#anyway. time to get weird and spooky

[chewyhanniebug]

i've been wanting to write xh horror for ages but avoided it since i already had too many other things going. probably against my better judgement but i maaaaaay have started something last night

[cursezoroark]

if anyone asks them, it was a spur of the moment thing.

better resolution of first pic below:

[tulipfemme]

my cousin got so pissy that i was watching horror movies w my bf & friends & not w her so im watching one w her & she’s immediately being one of the most annoying ppl to watch a movie with (which is why i didnt wanna watch w her in the first place)😐

[battlevann]

Sinestro increasingly feels like Poshe says his name the same way he says "toaster" or "TV", so to feel more like a person he decides to give himself a second name. Would he decide that Sinestro is his given or family name and what other name would he give himself to complete the combo?

I feel like he would decide to treat it as a family name, it makes him feel slightly more respected if he chooses to believe Poshe is using his last name (even if the tone isn't necessarily respectful...)

I think he'd choose something like Nikolai or Piero as a first name, they just match his vibes well imo

[six-of-cringe]

almost forgot!! thank you to the folks who sent me memes a few days ago, i did see them and they were good and funny and thank you for thinking of me. :) I should probably mention that, mere moments after making my agitated post, I found out that I'd simply forgotten to take my meds for the previous two days. So that answers that.

[inkskinned]

my brother got covid because he's a college professor and there's not much he can do to mitigate exposure when he has 200+ students per lecture. he's got a baby at home, so he does his best, but.

the governmental website for covid information is now propaganda. not a joke, not hyperbole, not an exaggeration: it's genuinely the definition of propaganda. this is biased misinformation determined to push a political stance. it is being hosted on a government server. it looks like something you'd find in a "top 10 weird internet conspiracy stories (and their origins)" youtube video.

my brother called me when he saw it. he had me type it into google. for a second i legitimately thought that i had typed something wrong. we have both taught college: we have both said "a .gov site is usually a reliable resource." i just stared at my phone for a long, long time.

i thought about how when i was a kid, conspiracy theories were mostly fun and a little spooky. unserious. i remember reading some long, complicated website about how avril lavigne is dead. how bigfoot is real. it used to be funny-and-a-joke.

over seven million people (globally) have died from covid. america has the highest death rate with over 1.2 million people.

the thing is - every time a person dies from something like a mass shooting or poverty or treatable illness - we are told don't make it political. we are told it's just something that can happen. we are told it's sad but what can you do!

the president of the united states is using a government website to try to erase the very-real deaths that he personally caused due to a complete mismanagement of the pandemic. the president of the united states is using a government server to host propaganda, undermine science and medicine, and encourage distrust amongst his followers.

nothing is going to happen. nobody's gonna, like, do anything about it. it's a thursday today, and we are just going to move on from this like we have been moving on from everything else.

yesterday my brother was outside walking his dog, mask included. a guy in a truck pulls up and shouts something about covid and whatever the fuck else. my brother has a good sense of humor, described it to me as enthusiastic! i hadn't ever been catcalled before, this was new and therefore thrilling! i do see why you hate it, though. like. i have actual covid, does he want me to cough on him?

my brother doesn't get extra time off work anymore, because the cdc practically doesn't exist. my brother said i'm not exposing 200 students to covid. his boss shrugged and said: who cares? they're going to get it eventually anyway. like it isn't a pandemic.

like it's just a fucking thursday, and who cares about it.

[faetealights]

hmm but i do find it funny when ppl tell me shit abt him bc unfortunately i am Obsessive and i do rmb nbasically Evwrything in regards to him . esp Neow bc it all feels fucking Important.

[tellthemhowihopetheyshouted]

ever get violently reminded of how deep into a fandom you were last summer that you have to stare at a wall for a couple seconds?

yeah so my phone tried to correct taylor to gaylor just now

[oncillabrigade]

Consider:

The Bats all have personalized ring tones for one another, but everyone has both a civilian and a Bat ring tone. The civilian ones are chaos, with everyone choosing whatever they want for their various family members and friends. BUT! Everyone has a single Bat tone that all other team members use for them.

The catch? Bruce forbid them from choosing their own Bat ring tones because he proposed this plan back in Dick's Robin days and he IMMEDIATELY picked "Toxic." The choice was not well received.

Bruce: Dick, I will not be alerted to the fact that you're in danger by some Britney Spears song.

Dick: First of all, it is not some Britney song, it is the Britney song. That song finally won her a Grammy.

Bruce: *sighs*

Dick: Second of all, it won't tell you when I'm in danger... it'll tell you when Robin is.

Bruce:

Bruce: I'm taking the Walkman out of the Robin kit.

Dick: *offended gasp*

(Yes, Dick is old enough for a Walkman. No, you will not change my mind. Yes, the Tim-and-on siblings all find that hilarious. Yes, Jason has to be VERY careful not to mention that he borrowed that Walkman for years because he was uncomfortable taking expensive electronics out and about with him.)

Anyway!

Dick then proposes a slew of other songs for the whole team to use, all of which are pop culture references, e.g. the Scrubs theme because they're not Superman and also they're a dysfunctional family of coworkers; the theme from the Godfather because "let's be honest, B, we are basically our own mafia"; "Where is My Mind" by the Pixies because lol identity shenanigans, etc. The list is endless. Bruce spends weeks groaning every time his son texts him.

Eventually, they compromise on the version of "The Entertainer" from The Sting because they're hiding in plain sight to enact a mission defending good people in a hard world. Bruce, Dick, and Alfred are all so pleased with this that they each take a different section of the song as their ring tone.

Then Barbara becomes Batgirl, so she gets a section... and then Jason becomes Robin and gets one, too... and then Tim, then Steph, and then Cass is taken in, and... uh oh. That's a lot of people for one song.

But it's family tradition! They can't stop now. That would be so unfair to the new kids, B!

So they start using alternate arrangements of the song. Bruce has mellowed slightly on the "no choosing your own" thing. As long as it's a version of "The Entertainer" (within reason) he'll allow it.

Tim retroactively changes his ring tone to a weird groove-ska arrangement Bart randomly sent him on YouTube because have you met Tim Drake? Of course he went for hilarious obscurity. (Bruce grits his teeth and approves it after lots of prompting from Dick and Alfred). Steph makes it her mission to find a weirder one (Bruce agrees because he's too tired to deal with accusations of favoritism).

Cass creates her own arrangement on theremin because apparently she knows how to play the theremin. No one is sure why. Upon inquiry, she just says, "spooky noises are fun," but does not elaborate further even when she's asked to do so. A Batgirl's gotta have her secrets—Babs taught her that.

When Jason starts working with his family again, he pays an aspiring music producer within Red Hood's ranks to create a minor key remix of the original Robin II ring tone. His siblings (minus Cass) are VERY jealous he has his own personalized arrangement. Dick, Tim, and Steph end up paying this goon who owns Garage Band to do ones for them, too. Duke does the same when he joins the team.

Meanwhile, in a fit of little brotherly pique, Damian steals Tim's original ring tone. He hopes to rub salt in the Robin replacement wounds. He fails! Tim finds it beyond funny that Damian's ring tone is groove-ska. So Damian quietly pays the amateur producer to make him one that's cooler than Tim's. He pays a ludicrous amount, though, because Steph paid for one cooler than Jason's and Tim paid for one cooler than Steph's.

(Dick wanted one cooler than Jason's too, but he had $63.02 in his bank account at the time and Bruce flat out refused to use the Batbudget on "a super cool ring tone that's better than Jay's." Eventually, Dick just paid himself for an averagely cool one. In installments.)

At this point, the Bats have single-handedly given this fledgling producer enough money to quit being a goon and start an indie music studio. His first customers are mostly superheroes from out of town who like what the Bats have going on and want their own team ring tones. Harley and Ivy get in on that action, too.

Then, as word spreads, every local crook/henchperson with a side band (there are many) flocks to the studio to have their stuff produced by one of their own. Gotham rogues suddenly have an unemployment problem, while the city finds itself with a flourishing indie music scene that puts Metropolis' to shame. The entire state of New Jersey is celebrating the dual victory.

Dick has never been so glad someone doesn't like Britney Spears' magnum opus.

[ilostmygenderalongwithmydignity]

Star Sapphire Jason Todd, but the ring shows up after the Batarang Incident as his people are dragging him to Leslie’s clinic, which results in

Ring: Jason Todd of Ear-

Goon 1: Dude, you can’t just say that, don’t you know ANYTHING about vigilantes?

Goon 2: Yeah, when he’s in the suit he’s Red Hood, get it right

Ring:

Ring: Red Hood of Earth,

Goon 3: “Of Earth?” That’s weird, man

Goon 1: Yeah, if anything he’s “of Gotham”

Goon 2: Nah, Hood’s “of Crime Alley”

And Jason is sitting there trying not to laugh as his people bully a fucking Lantern Ring, because he’s still bleeding and Leslie would genuinely eviscerate him for moving before she’s done with his stitches. Eventually they end up forcing the ring to explicitly lay out everything that accepting the ring would entail like it’s a work contract, and he’s actually kind of proud of them because it meant they were listening, and he doesn’t have the heart to tell them he already knows what a Star Sapphire is (though he did technically learn a few details he hadn’t known before, so it was probably good they did it anyway).

Anyway, the ring eventually makes its offer (calling him Red Hood of Crime Alley in a bid to not be interrupted), and Jason waits as his goons debate the pros and cons, wondering when the ring will realize he can’t actually give verbal consent at the moment due to the, y’know, recently slit throat.

He eventually does accept the ring, once it’s determined that he can choose his outfit and won’t draw too much attention to himself by glowing. It’s probably pretty good timing, since even though Leslie did a good job putting him back together (while all of this was going on, the ring refused to leave him and his people were adamant on fighting for his legal rights against the cosmic entity, which she tolerated as long as they helped and stayed physically out of the way), his throat still hurts like a bitch and the healing magic that rushes through him is pure relief. Anyway, due to the way they had the ring word the proposal, the newest Star Sapphire is logged officially as “Red Hood of Crime Alley,” and Hal immediately starts sweating, absolutely dreading having to tell Spooky that his Crime Lord Problem just got significantly more complicated.

Leslie bargains to have Jason use healing magic on more severe cases, and they set up a schedule for him to work shifts at the clinic, and then she immediately goes to beat Batman’s ass for what happened since she is well aware of who Jason Todd is, and the goons may have already forcefully ejected his name from their minds in respect, but she still hasn’t forgiven Bruce for forcing her to perform an honestly pretty irrelevant autopsy on the kid. She can ask him how he came back later.

Jason is just trying to see how accurately he can form construct versions of his guns. The pink is a bit much, but the unlimited ammo is pretty sweet

[icearts]

Nobody is talking about how Angeal and Sephiroth are exact opposites in EC and it's making me unwell so I'm gonna dump it.

Have some pictures of their 2D renders for fun

Prepare yourself, this rant is a little long (but don't worry there's visual aids)

There's more obvious tells out there, like their body language and overall postures, Angeal is generally more open and Sephiroth is generally more guarded.

However, notably, this carries into how they hold their weapons throughout all of their appearances, even in Crisis Core

Fair warning, my source is multiple Google articles so prepare for some inaccuracy and uncertainty. Feel free to correct me.

Sephiroth carries his sword in an ox guard, which has the purpose of intimidating your opponent while also having the sword protect your vital organs.

Angeal's sword is held in a plow guard, which operates a bit like a fool's guard (I actually thought it was one at first), making yourself look more open to attacks to Provoke an enemy into coming in. Unlike the fools guard, the plow guard gives you a quicker maneuverability to strike first once the opponent comes in.

This is really important for their fighting styles, as Sephiroth is quick and deadly, meanwhile Angeal (i think the game refers to his character type as a Provoke Tank) always stands somewhat in front of Seohiroth and tries to draw in hits, acting as a shield. They have the sword and shield dynamic

BUT ITS ALSO RELEVANT TO THEIR PERSONALITIES you see Sephiroth acts cold and bitter, trying to keep people at arm's length, especially raw after EC Part 1 where he and his past friends had a Not Great Time (I won't give the recap sorry it'll take too long and I'm laser focused rn). Anyways, Sephiroth, much like his stance, tries to intimidate people into staying back. He will not let himself look vulnerable to attacks.

Meanwhile, Angeal is more open and friendly, taking Sephiroth's briskness and impoliteness in stride. He's open and welcoming even when Sephiroth's defense is his offense.

They're also both well trained with swords, so they can probably infer a lot about each other's personalities through how they hold their blade. Angeal seeing Sephiroth as someone who is guarded and closed off, avoiding getting hurt by being the first to lash out. Sephiroth views Angeal as being too open and vulnerable, and may even have a presumption that, like his fool's guard, Angeal is baiting Sephiroth into getting close enough that he can attack him the second he's open. It's good shit.

Next up: the weird purple-vignetted dreams they get in EC

So there's some spooky shenanigans going on in this story. I have my own predictions as to what's going on, but for future's sake, at the time of writing this is am only 2 chapters in. I'll try to be more direct to context and then provide my future game predictions at the end. Cool? Cool.

So we know based on canon that Sephiroth's dream isn't a memory, or an event or anything like that. So by process of elimination, Angeal's is the same way. Plus

Little confirmation here that Angeal always felt unable to care for his parents, which hurts me so bad btw. Anyways, analysis time.

Sephiroth fantasizes about being cared for and reassured. He wants to know what it's like for someone to love him unconditionally, he cannot even imagine the possibility. This dream shows him exactly that, his mother making him food and telling him she's always been there for him and they've always has this. In the dream, he believes it although is confused by conflicting memories. She's momentarily able to convince him that he is cared for and loved by her. In reality, he's never met his mother (her name isn't Jenova either, but that's a story for another day).

Angeal fantasizes about being to care for others. He wants to help his village, create a strong community, care for his parents and make it so they do not have to work so hard. He wants everyone to feel safe, secure, and rested and he is willing to carry all of the work on his shoulders to the best of his ability. His dream shows him doing exactly that, which based on the falsehood of Sephiroth's dream, means it's a false memory and he never was able to care for his parents for whatever reason. Really hopeful the game will tell us soon. Maybe he did try but it wasn't enough. Maybe he was weak because they didn't have enough food. Who knows.

Also, for context, Tetsuya Nomura (FF7 director) did confirm that Angeal's father has a chronic illness and died shortly after Angeal joined SOLDIER, after having worked himself to death. So Angeal dreaming of these memories of helping his dad to support his grateful but guilty mother is likely very much influenced by a sense of grief or guilt.

Then in the next chapter, these dreams happen again.

The Banorans obviously either did not make this promise or did not act on it, seeing the state Angeal's family is in in Crisis Core, his dad having worked himself to death when he was a young recruit and his mother being in a very grief-stricken and detached state.

So this plays into how they view the world. Sephiroth longs for someone to protect him from the world he's observed to be cruel and cold. He mentions this in dialogue talking about how they world views anything different as a monster. Even SOLDIERs to which Angeal promises himself that he'll help Sephiroth see that people are not all like that.

Sephiroth is jaded and distant to protect himself, as he thinks the world will turn on him in a moment's notice. Angeal, however, holds an optimistic worldview. He believes people want to help each other and everyone wants to help each other to the best of their ability.

So they're very much opposites, but they're also exactly what each other needs. Angeal needs to feel needed and helpful, protecting people who trust and depend on him. He is friends with every SOLDIER, able to recognize them at a first glance (ironically he does not do this for Alissa but I may wait to share my theories about her). Sephiroth is guarded but secretly longs to be cared for. See where I'm going with this?

So based on how these dreams are going, they're definitely being influenced by some kind of force or another. Personally I think it's Jenova itself, as Jenova has the power to do this and to transform things into projections of loved ones in order to garner their trust (much like Kadaj does in The Kids are Alright). My prediction for where the climax of this story is gonna go is that Angeal is going to have to protect Sephiroth from these visions, and Sephiroth learns that unconditional love can come from friendship and camaraderie, not just maternity. It's gonna be great. I have entire scenes mapped out in my head about this.

They're a sword and shield, Sephiroth being quick to strike and Angeal always being there to defend. It's one of my favorite dynamics ever. Their appearances also contrast, most notably in their hair color.

They both have a resigned acceptance about the implausibility of their fantasies. Sephiroth does not have a mother to care for him, and Angeal cannot save everyone. The foil of their dynamic is so magnetic it hurts. I will scream if I see Angeal make pumpkin soup for Sephiroth in the future.

My rants getting distracted so I'll cut it off here. Merry Crisis

[legendofmorons]

Written in the stars (forever on loop) chapter eleven - something in the orange

Pairing: eventual poly! Chain x reader, Wind & reader

Rating: T

Summary: After a nice break and lunch you find yourselves under attack in the evening. Injuries and hovery heroes leave you ready to bathe... but when you're alone you meet two people you probably shouldn't. The boys are trying their best to help you and handle themselves but the shadow makes that hard.

(Aka: After you and Wind chill, Time experiences grief during a battle and then sees the injuries. Oh, and you meet Onyx and Dink, who are Poorly Socialized... the boys have a heart attack. Twilight and Aild are just... tired.)

Warnings: cursing, injury, blood, canon typical violence, semi-graphic descriptions of injury, broken bones that stick out

Other: If I missed anything please let me know

Curse count: 3

Previous masterlist next

-------

Even after eating breakfast and packing up camp, you find yourself dealing with two hovering heroes in the form of Legend and Warriors. Both men walk directly behind you and Wind, bantering half-heartedly and staring at you.

You're about ready to ask them what's going on when Wind grabs your arm and excitedly points to a hill that looks perfect to roll down. "Race you to the top!"

"We can't just run off," you snort as you eye the teen.

"Old man!" Wind calls, "Can we take a break?"

Time turns, surveying both the group and the land around you. He looks so serious.

He isn't like you remember, but you barely remember anything. Do you even know him?

Do you know any of them? Are you going to?

Time's voice cuts through your thoughts. "We can take a break."

("We can take a break, darling," the man before you soothes as he loops his own red scarf around your shoulders as you shiver. "You will get sick at this rate.")

Wind grins as he takes off towards the hill. His excitement is infectious as he cackles.

You snort again, running after him.

You drop your bag at the foot of the hill where he drops his and then keep going.

Wind beats you by a little bit, but he's absolutely grinning.

It's good to see him happy.

Wind throws himself sideways and rolls down the hill as you gasp his name in shock. He laughs the whole way down.

He pops to his feet and calls out to you, "Come on! Roll down here. It's fun!"

"Sailor don't make people roll down a hill," Hyrule sighs.

You snicker, but roll down the hill anyway.

You roll to a stop at the bottom, and Wind flops over your stomach immediately.

Grunting, you raise a hand to pat his back. "Warn me next time."

"Sorry," Wind says.

You let your eyes close, soaking in the sun.

The others chat around you, and Time passes lazily. The sound of your boys is relaxing in a way that only

"You know, I'm glad you're traveling with us again," Wind informs you.

You let yourself smile a little, "Me too."

"Do you know what's going on with Legend and Warriors?" Wind asks you as he turns his head, resting it on his arms while he still lays across you.

You give a half shrug. "Not really."

"They're being... weird," the teen muses. He bites his cheek and then sighs. "They only act like this when something is hurt or upset."

"Is someone hurt?" You ask, eyes widening.

"Not that I know of."

"Maybe... maybe they're upset?" You muse.

It makes sense.

There's the way they hover and the strange far away looks. Both of them trail after you...

Maybe watching you fall into the river upset their grief again...

"Maybe," Wind says.

You sigh, relaxing into the ground.

Wind's weight across you is a welcome anchor to reality.

"You know, I met you as a grown man?" You offer idily.

"What?" Wind says.

"I went through a portal between the town and reuniting with you guys."

"You did?" Wild asks from where he works on lunch.

"I did. I met Wind, but he was old enough to have gray hair," you say easily. "Spooky loved him too."

"No way," Wind gasps.

"Yes way."

"Prove it!"

"He knew about the seagull you gave me. Also , he had pictures of the group."

"That's so cool!" Wind declares.

His eyes may as well have stars in them. His excitement is almost contagious.

You laugh. "He was pretty cool."

"Well, duh," the boy snorts.

Spooky comes to stretch out across your chest and lean against Wind. They would like attention now. Please and all that.

You grunt but move to pet the panther.

"Did I tell you anything important?" Wind asks.

You give a soft smile, trying to be reassuring.

Nausea courses your viens. How do you answer that?

So much of what older Wind spent time telling yyouis important. Most of it you aren't supposed to share.

Well...

You can say one thing.

"He said we all live through this mess," you offer.

"Fuck yeah!" Wind cheers.

"Language," Time calls with a sigh.

"Hylian!" Wind calls petulantly.

You snicker. Should you encourage the kid? Probably not. But it's funny in a petty sibling way.

When lunch is ready, you find yourself thanking Wild. His food is amazing.

-------

Time finds himself in the back of the group for the second half of the day's walk.

You're in the front now, with Wind and Spooky on either side of you. Warriors and Legend are still hovering around you.

Twilight walks beside Time this time, silent as Epona walks with them.

The oldest of the group can't pull his gaze from you.

Nothing you're doing right now is particularly eye-catching, aside from the fact that you could convince anyone you are his dearest. You are not. He knows this, but you are so close that it both burns and frozen his heart at once.

There's a split second of dread. Something is incredibly wrong.

Time opens his mouth to warn them, but you beat him to it.

"Get down!" You bark in a voice far too close to commanding officer than a civilian should possess.

He barely has time to process your voice.

There's the sound of horns as moblins and bokoblins rush from the trees, rocks arcing through the air haphazardly.

Time takes his sword in hand, and he focuses on the fight.

He can't afford to stare after you. Not in a fight like this.

The monsters are a mix of black blooded and not, which makes it hard to tell until you get a cut on them.

Metal clashes.

Time catches strikes on his blade.

Growls and grunts echo around him.

Hissing and curses.

Thuds sound around him.

Time finds himself back to back with Warriors.

You fight back to back with Legend and Wind both, Spooky happily mauling monsters in Time's peripheral. He has the moment to think a quick 'good kitty'.

Lizafos and keese come out of the trees.

The monster forces double in numbers with the additions.

This is not good.

At all.

Adrenaline pumps in his viens.

His heart thunders in his ears.

Time grips his sword in both hands as he blocks a strike. He twists it around and disarms the lizafos.

He stabs through it.

There's a yowl of pain.

Time glances over as he slashes his sword.

Spooky is flying, deep slashes across their ribs.

Ouch-

"THAT'S MY CAT!" You shout as you dart forwards towards the moblin responsible for it.

"(Y/n)!" Legend calls.

Time flinches.

He turns to his own fight.

He has to get through this.

Then he can help others.

Time becomes more vicious.

He bashes aside swords.

He knocks his pommel into heads.

His slashes become faster.

His stabs crueler.

The only thing that exists aside from his blade is the captain at his back.

Time is not letting -

There's a hiss that steals his attention.

"Leave them alone!" Wind calls.

Arrows start piercing through monsters.

Time glances over towards the trees and spots Wild.

The champion is firing off arrows two or three at a time with deadly precision.

Good.

Time finally is able to look back towards you, whole fighting.

Your sword stabs through the beasts leg.

Good.

Legend speeds behind it via pegasus boots and ends it with his own weapon.

Time slays the last of his monsters.

The rest of the fight blurs.

His heart pounds.

His sword sings.

His body twists around.

Blood rushes his viens.

Laughter rings out from Warriors behind him as the last monster goes down.

Time puts his sword away.

He takes a deep breath.

He starts his post battle head count and safety check.

Warriors is fine with a few scrapes and minor cuts. Nothing major. Maybe a bandage or two for the slash across his bicep.

Time finds Wild with a few gashes and dark bruises but standing and coherent.

He sees Hyrule and Four together, also a little roughed up but no worse for wear.

Sky has a limp and a gash across his leg, but he is stable for now.

Time checks himself and finds some new dents and a few new gashes and bruises, but he is fine.

The old man looks to where you, Legend, and Wind are, and his blood runs cold.

You have a solid wound across your side, tunic sliced and hanging open over the wound.

Legend has a broken arm that hangs at odd angles.

Time swallows hard when he sees Wind.

The sailor is in the worst shape by far. He has blood coming from the back of his head and a bone actually sticking out of his shin. Blood is all over him.

He wants to take you, Legend, and Wind to a healer right now. All three of you are hurt beyond acceptable and expected fight standards.

Time can't make his feet move.

He watches as Warriors starts towards you three.

Hyrule is rushing over as well.

"Don't look at your leg, look at me," your voice carries through the open area.

"My bone is sticking the fuck out," Wind grits.

You nod. "It is. Look at me anyway."

Time manages to start moving now. He walks closer.

He watches as you take Wind's hand in your own.

"You're going to have the coolest scar," you say.

Wind groans as Hyrule starts prodding around the extruding bone.

"And you'll have a new kick ass story," you offer easily.

"What happened to you three?" Time asks as he stops behind you.

"Lizafos," Legend huffs.

Wind shouts a curse as his bone is reset.

Hyrule starts healing him.

You pat Wind's shoulder gently. "You're doing great."

"I'm not a baby," Wind huffs.

"No, but you got slammed against a tree, and your bone was sticking out, I'd tell anyone they're doing great. You didn't even kick when they reset the bone. I'd have kicked," you admit wryly.

Wind sighs, "I guess."

Time glances over to see Twilight set Legend's arm and watch the veteran grunt. Ouch.

You still bleed steadily from you gash in your side.

Time can hear Warriors muttering about shields. Again.

Hyrule heals Wind quickly.

Wild fishes out a fairy from the depths of his slate before releasing it above you.

The fairy heals you with a few chimes.

Hyrule heals Legend next.

Time doesn't know what exactly you just experienced, but he does know he should have protected you.

He didn't.

Time failed miserably.

He can't justify the ocarina, but part of him wants to.

-------

You find yourself at a river a little bit away from camp. Bathing in a river is not ideal, but it's a thousand times better than nothing. You aren't going to pitch a fit. You're just happy to wash off the sweat and blood.

You set out the extra tunic that Twilight scrounged up for you.

Finally away from the group, including the oddly hovery Warriors and Legend, you let yourself relax.

Spooky, who currently has bandages around their injury, sits nearby playing gaurd for you.

Convincing Hyrule to wait to heal Spooky until after he's got his magic up again was a test in patience. You aren't even sure why he's so set on it? Spooky's is okay, the slashes across them are shallow and mostly done bleeding.

(He doesn't hate Spooky, but he also hasn't spent much time around the panther?)

You strip off your clothes and step into the river, wading in until the water reaches your waist.

The cool water rushes by like a blessing.

You allow yourself to take this time to reflect.

Since you found the boys you almost drowned, had some weird flashback to a war, gotten a hurt again, and found yourself two clingy heroes.

Sky is withdrawing, but you can't blame him. He's probably got a lot on his plate, and if you're bringing up memories...

You're just grateful he waited to withdraw until after a few of the others started to step up.

Sky is such a sweetheart, you know, aside from killing a God and also being a menace. You're still unclear on if he took the gremlin options in his adventure that was presented in the game or not...

You can't even begin to understand what's going on with Time and Twilight right now.

This is such a mess.

It would he so much easier if there were a walk through of this like there are for the games.

You bathe and let yourself take time to recharge.

You dry off and re-dress in the clean tunic, putting the torn one on top of your bag so you can ask Legend to repair it.

He did offer after all.

There's a ripple of something distinctly cold in the air but it's almost a sub consciousness feeling.

You turn to look behind you and gasp, stepping back.

Two shadowy figures are before you.

One is easy to name, a familliar figure that sends your heart on a run.

Dark Link stands there, shadowy magic whips around his firm as his red void eyes seem to peer into your soul. He looks like the teen version of Time...

He looks dangerous.

The air is getting colder by the second.

The second figure has the same dark grey skin. Their eyes are a silver void, haunting and strange. They look like - like a Dark Link version of you.

You yank your sword from beside your bag, and hold it out towards them. Your hands shake.

"What do you want?" You ask as calmly as you can.

Your heart races.

Spooky comes up to your side, staring the two figures down.

"You're scared," Dark Link says with a grin.

"We won't hurt you unless you start it," the Dark You (?) assures in a sickly sweet tone.

"Who are you?"

"You, little human, can call me Dark," Dark Link - Dark - says before he takes the hand of the other dark figure. "This is my darling lamb, Onyx."

You have the distinct and half hysterical thought that Onyx looks less like a lamb and more like a wolf borrowing your shape.

"What do you want? I'll scream right now," you threaten.

"We just want to give you some friendly advice," Onyx purrs. "Those heroes of yours are no good."

"They are deplorable, but you especially are better off away from them," Dark informs evenly.

You take a deep breath.

You white knuckle your sword.

"You aren't making any sense. They are heroes," you say.

"They are a death sentence," Dark sneers immediately, shadows starting to whip around him like fire.

"Why do you care?" You ask.

You should probably scream... you probably should have already screamed or tried to run.

But honestly? Your curiosity is always easy to peak. It's part of how you ended up staying to meet Spooky.

It's how you found so many things in Zelda games.

Your curiosity is strong... and the two beings before you have piqued it.

"We rather like you alive," Onyx says as they step forwards.

They cross the space between you, knocking your sword aside and to the ground before you react.

Onyx grips your chin, resting it on their minter and using their thumb to angle up your head. They run a nail along your throat. "You're rather breakable, (Y/n) (L/n), and those heroes will get you killed."

You yank away from Onyx, swallowing hard. "Don't touch me."

"So touchy," Dark chuckles, and he slides up beside Onyx, snaking an arm around their waist. "For a light creature, you are entertaining."

You swallow hard. You don't like any of this.

You know you won't win this fight. Spooky is hurt, and your sword is already on the ground.

You make a choice.

If you are going to die on this adventure, it will not be because you didn't ask for help against the being made to match the best fighters in Hyrule.

You know Legend and Warriors can probably run the fastest without grabbing anything. Split second thought running like a tornado.

"HELP! LEGEND! WARRIORS! ANYONE!" You scream at the top of your lungs.

"Oh, you just had to ruin our fun," Onyx pouts.

Dark sighs, "You will never learn, will you? Tell me, do you even know what you are?"

Onyx tilts theie head, "You know, I know you better than you know yourself, little human. You're still curious."

"You - You don't know me," you say.

There's the sound of running coming from behind you.

"We should go," Dark says, "Do try to stay alive, yes?"

Legend and Warriors break the tree line.

"GET AWAY FROM THEM!" Warriors snarls.

Dark and Onyx laugh as they sink into the shadows, letting the sound echo.

The two beings are gone.

Your heart still feels like it might beat out of your chest.

"Are you hurt?!" Legend demands as he skids to a stop by your side.

"I - No."

The others come sprinting over.

"Thank the Golden Three," Warriors breathes out as he sets a hand on your shoulder.

"What happened?!" Wind demands.

"The shadow was here, talking to them," Legend snarls lowly.

"It had a friend," Warriors grits out tightly.

"Holy shit," Wind breathes out, "(Y/n), are you okay?!"

"Just... shaken up?" You manage as you turn to see the others.

Every single hero looks like they have lost all the blood in their face.

"You're sure you're not hurt?" Time asks tightly.

"I'm sure."

Legend grabs your arm, hands gentle with you even as he looks like he might go hunt down every evil of the world right now. "You're absolutely sure? If you're trying to hide something and it gets infected-"

"I'm okay," you say firmly. "It was just - really weird."

"What happened?" Twilight asks.

You swallow. "They showed up behind me and started talking? They said you're all bad and are going to get me killed? They're weird..."

The entire group aside from Wind reacts to the 'getting you killed' comment so strongly it hurts.

Legend's grip on your arm turns bruising as he makes a soft, half cut off sound.

Warriors stiffens beside you and chokes on a response.

Time looks like he's going to vomit, face going even paler.

Twilight and Wild both look incredibly akin to guilty dogs, refusing to meet your eyes.

Hyrule has his hands in fists as he stares at the ground like he's trying to psychically light it on fire.

Sky and Four both look like they might pass out, eyes wide.

"Well, evil assholes always say dumb shit," Wind scoffs.

Thank goodness for Wind.

"Seems like it. Thanks for coming... I - didn't know what to do," you admit.

Legend lets go of your arm. "We're just - glad you're okay."

Sky nods, "We are."

"Let's get back to camp. We all need to eat," Time says quickly, not looking at you.

Oh.

He has too many feelings about this.

He can't be blaming himself... can he?

You take your things and let yourselves go back to camp with the others.

Warriors and Legend flank you on either side.

None of the heroes seem willing to stray too far from you... but you aren't upset about that right now.

-------

Twilight is on middle watch with Wild keeping him company while he lets his mind wander. The champion can't sleep, and Twilight is happy for the extra eyes.

"I can't believe the shadow got so close to them," Wild sighs.

Twilight nods, looking over the camp again to be sure everyone is safe. "I dunno what he was thinkin', but I don't wanna risk lettin' him get so close ag'in."

Wild huffs, "You said it."

Warriors mutters in his sleep, turning over.

Twilight sighs. "I dunno how any of 'em are sleepin'... I couldn't get a wink 'fore my watch."

"I don't think I'll be sleeping tonight," Wild agrees.

The rancher sighs, gaze landing on you like it often does during his watch these days. His shoulders are still tense. "I - I know that the (Y/n) here isn't our (Y/n)... but they're close 'nough that hearin' that scream damn near killed me."

"I know where you mean," Wild sighs.

You lay on your stomach with Wind across your back and half out of his own bedroll. Spooky lays against your side.

There is no cause for concern. You sleep hard still...

Twilight can't stop worrying.

What does that damnable shadow want from you anyway? You are already on this adventure despite not being a hero.

Is this a way to torture them?

"What are we supposed to do? Twi - we can't keep this up. They're in danger all the time and nome of us are doing okay..." Wild sighs as he trails off.

"We just -" Twilight takes a deep breath. "We just gotta do our best, Wild."

"I was afraid you'd say that," Wild says before he offers an empty chuckle.

"Y'know, yer gonna be fine."

"I'm just tired, Twi. We all are."

"Yeah..."

You mumble something in your sleep, faintly sounding like a name.

Twilight just sighs. This is going to be a long night.

--------

Next

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[captn-duck-gremlin]

Well shit, since people like the thing i guess I'll continue.

Shit it needs a name, uh, eh, phasmo.. uh..

Phasmo hearts?

Phasmo Hearts~

Yeah, sure.

Anyway.

Getting on with it, so you have 4 demons or ghosts haunting you. I could stick to them all being demons or assign them a ghost type.

Ghost is a wraith (what a surprise). Gaz is a poltergeist. Soap... He can stay a demon. And Price is a revenant. (This idea came from when i was playing Phasmophobia with a friend).

Now in the daytime, they can't do anything. Can't bother you at all. Not within the first few weeks of being with you at least. They don't have infinite power, doing spooky hauntings takes a lot of energy. So during the day nothing is strange, but as time goes on theres very subtle things that do happen on the rare occasion. A normal picture you have hanging up, whether it be a family photo, poster or what-have-you. Every now and then changes to something you saw in one of the strange dreams. But the second you look away and look back, its back to whatever it was originally.

It's things like that.

Or you're mindlessly standing in your kitchen, trying to come to a decision on what to have for breakfast. And then the choice is made for you by either a random thump at a particular cabinet or by a cereal box "mysteriously" falling out of place.

And that feeling of constantly being watched slowly gets stronger and harder to ignore over time, you've learned to cope.

But remember your friends who were not as nice while exploring? Oh they're not having a good time where they are. No, they're getting the actual haunting experience. You just have undead roommates who seemingly like you more than they should. Now at the start of this all, you try to figure out what's going on, you try to do research, you talk to friends, you try avoiding sleep. Which they hate with a passion, don't avoid sleep, because they can turn your dreams into nightmares. But anyway, you spend too much time trying to figure out what's happening until the small signs become clearer. You're haunted. Do you try to get rid of them? No, you don't. Because you actually take the time to think it over. One hand, the obviously paranormal problem. On the other hand, they've.. haven't done anything too horrible. Yes, the nightmares sucked but that was your own fault and you talked it out with them (in dream). So with sigh you accept your fate. At night, you dream a weird life with the beings haunting you. At day, they don't bother you all that much. Of course the late hours of the day they have a bit of a chance to do things, messing with whatever like the tv, radio, maybe move something by a couple inches, make a thump somewhere around. You'll get used to it.

[defectivevillain]

those who fall

pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reader (can be platonic or romantic)

reader's race and gender are ambiguous; no pronouns or physical descriptors are used.

summary: “What’s your name?” you ask your companion. “Hannibal,” he responds. The man doesn’t look the slightest bit malnourished, despite your predicament. Either he’s new here, or he’s been able to keep his hunger satiated. “Hannibal,” you repeat, taking note of his vaguely European accent. “That’s a strange name.” Hannibal just blinks. The man looks almost expressionless, but you can see a hint of irritation at the edges of his faux smile.

word count: 3k | ao3 version

warnings: canon-typical blood and violence, death, suicide, cannibalism, gore, suicidal ideation/self-harm. Emphasis on the cannibalism — both willing and non-consensual cannibalism. Mentions of throwing up/vomiting.

author's notes: Happy spooky pride! (I'm being told it's also called Halloween...? Weird.) Here’s a really fucked up fic. :3

If y’all haven’t watched The Platform, here’s the trailer, which should explain things. I’ve also attempted to write an explanation, but it’s long and bad. Here it is anyways, in case you don’t want to watch the trailer:

There is a vertical prison system that stretches more than 300 levels down. Each floor houses two people, and there’s a large hole in the middle to accommodate a table. Each day, a single table starts at Floor 0 and makes a stop at each floor. The table is loaded with a ton of dishes for a large and extravagant meal. Floor 1 gets the table for a short time before it drops to Floor 2. So on and so forth. People aren’t allowed to take things from the table to save for later, so it’s a scramble to eat enough to keep them nourished until the next day. They’re all eating from the same table, so as the floors get lower, there’s less and less food left. Inhabitants stay on their floor for one month, before they’re exposed to gas and moved to a different floor for another month. Basically, the lower the floor, the less likely you’ll be to get any food. In theory, if each person ate only their own ration, the food might last. But some people are greedy, wasteful, etc... A floor below 100 is virtually a death sentence, because that means 200 people pick at the food before you get to.

heed the warnings listed above before reading!

You wake up, blinking away the traces of a gas-induced sleep. It’s the beginning of the month, which means you’ve been transported to another floor in the facility. Groaning, you blink blearily, only to find someone staring down at you. You flinch and get up, hoping he’ll move away. But he continues looming over you, looking at you with a scrutinizing gaze. 

“You must be my new roommate,” he says emotionlessly. 

“How’d you wake up so fast?” you respond, squinting at the daylight seeping through the room. Typically, the gas is strong enough to leave you knocked out for at least twelve hours. But this man is already awake, and there’s no telling how long he’s been standing before you, watching you. The thought unnerves you. 

He just shrugs in lieu of a response to your question. You take a deep breath and turn towards the far wall, dread coiling in your chest as your eyes find the number of the floor you’re on: 139. Fuck. You’ve never been this low before. You had the 76th floor last month and the 23rd the month before that, then 87, 6, and 53. You had no idea the floors went down past 100; all you knew was that you’d be getting a new roommate this month, in light of your past roommate’s death. 

Floor 139 is practically a death sentence. You’d normally be able to fast thirty days, but you spent all of last month fasting at Floor 76. (You didn’t have much of a choice, as the food never made it down to you in the first place.) You push yourself to your feet and walk near the center of the space, glancing down only to find more floors stretching down as far as the eye can see. There are dozens—maybe hundreds—of people beneath you. You want to throw up. 

“You look frightened,” your new roommate remarks, breaking you out of your spiraling thoughts. You glance at him, unable to hide your irritation. 

“Of course I am,” you snap, beginning to pace around the edge of the hole in the floor. “The food will never make it down this far.” 

“How do you know?” he hums. There’s a knowing smile on his face, as if he wants you to concede and utter the words aloud. 

“The food didn’t even make it down to level 87,” you recall, shaking your head as you try to fight off memories of an aching stomach and a debilitating weakness anchoring you to your bed. “And we’re fifty-two levels beneath that.” 

Silence. You swallow hard and try to maintain your composure. Panicking won’t do you any good.  And you definitely don’t trust this stranger enough to show him any sort of emotional vulnerability. You bite the inside of your cheek and think for several minutes. “What’s your name?” You later ask your companion. 

“Hannibal,” he responds. He takes another step backwards and light falls on his face, revealing a chiseled facial structure, brown-grey hair, and glimmering brown eyes. The man doesn’t look the slightest bit malnourished, despite your predicament. Either he’s new here, or he’s been able to keep his hunger satiated. 

“Hannibal,” you repeat, taking note of his vaguely European accent. “That’s a strange name.” Hannibal just blinks. The man looks almost expressionless, but you can see a hint of irritation at the edges of his faux smile. 

“How’d you lose your roommate?” you continue determinedly, desperate for some information on this guy. Something about him unsettles you. It must be the unbothered way with which he analyzes your surroundings, as if you hadn’t both just been given a finite expiration date.  

Hannibal studies you for a long moment. “You don’t want the answer to that question.” He eventually answers. A shiver rolls down your spine. 

“You killed them,” you realize aloud. 

“And ate them,” he confirms casually. Your heart starts thudding quickly in your chest. You pretend not to be affected by his confession. Internally, you’re scared for your life. To think that you’d survived months of starvation, only to die at the hands of another human? “What happened to your roommate?” Hannibal continues, before you can truly collect your thoughts. 

“They jumped,” you remember to say, the taste of bile climbing up your throat. There’s no need for further explanation. 

“Ah.” A tense quiet descends on the air once more, and the two of you spend the seemingly countless hours before the table’s arrival in silence. 

When you finally hear the telltale whirring of the table above, your stomach growls. You need food rather desperately—especially after not receiving any legitimate nutrition last month. Your hands are shaky; your vision is blurry; and your legs feel as if they’ll cave in at any moment. 

The glassware rattles and the table sinks down to your floor. Hannibal and you both look at the remnants of the meal from above, only to find plates licked clean and glasses entirely empty. As you expected, there is nothing left for you to eat: not even a crumb or bone. 

There is, however, a man crouched on the table. He stares ahead with blank eyes, as if he doesn’t even see either of you. You look at him for a few moments, immediately promising yourself not to get any closer. In this place, vulnerability is weakness. You’ve seen it happen before: someone will extend a helpful hand to another person, only to be stabbed through the back in the same breath. There is no saving anyone here. You are all destined for death, regardless of when it may come. 

Hannibal regards the new arrival for several seconds, before quickly reaching out and grabbing his collar, yanking him off the table and onto the pavement. You watch in disbelief as Hannibal brandishes a knife—when in the hell did he get that?—and stabs him several times. Your roommate’s ferocity ensures the man’s death. Calmly, Hannibal drags the corpse by the ankles until it’s closer to the walls. 

Then, he sinks his knife into the body’s skin. The victim, unsurprisingly, doesn’t so much as flinch. The knife pierces the skin of his chest and Hannibal sinks his hand into the cavity, gripping the entrails and pulling them out with practiced precision. He gets to his feet, holding the liver in his hand. You watch in silent horror as his head turns and his gaze finds you, his eyes trained on you even as he raises the organ to his mouth and begins eating. 

Your stomach turns in disgust and revulsion. You’ve survived months of fasting—you never ate another human, despite the earsplitting screams from above and below indicating that several other inhabitants did. Even though you know you need to eat, the thought of tearing into that corpse is enough to make your appetite disappear. You quickly turn your head and clamp a hand over your mouth, before raising it to cover both your nose and mouth. The scent is enough to make you nearly hurl. You close your eyes and pretend you’re somewhere else—anywhere else, but trapped on this floor with a cannibal. 

Your ears are ringing at the confirmation that Hannibal is a seasoned killer. This was not his first kill, and it likely won’t be his last. There is a very good chance you’ll be his next meal. Fear pulsing through your veins, you manage to pull your knees close to your chest and close your eyes. The cool metal of your lighter grounds you to this horrible moment, this stiff and unfeeling air. 

If you had known just what horrors you would be subjected to, you would’ve chosen a different object to bring. Maybe you would’ve even chosen a weapon to protect yourself or a form of entertainment. But your naive self chose a lighter—not even for smoking, but just to watch the flickering flame. Your finger now twitches to bring the flame to your skin, but you resist the urge. There is enough pain and suffering here without your own self-inflicted torture. 

It is hard to sleep that night. Your thoughts are buzzing too loudly. It takes a while for your eyelids to slip shut, and once the table comes rocketing by, you shudder awake and have to fall asleep once more. When you finally succumb to slumber, your dreams are distorted and cryptic. 

The weird sensation of something in your mouth pulls you from slumber. You open your eyes to find Hannibal standing over you, the crimson light casting shadows across his face. You instinctively want to belch at the foreign material, but Hannibal’s hand is secured firmly over your mouth. You immediately catch on to what he’s doing: he’s feeding you some of the corpse’s meat. 

You try to fight back—attempting to shove him off—but his grip is too strong and you’re weakened by hunger and lack of sleep. You’re forced to chew, unless you want to choke and die. A shudder runs through your entire body as you chew, disgusted with the texture. The taste of iron and copper runs through your mouth; the smell alone is enough to make you gag. After what feels like far too long, you manage to swallow. 

Satisfied, Hannibal steps away—and you immediately fall off your bed and to the floor, stumbling to the sink to drink some water and flush the organ down. “Fuck you,” you spit at him, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. It comes back bloody, and you take extra effort to scrub your face clean. Hannibal doesn’t seem to be affected by the insult. Rather, he’s wearing an understanding smile on his face—and you’re growing more and more overtaken with the urge to punch that look off his face. You clench the faucet with an increasingly tight grip, until there are bolts of pain sliding through your fingers. 

“You will thank me soon,” Hannibal remarks, staring at you. You can see his heated gaze in the cracked mirror before you. It’s clear what he’s trying to say: if you don’t eat, you will die.  

“I won’t,” you say numbly, your heart roaring in your ears. “You should’ve left me alone.” Your voice breaks at the end of that sentence; if Hannibal notices, he doesn’t comment on it. Instead, he only looks at you imploringly. 

“You need proper nourishment,” Hannibal maintains. 

You hiss and walk back to your bed, turning to the side so you don’t have to look at him. You’re not foolish enough to turn your back on him—not when you know just what he can do. You don’t want to indulge his murderous sensibilities. You spend the rest of the day split between seething and suppressing the urge to throw up.

When night falls, Hannibal goes to sleep. You only pretend. When you hear the steady rise and fall of his breathing, you push yourself up quietly and sit on your bed. You will not fall asleep tonight. You don’t want a repeat of last night. 

Despite your quiet movements, it doesn’t take Hannibal long to notice that you’ve shifted. “You’re not sleeping,” he says aloud, admittedly startling you as the uneasy silence across the space is broken. When you comprehend his remark, you can’t stop the wry laugh that falls from your lips. 

“I don’t trust you,” you respond candidly. There’s no point in pretending otherwise.  

Hannibal lets out a strange noise. It takes you a few moments to realize that he’s just laughing. “If I wanted to kill you, I would’ve done it already,” he then says. “You are… the least insufferable of my companions so far.”

You blink in the near darkness. “Thanks,” you say dryly. That statement isn’t reassuring in the slightest. You don’t want to wake up to find him forcing organs down your throat again. The thought sends a renewed wave of nausea through you, and it takes you several moments of measured breathing to fight it off. 

Eventually, you fall asleep. You can only fight off the exhaustion for so long, and if you’re not eating, then you definitely need to be resting to conserve energy. 

You wake the next morning breathing hard, expecting to see Hannibal looming over you. But he’s only sitting on his bed, regarding you with a blandly amused look. It appears he won’t be forcing you to consume human entrails again. 

But little do you know, Hannibal doesn’t have to force you next time. 

It’s been sixteen days since that horrible night. Sixteen days without food. Your body has grown incredibly weak. You can barely push yourself up to get to the faucet across the room. Speaking takes too much energy. Most of the time, you just lie on your bed and stare at some point in the distance, losing yourself in memories long gone. 

You can’t find the energy to waste on getting angry. Instead, you’re just… empty. The movement of the table is the only thing that helps you discern the time. The corpse Hannibal took all those days ago has since become a rotted pile. Neither of you have seen anything resembling food on the table. The people above are merciless. They eat the rations of several people; they spit on everything in reach. 

You don’t bother to look up at the table’s arrival today. There will be nothing for you to eat. And indeed, when you finally drag your eyes over, there is only glassware and silverware… scattered around a person in the center. They sit cross-legged and stare ahead with that similar unseeing expression from the man all those days ago. 

You don’t need to watch to know what happens next: Hannibal drags them onto the pavement, brandishes his knife, and kills them. He dissects them with the mercy of a disinterested scientist, before sparing you a simple look. There’s a single drop of blood carving a path down his lips. Hannibal wipes it away. 

You extend a hand wordlessly. 

Hannibal stares at you, a complex emotion passing over his face as quick as lightning. He places a bloodied chunk in your palm. The crimson stain spreads across your skin. You look down at it and feel… nothing. There’s an echo of disgust and horror, perhaps. But beyond that, you’re an empty shell. This place has changed you. Emotions do not survive here—instinct does. And your instincts tell you that you need food. 

Minutes later, the gnawing pain in your stomach has subsided and there’s the horrifically familiar taste of iron settling on your tongue. You swallow hard and slowly push yourself to your feet, mechanically walking over to the sink and getting some water to wash it all down. Your hands are shaking but you manage to satisfy your thirst. Turning the faucet off with shaking hands, you lean against the wall and sink down into a sitting position. 

There’s dried blood on your hands. It doesn’t matter that you washed it away—you can still see it. It haunts you, even when the night arrives and the floor is drenched in crimson light. You’ve since migrated to your bed, but you can’t get yourself to move from your sitting position and lie down. You can’t give yourself comfort. You don’t deserve it—not after what you’ve done. 

You’re not sure how long you sit silently, watching the darkness settle and fade into a dusky light. There’s a persistent pain in your back and your cuticles are picked open, yet these sensations fade to obscurity when you remember the meal you just willingly consumed. You had no choice seventeen days ago. You can’t say the same for yesterday.

There’s an uncomfortable wetness clinging to your cheeks and eyelashes. You’re crying, you realize. It’s been a while since you’ve cried, even with all the horrors you’ve witnessed here. You shakily wipe at your tears, but they keep falling. Falling prey to the burning in your throat, you bury your head in your bent knees and struggle for breath. 

At some point, there’s a hand on your back. You’re so exhausted that you don’t even flinch, because you can’t seem to muster up the energy. Your body is wracked with chills and phantom shivers as you try to comprehend just who is offering you comfort. The same person who kills others with ease and feasts on their remains… is wrapping an arm around your shoulders and sitting on your bed next to you. 

You don’t have the strength to push Hannibal away. You lack the strength and fortitude to do so. Hannibal is the only human contact you will have, if you continue living. You don’t have a choice—if you want to maintain your sanity, you’re forced to cave into the loneliness screaming behind the confines of your rib cage. That’s what you tell yourself as you reluctantly begin to relax in his hold. You cling to him with increasing desperation. Hannibal’s hand rises to the nape of your neck, cradling your head in what feels like an intimate gesture. 

You can’t stop the sobs crawling out of your throat. 

You want to assign Hannibal the blame. But you know it’s not that simple. He didn’t put you in this prison system; he is nothing more than another participant: one with the courage to keep themself alive, at any cost. Perhaps you should be more like him.

…It’s a chilling thought. 

You have never been so desperate for answers, inside bleak cement walls that give you nothing except more questions. The sparkling silverware; the gleaming glassware; the callous cruelty of those above; the painful plight of those below. There is no solidarity or community amongst the people in these walls: only the concepts of superior and inferior… and the fallen. Those who have been above, have savored without suffering… only fall from grace and stumble into starvation’s relentless grip once more. 

Your tongue recognizes the taste of copper; your hands the crimson stain that becomes a murky brown as time passes. You have fallen. And of one thing, you are certain: you will never rise again.

thanks for reading! <3

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[solarmorrigan]

Deck the Halls - Spooky Scary Remix

For the @steddie-spooktober day 7 prompt: Skeleton Rated: G | Words: 682 | CW: None | Tags: established relationship, modern AU, Steve Harrington loves Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson is a menace Divider credit: @steddiecameraroll-graphics

“Eddie.”

“Yeah?”

“Those are skeletons.”

“They sure are.”

With an air of satisfaction, Eddie deposits the two life-size, plastic skeletons onto the couch, where they preside over the boxes of decorations sitting on the living room floor like a bony king and queen (or two kings. Or two queens. Steve guesses he can’t say for sure, since they’re skeletons).

“Eddie, it’s December,” Steve says.

“You know, your observational skills are one of the things I really love about you,” Eddie shoots back.

“Fuck off,” Steve snaps, with no real heat. “We’re supposed to be decorating for Christmas.”

“And so we shall!” Eddie claps his hands together. “Where should we start?”

“Let’s start with why there are skeletons on the couch,” Steve says, and Eddie tsks, like Steve is the one being weird.

“We’re going to decorate with them, obviously.”

“Skeletons are for Halloween, not Christmas.”

Eddie eyes Steve with that shrewd tilt to his mouth that never bodes well for Steve’s chances in an argument. “Says who?”

“Uh, everyone?”

“Oh, everyone. Is that all?” Eddie waves his hand dismissively. “You know, skeletons don’t stop existing just because it’s not October. In fact, I’ve got news for you, baby.” He steps closer to Steve, bringing his hands up to Steve’s hips and giving them a squeeze before leaning in to whisper, “there’s a skeleton inside of you right now.”

Steve scrunches his nose up in distaste. “Don’t say it like that,” he implores, and Eddie snickers.

“Too late, thought’s in your head now.” He leans in and pecks a kiss to Steve’s cheek before stepping away. “Besides, I have a plan to deal with the Christmas skeleton nay-sayers such as yourself!”

He goes to dig through the plastic shopping bags he’d come home from the store with, where Steve had only sent him to get another box of lights and some extra hooks for the gutters, not these new spooky-scary interlopers, who are still sitting on the couch, eyeing Steve with their empty sockets.

“Where did you even get these things, anyway?” Steve asks as Eddie digs.

“They were on sale, can you believe it?” Eddie says. “No one wanted the poor, bony bastards, so I brought ‘em home. Aha!”

From the depths of the rustling plastic Eddie unearths his treasure: two fur-trimmed Santa hats.

With what seems to Steve like a disproportionate amount of delight, Eddie sets about placing the hats onto the two bare, plastic skulls, tugging them around carefully and setting the pompoms at jaunty angles before he steps aside and gestures with a theatrical sweep of his arms.

“What d’you think?”

Steve blinks at two festive skeletons on the couch. What does he think?

He thinks that they only moved into this house a few months ago, and he doesn’t want anyone in the neighborhood to think they’re weird.

Which– okay, they are weird. Obviously. Everyone is going to find out. But Steve had been hoping that the idea could sort of bake in; that they’d have time to settle and become a part of the community before everyone figures it out, so they’d have a better chance of not getting frozen out. He’d had a plan.

But then again– Eddie is standing there grinning at Steve, so hopeful and pleased with himself, practically begging Steve to tag along with him on his weird little endeavor, and honestly? Steve would rather live as a socially ostracized hermit until the end of his days than make Eddie unhappy.

“I think you’d better find a good place outside to put them, and they’d better stay there, because if I wake up one morning and find out you moved one of those things outside our bedroom window, or somewhere inside the house, I’m divorcing you,” Steve says.

If anything, Eddie’s smile only grows. “I wouldn’t dream of it, baby,” he says, his tone implying that he absolutely would.

All the same, Steve allows himself to be smothered with grateful kisses, and braces himself to deal with “mysteriously” moving Christmas skeletons for the rest of the season.

The things he does for love.

[kandyscorner]

i've been seeing stuff all over tiktok about guardian bells. idk if you know anything about them but its like a good luck charm that you hang on someone important to you's motorcycle for safety (i think? im not completely sure myself lol) but i was thinking about a fic or a short prompt where the reader gives one to jason for his bike. if you don't want to do this absolutely no biggie but i thought it could be cool. again no pressure. love your work!!

Okay, I actually had to look this up because I thought you meant like just some random trinket as a lucky charm, but then you specifically said Guardian bells.

For those who don't know, Guardian bells, also known as Gremlin bells, serve multiple purposes, most superstitious. The bells are a wish for safety while you drive from loved ones or other bikers. it usually hangs low on the bottom of the bike. The Gremlin name comes from the superstition of Gremlins getting into your engine and breaking things. The bell serves as a hiding place for them, but once you start driving, the bell rings, jarring them and making them fall off the bike. It was kind of fun doing the research. I didn't know bikers were superstitious like that.

Anyways, onto the request!

****

Jason looked like he was going for a ride. The handsome man all loaded up in his leather jacket and helmet in hand. 

He was staring at you and you were staring back, a silent conversation.

Going for a ride?

Yea

Without me?

Loser

You guff at his eye roll. 

“Give me ten minutes, please” you request sliding off the couch.

“You have five or I'm leaving without you.” He threatens but you know that's all it is. He won't leave if he knows you want to come with. You change clothes quickly anyways. 

Then you're rushing to the dresser and moving things aside to pull out the little box you'd been harbouring. You had felt anxious when you bought it online, anxious when it arrived in the mail and anxious the entire time you had it hidden in the drawer. 

Jason wouldn't shame you for it, or laugh at you but you worried what he might think. Was it too cheesy? Or would it be wrong? Jason wasn't exactly religious per say but then neither was this. 

You open the box and pull the little bell from the box. You stare at the silver thing with the blocky and cursive engraving, I fucking love you. It felt like Jason. 

You wanted him to know that you cared too. He was prone to going out on his bike when he got stuck in his head and that could be dangerous (his whole life was dangerous but that didn't matter). 

You wanted him to know that you cared about him and you loved him. You could do this. It had waited long enough.

“Sweetheart, I'm serious. I'm gonna leave without you.” You hear him yell through the walls.

“Liar,” you mutter before skipping out of the bedroom, little bell hidden in hand.

“What's wrong with you?” he eyes you uncertaintly even as he holds your jacket out for you. You answer as you slip your arms into it.

“Nothing's wrong.”

“You don't skip” 

“I just did”

“I know that's why somethings wrong.”

You huff and work your way under his arms for a hug. Sometimes, you didn't like dating a vigilante.

“I got you something.” You mumble into the collar of his shirt.

“Is that why you're being weird?” He asks, big hands skimming over your back in a soothing manner. 

You pull back to look him in the eyes, “I am not being weird.”

“Okay, you're not. What'd you get me that's got you so worked up?” You unwind your arms from him but stay close.

“I don't know if I understood everything about it but even if it's not about the spooky stuff, I just wanted you to know that I want you to be safe.” You say as you open your palm show him the little guardian bell you had gotten. He gingerly takes it from your palm. 

“You got me a gremlin bell?” he asks slowly, delicately like it wasn’t real.Your brows pinch at the question. 

“I thought it was called a guardian bell?” 

“It is, It is, it's both. Thank you sweetheart,” he drags you back into another hug, curling himself around you, pressing his nose to your neck. 

“Nobodies ever gotten me one of these,” he mumbles where he hides, “thank you sweetheart” 

You two stand there for a long time and you take up Jason's soothing strokes, hand smoothing across his back. Mostly because he's sniffling and you never meant to make him cry.

When he finally does pull away, he stops to look at the bell. A smile works its way across his lips.

“I fucking love you too, sweetheart. Thank you.” He leans in and presses a kiss to your cheek and the corner of your lip. 

“Stop Thanking me, handsome.” You bring your hands up to face and thumb at the stray tears and pull him in to kiss him straight on the lips. 

“Now,” you say slowly, “let's put it on and go for that ride, yeah?”

“Yeah, let's find out if I have gremlins on board. Aside from you of course” His stepping away from your reach before you can smack him. 

“Jason Todd”

“Don't take that tone. It says right here that you fucking love me. That tone’s not allowed!” He shouts but doesn't stay for long, already racing out of the apartment with both the helmets.

“Unbelievable.,” you mumble before snorting, “you forgot your keys” you say in sing songy voice even though you know he can't hear you. You grab them from the ceramic dish and follow after him locking up the apartment. 

He’s lucky you did fucking love him.

****

Also for reference of what the bell looks like here

Masterlist