#mentioned gore

[legend-as-old-as-time]

@magicalgirlmascot

@crystaltoa

My current draft for the Turaga Nui oneshot. Not done yet.

Warnings for animal death and upsetting topics in the first part. The Rahi Nui won't survive here, and it had some victims.

------

They wait.

They wait.

They are patient, keeping the vacuum around its head. They are patient as its lungs rattle uselessly. They are patient as the scent of blood wafts up from wounds sluggishly bleeding. They are patient as the beast’s blood burns the plants crushed under their bodies. They are patient as they listen as its heartbeat slows. They are patient as its struggles grow weak. They are patient as their six arms and their tail and the roots of rock and ice keep the beast pinned. They are patient as their fingers rub gentle circles into mutated flesh.

The Rahi Nui looks tired. No more aggression, no more anger, no more malice. Not even fear is left. It looks up at them with tired eyes as their body greys, parts, dulls. It is withering. Whatever magic that kept its unfortunate components together in that artificial intelligence decays.

Fur. Scales. Feathers. Flesh. All of them withering under their fingers and claws.

Fur upon fur. Scales upon scales. Feathers upon feathers. Flesh and flesh. The thrum of blood slows under their thumb.

They cannot let go until the Rahi Nui has taken its last breath; its heart has done its last beat; its brain has activated its last neuron.

Any moment of weakness, and the lingering magic could take advantage. It could swing its head, spear them on its antlers. It could jump and fly away, try to consume more animals to regain mass and strength.

Letting it live would only lead to more death. Maybe it’d devastate the prairies’ ecosystem next. Lake Naho’s. Or it’d attack another town. A city. A reservation. There would be more causalities - a high chance that it could be one of their friends or mentees or the kids - and there’d be no hiding anymore that this creature is not normal.

Even if any of the toa manages to kill it without more injury, people would know that something is going on.

Authorities would want to know where this creature come from. Want to know what s strong enough to kill it. They would dig up things they shouldn’t, learn secrets they shouldn’t and get greedy-

And the trail will lead to Kini Nui.

So, they wait.

They wait in silence. They can’t hear the Rahi’s noises makes from inside the vacuum, but the rush of its body’s internal organs is too loud.

The Rahi Nui attacked them. It had laid in ambush, and they had later felt its malicious glee at hurting them.

It nearly killed their little siblings, in the middle of Becoming. Only their malleability saved them – because they are a fusion, because they are not fully corporal, because called on the echo of the visorak venom.

It nearly killed their friends, their mentees, their family. Antlers sharped to blade tips nearly gored Lewa. Hooves stomped onto Pohatu whose fast reflexes were the only things that saved him.

If not for the protective rage filling their very core, they’d have seen red then. As it was, they made sure to alert the Rahi Nui what a mistake that was.

They slam the right arm back into the ground, freezing it fast. None of these thoughts are helping. They can’t get distracted.

Being kind takes effort, emotional and mental. They breathe in and out, taking in the rot wafting up. Their hearts squeeze as they remember what is happening.

They rub their snout against the back of its neck, while they sway their tail with the Rahi Nui’s. Dust swirls up from the decaying fur and skin. They’re no less angry. The feeling just shifts targets.

The Rahi Nui didn’t ask to be made. Its components fought in terror as they were merged. They cannot be unfused.

The only mercy they can give to it – to its victims – is a quick death.

(It is a mercy they can give to the toa. To allow them to keep their hands clean from having to kill even if it’s necessary.

They, as former Toa Hordika, have a different perception. They sometimes killed animals to feed themselves. Of course, this? It still hurts. This situation is out of the norm. They will have nightmares of this moment. But it won’t haunt them like it would haunt their younger counterparts.)

Eventually. Finally. They inhale through their nostril. It’s time.

Muscles go slack under their grip. Eyes close. No more noise comes from its lungs. The vascular system grows silent. Its heart has stopped beating. The wounds stop bleeding.

They wait. They wait. And wait. Their grip, their control over the stone, stays steady even as they begin to shake.

After hours, weeks, months, years-

(Don’t be absurd, somebody lies. It’s a lie because the somebody’s hands shake, too, as they sign. It’s been only a minute by now.)

They flex their hands and there’s give. Muscles once harder than any metal known to man, that carried no mark from Tahu’s sword or Gali’s axes, ripple under their palms. It feels like…

The Rahi Nui greys. And as it greys, cracks grow. First in spots, then in patches that spread that it almost looks like they’re growing more scales. And the patches crumble. The end of its antlers. The edge of its beaks. Its wings. They think the same is happening to the rest of its body but they won’t look away from its head just yet.

They rear back onto their knees. One moment, their whole weight lays on top of it. The next, it’s just gone. They’d have dropped onto their face if they had stayed.

Is this it…?

They shudder as dust brushes across their tail. They peer down along the ground, then across their shoulder. Everywhere they see the same thing: Dust so fine as if somebody ground rock between massive wheels. It floats around them. The midday sun filtering through the remaining leaves throws beams of light and shadow across it.

Just like that, nothing of the Rahi Nui remains. As if it never existed in the first place. Even the blood soaking the forest floor has conveniently vanished. It looks almost normal.

Or it would. If not for the massive trail of broken trees leading to their landing spot, sticking up like cracked tooth picks. Or the crushed underbush, partly burned from the Rahi Nui’s toxic fluids. Or the trench they dug into as they crashed and momentum carried forward.

Other parts of the forest look like this or worse. Other parts are silent like here, too, all residents either killed or chased away. Only their breathing fills the silence. They feel numb.

(They soothe their little siblings. Later, they promise. Later, you can think and process everything, I promise.)

They exhale, pushing every tiny particle away from their face. No time yet to fall apart.

A breeze blows, carrying the promise of rain. First it goes on its own. It whirls the dust into an eddy in the next moment, with them as the center of the currents. None of it touches them. They hold out their quivering hands in front, guiding the dust into a big, swirling globe between them. A loud, high-pitched ringing echoes in their skull.

By all accounts, all that is left is what they’re holding. But who knows if that’s true? They think they sense something. And that’s all it is. Is the dust poisonous? Is the magic gone?

They don’t know what will happen if they let it disperse in the forest. Or if it contains any DNA left from the Rahi Nui that will draw attention. Because there will people combing through the forest and everywhere they’ll find spots of destruction.

What they should do with it, then? They can’t reduce it even further than this.

But. But they can neutralize it until they have a better idea. Or somebody else.

They pull the rock roots from the earth and shape them into a ball with hole…

They exhale through their nostrils with streams of steam. It is done.

(Was there ever any doubt? You have a master artist with you!)

A large, perfectly shaped globe rests in their hand. They have compressed the dust into the smallest size possible and encased it in the rock. The rock itself is compressed and changed so it won’t shatter easily. Nothing trapped inside will leave any time soon.

Flexing their fingers, they create a flat base connected to the globe as a finish. There. Now it’ll stay in one spot.

Automatically they bent to the side to store the globe but stop short.

“Uh.” They cough around the pinpricks in their throat. It feels like they gargled pebbles. Water condenses into their upmost palms, and they repeat this several times to swallow until they’re not parched anymore.

(It still smells like rain, doesn’t it? A wistful thought. And indeed, clouds are rapidly gathering above. Some rain does sound nice.)

This is strange, isn’t it? Or is it not? The circumstances of their fusion were extreme, yes. But this? They scan their body properly – but quickly, quickly, they don’t have much time – for the first time ever, looking for injuries. They even create a makeshift ice mirror to check their back and wings. Are they a dragon?

How curious! They clearly carry elements from every of their Hordika shapes, and the fusion created something unique. They want to know more, take more time to explore.

It suits them, even if they need a bath. (Noooooo, comes the unconvincing whine.)

Their little siblings might lose their composure later once they process everything that happened. But it feels good, to be seen and see like that, and not be feared.

That said. They chuckle and shake their head. The sound that comes out sounds like breaking. “Just our luck.” Or maybe it does not. Nobody else is here to hear it.

Of course, Wairuha and Akamai have fancy armor. But they?

They don’t have pockets to carry anything, let alone the rock. And that’s because they’re not wearing any clothes. Not that there is anything to see but still.

No socks, no underwear, nothing. This feels very similar.

They gently pat the presences in the back of their mind that feel like they’re laughing hysterically about “pants”.

How do they carry back their new, possibly cursed paperweight?

A snap of fingers draws their attention- Down. Looking, one pair of their free hands sign. They move a bit slowly as one’s palm has several deep lacerations. Weird to see it from this angle; normal to feel it; mindboggling to watch the fingers sign at themselves.

(We have six hands if you happen to remember. The clamor of hysterical laughter multiplies.)

They chuckle again, lighter now. It makes sense that your own body sassing you is possible with a fusion.

Okay. So they have more pressing problems. They gather the largest leaves they can find. The sirens are growing louder, hurting their years. They just didn’t have the time to think about them before.

They swallow metallic sweetness while two of their uninjured hands make a rope. They’re not badly injured anymore – their adapted fast healing is seeing to that – but they are incredibly sore. Everything aches. Yes, including their wings as they flap them.

And they are tired, from the fight, from the blows they took, from restraining the Rahi Nui.

This is part of why they are creating a makeshift bag. They thread the rope through two shifted holes in the rock and freeze everything in flexible ice for good measure. Better have extra insurance than risk dropping it because they lose focus.

Unfusing now is a less bad idea than staying fused and being seen, but still a bad one. Only Matau and Vakama possess abilities to hide from the rapidly encroaching police. Some random humans from the nearby town have no good excuse as to why they are be so deep in the forest when a supposed monster rampages around. It would rise suspicion.

Cool air brushes across their palm after they finish cleaning with one last lick. The six, angry red lines are already vanishing. No, the best thing to do is to vanish as well.

Should they become invisible and walk back to Kini Nui? Their gaze wanders to the horizon into the direction home. Smoke rises above the tree line into the cloudy sky.

No. They know how to sneak, and in this form, they excel at it. They will avoid breaking twigs or moving foliage where it shouldn’t and leading any pursuers in circles.

But police and mounties might mean dogs. Dogs mean they have to manipulate the wind so that their noses can’t pick up on their scent. Even if they manipulate the wind, the earth will continue to carry it. And evading the authorities would make the journey back too long. They have to get back home, as soon as possible. The others must be dying from worry.

The wind blows under their wings as they grow. Nothing disturbs the foliage or the earth as they jump up. (One whoops in delight and claps hands, basking in the rush of the air. Another, Ugh, more heights. I can’t believe I’m saying that I prefer caves but I do.

Flying didn’t bother you before.

We were busy with surviving! And focused as one person who’s not afraid of heights!

You don’t feel afraid, though. We should know.

… I still don’t like them.)

They have burned all of their blood and put the ashes deep underground. They did the same with other parts of their body like scales or feathers, but unfusing later will take care of that if they have missed any.

Earth fills the trench in the ground. They can do nothing about any other places where they landed or moved across. Hopefully, the rain will wash all of the traces away.

Hovering, invisible, wings flapping silently, they crane their head to peer into the direction of the sirens. The lights flash at the forest’s edges.

Let them find nothing. Let them chase specters. Let them leave confused. They are done.

Looking the way home, they fly.

-

They take a brake at Lake Naho’s shore, on the edge far away from the police. Close enough by Kini Nui to see the houses, and far enough away to stay hidden.

Physical and emotional strain lead them down to the waters. They checked that nobody is nearby, and that the place to land is wide enough. (Still too narrow, but back on ground, at least.) But nothing more.

Their cargo smacks against their hip. They hiss upon stumbling on the soft loam, pulling a sore muscle in their leg. A distraction that only lasts so long before the wrongness of sensations pulls them back. They itch. Clumped together fur pulls at their skin. Flaking blood and rust cover their scales. Scabbed skin burns when they move. It’s all they can do to keep their claws away from their flesh instead of stopping this maddening pattern.

And their back hurts. They don’t know if it echoes from Onewa’s old injury or when the Rahi Nui punched them between their shoulders, but they had to land before their body made them crash.

(At least Iruini will quick-kill us. Better than slow-kill.

I’m going to burn his eyebrows if he says anything like this. It wasn’t our fault. And we needed to fly to escape.

Know how hot-pretty you are when fair-angry?)

The huff of amusement morphs into a groan when another lance of pain rams a bar through the back of their ribs. It lasts for a moment in which they lock up. They breathe through the pain and stumble forward, using the trees as crutch. Accelerated healing can only do so much.

Lake Naho’s waves beckon them despite their unease. They lap at the shore, a gentle back and forth. Water rushes around their feet, their calves, their knees, their thighs, their hips as they wade in. Wings shrink and furl into themselves for protection because they’re still the wings of a snow owl, not a water bird. The lake washes away dust and earth, blood and mud. This makes this break already worth it. (Says you, but it sounds unconvincing.) The cold punches the breath out of them, in a good way. It cannot overcome their thick hide but it pierces through the fog in their head.

(Oh. A deep breath, followed by hands. I had forgotten what it feels like, to be surrounded by cold like this and be...

I get it. I missed feeling the water as a part of me. Even if it’s Lake Naho, another echoes.)

Now they stand to their neck in the lake. The sky above reflects in the surface, grey and turbulent. A deep breath is all they take before they submerge. The world above goes silent.

Not that have need to take a breath except for instinct. They breathe easily underwater as they do in air. They see easily through a second, clear set of eyelids. Instead, they close both and begin to wash.

The water surrounds them. It mutes the disparate sensations to something bearable, while they heal and clean.

(I wish we could take a proper swim, without having to fight for our lives.

A sigh, an impression of a hug. We can future-fuse and do it then.

But you hate the water.

But I love you more. We love you more.)

When their head breaches the surface, rain patters. They leave the lake calmer, more centered. Fascinated, they watch where they know their arms are but still can’t see. Each square inch, foot, yard of their body is already dry once out of water. Nothing drips off to cause splashes among the raindrops hitting the lake’s surface.

(Fusion-state is also perfect to quick-dry. All water should work like that.

Ffffffft!)

Their body is still a solid object that disrupts the raindrops’ fall, however. Not even water manipulation can make it look like there’s only air where they stand. Or they don’t know how to do it yet. So they move to the shelter of the trees, wings curling around their shoulders.

The school’s gym should have enough room to unfuse.

But they need to meet back with the others, to inform them that they are alive and what has happened to the Rahi Nui. They left Kini Nui’s vicinity hours ago.

How do they meet them? They don’t know where they are, small as the town is. Not all places in Kini Nui have enough space to accommodate their size, anyway.

This leads back to the school. It’s a private, enclosed space. They could unfuse there and use their phones to call everybody. Or use the school phone.

No, the Rahi Nui destroyed several landlines, so the school phone is dead. They left their phones at Bomonga’s underground bunker in a magical case because he was paranoid that somebody could track them there. The Rahi Nui broke it during its assault, before both of them destroyed the rest when they crashed through the ceiling.

Bomonga and Onua saved everybody back then. They probably saved the phones, too.

Onua, somewhat likely. Bomonga and phones? Eehh. The cave-in could’ve destroyed the case, anyway.

That still leaves me without any phones either way. And would they still be around the bunker?

The phones at our own places might be broken, too. But we could find the others on the way there-

A thrum shakes the air, followed by a gust of wind created by displaced air. Their head snaps around, staring into the forest.

That noise. They know that noise. They know even though they’ve never heard it like that before, with these ears sharper than any humans. The wham-wham-wham of legs and arms pumping, of shoes hitting the ground hard at speed no other living being can hope to replicate.

“Pohatu,” they breathe. He’s safe. They brush away the branches and duck into the forest.

They knew it intellectually – they saw him evacuate everybody out of the bunker. Emotionally, that doesn’t do anything. They haven’t seen any of their friends since the ceiling collapsed and they burrowed up.

(Is the kid looking for us?)

Most likely. They would have, too, if it was Akamai or Wairuha who disappeared into the wild to fight a beast from nightmares and didn’t return after some hours. So maybe the others are here, too. It’s too dangerous, the police could come over here as well.

They smell one other human close by. An unrelated person but if Pohatu is running around like that, the chances rise exponentially that one of the other toa have joined him.

Tucking their wings even closer to their body, pressing the globe against their side, they easily weave through the thicket. Branches rustle in the wind, showering them with water. It’s not from Pohatu’s superspeed – the direction and speed don’t match – but it doesn’t feel like it comes from the weather, either. It smells too dry.

Their reach one of the paved walking paths. Pohatu could come thundering down from the left at any moment, so they stay clear and head to the right. If the other toa are here, they might have split up to cover more ground.

They focus on their sight, scanning through the trees for any movement, on their ears and on their nose. If there’s more people this way, the wind will carry their scent to them.

If only it wasn’t so silent…

(The other person, it’s Lewa.) Another inhale.

(The windsprite? It’d explain the strange-familiar wind, but how do you know?

It’s his scent.)

No animals except for insects. The Rahi Nui chased them all away, and the racket the authorities are making doesn’t help. So the warm, stressed smell of sweat stands out.

(Firespitter, none of us met Windsprite as hordika beasts...

Did none of you pick it up in the time we’ve known him? I mean-)

It mingles with leaves, the shampoo uses and shares with Onua, and the essence of air. That is the best way to describe it – Lewa radiating the very core of elemental energy, encompassing and creating it from nothing. It’s the same with all of the Toa Nuva.

(-oh. Oh.

I don’t like this ‘Oh’.

It’s nothing bad, I promise. Just another quirk the venom left me with, and that I’ve just realize that I have.)

They follow it, hovering, and finally –

“Turaga? Turaga?!” A hesitant call.

- They hear him.

[lights-out-knives-out]

Wild whumpy dream I had last night

its going under the cut cause Noncon you've been warned

So poor spy whumpee gets stuck on a train with an enemy gang(he's blonde and that's somehow important?), for some reason they have something to do with a member of the enemy party dying. So these guys decide to give him some pay back by gun fucking?? Like they threatened him with using him as a cock warmer, but then they slam him into the table and shove a gun up his ass. Also some weird bit of threatening to dig out his prostate through his back like while they’re gun fucking him, I think the closest they get is cutting up his lower back a bit just to scare him. And like keep in mind it’s our guy and then a dozen enemies, so he’s getting humiliated in front of people. While this car may be separate, this is a public train, so people could walk in and see him getting fucked up. He’s then of course passed around and fucked until he passes out. Oh and I’m there, I’m legit in the train car watching this all happen from my seat, and to make it all the weirder, Heathens by twenty one pilots was playing on repeat in the background

oh also my artists rendition

[wednesdaythesecond]

Is it even romance if you don't slam their head against the wall until their face is bloody and they either have a broken nose or a few missing teeth before kissing them?

[whumpitisthen]

If you ever feel so fancy as to do a part 2 or similar drabble to instincts i will be available to tattoo it on the entire landscape of my back and/or worship it throughly 👀🙏🙏

i dont usually write second parts, but i do also like that one a lot, and you asked very politely......

first part

Lonely...

"Wh-Why do you do this?"

He's been sitting there for a solid ten minutes in complete silence, enduring the maddening, constant scrutiny glaring from his left side. The tea he has prepared is swiftly growing lukewarm, no longer steaming languidly on the coffee table. He hadn't dared to move an inch once it perched next to him, weighing heavily on his mind and on the sofa cushions as its presence grew and materialised so close, so dangerous.

He hoped it would leave him alone today. It hadn't visited for a few days, — not in a physical way, only as an ever unnerving pressure on his body that wouldn't go away. Yet, that hadn't stopped the nightmares worming their way into his brain each time he tried resting while it was around. He is tired, and weary, and weak. That is why he planned on a serene little movie night spent in front of the mind numbing screen, on his own; to hopefully distract him, or even put him in a mercifully dreamless sleep. He desperately wished it would leave him just a little longer.

However, it seems it knew just the worst time to 'come see him' — as it so likes to put it. More like break into his home, harass him, question him and then torture him, only to leave him in a state barely sufficient to let him patch himself up for next time. Or stay and do it itself, making the healing stage into another opportunity to learn about humans as it messily fixes him up like one would a machine.

'Why? Why do you feel the need to do these things to me?'

He can feel it blink at him, can see its head tilt to the side, and can almost hear the phrase come before it murmurs, — "I do not understand."

Of course it doesn’t, this is perfectly normal for it. Nothing out of the ordinary.

“Nevermind,” — he tries, already knowing that it’s too late.

As expected, it growls impatiently, yet somehow, he can’t find it in himself to do more than squeeze his eyes shut and sigh, instead of flinching and curling into himself.

“I do not like when you don’t answer me. What do I do that awakens your curiosity?”

That’s one way to put it. Curiosity.

“You just, just stare at me all the time. I know you do, eve-, even when you’re not, when I can’t see you.”

“I am here to learn from you. That’s all I ever want,” — it replies matter-of-factly.

“Don’t you have anything better to do?” — he murmurs, voice full of a hopelessness that only a severe lack of sleep and a terrifyingly inescapable situation can bring.

“I do not. There is nothing better for me to do. I enjoy this the most,” — it exclaims happily, unaware of the offending tone he used. Sometimes, it’s fortunate that it doesn’t get how parts of the human speech works, such as sarcasm, or expressions.

He doesn’t say anything, and that confuses it. He simply stares at the moving pictures on the television blankly. It feels his nerves lit on fire, yet it's a much fainter feeling, and his reactions are wholly uninteresting. In turn, that almost makes them more interesting to the creature. It wants to know what’s wrong with the human today.

“You are boring. Why are you boring,” — it asks, though the sentence ends in more of a period than a question mark. It’s quite funny, the way it asks things sometimes. He smiles to himself, knowing full well delirium must be hitting him hard for him to find the courage to smile in the presence of this monstrosity, fully capable of tearing him in half in a split second if he doesn’t supply it with entertainment and learning opportunities. It would find joy in it as well.

“Why am I boring?” — he asks, holding back a giggle. He still doesn’t look at it. He would quickly lose his humour if he did.

“Yes.”

“What do you mean? Why am I boring?”

It falls quiet for a moment, glancing at the TV again.

“You do not care that I am here.”

He knows he should not, but his mind only finds the situation more hilarious with every word.

“What, are you, y-you getting lonely now? Should I grab a blanket and cuddle close, so you feel loved?” — he chortles.

It finds his tone unnatural. It doesn’t understand it, but it makes it feel wrong. Small. It feels small.

“Am I lonely? Explain, please.”

He only taught it pleasantries like please and thank you some number of weeks ago — it still feels entirely unnatural to hear it say the word he has said to it so many times before, to no avail. It says it like it couldn’t just pull an answer out of him with no issue. It has learned to be more patient, at least.

“Do you not know what loneliness is?”

“I asked you so. Why do you sound like that? You sound wrong,” — it remarks, certainly perplexed by his relatively calm demeanour. It is so used to watching him panicking and stuttering up a storm, flinching at every little movement, that hearing any amount of confidence or joy, and feeling any amount of serenity emanating off of him is throwing it off. It must feel very wrong to be looked at with anything more than wild fear to it.

“Don’t worry about it. Anyway, loneliness is like… It has to do with being alone, obviously.”

“It’s not very obvious to me,” — it grumbles.

“Yeah, I know, I know. I-It’s… kind of hard to explain, honestly. Um… It’s when you feel sad, when you are alone. Like when you’re on your own and there’s no-one to talk to. It’s depressing. So most people find someone else to, to help with that feeling, so they are no longer alone. That’s loneliness.”

“Hm…” — It thinks for a while. He can see it struggling with the concept, already trying to think of another way to explain before it asks. What it says next surprises him however, — “being alone doesn’t feel bad. I am always alone. You said when something feels bad it is because whatever is happening should not be happening. It’s not unnatural, therefore it isn’t bad.”

His smile disappears. Of course. Humans are social creatures, surviving by building relationships and helping each other out. It isn’t a human. He doesn’t know how it feels about being around another one of its kind. Is there another one of it? He doesn’t dare think about that.

“W-Well… It’s a human thing, I guess. We survived so long, and got to um, where we are by being there for each other, but I g-guess you don’t need that, do you?”

“I have noticed there are many humans near each other. It is rare to find one all alone. I assumed it was like how it is with ants or bees. Is that not right?” — it wonders.

“Not really. It’s more, um… familial? Like a pack of wolves or something. I don’t think bees take care of each other, only their queen and larvae.”

“I see. So what does it feel like? Being lonely?”

He bites back a yawn, swallowing it down. He reaches for the popcorn on the coffee table, deciding he might as well snack before it ultimately decides to hurt him at some point tonight. He hasn’t found the motivation to eat much all day.

What does loneliness feel like? How is he supposed to explain that to a thing that might not even have another one of its kind?

“Uhm… It’s a bad feeling. For us, at least. You feel like… You need to be around someone. Depending on how bad it is, you, uh, might even feel the need to be around strangers. It feels like you are going mad. Like, uhm… I don’t know, like crushing? Hopeless? This one’s… hard to explain,” — he finished, throwing some more popcorn into his mouth. He is watching the movie on the screen, but his brain is not picking up on anything that’s going on around him besides the creature next to him.

“Hm…”

It doesn’t say anything for a long time. So long, in fact, that he would almost forget about it entirely if it didn't shuffle closer to him, watching him intently for a reaction. Even through the thick haze of fog engulfing his brain, he tenses and shuffles away on instinct.

"You are not lonely," — it decides. It doesn't understand still what loneliness is; otherwise it would know that he is lonely enough to crave human interaction of absolutely any kind, enough that he sometimes dreams that the creature that follows him around wherever he goes isn't such a horrid being, that he managed to teach it how to be human and no longer hurt him and to care for him like another person would. He hallucinates, sometimes, because he's just that lonely. Or maybe it's just the sleep deprivation. Both.

"Why do you think that?" — he inquires, half-caring about the answer.

"Because I accompany you. You are never truly alone. You do not crave my touch. You are not lonely."

"And you are not a person. Why would I care about any of that?" — he snaps suddenly.

It goes silent again, and his very soul is trembling. He knows he messed up, he shouldn't have said that, even it isn't dense enough to miss a direct insult. The glare coming from the side is burning him, and he subconsciously apologises in his mind, almost certain it can hear it. He's so tired, he just wants to pass out already.

When it finally chirps up again, he fully expects a claw to tear at his face, — "I am not a human. But I am a person still." — He only now realises that it isn't looking at him anymore. It's an awfully unusual feeling, to feel its presence but not its gaze, — "is that not right? Can I not be a person if I am not a human?"

Now it's his turn to think. He never thought about it like that. When he says person, he immediately thinks of a human, but if that's how it is — does that mean that another intelligent alien race, for example, would not be considered people? A member of them wouldn't be a person? That doesn't sound right.

Why is he thinking about this like he's afraid to hurt this monster? Why did it sound like it was hurt by his words? It didn't, he just has empathy and assumed he had hurt it. Like a person. Or a human would, at least. Then again, there are shitty humans out there too.

"I'm… sorry," — he says, unsure how to answer in a way as to not dig himself into a deeper hole, — "I just never thought of anyone to be a person if they aren't, um, human. But you're not like, an a-animal or something, are you? So you are still a person. I think."

"What does being a person mean to humans? I thought being a person meant having higher intelligence than animals, but that doesn't seem to be true. You are not answering me straight," — it accuses him curiously. Its gaze is back on him, watching him again. Its voice is a little deeper, and he assumes it's because he has angered him. He wishes it would just get it over with and attack already.

"I-It-, I'm n-not sure! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you, i-it was an honest mistake — I just never really thought about you that way…"

"If you do not see me as a person, then what do you see me as? Am I really an animal to you?" — it questions relentlessly, leering down at him with an intensity that feels like a physical weight is crushing his body into the sofa, curling into itself, — "you see me as a critter."

"No, no, no I don't! I-I just don't know what you are! You're not a human, nor an animal, but I have no idea what to f-, call you! Pl-ease, I swear I d-didn't mean it!" — he clambers to apologise, already gathering tears behind eyes squeezed shut, lifting his arms to shield his head from claws flying through the air. To his surprise — and relief — none comes.

“...Am I lonely?” — it asks itself, all animosity gone from its voice, — “I do not know. I have always been alone.”

When nothing else is said for long enough, he uncurls his arms from over him and finally summons the courage to look at the creature next to him. It is once again deep in thought, trying to figure out if it feels lonely or not. No matter how many times he is forced to gaze upon it, his skin crawls all the same. An inky blackness of eyes and claws, long thin limbs appearing and disappearing at its will. Sometimes it has long, dripping hair, other times horns or antlers. He can only guess it changes its form depending on its mood that day. It barely looks humanoid, some demon of hell — he had to learn how to sense its emotions through its rough cover of shadows himself through trial and error, and still he has trouble understanding it fully. He doesn’t get a chance, most times, as he is the one being questioned, or tormented. This time is different. Unusual.

He releases a shaky exhale and swallows, feeling his tired heart beat an almost painful rhythm against his chest. It’s dizzying, to be so stressed when his brain is barely functioning from lack of sleep. He finds it hard to sit, and leans to the side instead, catching himself on the arm of the couch. Though curious, even if he dared to say anything more to it, he is having trouble getting his thoughts in order long enough for his brain to sew together a sentence.

“If I was lonely, that would mean I would want to be around other people. Interact with them. I interact with you a lot. Maybe I am lonely.” — It goes quiet periodically, trying to decide for itself, but it doesn’t seem very successful at doing so. — “I don’t understand,” — it comes to say finally, turning to him again for more answers. It seems unbothered by his state.

“Uh-uhm… Mm… Maybe I said it wrong. I don’t think it’s um, only your own kind you want to be around. Wh-When you’re lonely, I mean. Sometimes, when I’m lonely, it helps to just hang out with some of the, uh, stray cats that w-wander up to my windows, sometimes. I, I um, like petting them. And their purring. They’re very nice to, to me…” — he mumbles, hoping that no more questions come, as he is having more and more trouble resisting the ever gentler pull of unconsciousness.

"You crave affection from animals?" — it coos at him, almost mocking, but not for long, suddenly growing silent again. It makes a groan, a sound akin to some kind of wild raccoon, and he has no idea what it means — yet, upon looking at it, it's clear it is growing restless. — "...Affection from less intelligent beings. Helps with loneliness. Am I lonely? Am I lonely?" — It repeats the question for the hundredth time, asking itself more so than him by now. It seems frustrated. The clawed ends of its slender fingers flex around a pillow. On one hand, he finds it humorous, the act reminding him of kitties making biscuits — on the other, he is so relieved those sharp things aren't digging into his abdomen yet.

"If you have to, t-to think about it this long, you probably are. You just, d-don't wanna ad-admit to it," — comes his wavering voice, supplying it with more confusion. It retaliates by placing one of its hands around his closest ankle, sending a harsh shiver all the way up to the nape of his neck. The way it closes those frigid digits around his leg wakes him right back up — a familiar feeling, to be woken up so ruthlessly by it. It tilts its head at him again, clearly bothered by his accusations.

"How could I admit to something I don't understand? That sounds moronic. You are stupid," — it growls triumphantly, reminding him of his sister. So quick to anger, and just as stubborn. Except he isn't quite as afraid of his little baby sister as he is of this cosmic horror gripping at him with its ice cold sharpened appendages. The horror that is probably trying to grin, and instead only succeeds at showing off all of its terrifying sets of teeth in a horrid snarl. He had not realised until this moment that it has a mouth on its torso, cleaving it in half as it opens. He has acquired a new fear.

His mind is overrun with images of the thing pulling him towards its horrifying torso-mouth by the ankle in its grasp, chewing him up bit by bit as it keeps pulling him deeper and deeper into its disgusting, black, tar body, mauling him completely. If he managed to survive the mutilation, the rest of him would be tossed into a vat of acid that is its stomach, digested agonisingly slowly. His wide, purple-black, terrified eyes are stuck on it, and it notices his staring, unfortunately, before he could.

"Wh-, y… yes, y-y-you're right. Maybe I am. Please stop touching me now."

He can't help noticing its eyes crinkle in amusement, thoroughly enjoying bullying him into submission as it always does, — "You were being very brave today, all the way up until now. What's wrong?" — Its grip tightens, those blades it has the gall to call 'nails' already making paper cuts all along his exposed skin. One finger — a thumb, if it has any — is caressing the length of flesh slowly, back and forth, distressing him greatly. Its eyes glow unnaturally, glinting in the dark, and it hurts, it physically hurts his body to be so scared right now. His heart beats much too fast all too sudden, his breaths come quicker than he feels capable of, his skin crawls with the cold sweat covering the entirety of his back pressed against the armrest of the sofa. It watches him tense in its clutches with utmost glee, considering pulling him a little closer by the little red lines it already caused, just to hear him whimper at the burning pain. — "Don't tell me you've lost all conviction already?"

He barely remembers to reply, utterly lost in those intense eyes and rows upon rows of teeth grinning at him, — "Ih-, it was just, a joke! I wasn't being serious — p-please let go of me, I can't — "

"I am only joking too. Why are you so upset?" — It's laughing at him, it's mocking him, but he doesn't have the brainpower to even try pulling away, too wound up in his fear.

"I get it, I get it, just please, please just let go, I don't want to, I c-can't, I can't…"

It is so proud of itself, but he can't even be mad at it. All he notices is a glint in its eyes, a horrible sign he has learned to fear as much as the arrival of the abomination itself — it has got an idea.

It giggles to itself, and that sound feels like a promise of pain, — "I would let go, but, you see…" — It is leaning down over him once more, but it doesn't stop there. It comes closer and closer, grabbing hold of the back of the couch and another leg for balance, climbing on top of him, and his brain finally activates, much too late, to force him to struggle away. He can't anymore, not that it would have helped. — "I am just so lonely. So very lonely I am. I need interaction with other beings! I need to be very, very close to another person so I can feel their warmth. I need to touch them and keep them close. I need it, you see. I am very lonely."

"Ah-, wait n-, no, stop!"

Something is dripping onto him. Saliva, blood, who knows what it is.

"I'm so lonely…" — it muses, forcing his head back so it can bury its head under his chin.

It is breathing on him. He can feel its ice cold exhales right on his neck.

"Get off of me!" — he yells out in desperation, no longer caring to please it — he is positive he will scream if it starts nibbling on him.

"Huuu-mannn..." — it drawls lazily, draping itself over him. He can feel at least three pairs of limbs enveloping him and it's suffocating.

"God, just, just stop it already, please! I-I said I'm sorry," — his own voice quivers, suspiciously close to crying. He's certain it can feel him shivering.

"Mmm… No." — Its voice is reverberating through his entire chest. He gasps when a finger slides over a fresh enough bruise from their last meeting, the expulsion of air forming into a rather pathetic sound as he tries to choke it down.

He squirms under it, gasping for air, until he finally stops, grasping how truly futile it is to fight it. He lets out a defeated keen of misery, and sobs. He cries under it, no longer having the energy to care about what it thinks of him. Whether it finds him pathetic or amusing, whether it mocks him or hurts him. He wants to be anywhere but here.

It says nothing, for a while. It doesn't move, however. It must just be listening to him weeping, enjoying it as much as it was enjoying mocking him, just like it was enjoying going through with its devilish plan to get him to this point. That's all it ever wants; to watch him upset and hurt.

When it talks, it is so sudden he jumps in surprise, — "You are the lonely one here, truly. Unable to handle even this much affection."

He doesn't find it in himself to answer. He wishes it wasn't so good at hitting where it hurts. It snorts out something of a chuckle.

"If you ask me sweetly enough, I will consider purring for you. Like your stray cats."

No answer, not even a small sound of disdain aimed at it. It tries again.

"Would you like that?"

Nothing. Only calm breaths, long and peaceful.

It lifts its head to look at him, confused by the sudden change, and finds him passed out like a light. It hadn't known he was so tired. Maybe another effect of loneliness? It is unsure.

It hums in thought, watching him sleep like it always does. It's interesting to it; the concept of sleep. It loves the way its human looks while he is unconscious — it rarely sees him so content. It tried to sleep a couple times, but it doesn't think it succeeded.

"Lonely little human…. My lonely little human…" — it hums.

A haunting melody. Its voice sounds so unnatural and guttural, like a broken radio playing a broken record. It doesn't fully understand music yet either, so all it does is repeat the same tune and the same words. To it, it's comforting, while the human described it as a horror movie soundtrack. It doesn't matter to it; it likes humming.

"I like your company," — it murmurs, — "perhaps I am lonely too…"

It isn't sure, but what it is sure about, is that it likes comforting its human an awful lot. It doesn't think it comforted anyone before. It isn't even sure it's doing it right.

It feels right, at least, it thinks before clicking off the TV with a rush of static, and the darkness.

< Masterlist

[hobbit-in-kuroshitsuji]

Kuroshitcember 2022 Prompt Nr. 6

Please read the CW before reading this one :)

Prompt: Caskets and coffins, colds and collectibles. Write something about the Undertaker and his fresh clients of winter deaths!

You can find all prompts here!

All of these will be uploaded/archived to this blog's Ao3 eventually

Summary: The Undertaker has a busy couple of winter months ahead of him. What helps is that he likes his job and that he has something to amuse him... Lord Phantomhive's act. CW: open bodies, bodies, death, dead child, dead bodies, human experiments, anatomy studies, veins, human experiments, mortuary. This has serious Kuroshitsuji spoilers, if you don't know about O!Ciel and R!Ciel, do not read unless you want to be spoiled. Please also be aware that I went off a bit with my own HC regarding what we see in the Undertaker's mortuary, and I haven't read the latest few chapters yet so some things might be non-canon at this point too <3

ahem... it's a first draft so be gentle on me lads 👉👈

“Now rest, my young lord…” The wooden structure fit snugly with the rest of the casket; a lid of protection, darkness and peace. Hidden from view and slowly being filled with the life-giving fluid that would ensure his wounds healed along with his cinematic record. “I have to work…”

A high pitched, calm little laugh left the Undertaker, black leather boots taking him soundlessly across the room where his “other” patients lay waiting.

Winter was a time where many died. Those with names, money and family, however, didn’t come to the Undertaker. The Undertaker dealt with those nameless, unloved and easily forgotten. The poor, downtrodden and unwanted.

In London, the number of unwanted souls was plenty. Orphanages, workhouses… streets filled with those given no second chances.

Those bodies could not stay lying about. So the Undertaker offered his services, to police, to nobles doing the Queen’s bidding… To scientists that took children from workhouses for their sickening anatomy studies… To nobles’ ‘accidental’ loss of a daughter they never wanted to begin with…

They all came to be in the Undertaker’s care, for a gentle touch, a proper last goodbye… and so they wouldn’t be alone for their last moment in the mortal realm.

It was an aspect to reaping that Grim Reapers didn’t get. And an aspect to his new life that he cherished.

During winter, harsh temperatures took the sick from life, and placed them on his tables. So when all his tables were filled, and more bodies were expected that day, the Undertaker wasn’t surprised, nor was he overwhelmed. This was his job, he loved it.

Yet… he couldn’t help but feel something when his patient was a little boy, the same age as Ciel, who died from a head trauma… and whose body had been cut open to reveal the veins. They’d been moved about, candlewax forced into the major arteries for better view…

Anatomy studies.

This boy had never known love, and in his last moment, some scientist had decided to use him for science.

The Undertaker didn’t quite understand why the boy was given to him whilst still so fresh though – until he saw the slight defect in the boy’s heart and realised the boy hadn’t been perfect for them, and no longer valuable for studying.

“Don’t you worry…” The Undertaker voiced, smile still on his lips despite the emotions within his dead heart. “You will have your peace now…”

His green eyes shifted back to the casket before he voiced: “I wish nothing like this had ever happened to you.”

Approaching footsteps and the faint stench of despair, hatred and darkness alerted the Undertaker to the fact he was about to have a guest. Throwing white sheets over each of his ‘patients’, he made sure to position himself right next to the casket holding his almost alive brother, grinning widely at the fact he knew so much more…

So… much… more…

“Eheheheheheee….” The Undertaker startled Lord Phantomhive, but not his butler, as the two entered the dimly lit cabin. “My, my… and what brings you, little lord, to my humble abode?”

A disturbed look passed over the lord’s eye, gaze fleetingly taking in the massive amount of iced bodies, before focusing back on the Undertaker. Not once did his eye flicker to what most likely would disturb him more than the dead… the casket against which the Undertaker was leaning… surrounded by salt, garlic, and other strange items to ensure the demon that travelled with the little lord didn’t get a whiff of chemicals…

It was truly delectably funny, more laughter escaping the Undertaker under his breath whilst he listened to Phantomhive’s request.

“The winter months are busy days… If you wish to find a specific body, you have to first pay…” grinned the Undertaker, hands still on his most precious casket.

Despite the busy winter months, the Undertaker still had something to amuse him… the lord Phantomhive’s dramatic act he kept on playing, unaware of the Undertaker’s knowledge…  

__ taglist: @eemoo1o-animoo

[oldestandonlygirl3]

Prompt #70

"How do you lose a WHOLE TEENAGER!?!"

"Well it's easier than losing half a teenager. And far less gory. Usually."

[wolfstarisswag]

Fictober — Day One - ORIGINAL WORK

<< I thought I’d join this year to get me in the mood for daily writing. I’ll probably go in between fandom and original works. >>

Prompt— “it’s not too late, let’s go.”

TW: Character Death, mentions of blood, mentioned gore, decapitation

“It’s not too late,” a voice said behind him. Oliver turned to see Casper, standing over him. The look of panic that had crossed his face not but twenty minutes before remained, set in stone. Only this time there were splatters of blood covering the left side of his tanned face. “Let’s go. Please. We can get out of here. Winnie dragged Theo out, I saw them. We can get out too.” Casper’s words came out in a choked fashion, and Oliver’s mind was blank for only a few seconds before they registered.

Winnie and Theo. Only Winnie and Theo.

“Cas, you forgot Max and Isabel. Where are they?” Oliver asked. He tried to get to his feet, but swayed and would’ve fallen if Casper hadn’t grabbed him.

“Ollie…. You don’t remember?”

“Cas,” Oliver responded, his words shooting venom. Casper’s eyes were watery, shining with tears that had yet to fall. Oliver gripped Casper’s upper arms with a certain intensity. He needed what Casper was going to say to not be true. “Cas, where did they go? They got out. They got out, I need them to have gotten out.”

“Ollie, I--” Casper looked away, emotion taking over the panicked look on his face. “Ollie, please we need to get out of here.”

“No, no, no.” Oliver shook his head, mostly mumbling to himself. The library didn’t even look like a library anymore. The shelves and books were but piles of lumber and scattered scraps of paper. This had once been Oliver’s favorite place. He was standing where their tutoring sessions had once been-- three days a week which Oliver had originally been so distraught by the thought of. “Where are they?”

“Ollie, this isn’t my blood.” Casper’s words held a whole new meaning that Oliver didn’t want to figure out, but knew in an instant.

“No.” Oliver hadn’t meant for it to come out sounding as a strangled gasp, but it had. Max couldn’t be dead, he just couldn’t. Oliver shook his head and pushed himself from Casper’s grasp. He stumbled away as Casper tried to grab him again, crying out in a warning. Oliver didn’t care. He didn’t care if the Thing was still alive, if it was still lurking in the shadows of the broken library.

Oliver climbed through the piles of rubble. He’d never been the biggest fan of books, especially the ones he’d been forced to read in AP Lang and Lit. There were plenty of people who were enjoyers of the older fiction, who read them and defended them, but Oliver wasn’t one of them. However, seeing the distorted remainders of these books on the floor struck him in a painful way.

He scanned the area, looking for the pale freckled face of his best friend. Or a head covered in smooth black hair. Anything that would give him any indication of where his friend was.

Halfway across the space it dawned on him that he hadn’t just lost his friend, but Cas had lost his sister. His twin, no less.

He felt sick to his stomach. The same feeling that he’d gotten when he and Max had witnessed the police lifting Josh Hankin’s body from the depths of the quarry and when he’d seen Benny Harrison’s head fall from that washing machine in the Laundromat. It was a terrible feeling. He remembered Sammy Patterson telling him about that same feeling during their tutoring sessions the previous fall, when he’d discovered his own friend’s body.

It didn’t cross his mind, why Casper wasn’t following him.

Then he tripped, ripping his thoughts from his brain as he tumbled, floor bound.

He pushed himself up, and then froze, when his gaze met the deep brown eyes of his friend’s. Except this gaze was cold, empty. Lifeless.

It was then that Oliver went mute, screaming, crying out, but no sound was heard. It was like when he turned on the TV but kept it on mute, because all he wanted was something to have on in the background, but not a distraction.

He scrambled to his feet and ran to where his friend laid. Isabell was nowhere to be seen and a memory started to poke through from earlier in the day, one that he’d briefly forgotten after being knocked out a few minutes before. A cold breeze, a cloudless sky, an almost empty field, and a pile of forget-me-nots, enough to cover a body.

He shoved the thought from his mind as he collapsed next to Max, taking him up in his arms and sobbing as he clutched the body to his chest. He couldn’t remember crying this hard before. He doesn’t think he’d like to again. It was painful, if he was crying enough to not make any sound.

He didn’t like silence, but it engulfed him as he sat in the corner of the library, completely unaware of his surroundings.

He was crying so hard that the tears blurred his vision. So he shut his eyes.

Crying would be his downfall.

He died in the place that had once been his favorite, surrounded in silence, and clutching the body of his best friend.

He should’ve listened when Casper told him to leave.

These are my OCs in a story that I have like 25K words for so far, so I think fictober will help me write more of them (:

[stil-lindigo]

patchwork canary.

a comic about two girls, fate, and a powerful man who felt entitled to something that wasn’t his to own.

support me on patreon (if you’d like to see more comics like this one)

[humanjeff]

think my favourite part of Harrow the Ninth is that there's a bit where she gets hit in the face so hard she loses a bunch of teeth, then uses the fragments of her own shattered teeth to explode a man's eyeballs - and it never gets mentioned by anyone discussing the book because in a few pages there's a soup scene that is Very Much Worse.

[5ftboy]

"We're all over this fucking bear."

[free-my-boy-grumbot]

“ohhh i’m so tired of love songs i wish people would write more original stuff” literally listen to lemon demon. some of his song topics include

Ronald Reagan fights his evil shadow self

Guy is trapped inside an evil arcade machine that kills people

You can do what you want to your body! dye your hair! get that tattoo! pull your teeth out! stick screws in your eyes! rip your arms off!

disgraced scientist is disgraced

I forgor 💀

Guy died and a bunch of cool haunted shit happened and it was really spooky

Please date me i’m a really nice ghost i mean normal man

I’m eating a corpse and it’s soo tasty and homoerotic come join me

ohohoho i am a Creature

well you probably know what two trucks is about

[doodle-with-alizard]

Dead man just wants some toast :(

I love this scene so much oml

[noisyghost]

just put a bandaid on it

[wednesdaythesecond]

why don't you listen to Midtown and maybe you'll feel like carving out your own heart and eating with with your hands?

[toxifoxx]

*chanting* fat springtrap!! fat springtrap!!

as you wish! (^_−)☆

[alastorslilghost]

MY DOTING HUSBAND.

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝙰𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛 𝚡 𝚎𝚡 𝚆𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛.

๑ | sʏɴᴏᴘsɪs : ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ᴀʟᴀsᴛᴏʀ's ғᴏʀᴍᴇʀ ᴡɪғᴇ ғᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ʜɪs sᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇ ʜᴀʙɪᴛs ���ɴᴅ ɴɪɢʜᴛʟʏ ᴀᴄᴛɪᴠɪᴛɪᴇs, sʜᴇ ᴡᴀs ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴀᴘᴘʏ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ɪᴛ.

๑ | ᴛᴡ : ᴀɴɢsᴛ, ʟᴏᴛs ᴏғ sᴡᴇᴀʀɪɴ, ɢʀᴀᴍᴍᴀᴛɪᴄᴀʟ ᴇʀʀᴏʀs, ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴs ᴏғ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ, ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴs ᴏғ ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ, ɢᴏʀᴇ.

๑ | ᴀᴜ : ɪ'ᴠᴇ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴛʀʏɴᴀ ғɪɴᴅ ғᴏʀ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴀʟᴀsᴛᴏʀ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴀɴɢsᴛ ʙᴜᴛ ɪ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅɴ'ᴛ ғɪɴᴅ ᴏɴᴇ, sᴏ ᴡʜʏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴏғ ᴛʜɪs? ʜᴇʜᴇʜᴇʜᴇʜ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏ'ᴀʟʟ ʟɪᴋᴇᴅ ɪᴛ! ~

Part one | Part two | Part three | Part four

You're a happily married woman with a doting, caring, faithful husband. Your man was everything you could ask for, you both shared a small but comfortable house. Life was full of ecstasy, just you and your loving husband..what could you ask for more? Life was perfect and what more could ever ruin this perfect life?nothing can ruin this life..right?

It was suppose to be another same night, where you cook dinner for you and your husband while you wait for him to come home. That is until, you heard a loud thud behind the basements door. Your husband warned you few times to never as in never in all circumstances go in behind those doors. You never knew what was in there or whatever the thing is going on there to make your loving husband enough to be so cautious of you going in there. Your husband was a honest man, but sometimes his weird obsession of keeping you away from the basement made you doubt him.

But since you're a good obedient little wife of his, you decided to ignore the strange sounds thinking that I was just another pesky rats causing ruckus.

But that is until you heard a muffled scream, you froze.

Does rats suppose to sound like a man crying? Wailing?

You gulped, you took a deep breath as you tried to ignore the sounds coming from your basement. But it was getting hard not too when the thrashing started to get.. Violent.

Fuck it. You abruptly stand up from the kitchen seat as you grabbed the knife just beside the cutting board as you slowly approached the basement door, clutching the knife to your chest as you held out your hand to grab the doorknow with a shaking hand and pounding heart.

Surely it's not what you think it's in there right? Alastor was not that kind of man.. Right?

Doubts about your husband increase as you shook your head and opened the basement door, rotten flesh and the metallic scent immediately greeted your nostrils. The scent was to much to handle that you had to step back and closed the door for a moment to catch your breath.

Just what was in there? Finally feeling ready enough to handle the scent, you opened the door once again before taking slow steps down the stairs. There nothing could be seen there apart from darkness and the scent of rotting flesh gets stronger and the sound of muffled crying and chains rattling got louder as you finally made it down.

You ran your hands to the wall finding the familiar switch for the light, once finding it, you took a deep breath mentally preparing yourself for the sight you're about to see as you switch the light on.

As the yellow-ish light spread around the room, you felt like the air knocked out of your lungs as you choked out a cry, feeling your knees giving up on you.

You stumbled on your steps as you dropped the knife, your hands flying to your mouth as you dropped to the floor, staring wide eye at the sight in front of you.

You muffled out a cry as the dying man eyes landed on you, he was tied into the wall with his hand on the air. The man tried running to you as he cried. Your eyes wandered more around the basement to see not one one, but three bodies stacked around the corner with intestines inside the jars. You tried to swallow down your vomit as you scurried towards the man.

" dear Lord.. " you gasped as you removed the gag from his mouth as the man coughs. He was all bloodied, missing an eye and a chopped leg, you wonder how is this man still alive with how much blood he lost.. And how long has he been here.

" i-.. Are you-.. " you weren't sure what to ask first, your far too shakened about this relevation.

The man raises its head as it cried.

" please please - PLEASE! get me out of here! I beg of you! " he cried, turmoil swirls to your stomach as your breath becomes ragged from panick-

" i- dont- I don't know how- where's the key?! " you asked as you frankly started searching around him, tears were already spilling to your beautiful E/C eyes.

" that- sick man s-stuck it in.. I-in that heart on the table! " the man coughed.

"Please I beg of you! H-hurry! "

You felt your soul left your body at the mention of where the key was, you slowly looked behind you to see the bloodied heart of a human on the.. Plate.. What.

Now that the sight finally downing into you, there were plates and utensils on the table and a half eaten liver too. Your heart aches as more realization hits you. Your husband was not only a murderer.. But also a cannibal.

You shook your head as you hurried your way to the heart shaking the feeling of disgust and vomit as your searched for the key inside. Why would he even stuck the key here?.. Perhaps.. Doe he know that you would disobey him soon? Whatever, you and the man need to get out of this place soon. You can't even bring yourself to call this home anymore.

Once you finally found the key, you wasted no more time snatching it in and ran back to the man, your now bloodied hand was shaking as you tried to unlock his cuffs.

" i-its ok now.. I got you.. O-once we get out for here i-ill call the cops. " you panted as you finally unlocked the last cuffs. The man fell on the floor as he cried "thank you's to you"

" there's no more time for this we have to- " a hand landed on your shoulder. You and the man froze in fear.

You stared at the man in front of you, seeing him gone quiet with a fearful look on his face tells you everything.

" darling.. " your breath caught on your throat as you felt your husband breath on your neck. The grip he hand on your shoulder tightened making you whimper.

" I thought I made myself clear about this. " you gasped as you felt something pierced behind you.

You coughed as you dropped on your knees as you held your side to see blood.. Your blood.

Your breath was shaky as you slowly turned to the man you shared your vows with, shared your bed with, shared your everything with, gave your love and everything.

More tears trailed on your eyes as he kneeled down to you cupping your cheeks, you leaned away from him as you scurried away as you whimpered. But he grabbed your jaw as his chocolate brown eyes.. Oh those eyes you once loved getting lost at.

" you should have listed to me, doe. " his eyes softened as you cried.

" it wouldn't have to be this way if you just stayed as a obedient little wife you are. "

He then cupped your cheek with his thumb wipped the tears off of your eyes smearing your blood on you.

You gasped for air as you started to see black dots in your vision as you clutched your side before your vision finally darkened , your husband sinister smile was the last thing you saw as you closed your eyes.

" I'll see you soon, my little doe. " and that was the last thing you heard as your body went numb.

Alastor craddled your now lifeless body as a year escaped his eyes, his victim was already crawling away but he could care less about that now. For now, he have to be by his beautiful wife like a doting husband he is.

Alastor kiss your cold forehead and went to your lips and gave it a one last kiss.

" I promise I'll come for you, my darling doe.. I ought to find you in every part of the afterlife.. I would tear down the heaven and hell just to find you again, just wait for me, mon chérie. "

Such a doting husband he is indeed.