch said as Spencer helped (forced) you back down.

“I’m fine.” You grumbled. 

“We need to cut the shirt away, we need to make sure there’s no other injuries and it’s soaked through.” Rossi chimed, handing a pair of scissors to Spencer. 

“No, Spencer-”

Morgan gently pushed you back down. “Will you just let us help you?” 

You sighed, feeling the cold air bite at your skin as your shirt was cut away. The team collectively gasped at your scars, the red of your blood only emphasising the white of the scars that covered your body. 

You distantly heard Prentiss on the phone with 911. This wasn’t exactly going to plan. You turned to look at Hotch, “You need to tell Strauss.” You said firmly. “Strauss needs to know- ow.” You gave a soft hiss as Morgan took over holding the gauze to the wound.

“I need- I need a second.” Spencer mumbled, standing up and making his way to the bathroom. Presumably to wash his hands. At least, that’s what you would do. Ah shit, there was going to be blood everywhere.

“Did I get blood on the couch?” You asked, craning your neck and attempting to twist your body to check.

“Can you just sit still?” Morgan huffed. 

JJ watches Spencer leave with a concerned gaze before following him into the bathroom. “Spence, you need to breathe. He’s going to be okay.” JJ said softly, giving him a small smile. Spencer nodded, taking a deep breath. 

“You’re right.” Spencer said, raking a hand over his face. “At the very least he’s stubborn.”

“Exactly.” She said, “He’s going to be okay.”

“He’s covered in scars, JJ.” Spencer whispered quietly. “What happened to him?”

“I don’t know.” She said, “Let’s worry about that later, okay? Let’s focus on helping him now. Everything else can wait.”

“I like him.”

“I know Spence.”

“I really like him.”

"I know you do." JJ smiled, squeezing his arm slightly. "Come on, let's go check on him - make sure Morgan's not trying to kill him."

Spencer gave a quiet laugh, following JJ back to the lounge.

"Will you just sit still?" Morgan huffed.

"You're so bossy." You muttered under your breath, blinking slowly.

"You're literally bleeding, shut up and accept the help." Morgan resorted. You huffed in response, but stopped trying to get up, once again.

"Paramedics are one minute out." Prentiss updated after thanking the dispatcher.

You blinked, the adrenaline slowly wearing off, accompanied by the familiar blood-loss tiredness. You shifted your eyes, focusing on Spencer as the world around you blurred before going dark.

[thepinkprincesss]

WARNINGS ; this prompt contains dark theming— kidnapping, weapon involvement, mdni minors pleeeeaseee! & if this isn't your cup of tea, don't sip it! stick to coffee. ty 🎀

WRITERS NOTE ; tbh this was fun to right, ik it sounds weird based on the warning but i actually enjoyed writing this out— it took me a few days cos i kept losing motivation but here it is! requested by nonnie here !

this exact situation had registered in your head since you were eleven years old— staying home alone for the first time, the feeling of paranoia creeping up on you. you'd planned step on step what you would do, how you would react, would you scream? cry? convince them they have the wrong girl? you'd always been in a fight or flight guard— but now, the very thing you've prayed and wished never would happen, did. you were kidnapped, taken against your will. you had to repeat it over and over to fully comprehend what was going on.

you'd spent a full nine hours at this place, head lost and fuzzy at the change— next thing you know jj maybank, gun in hand is in front of you his friends circling around you., like you were some exotic animal they captured and inspecting. before they entered the part of the house where they stored you, you'd heard their bickering from the next room. john b having second thoughts about the whole thing is what you've summarized up of what he's said, pope is rather freaked out about the whole situation based on the tapping against the floor, completely left out of what led up to you tied up in the living room. jj ends the group discussion with a simple statement. 'they hit us, we hit them.'

his way of getting back at who you assume is your brother— rafe, is tying up his little sister and sticking a gun in her face. your shaken up of course which is what you think he's aiming to, maybe more by the look on his face when he finally looks at you. it hits you finally that you've been in the dark for most of what this is revolving around, you hear jj mutter something along the lines of 'she looks stupid but she isn't. course she knows.' to reassure john b, having set on the idea that you have no idea what's going on by the look on your face when they first grabbed you.

the blonde kneels in front of you, gun tucked away in his waistband but in a reachable distance in case you've cut lose or slipped out of the rope, all scenarios scrambling in his mind although your still tightly concealed in the rope. john b and pope keep a distance from the two of you, sweat building up on each of their foreheads— enough sweat to be mistaken for spit if wiped off. "look, i don't wanna hurt'cha alright?" he puts up both hands and widens both eyebrows and eyes to signal he means no harm, the gun peaking out of his waistband tells you otherwise, but still you nod.

the same patterned bandana he had when he first grabbed you is down to his neck now, it gives you the tinest ounce of relief that he isn't going to hurt you— still your opinion differs. he gives you a smile and sets his hand on your bare leg. "gunna take the tape off now, kay? don't scream alright?" he begins, peeling the unnecessary amount of tape on your mouth. "no one's out here to getcha anyway.. jus' me, you, jb and pope." he concludes, making a ball of the tape and tossing it towards pope's feet.

you let out a small gasp of air— you always preferred breathing through your mouth rather then nose, your lips rub together as if relaxing lipgloss or vaseline into your lips, but instead of that your trying to get the blood back to your lips. you drawl your eyes back to the blonde kneeling down to meet you.

"sorry for uhh, pulling your hair n'allat stuff.." he reminds you, when he so rudely grabbed a fistful of your hair and pulled till you shut up. you suck up the sourness your feeling now, not only had he yanked on your hair but he'd broken one of your newly done nails you'd got just the day before, it irked you. it really did. you bit on your tongue to push back the negativity shadowing over you, you were a hostage surrounded by men and not a women in sight so you kept as much attitude inside as you possibly could.

"it's okay. i get it." you say, it seems to satisfy him because he throws his head down and chuckles, hand still on your leg for leverage. your eyes meet john b whose standing far behind the blonde, he's ashamed and can't meet your eyes. you can tell because he starts fidgeting and forcing his focus on some empty can of beer on the floor, poor pope is muttering things to himself to convince himself everything will be okay.

you can sense jj isn't up for small talk anymore— his kneel position came to an end as quick as he is to stand over you in an interrogating way, looking down at you with a sly smirk. "alright princess, enough chit-chat. i know you know, what we know. time to spill." he declares, one hand on his side while the other sits cautiously on the gun in his waistband.

your eyes flicker from his face to his waistband, he's threatening you in a way that makes you giggle. you'd seen true crime shows better than this, truly. you let a giggle slip from your lips at ever thinking you were in danger— these boys didn't have an ounce of idea what they were doing. even if you didn't know what this was about nor the background story, to think you clutched your pearls over this. you'd blanked on the part where you reminded yourself to be respectful, because next thing you know the rough wall meets the back of your head.

the blonde made a fast arch on top of you, careful to not tip the chair over but enough for the wall to meet your head— you let out a raspy scream at the change in positions, "think your funny?" jj grunts, his hand slamming over your mouth and muffling the high frequency sound. his hot breath hitting your neck and making goosebumps rise. "all you gotta do is talk." he grabs the side of your head tightly in his hand. "can you do that? or is it too damn hard?"

"mmph!" you struggle to muffle words, jaw snapped shut tight from the harsh grip around it, your body weakens and slacks under his weight pressing up on you, you stop squirming and submit to him. "…mm-hm," you nod, eyes flickering up to look for his.

he arises from his spot on top of you, his face slowly morphs into a proud smirk at your compliance, "yeah? look at that, you are smart." he muses, fixing the strands of messy hair in your face. "that wasn't so hard now, was it? now that we're getting the basics outta the way… lemme ask you a simple little question."

"where's the cross? n'dont lie t'me. i know your big brother has it, which means you know where it is too."

the only thing that came to your mind when you heard cross was God, neither you or rafe were big on religion but still attended church every now n'then with the family— donated to the church and present in their activities every wednesday and sunday. you blinked twice, you could see jj's finger tapping on the gun which made you even more hesitant to answer. the only cross you were aware of and owned was the one back home in your jewelry box and the few around the cameron household. your unsure what to say, so you say nothing.

this cross— seems to be a delicate subject for the blonde because he takes your silence as a form of guilt, that you do know about it and have been withholding information this whole time. you shut your eyes and turned away from the blonde standing over you, as quick as you are to reopen your eyes and flutter your eyelashes at him, he's quick to whip out the gun peaking from his waistband you knew he'd used sooner or later and pressing it against your cheek.

"didn't wanna do this." he whines, his breath heavy and hot, "look at me, princess. i'm only gonna say this once." his finger slowly makes its way to your chin, forcing your head up to his level. "answer what i asked, or you'll be begging and crawling on your knees in a whole different way." his voice lowers to a threatening tone.

you take a few moments to prepare yourself before speaking, knowing that you had to choose your words wisely— knowing well enough jj is already on thin ice after your silence. "…jj i promise, i— swear to you, believe me, i don't know." you say carefully, not meeting his eyes. his facial features soften, "ain't that a joke," he shakes his head, his hand coming to rest on your chin in a gentle gesture, "why you lying?"

he grabs a fistful of your hair and lifts your head to look up at him, you make eye contact and see the look on his face, he's not buying it. "why would i be lying?" you ask, voice shaking ever so slightly— not enough for him to notice. "because your brother stole it, you don't think i'm stupid enough to know that?" a sharp inhale leaves his nose as he leans in closer, "what, you think i'm gonna believe a pretty liar like you just 'don't know'?"

you've fought the tears back long enough, they began to flood your eyesight and fill the brim of your eyes. your eyelashes flick up the liquid beginning to pour out of your eyes as you look up at him one last time, if this doesn't prove your innocence— your not sure what will. right now you just want to be held. by anyone, even the man whose holding you at gunpoint. "i— listen to me, please," you begin, "i swear to you, i don't know! please, believe me." your heart races and your head spins as you desperately try to persuade him you're being honest. your fingers cling to his shirt.

his face softens for a moment, his eyes slowly moving down your face, taking in your pleading expression. he can't help but feel the slightest ounce of sympathy for you, seeing how genuinely upset and scared you look, your bottom lip quivering and tears slowly making their way down your cheeks. he hesitates for a second, not used to seeing you like this. a small part of him wants to let up on you and believe you. but he doesn't.

"stop… stop crying, alright?" he snaps under his breath, his grip on your hair loosening, his hand moving from your chin to the back of your neck. "i'm not tryna hurt you," his other hand reaches for the tears at your cheeks and wipes them away, "i just want answers." he murmurs.

a small whimper escaped your lips, your sobs growing more intense and your body shaking. you lean into his hand as he brushes away the tears on your cheeks, searching his face for a hint of understanding. his grip on your neck tightens in a warning, but it's not enough to hurt you. you let out a shaky breath before speaking, your voice barely above a whisper. "please, i swear to you that i don't know anything. i'm telling you the truth." you plead, desperation etched on your face.

he looks deep into your eyes, studying your face for a moment, searching for any signs of deception, anything suspicious. but your expression is clear— desperate and terrified, pleading with him to believe you. he holds your chin with his thumb and index finger, his touch almost gentle. he lets go of your face, releasing the grip on your chin and taking a few steps away from you, his hands finding their way into his pockets. he seems to be contemplating, debating on what to do with you. his eyes dart up and down your body, almost like he's mentally undressing you.

your tears come to an end after he walks away from you, finally sure that you are telling the truth. he's tossed the gun onto the coffee table beside him and is now inspecting you, he hadn't when he'd first snuck up from behind and put a hand over your mouth— he was just focused on getting you where he wanted you to be. your cheeks flush pink at the attention your receiving from him, and you take time to look around the room and notice that pope and john b are no longer standing where they were at the start of the interrogating, they saw their way out. you try to cover yourself up, but tied up how you are isn't exactly an accessible way to try to shield yourself from his eyes.

your were okay for the most part now, till that urgency of urine hit your system. you could hold it but the rope pushing on your lower abdomen and bladder, your impatient bouncing on the chair began. you feel weird and uncomfortable to call jj by his name, you don't know him to be calling him jj, you aren't friends to call him jj— you know him but never really knew him. "i— um," you start, the urgency of urine building up and becoming too much to handle. "jj!" you squeak before he can exist the room, it's quick and random.

the blonde pauses when he hears his shortened name call, his head snaps back and looks towards you, a small smirk forms on his face as he takes in your nervous look. his expression is unreadable but he makes his way back to you, a sense of curiosity taking over him. before he recognizes that pattern of bouncing and leg twitching, how your eyebrows were tense and you bit down on your lip. you had to pee. "can't hold it?" he muses, his gaze wandering up and down your body again.

you nod impatiently, "mhm!" you make out before looking up at him, your expression screaming 'hurry up and untie me so i can pee!'

he chuckles watching you squirm around, he'd never seen you so out of control. it's almost kind of cute but he doesn't let it show. he digs through his short pockets for anything to cut the rope, finally finding what he needs— a pocket knife. he holds them up for you to see them, and then moves closer to you. "alright princess, don't move." he says before beginning to cut the rope from your body.

once the itchy rope finally became undone from your body, jj on instinct clutches the back of your baby tee and lifts it to where enough skin is showing for his little pocket knife blade to meet your skin, he isn't poking you but positioning the blade in a way where you won't be nipped but in a way you know not to pull any funny business. the metal makes you shiver and adds more urgency to pee. "huurry up!" you whine out, crossing your legs in a way where your back coincidentally arches against the blonde behind you.

jj thrusts forward, his clothed groin hitting your butt, accidentally, he claims upon asked once you two settled down. "don't act up alright? hear me? n'you ain't going home till we get that fuckin' cross back. m'sure your daddio will want your princess havin ass back in no time." he grunts before directing you to the bathroom, and to make sure you don't try and escape he's come in with you, sitting on the nearby tub while you relive yourself.

now what's left is to explain this to kiara and sarah, that jj has kidnapped her little sister.

[cranbrees-hyperfixation-central]

Darksiders Oneshot (Using a quote as a prompt) 3

Oneshot 1

Oneshot 2 (which can technically be considered a prequel to this one)

“Love is dead and never existed. All you did was betray me as I lay sick and festering. You are the definition of dread.”

(Image taken from Pinterest)

Egads! You were such a sap!

The Apocalypse had both given you and made you into many things. A swordsman, a sniper, nightmare-prone. Some new friends, many enemies and a crippling fear of being alone. These things could be expected, sure enough, given the nature of such an event. But you certainly never expected to find - oh, dare you say it? Love. That’s what you found. With an angel no less. 

Your love for this man turned you into a sentimental fool with glittery mush for guts. Why else would you be using a colourful set of inks you scrounged from the ruins of an art shop to painstakingly copy up and illustrate the lyrics of a love song? Not just any love song but an old one in your native language, illustrated using your country's traditional art style. 

You really had gone all out. You had written up a translation and even toyed with the idea of translating it into Angelic. After two months of drafting and redrafting it was almost complete. 

Gods, you were so excited to present it to him during your next trip to the White City. The mere thought made your heart feel as if it was going to burst. It had to be as close to perfect as you could get it, after all, Azrael deserved the best of the best. 

Ah, Azrael. It wasn’t just about the song. To you it was a milestone. An extension of trust. For the longest time you had always done your best to dodge and deflect his questions about Humans and Earth. The way he phrased them made you feel like a science project or a zoo exhibit and, in light of recent events, such a topic made you feel miserable as you contemplated all that was lost. 

But soon things would be different. It was time to open up  and what better place to start than with your own culture? Your mind raced with all the things you could tell him, all the pathways to explore. Hopefully you won't cry too much.

You were jolted out of your lovestruck state when a hand clapped down on your shoulder. It was so unexpected that you panicked and began to reach for a weapon before remembering where you were. Of course, in this new world of constant vigilance and paranoia, no threat would be able to get within 3 miles of the Bastion without the alarm being raised. It was a nice kernel of safety to cling to. 

The hand belonged to Sabine, your apocalyptically bestowed best friend and decidedly not a threat. You offered an apologetic smile and she snickered but didn’t acknowledge your fright. There was no point really. Not a day went by where someone wasn’t startled by a loud noise or unexpected touch. Not a night went by where the solemn silence of the sleeping quarters wasn’t shattered by the screams, wails and sobs of those haunted by the most blood-curdling memories. If every instance of this was acknowledged then no one would talk about anything else.

Once Sabine saw that you had recovered from your scare she cheerfully pointed finger guns at you and said, “you’re up!” She fired each imaginary gun in turn, complete with sound effects and all.��

You knew exactly what she was referring to - watch duty. A task in which all adults of sound-ish physical and mental health were obliged to participate. Each day was divided into six hour shifts and everyone listed on the rota had to complete at least one per day. It was a very tedious and mentally labourious task, at times it was difficult to stay alert for the full duration of the shift.

For the next six hours you would do nothing but stare into the middle-distance while occasionally patrolling the perimeter. 

Joy.

So much to look forward to.

You bade farewell to Sabine, who was already stretched out on the bedroll you had just vacated, and trudged along the long, echoing halls of the Bastion to your assigned post. 

The Bastion, despite its fancy name, was an old secondary school that you and the other survivors had been living in for around a year. It was only called such because it sounded a bit better than “the school” or “camp”.

In a similar vein the fence that surrounded the school had been dubbed “the Bulwark”. It had been fortified within an inch of its existence, complete with a walkway and watchtowers all along the perimeter. 

Your position today was above the main gate. You arrived and greeted your shift partner - a grim and grizzled man named Joshua. He grunted into his silver whiskers in response. You liked Joshua but you were never concrete sure if he returned the sentiment. The both of you had very little in common and most attempts to draw him into conversation failed. So it had been quite the surprise when you and Sabine had had some small success at getting him to play D&D as a way to pass the time.

For the next two hours time turned to sludge, Joshua broke the silence only once to tell you that a demon nest had been discovered in the charred remains of the next town over. You were a little disturbed to realise that a thrill of excitement ran through you in response to the news. 

It’s just that no one had seen hair or hide of any kind of threat in nearly two months since the warriors of the Bastion had systematically destroyed any gatherings of any anythings. With the relative safety of the Bastion and the surrounding area secured, primordial monkey brain began to relax…just a little.

Although it was nice not to feel so wound up all the time, you were worried that you would become lazy and complacent without hypervigilance and throat-choking fear to keep you humble. 

Watch duty wasn’t always such a drag. Until recently you would spend the whole six hours with your heart lodged firmly in the back of your throat. Your brain liked to taunt you too, conjuring faint noises and flickering shadows that left you reaching for your rifle everytime. But nothing had crawled out of the ashen grey gloom in a while. 

Therefore, it came as quite a surprise when there was a sudden flash of soft golden light and a tall angel appeared across the street from the main gate. 

There was a great roar of dismay all along the front-facing wall of the Bulwark as its stationed sentinels all leapt to their feet, reaching for weapons and screaming warnings to those further back. You did too, slinging your rifle off your shoulder. 

The angel, not expecting such an explosive reaction, flared his wings in alarm. 

You blinked.

Wait…you knew those wings! You knew that angel!

Your angel! Azrael!

“Wait! Hold your fire!”, you bellowed.

The voices began to quieten and people hesitantly lowered their weapons.

“Hold your fire”, you repeated, “I know him, he isn’t a threat.”

Weapons were lowered all the way as your fellows turned to look at you. You withered under their gaze. 

Azrael, seeing the commotion he had caused begin to die down, took a tentative step towards the gate. Weapons began to creep up again and he hastily returned to his previous position.

Now that the shock of Azrael’s sudden manifestation had worn off, some began to cast apologetic glances at you, guilty of daring to threaten the sole occupier of the Bastion’s ‘Do Not Kill’ list. But you were guilty of the same crime. You shuddered to think of what might have happened if you didn’t recognise him in time. The mere thought made you nauseous. It was impossible to imagine even a single reason for wanting to hurt Azrael. It would have to be something truly awful.

Azrael’s voice drifted up to you, “Please, I must speak with you”. His expression was…solemn. You offered him a nod and half a smile in response.

Things had calmed down considerably and the Bastion’s guardian’s returned to their posts. However Azrael’s ‘Do Not Kill’ list privileges started and ended with ‘will not be shot on sight’, there was no way on Earth the main gate would be opened to let him in…or you out. Undeterred you attached a rope to the wall and clambered down before running to Azrael.

Joshua’s gruff voice followed you, “You be careful, ye hear?”

He glared at Azrael suspiciously as he added, “Don’t go too far and holler if you need help, ye hear?”

You smiled and gave him a thumbs up before grabbing Azrael by the hand and towing him away from the Bulwark. He stayed silent as you walked along the sideroad the former school sat by. 

The feeling of many eyes piercing your skin had long since faded but spidery unease tickled your spine and made you feel all jittery-like. You frowned. Why was that? You stared down at the giant hand in your grasp. Then up the arm it was attached to.

Azrael was…tense. Very tense. Enough to make your skin itch. You let go of his hand as the main road came into view, whatever feeling that swirled around him felt like the stifling humid heat of a slow, sludgey summer afternoon. It was unbearable.

You tried to clear the air a little, “What’s the matter Az? You have a face as long as a wet week, has somebody died?”

Your admittedly shitty attempt at humour failed miserably, your words laying crumpled on the ground between you like a corpse.

For all you knew someone really could have died and you were just making things worse. Azrael did not answer your question but instead stared mournfully down the main road, a long strip of cracked and dilapidated tarmac that streaked down a steep hill. At the bottom lay the burnt out ruins of the town that once existed there. 

His pearly eyes hovered here as he finally spoke, “Long have I wished to gaze upon the Kingdom of Man. Many told me that my interests should be directed elsewhere. That Earth was not a subject worthy of study, that no glory was to be found here. I yearned to one day see Earth with my own eyes and walk among its people…to see the wonders of this world for myself…but now it is destroyed and it-”. 

He cut himself off here and you frowned deeply as you worriedly scrutinised his face. His jaw worked as he ground his teeth.  Your heart began to beat a little faster although you could not yet pinpoint the reason why. Maybe it was because your mind had helpfully filled in the gaps for the sentence he hadn’t finished and you were not a fan of the end result. 

“Azrael…”, you began nervously as you drew near to him again, reaching forward to stroke his wings, “what are you trying to say?”

Azrael did not answer. His feathers, usually so soft and silky, were dry and brittle. Many were ruffled and seemingly bent out of shape, some even fell out as you ran your fingers through them. Someone had not been maintaining his wings very well at all. 

Azrael had always been so meticulous about wing-care, he had even roped you into helping a couple of times. Some of your fondest memories with him were the endless hours spent rubbing various substances into each individual feather while music played from your phone - a technological curiosity from a life long long gone. 

You wouldn’t let him examine the phone, you rarely answered his questions about the music you played. Perhaps you had not always been the kindest to him.

If he had been neglecting himself then something was clearly very wrong and a tiny voice whispered that maybe it was your fault. 

Azrael still hadn’t spoken. You peered up at him. His falcon face was damp with sweat and his wings trembled, feathers rustling like autumnal leaves. You didn’t even know that angels could sweat. You tugged on his sleeve like a little child. 

“Azrael, something is wrong, I can feel it”, you said insistently. You tried to meet his gaze but he turned his head away. A flash of irritation splintered through your chest. What on Earth was going on? 

“Azrael-”, you began, your voice dagger-sharp. 

Whatever you were going to say next died right there in your throat as Azrael’s head whipped around and he gave you the most wild-eyed look you had ever seen. He looked like a cornered animal.

Finally he spoke. Breathlessly. Falteringly. Like every word had to drag itself arm over arm across his tongue. 

He spoke your name. Then. “I do not want to do this, but I cannot keep this to myself any longer. You deserve to know this. I must confess…that I have not been entirely...truthful with you.”

You relinquished your hold on him and retreated several steps away. You knew for certain that you were standing on the edge of a tall cliff face, staring out at the dark, dark sea while the wind battered you mercilessly. Whatever was said next was going to send you tumbling into those frothing wild waters below. 

You didn’t want to hear it but you might as well jump. Heave ho. Hop.

“What do you mean by that?”, you said while eyeing him warily. 

Azrael doesn’t speak. Fucks sake. 

“What do you mean by that?!”, you said again, louder this time, your voice cracking. 

He flinches, wings flaring. You got the Angel of Death to flinch. So he starts speaking. Oh he starts speaking alright. Horrible, horrible, fetid, cursed, stinking words. The more he speaks the more you wither away, a gaping chasm yawning where your cracked heart used to be. He talks and tells the awful truth and you feel your world crumble around you for a second time. 

You listen as the Azrael you loved, adored, thought you knew, swirled down the drain. Though naming names, the only finger he points is at himself, and he was right to do so. 

This ‘Abaddon’, blinded by hubris, hatched forth the terrible plan from his venomous mind. This ‘Ulthane’ forged the howling blade poised to end All. 

But who wielded the Blade? Who said the Words? Who broke the Seals? 

Him.

The Angel of Death. Perhaps the truth had been staring you in the face this whole time. 

His words, once so soft and comforting, writhed through the air like insidious vines. “I broke the Seals”, he whispered. At first you raised your hands, stepping back rapidly, as if you could stop his words from reaching you. Now you stood in silence, staring down the main road. The 10 feet between you might as well have been 10 miles. Your eyes wander sightlessly, focusing on nothing in particular. The skeleton of a tree, claw marks in the tarmac, mountains of rubble, the sunless sky. 

Everything.

Everywhere.

It’s all his fault. It’s all his fault. He did it.

But-...but-...but-....he’s Azrael. 

No one as kind and as warm as Azrael could possibly-

He was supposed to be different from the rest.

He might still be speaking but you can’t hear him over the rush of blood in your ears as you stare numbly at your boots.

The syllables clack together meaninglessly like pebbles in a bucket. 

Azrael watched you. There was no sound. There was no movement. He expected tears or rage or both. He deserved that. What he didn’t expect was laughter. Or perhaps laughter but only if someone who was unfamiliar with the concept read a brief description and attempted to emulate it. 

Your mouth hung open in what could have been a wide smile but the sound that emerged perfectly matched your hollow, dead-eyed expression. 

Fuck, this has got to be a joke. One giant, cosmic joke. All of it. A giant, cosmic joke. Perhaps the Creator had written this in the stars for its own amusement. 

During the Apocalypse you had established several truths to live by. 

Demons were cruel and should not be trusted. 

Angels dripped with disdain and would not hesitate to show that and therefore should be avoided just as much as Hellspawn. 

If you ever, by some miracle, found who or what destroyed your home, you were going to kill it yourself.

But Azrael…”I thought you were different”. You are surprised by how calm you sound. Surely you should be incoherent with rage by now. Yet all you felt was the sting of your empty chest, the ghost of your heart beating its war drum beat. 

You turn back to Azrael and he freezes under your wolfish stare. 

There’s just one thing you can’t quite comprehend. 

“You knew”, you hiss, “you knew that the End War would destroy us. You knew, and yet you went ahead anyway”.

Azrael looks like a deer caught in headlights. 

“It was not meant to end this way! We were only meant to destroy the Dark Ones!”Azrael steps towards you, hand outstretched, but you recoil away from him. 

You still don’t understand. 

“But you knew!”, you paused, indignation growing, eating away at your voidish calm, “I thought you cared about us…I thought you were different. You never cared did you? You’re a liar!”

Azrael stepped forward again, enormous wings spread as though to shepherd you into his arms. He longed for your warmth, though he didn’t deserve it. You didn’t want to feel his ever again.

You growl, lips pulled back and teeth glinting, swatting at the encroaching feathers.

He’s wringing his hands now, “That is not true! Of course I care-”

“YOU BROKE THE SEALS YOU LITTLE BITCH”, you roar, repeating his own confession back to him.

Now it’s his turn to recoil. 

Breathing heavily you endeavour to reign in your viperous wrath. Contain it. Part of you suspected that he expected and maybe even wanted your rage. You refused to deliver any further. 

But that primordial snake writhed in your guts and chewed on your soul. You barely hear him when he stammers, “The seals were reforged! Everyone was meant to believe that Hell had invaded Earth first and that the forces of Heaven were delivering them to justice!”.

The silent grey world around you threatened to swallow you both. 

“And look how that turned out”, you spat. You shook your head bitterly. Billions upon billions of lives ended. Thousands upon thousands of years worth of history reduced to ash.

And it wasn’t even on purpose.

The extinction of a race and the destruction of a planet was just collateral damage from a war born out of one man’s awesome display of arrogance and another man’s inability to say no, even in the face of what he knew to be right. 

You shoved your hands in your coat pockets out of habit and your hand brushed against something soft. Ah yes. That. You pulled it out.

It was a very small sock, the cartoon characters that danced across the woven fabric were barely visible under the thick layer of dried blood.

Demons weren’t the only ones fond of tormenting those they deemed lesser than themselves.

You couldn’t save her. Maybe that’s why you had kept it. To remind you of your mistakes. 

You hear your name. Azrael again. Suddenly you are submerged in calm but there is no simmering anger. All your bones are filled with lead. 

“You must believe me when I say that I am truly sorry for what I have done. I never wanted this to happen.”

You’re so tired. 

Azrael is trying to touch you again.

The audacious little twat has the gall to place his hands on your shoulders. You can’t summon the energy to push him away. You should have seen this coming.

Do you forgive him? Not at all. You never will. There will be anger and tears. Not now, but soon. 

You look up into those iridescent eyes you used to love so much and sigh deeply. 

“Your apologies are redundant Azrael. It fixes nothing, it won’t bring back the billions of people you murdered.”

You see moisture collecting at the corners of his eyes and you quickly look away. You refuse to pity him. Refuse to sympathise.

His hands are back at his sides. 

“Give me your hand”, you command quietly. He duly does so and into his palm you inter the little bloodstained sock, then you gently fold his fingers over it until it is clenched tightly in his fist.

“I can’t control what you do with this, but let it be a reminder of your greatest mistake”, you say.

Azrael’s fist trembles. 

“She wouldn’t have died if it weren’t for you”, you whisper. 

There was a pause. 

“Azrael”, you say, louder now. His head snaps back up. Your expression is unreadable and your tone is flat as you unhook your rifle from your shoulder. It dangles limply in your grasp. The bayonet is thin, but long and sharp. 

“Should you have the misfortune to cross paths with me again, you may find that I will do everything I can to make sure it doesn’t end well for you”.

You don’t wait for a response, there is nothing more left to say. You return the rifle to your shoulder, turn, and walk away. You become smaller and smaller. Farther and farther away. Then the mist veils you and you are gone. 

Thank you so much for reading. If you have coin to spare I implore you to commission my friend who is an amazing artist (and also in the Darksiders fandom). If you like what you see above and have an idea that you want to see written then don't hesitate to check out my own commissions post.

[icamefromadream]

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[to-thelakes]

safe (carmy berzatto x reader)

prompt; day one, 'scary movies'

content warning(s); paranoid reader, anxious carmy (what's new)

summary; you don't like scary movies and watched one anyway so when carmy gets home, you're a little jumpy.

word count; 1,015

promptober masterlist

i couldn't help but have a bit of carmy comfort in here... i had just watched the start of season 3 when i wrote this and so it skewers a little but i hope you enjoy nevertheless :))

You hadn’t meant to watch the whole movie. You hated horror and Scream was one you had avoided as much as you could. But it was gripping and as the late night came in, you couldn’t pull yourself away from it. It was addicting but it made you so paranoid.

As soon as the credits rolled, you regretted watching every second of the movie. You had jumped at every single scare and now you were living in a state of paranoia. The silence of the credits made it seem like every noise in the apartment building was ten times louder. Every creak made you jump and your head snapped back, looking at every shadow, terrified that something would be lingering.

Carmy still wasn’t back from the Bear. He had texted you saying he would be late a few hours ago. But you wanted him here, you wished he was home.

But he wasn’t so, you just had to face this alone. You took a deep breath. It would be fine. You needed to shake the paranoia before he got back or you knew he would be teasing you. Or he would scare you. Neither of which you particularly wanted.

So, you switched the TV off and slipped off the sofa. You flicked the lights on, not having had the chance to since you were so engrossed in the movie as the sun set over Chicago. You then headed into the bathroom. You were desperate to pee and you were quick to do your business, thinking over and over again about what you could do if someone came into the bathroom.

You had locked the door so nobody could get in. At least not easily, as long as they didn’t have an axe or some shit. You let out a ragged breath as you washed your hands, staring at yourself in the mirror.

“Don’t be an idiot,” You said to yourself, hoping it would somehow stop the way your brain ran away with itself. Every noise made you overthink and over analyse your entire evening.

You knew you were safe. 

You were in Carmy’s apartment.

You were safe.

You repeated “You’re safe, you’re okay” to yourself over and over again in your head, letting the words repeat like a mantra as you walked out of the bathroom.

For a moment, you thought you’d be fine but when you stepped out of the bathroom, you were met with an unfamiliar and unannounced figure. You yelped, hand coming up to your mouth as you jumped back. Your brain ran through every horrible scenario in one second flat before you realised it was Carmy. You would recognise those shoulders and curly mess of hair anywhere.

His eyes were wide as he looked back at you, looking equally as startled.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Bear,” You breathed out, heart thumping against your rib cage, “Scared the fuckin’ shit out of me.” He couldn’t help the soft laugh that escaped his lips as he walked over to you. He gently reached out for your hip, tugging you closer to him.

“Thought you’d be asleep,” He confessed. You shook your head, rubbing the side of your face with your hand.

“No, not got there yet. Was watching some Scream movie, scared the shit out of me,” You admitted, mumbling the last bit, embarrassed to admit it. Carmy couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped his lips. You smacked his chest playfully, pouting.

“That why all the lights are on?” He asked. You nodded and he couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face, replacing the exhaustion that usually sat heavy.

“How was work?” You asked softly as you pulled yourself into him. Your face nuzzled into his chest and he tensed for a moment, still not used to your affection but then settling into it.

“Service was okay but they’re too slow, it’s too slow. Sydney wants this star and I can’t- I need to get it for her but-- but nobody is working with me- I-” You could feel the heave of his chest, his hands gripping you unusually tightly. You looked up at him, looking into his eyes. The anxiety had been weighing him down lately and you wanted to take it from him, wanted to take it all but you couldn’t. Just like he couldn’t do that for you. So you instead moved your hands into his hair.

“Look at me, Bear,” You coaxed, catching his gaze, “You can’t do everything at once,” You whispered softly as you pressed your forehead against his. He tried to resist, wanting to scream and shout and tell that he could but you calmed him down. His body melted into you, the thought of having an argument suddenly unappealing, “It’ll be okay. You just need to calm down, let’s go to bed, okay? Let me just help your brain switch off?” You asked. He nodded. He wanted to tell you that it never stopped, that you could do everything and it would only come back.

But he stopped before he said anything. He just nodded.

“Okay,” He murmured. You pressed a kiss to his lips and then slowly pulled back. A sudden creak from the apartment above made you jump out of your skin and a laugh fell from Carmy’s lips at the way you jumped. He couldn’t help himself, a grin spreading across his face as he looked at you, “You really are jumpy, huh?” He teased. You rolled your eyes but nodded, unable to deny it. He chuckled and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Let me check you locked the door and then we can get a shower, that okay Bear?” You asked. Carmy nodded and you let go of his hand to head over and check the door before you returned to his side, ready to take a nice long shower with him. It would take more than just a temporary distraction for Carmy to let go of the anxiety that had plagued him for as long as he could remember but you were a good temporary fix.

[tideswept]

win condition: move away from creepy roommate

Roommate has gotten... increasingly creepy since we moved out to the middle of nowhere. There's now Nest cameras in and outside the house, and to say that being tracked (he admitted it, so alas, it's not paranoia) has been upsetting is putting it mildly.

Good news is, I have some leads on some new places to live, but they won't be vacant for weeks yet, so I'll keep looking regardless, no counting my chickens before they're hatched and all. So plan remains > escape > find job > t h r i v e.

My offer to anyone who donates is that I will happily write a fic, provide beta reading, moodboards, or anything else you can think of as a thank you gift, just give the word!. Here’s the list of upcoming fics, so anyone who has given a prompt, you have not been forgotten! (and if you haven’t yet given me a prompt–the offer doesn’t expire. And in case the list hasn’t updated yet, DO remind me!)

My dearest friend Vee has also volunteered for doodles (find her info here) as bonus. ♥

Ko-fi

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(for blacklisting needs the tag I always use is #berrybad, and this works on reblogs if you use it under both blacklist settings!)

[chaos-ducks]

Writing prompt:

He felt eyes watching him, wherever he went. He brushed it off- it was just paranoia.

But they just kept looming- getting to the point where he set up cameras around his house and his workplace to see if his fears were confirmed.

A trio of stalkers awaited his eyes when he reviewed the footage later. They followed him everywhere, always just out of sight.

He wasn’t crazy. But they were.

[ak319]

Lovesick Village Boy x Fem civil servant reader

PART VI

➺ Part V

"Rahim, please… say something," you tried again, your patience stretched thin by the gnawing worry in your chest. This was the third time you'd asked, and with each unanswered attempt, your resolve to get to the bottom of things only grew stronger. If he didn’t speak soon, you were prepared to go straight to his family’s home yourself.

"That's it." You rose to leave, but before you could take a step, a small hand gripped your sleeve, halting you. Rahim’s expression was haunted, his eyes wide and pleading. His hand trembled, clutching you like you were his only anchor in a sea of terror. The fear in his gaze didn’t diminish your anxiety, it only sharpened it, tightening like a vice around your heart.

"You’ve got to say something, kiddo," you murmured, leaning close so he wouldn’t feel pressured. "You’re making me worry here."

Finally, after a silence that stretched unbearably long, Rahim’s voice came, barely a whisper. "U… uncle…"

You leaned in, gentle and steady. "Habib?" you prompted softly. "Are you talking about him? Yes, tell me, Rahim… what happened?"

He hesitated, the words hovering at the edge of his lips, but then, as quickly as he’d started, he fell silent again, retreating into himself. His eyes shifted away, shadowed and unreadable, as if something unspeakable lay hidden just beneath the surface.

You let out a quiet sigh, knowing that pressing him further wouldn’t help. He needed time. Placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder, you signaled Odai to come closer. "Odai, stay with him," you instructed, casting a final, lingering glance at Rahim

"B-but what about you, ma'am? Where are you off to?" Odai's voice trembled slightly as he watched you prepare to leave.

"To his house, with Maha," you replied firmly, glancing at the clock on your desk. It was 7:30 a.m., too early for peace but not for action.

Odai shifted uneasily. "I should go with you, and Maha can stay here."

You silenced him with a look, then took the gun from your locker, its cold weight in your hand grounding you with the resolve you needed. "I can handle it, Odai. Just watch over him and call me if anything changes."

Odai nodded reluctantly, his eyes flickering to the unconscious Rahim. And with that, you left, setting out with Maha, who looked more unnerved than usual, her hands twisting in her lap as you drove.

"What if… what if it’s related to the story I told you, ma’am?” Maha's voice was small, hesitant. “And from what you’ve told me about Rahim, and everything… what if Habib’s… possessed again? I warned you, didn’t I? It’s not right to get tangled with him, or that family. The way his brother insulted you…” Her hands clenched in her lap, remembering that day, the bitter words she still hadn’t forgotten.

“Maha, we talked about this.” You kept your voice calm, though tension simmered beneath. “Habib needs help. This… this might be something worse, yes. God, I have no idea what we’re going to find there or how deep this goes. But if this is connected to him, I’m stepping in, Basim’s objections be damned.”

Maha looked at you with renewed determination. Her gaze shifted to the gun secured in its holder beside you, her expression hardening with resolve.

“Yes, ma’am.”

═════ ◈ ═════

When you reached the house, the air was thick with an unsettling silence, the kind that seeped into your bones. There was something about it that felt wrong, like an invisible void, as if you had come to collect the fragments of something lost. The house, once a familiar place of comfort, now felt like a hollow shell. You shook off the feeling, attributing it to the paranoia caused by Rahim's cryptic behavior and the events of the night.

"Ma’am, he... he’s very sick. He wouldn’t stop saying your name..." Kadir's voice faltered as he stood beside Habib's bed. You looked down at the unconscious man, your grip tightening on his hand as his body trembled. His mouth was dry, letting out soft, pitiful whimpers that seemed to grow quieter, calmer, as if he found some semblance of peace in your presence.

"What did the doctor say?" You asked, keeping your voice steady, despite the deepening sense of dread gnawing at you.

"He has a high fever, and he's under extreme stress..." Kadir responded his voice a mixture of concern and exhaustion. You glanced at Dana, who was sitting beside Habib, her eyes filled with a motherly worry that was almost suffocating. She didn't need to say anything, her gaze spoke volumes, each one filled with unspoken fear and you couldn't take it anymore.

"I’ve had enough." You stood abruptly, your voice hardening with resolve. "I’m taking him with me. And nobody here is going to stop me." Your stance was unwavering, your eyes locked with Kadir's, whose face paled at the weight of your words.

Kadir seemed to hesitate, but the look in your eyes made it clear you wouldn't be moved. He nodded slowly, his expression resigned, knowing full well what you meant.

"I just..." you continued, turning your attention to them, "Do you both know where Rahim is?"

The couple exchanged a glance, confusion crossing their faces. "Rahim? He must be in his room... You want me to call him?" Dana’s voice was tentative, unsure of the sudden shift in the air.

"No, no." You cut her off. "He’s not in his room. He’s in my bungalow." You watched as realization hit them like a wave, their faces draining of color as you explained the strange events that had unfolded, the boy's frantic running, the collapse, and the chilling connection to Habib. Their expressions grew ashen, the weight of the situation settling over them like a suffocating fog.

Kadir blinked in disbelief, his voice a low whisper. "I better go... inform Basim of this."

"No." You turned, cutting him off once again, your tone sharp. "Not until I leave with Habib. I am not in the mood to deal with him right now. Trust me, you don’t want me to." Your eyes flickered to the unconscious figure of Habib, then back to Maya, your resolve unshakable.

Maya, who had been quietly observing the situation, nodded in agreement, her eyes meeting yours with understanding. She didn’t need to ask any more questions. The decision had already been made.

"In fact, you both are coming with me, I think... Rahim might not mind it." You said with a touch of certainty, even though your mind raced with the implications of the situation. The bruises you had seen on the child’s body were unmistakable, and they burned in your mind. You were certain they were from Basim. You had seen his cruelty before, and this was no different. A gut feeling told you the two were somehow connected, and the thought churned uneasily in your stomach.

"Um, yes, definitely." Kadir’s voice quivered slightly, his worry for his grandson and son making him agree without much resistance.

"Good," you responded briskly, trying to push the anxiety down.

The air between the five of you was tense, the weight of unspoken words hanging like a heavy cloud as you made your way back to the bungalow. Your eyes were drawn to Habib, his limp form resting against his father in the backseat, his chest rising and falling weakly. The image of him like that, vulnerable, fragile, almost lost, was a stain in your mind that wouldn't fade.

By the time you arrived at the bungalow, the place felt more like a sanctuary and a prison in equal measure. The heavy silence from earlier still clung to the house, but now you didn’t have time to dwell on it. Dr Ali was already there, pacing in front of the door, looking visibly tense. He was here to check on Rahim and Habib.

═════ ◈ ═════

it had been three days since the atmosphere in the bungalow had turned so heavy, each day thick with the silence of unspoken fears and unanswered questions. Habib, thank God, was showing signs of improvement, but he was still too weak, refusing to eat and constantly haunted by nightmares. The only time he seemed to find peace was when you were by his side. His vulnerability clung to you like a weight, and no matter how many times you tried to shake the unease off, it lingered.

In the other room, Rahim was still as quiet as ever. He hadn’t spoken a word since you brought him back, and every day that passed without him opening up felt like another failure, a missed opportunity to get to the root of whatever was haunting him. Still, his grandparents’ presence did seem to calm him in some way, though you couldn’t help but wonder if that was enough. You prayed for his voice every night, hoping he would say something, anything, to give you a clue about what he was going through.

Kadir had told you that Basim and his wife had gone to visit some relatives for a wedding, which felt... odd, to say the least. How could a wedding be more important than their son’s condition? And why hadn’t they been told about what was happening? Kadir, of course, insisted that it was better they didn’t know yet, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to it. His reasoning didn’t sit right with you. And then, there was Samir and his family, who had moved out of the village with no warning. Something didn’t add up. Why would they leave so suddenly, just as things were escalating?

Maha’s voice broke through your thoughts, her tone tentative but insistent. "There is... I just... feel fishy, ma'am. I mean, all the Rahim fiasco and how Kadir insists on you marrying-"

You held up your hand, cutting her off, your voice steady but carrying a weight of finality. "It was my decision, Maha. I want it to be done."

"But, why, ma'am... why so fast? Shouldn't we wait for things to settle?"

You let out a slow breath, your fingers tracing the rim of your coffee cup as you gathered your thoughts. "Maha, I can't have some man in my bungalow..." You trailed off, hoping she understood the gravity of what you were saying. "Y'know, try to understand."

Maha was silent for a moment, her eyes dropping to the floor as she processed your words. Then, without a word, she nodded, her expression softening with understanding.

"I have... talked to my parents," you continued, your voice low but resolute. "And they agreed. Fortunately. Tomorrow, go find the cleric. Bring him, and in the afternoon, the ceremony has to be done with." Your parents were shocked to hear your sudden announcement but as you kept the details about the current situation mostly vague they agreed, somewhat happy and given our urgency they agreed to be on a video call during the ceremony. It was going to be a small one, Habib's parents, Rahim and you both.

"Yes, ma'am." Her tone was firm, her eyes momentarily drifting to the hallway. You followed her gaze, only to catch a glimpse of Rahim standing by the corner of the hallway before he quickly disappeared out of sight. You sat there for a moment, your heart thudding against your chest as you absorbed the subtle shift in the room

"Rahim..." You stood up, your mind heavy with worry, and moved toward the hallway. You quickly were on your feet and stalked in the direction, Maha, following behind.

With a gentle knock, you entered the room, your eyes falling on the boy sitting quietly on the bed. His back was turned, half of his body facing the door, but his posture was stiff, unnatural, like someone trying to brace against something they couldn’t see or understand. The atmosphere around him was thick with tension, his usual mischievous energy nowhere to be found.

"Um, Maha..." you said softly, and she nodded before stepping out of the room, leaving you alone with him.

You stepped forward slowly, the floor creaking faintly under your weight as you sat down beside him. For a long moment, you said nothing. It seemed there was nothing to say, no words that could bridge the silence between you both. You just sat there, letting your presence speak for itself.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, his voice broke the stillness, soft and hesitant. "You... are going to marry...?"

At first, you were unsure whether it was a question or a statement, the words hanging in the air like a fragile thread. You glanced at him, his face still angled down, avoiding your gaze, but the emptiness in his eyes struck you hard.

"Yes... I am... isn't that a good thing?" You gave him a soft smile, one that didn’t reach your heart, but you tried. Gently, you reached out and rubbed his back, trying to offer comfort, though you knew he wasn’t the same boy who had always bounced around, full of life and questions. "You getting this cool aunt." You chuckled to lighten the mood.

But his response was far from what you expected.

"Don't."

"You...don't...want me to marry Habib?" He stayed quiet. Once again.

"Rahim…" you whispered, though you knew he probably wasn’t listening. But you couldn’t stop yourself. "Talk to me, please."

"They...they...always...just didn't let me tell you. I wanted to." His leg started bouncing and you immediately held his hand, the other on his leg to calm him. "Take breaths, I am here, you are safe. No body is going to do anything. So, talk freely, and fully. Whoever it is about. Even if it's Habib, if he's done something to you, tell me that too. I won't say a word to you, or anyone about this to anyone. Even if it is about... the thing regarding your uncle being possessed and all...I know the story...Habib himself told me, so don't think of me as a stranger. Alright?"

He nodded and wiped a tear. He took moments to clam down and with a heavy breath continued. "My...uncle...he..." He breathed in a breath.

"Was never possessed."

“He’s known for his extraordinary beauty. I have not seen him myself though. So, up until he was about sixteen, everything seemed fine. But then, he suddenly vanished from his friends’ lives and stopped attending school. Despite the family’s best efforts to conceal the issue, it eventually came to light that he was... possessed."

"When I was younger—around sixteen—I... went through something. Something I can’t fully explain, even to this day."

"It was like... something else had control over me. I was sick...and I was dangerous. I hurt people--people I loved, hurt myself too. My family didn’t speak about it much after it was over. They believed it was better left forgotten. But I can’t forget. I’ve tried to move on, but..."

No...those...those are all stories? He gave you and himself to catch a breath then continued.

"When I was a child," he began, his voice barely above a whisper, "I thought...what everyone thought that...indeed Uncle was. He was praised for his beauty, and my dad... hated him for it. Every chance he got, he'd tear into him, beat him, humiliate him. It only made Uncle more closed off. He stopped going out, hid from everyone, saying he was cursed by his own looks." Rahim’s voice cracked, his gaze distant as if seeing those memories unfold all over again.

The words tumbled out of him, fast and desperate, as if he had held them in for too long. "He started saying someone was using black magic against him, someone in the family. And my dad, he... he enjoyed it. He fueled those fears and made Uncle believe he was haunted and cursed because he was angry at Uncle for rejecting my aunt's hand and just y'know jealous. Everyone around started to believe it too because he started to act...like...he was. It became this... rumour that swallowed him whole. Even the cleric knew it wasn’t true, he told everyone but no one listened. And my grandfather, even he started believing it."

Rahim’s shoulders shook, his hands clenching into fists as he struggled to contain his grief. "We live in a village where nobody talks about mental illness. People don’t understand, they don’t want to understand. They just accepted that something was wrong with him and left him to rot. But I knew… I knew it wasn’t magic. I researched on my own, in school, and I just can't figure out what's wrong with him but I know there is....there is something psychological. I wanted to help him, I tried to, but nobody would listen."

Tears streamed down his face now, his voice breaking as the words poured out like a dam finally bursting. "Dad would beat me whenever I tried to bring it up. And Grandfather who has always been helpless against my dad always said that he will be fine once he gets married… he just wants to marry Uncle off because he thinks marriage will fix him like that’s some kind of miracle cure. Especially getting him married to you.... someone of your status. But it’s all... it’s all bullshit! Marriage won’t solve anything! The medicines he takes are just mostly sleeping pills and--and some herbal stuff my grandfather gives him which are not what he needs! He needs a proper treatment...proper treatment."

Rahim’s outburst ended in a sob, his chest heaving as he broke down completely. He was no longer the reserved, cautious boy you knew, he was vulnerable, raw, and heartbroken, carrying the weight of years of pain and helplessness on his young shoulders.

"When you came here and even better, took interest in my Uncle, I thought that maybe marriage wouldn't be bad because he would be free and you would get him treated, I would tell you about it myself when the time is right. It was...about to happen but...again my Dad...he ruined it, I thought it was over, you were out of his life, but I still hoped, he loves you so much and I know you do too so...I was ready to help my uncle run away but.."

You were too shocked to even ask him why he had stopped speaking and simply let out a questioning hum.

"My mum and dad… they… they tried to…"

"Tried to what?" You were both startled by the sudden ringtone of your phone. Seeing Odai's name on the screen, you quickly answered, bracing yourself against the possibility of more bad news.

"Ma'am, I checked the footage from the village gate. Samir left last night with his family around 4 a.m. But Basim and his wife… they never actually left the village."

Your eyes widened. "What? Are you saying… they’re still here?"

"Yes, ma'am," Odai confirmed before you ended the call. You turned back to Rahim, whose face had gone pale, frozen in place as if dreading the implications of this revelation.

"Rahim…" you said slowly, your voice soft yet urging. "They tried to what? And… where are they?"

Part VII

(AN: Did you guys expect that ʘ‿ʘ? Do comment and lemme know! Also, I know I should have mentioned it earlier but the story is set in 1990's due to which especially in the village people don't use much tech, like wifi and all cuz not everybody has computers etc that's why Rahim did whatever research he could in his school's library and computer.)

[midnight-mourning]

Escape Response

🐟🐟Midnight's DCA MerMay Day 12🐟🐟

SORRY FOR THE LATENESS BUSY COUPLE OF DAYS AND GOT DESTROYED BY A MIGRAINE BUT I WILL PERSIST, PLEASE ENJOY

DCFPU prompt used: Hunt

Word Count: 1072

WILL BE POSTED TO AO3 TONIGHT SO HELP ME-

Content warning: blood, implied death, claustrophobia/paranoia

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You weren't trying to cause harm. 

Well, not major harm. You were just doing your job. That's all this was, a job and nothing more. Sure you took pride in your work, but not in some twisted, sadistic way. 

People needed to eat, fish needed culled to help out the native species, you were the middle man who could solve both those issues. And you were good at it, too. Apparently, too good. 

It's a struggle to swim clutching one bleeding arm with the other. Having to rely only on your fins. It's nigh impossible to try and swim fast with an injured arm and a heavy tank of oxygen on your back. 

You'd lost your spear after being put face to face with some terrifying creature just minutes ago. A mix of human features and fish. Though not by any means friendly. 

He'd practically jumped you, flinging you against a rock as you'd been swimming towards a fish you'd just killed. Barely a moment to comprehend the snarling visage before a set of claws slash into your arm. 

You'd nearly dropped your intake from your mouth, the best you could manage to get away was throwing your spear gun at him, causing him to become tangled in the line. You were too disoriented and too far from your boat to head that way, ending up becoming lost. 

Fearing you were going to attract sharks with how you were bleeding you tried to find someplace to hide. At least until you could collect yourself and think. 

You unfortunately didn't get much of a chance however, as just when you think you'd evaded the sea monster, there he comes from around a rock. The glare in his red eyes makes it clear he doesn't intend to keep you alive for long. And your stomach only drops further when you see how he pauses when a thin trail of your blood passes him by. 

The snarl on his lips falters, then shifts into a wide grin, even with the short distance between you you can see how his pupils dilate. The small shiver that rattles across his blue and white form. 

It’s time to hunt. 

And you’re the prey.

You feel panic well up in you even more, and without much a choice left, swim away as fast as you can. 

Which, as you're coming to find out, may have been a mistake. 

You, in all your brilliance, have swam into a cave. 

A dark one. 

A very, dark one. 

Trying to navigate is frustrating and confusing. All you have to see is the small, dim light that's attached to the front of your wetsuit. It's something, but considering how the blackness just seems to go on and on in front of you, no end in sight, it's not comforting. 

Not to mention how the walls seem to randomly close in and open on you, the passage winding and twisting and the further you go the more concerned you become about trying to find your way out again. 

You don't even know if that creature followed you in here or not, but you feel like your only option is to keep going until you find somewhere you can rest. Being so in the open, yet trapped in a winding maze only fuels the dread within you. 

There could be anything in here with you. Big or small, threatening or harmless. Worse, there could be nothing at all. 

That feeling of being chased, of something constantly looming behind you, completely out of sight, is sickening. The fear in you is primal, the drive to survive at an all time high. Even if the terror you’re draped in is clouding your decision making. 

The silence is overwhelming, only able to hear your own breathing and the thundering of your heart in your chest. 

You bump into something and startle, spinning around and then away and crack your light in the process. 

It now flickers as you hurry in further, coming to a pass that you have to shimmy your hips through to fit properly. The way your tank presses against your back from the squeeze worries you that you may not be able to get out that way. It's still quite heavy though, so at least you have time. 

In this new area, it's finally the end of the passage. This section at least. With your limited light you can see a large outcrop that you can rest on, and do so. It's softer than you'd expect and looking closer, see bits of algae, seaweed, and so on are bundled on it. 

There's divots in the walls, with shapes you can't make out sitting in said divots. 

You shake your head, and pull your knees up to your chest. Deep breaths. Think. 

Don't think about how much your arm stings, though. Or how far away from you boat, your home, and your comfy bed are. Don't pay attention to how the walls around you feel suffocating, like they could collapse in on you at any moment. Don't think about how unless you can get back out of that crevice, they already have. 

The realization the flickering has gotten worse—sudden long patches of darkness spotting your vision—brings you back to full alertness. You curse to yourself as you try to will it to stay on, but soon enough, it burns out. 

And stays out. 

You sit, staring out into complete darkness, feeling an immense sense of doom fall over you. 

But then, a soft red glow appears. Over from where you think the crevice entrance is. You have to take a moment to readjust but freeze when you do. 

Eyes. It's two, glowing red eyes.

You attempt to soothe yourself. It's far too small a gap for him to get through. You struggled and you're half his size. You're safe until your tank runs out. It's okay—

The creature tilts his head, gaze focused on you. Then, he begins to move. Through the crevice, shifting and controting like it's nothing. 

It's then, in the faint glow provided by his eyes, that you realize the lower half of his body is eel-like. Able to move and bend however he pleases with ease. 

And as he makes it all the way inside the space, in no time at all compared to you, there's a feeling of dull acceptance that passes over you. 

That's how you know this is it.

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I do enjoy these evil drabbles quite a bit, some of them make me sick to my stomach, which means i must be doing them right, thanks for reading!

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